#one of my greatest fears back when i was at the peak of my writing was being happy

[neo-shitty]

✍️.

[inoreuct]

I've been loving your ZoSan drabbles, they honestly make my day. I do have a potential drabble request if you'd like: I feel like these two idiots tease each other mercilessly for the dumbest things, like an old married couple. It's almost a game for the rest of the crew to how long it takes them to turn the teasing into either flirting or kissing. It's peak entertainment for the crew

thank you so much??$4!;7:)3 I’M SO GLAD TO HEAR THAT and yes. absolutely. I FLEW TO MY DOCS TO WRITE THIS AND IT WAS SO FUN. the tension is through the roof; not even with the bickering but the teasing. it’s playful and easy and they’re more fond than they should be and is an insult really an insult if it’s said with a smile? anyway. enjoy 😽

“Oho! The world’s greatest swordsman can’t handle a kitchen knife!” Sanji has his hands propped on his hips, faux-flabbergasted and crowing like a town crier. Zoro looks about three seconds away from chopping him up with said kitchen knife instead of the carrots on the countertop. Usopp fears for the cook’s safety.

“Do you think we should… do something?” he turns and whispers gingerly, leaning across his mug of tea so that Nami can hear him from where she’s seated across the table. 

“Something like preventing a possible murder, or getting them to finally kiss? Because…” She takes a pointed slurp from her own mug, her amused gaze fixed on the way Zoro is now animatedly arguing back. “We could do both. Or neither. I’m entertained either way.”

Usopp turns back around, hiding his face in his drink as he eavesdrops shamelessly. He must have missed some conversation, because now Zoro’s sniping about Sanji’s hair, of all things. How they got so far from the original topic in such a short time? Usopp does not know. 

“Well, at least I don’t spend an hour rubbing conditioner on my head,” Zoro scoffs, and Sanji gasps like the swordsman had just cussed out his entire family three generations up and down.

“And that, my dear marimo, is why it looks like a lawn,” he declares with a prim sniff, flicking the tap on with a flourish. “An untrimmed lawn. That a dog ran all over.”

“Wh—”

“No, no,” he laments, scrubbing at a dish in the most melodramatic way Usopp has seen in his life. “A pack of dogs. And they shat all over it, too.”

Zoro puffs up like an angry cat, clearly winding up to verbally throw down, and Usopp turns around to find Nami smirking at him with her eyebrows raised as if to say, see what I mean?

“This is incredible,” he whisper-shouts, amazed.

I know, she mouths delightedly, eyes shining like golden coins.

“What are we talking about,” Luffy hisses, and Usopp damn near jumps out of his skin.

“Great Mother Ocean, when did you get here?!” he nearly squawks, pulling his volume down at the last second, just in time to hear a victorious “and that is why no crab in its right mind would ever want to eat you!” from Zoro. He doesn’t even bother to question it anymore.

Luffy shrugs, biting into an apple with a satisfying crunch. “Like two seconds ago. Are Zoro and Sanji fighting again?”

“More like flirting,” Nami laughs, gesturing with her chin. 

Usopp gives up on straining his neck and gets up to straddle the chair properly. The convo has somehow turned back to hair; Sanji has one hand plucking delicately at green strands, the other covered in soap.

“Keep talking shit about my brows and see if I will,” he says haughtily, and Usopp strains his ears for context as Zoro bares his teeth in a grin, his eye twitching.

“As if I want you to cut it. You’d probably make it all uneven.”

A dry ha! “That’d be an improvement.”

The sniper whips around wildly to look at Nami. Either he’s hearing things, or they sound almost… fond. The way their navigator’s sitting forward in her chair hints at the latter. Luffy bites into his apple again, mumbling, “Why haven’t they kissed yet?” 

Usopp explodes into a flurry of desperate hand movements, mouthing exactly! Exactly! so enthusiastically that his cheeks hurt. 

His captain smiles and then pauses, tilting his head. “Have they kissed yet?”

Usopp’s worldview shatters into shards that then start rearranging themselves because that is a very real possibility. Sanji and Zoro have been bickering ever since before the cook came aboard the Merry, but somewhere along the line it had turned to something more lighthearted, less I’m-gonna-gut-you-like-a-fish-and-have-your-entrails-for-breakfast and more you’re-so-damn-annoying-sit-down-and-let-me-help-you.

The three of them turn in unison to stare at how Sanji and Zoro are now nose to nose, Sanji peering down the scant half-inch he has above the swordsman in height with a smug smile and murmuring “—not what you were saying last week, marimo.”

Zoro tips his head, not backing down even as Sanji cooes at him and somehow, somehow, it doesn’t sound condescending. Usopp is losing his mind. “Never said that, curly-brow. You were the one who filled in the blanks.”

“You left blanks for me to fill in.”

“You’re delusional. There’s gas in your brain, that’s why your head’s so big.” 

“Oh, yeah?” the cook grins, lazy and bright, eyebrows going up as Zoro steps into his space. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

Zoro smirks and tilts his head back. “I don’t know. You tell me,” he murmurs, before pulling away and dropping a whole stack of dirty crockery into the sink. “Better get to washing, dish boy.”

Usopp’s eyes are bugging out of his head as Sanji yells and sprays Zoro with water from the pullout tap, sparking a whole new round of squabbling and ankle-kicking and wayward elbows.

“You’re seeing this, right?” he asks desperately, turning around in his seat and gripping the edge of the table. Gosh, he’s feeling light-headed. “I’m not going crazy?”

“Nope,” Nami sighs, popping the ‘p’. “Wanna bet?”

“On?” Luffy shuffles closer, grinning around his apple and she shrugs a shoulder, feigning disinterest. 

“How long it takes dumb and dumber to get their shit together.” 

Usopp really doesn’t know how much he’d be willing to put into this. The way that they fight’s more pigtail-pulling than anything, and that in and of itself is telling— Not to mention, again, how this has been going on for months. Sanji would give Zoro shit for being messy but then go to clean anyway, only to find Zoro’s things already packed. Zoro would snip at the cook for being rigid about dessert before dinner and then find a slice of sour raspberry tart on his bunk, way after teatime was over. Usopp had honestly thought they’d been doing it out of spite, but now…

Then again, with how repressed the both of them were? “…A hundred berry, one month,” he decides, and Nami wrinkles her nose.

“Stingy,” she complains, but she’s hiding a smile as she turns to their captain. “Luffy?”

The boy hums thoughtfully, twisting around. “Are you two kissing?” he yells, and Usopp’s heart fucking drops to the floorboards as the pair stares at them wide-eyed and bursts into protests.

“What— this idiot?”

“The hell? No! Why would you—”

“—on any planet would I ever—”

“Absolutely fucking not. His refined palate—”

“—His brains are in his biceps—”

“Okay,” Luffy says, shrugging as he finishes the last of his apple, core and all, and flings a singular seed into the tiny bin by the sink with startling precision. “Five hundred, two weeks.” 

Usopp can’t help it. He bursts into laughter, smacking his forehead into the tabletop as he clutches at his stomach and the twinge in his ribs. He can hear Sanji’s panicked shouts of “what? What were you betting on? Usopp, tell me now—” and Zoro growling, “Luffy, I swear if this is what I think it is—” and oh. 

The sniper grins into the table. Oho. Did that not imply that Zoro knew something was going on? He could be wrong, but— “Seven-fifty, one week.”

“A thousand!” Luffy counters immediately, and Usopp cackles helplessly because he knows that his captain’s just shouting out numbers now, Luffy doesn’t even have the money. 

“How about we spill the beans on what the hell we’re betting on, and I make us all a special dinner, hm?” Sanji pleads, and it’s honestly funny how hard he’s trying to find out. 

“Absolutely not,” Nami replies, her grin saccharine sweet. “A joint bet of one thousand, seven hundred and fifty berry for one week. Y’know,” she studies her cuticles, pursing her lips in an unbothered moue, “This is the one time that I’d be happy not to collect. Don’t let me down, hm?” She gets up and slides out the galley door, and they hear her laughing all the way down the hall. 

Zoro looks like he’s about to have a conniption. Sanji has his hands buried in his hair, looking up at the ceiling and turning around like he’s begging for a divine answer. Usopp and Luffy share a gleeful look.

This is going to be a marvellously interesting week.

fin.

[hereforthefanficsandromance]

Master List of My Works

Some Links Reroute to: https://hereforthefanficsandromance.blogspot.com/

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Need to Rant with Others Who Have Read These Stories?

Join My Discord It's free! Members get updates, sneak peaks, bonus content, events, and countdowns to new chapters. We'd love to have you, even if you just lurk!

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Love/Like/Hate What You Read?

Comment (please!) on AO3 or Blogger Anonymous/Comment/Message/Reblog on Tumblr Compliments feed me Constructive Criticism improves me

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The Way He Looks at You Series

(Cal Kestis x Reader)

Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order/Survivor Alternate Universe

After being dumped by your Jedi boyfriend, you accidentally bump into Inquisitor Cal Kestis, the Thirteenth Brother. He takes an interest in you and intends to give you what you desire most.

Rating: 18+

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Fan Requests

A Ring for Cal (Cal Kestis x Reader)

Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order/Survivor

Cal has a hard time lasting in the bedroom and needs some help to enjoy his time with you.

Rating: 18+

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Fan Prize Story #1: Training in the Water (Cal Kestis x Reader)

Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order/Survivor

You, a former Jedi, watch Cal practice his forms. He offers to jog your memory on how to do them.

Rating: 18+

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Fan Prize Story #2: Pleasure in Pushing and Punishment (Cal Kestis x Reader)

Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order/Survivor

Cal has has been missing you and decides to show it by being a bit of a brat. You won't tolerate his behavior and make him work for what he wants.

Rating: 18+

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Fan Prize Story #3: Finding the Way Back (Cal Kestis x Reader)

Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order/Survivor

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Cal doesn't return from a mission forcing you to venture out into the Kashyyyk jungle to rescue him and face your greatest fears.

Rating: 18+

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Fan Prize Story #4: Once Bitten, Twice Shy, Thrice Prepared (Cal Kestis x Reader)

Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order/Survivor

Modern AU Cal takes you on your third date, this time to the Ren Faire.

Rating: 18+

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Tied and Crying (Cal Kestis x Reader)

Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order/Survivor

Fan Request: IM TELLING YOU, HE WOULD LOOK SO CUTE ALL TIED UP AND CRYING FOR RELEASE

Rating: 18+

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Mini Series

Til the Cals Come Home (Cal Kestis x Reader)

Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order/Survivor

Your life changes when Cal Kestis offers to buy you a drink. He drugs you and modifies your body to make you fit to produce milk for his black market distribution.

Rating: 18+ Trigger Warnings:  Dead Dove: Don't Eat, Non-Con, Drugging, Numbness, Needles, Lactation, Hucow, Kidnapping, Rape, Forced Pregnancy, Severs Trauma, Torture, Murder

Chapter I: Alcohol Chapter II: Milk Chapter III: Semen Chapter IV: Blood

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Short Stories

The Nightmare God (Fantasy)

Writing Prompt

The Nightmare God takes revenge after losing their worshippers.

Rating: N/A

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NYE, Anywhere, 02:04 am, January 1 (Poetry)

Original Work

The cozy nature of New Year's Eve with loved ones.

Rating: N/A

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[maaarshieee]

⎯⎯ ୨ 𝐖𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 ୧ ⎯⎯

➢ Aʏᴀᴛᴏ Kᴀᴍɪsᴀᴛᴏ x Gɴ!Rᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➢ 1.1k ᴡᴏʀᴅs ┊ Fʟᴜғғ

➢ Mᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

a/n - finished my character analysis on ayato! i think after giving every character an analysis ill write something for them. who knows? anyways, titled "wrong note"! have a good day/night! part 2 of marshie's oneshot/drabble after his character analysis :) rather short and simple, not sure if I'm content with this but then again, i love domestic fluff

↬ reader plays the lyre

Ayato greatly appreciates your company whenever he has to sit in his personal office for long periods of time, writing away and completing his paperwork tediously.

It brings life to his barren office. Once a room that only reminded him of his daily duties now slowly forming into a beautiful, lively, and peaceful area where he can do his tasks with a mind full of ease. What changed? Some of his servants would ask amongst themselves. But the answer was quite obvious from the start.

It was you.

Ever so patient with him, you choose to sit somewhere in his office, usually by the window, and bask in the sunlight, or perhaps the moonlight, keeping him company and awaiting him to finish his work so the two of you can proceed whatever either one would love to do together. You'd be reading a book he recommended to you, or doodling away on a piece of paper.

He enjoys the sense of serenity the silence between the two of you brings despite his continuous and arduous tasks. The mere feeling of your familiar presence in his office brings clarity, and each stroke of his pen comes naturally from then on.

Ayato states that you're one of his greatest motivators when it comes to his duties, more often than not. Without you inside his office, it feels quite empty and rather cold, despite the room being so full of things that reminded him of you. Small decorative plants, some trinkets you've given him, and sometimes, things you've left in his office and forget to retrieve. It's simply not the same without you.

Archons, he's gotten himself so attached to you so quickly. He's not particularly against it although you are truly one of the reasons why he continues to fulfill his responsibilities with peak performance, you're also his greatest distraction.

He'd be simply writing when his eyes catch a glimpse of your figure, sitting comfortably and leaning back, book in hand. For a brief moment, Ayato would put down his pen and lace his fingers together, observing you. Admiring you. He'd notice the slight crease on your brows, perhaps some sort of conflict had occurred? Oh! Your lips curved up, eyes filled with mirth. He could only assume that you've reached the book's comedic parts.

Or when you'd draw or write, the way your bottom lip slightly protruded into a pout, an adorable habit he noticed when you're too focused on a task at hand.

Or when you fall asleep, his eyes trail down to your parted lips, watching your chest slowly rise and fall, chuckling quietly at the sound of your peaceful snores.

When it gets too cold, he opens a drawer dedicated to you, takes out a blanket he bought only for your use, and wraps it around you, keeping you warm then press a kiss on your forehead before he goes back to signing papers.

He found all of these quirks and habits cute, a part of you he simply adores and he can't bring himself to ignore it all when your presence overwhelms his sense of responsibility.

Ayato is quite grateful you enjoy sitting near the window. He's always graced by your magnificent beauty whenever the sunlight lays upon its red, orange, and yellow hues on your skin seemingly glowing under its brilliant light. Or when the somber light of the moon reaches your face, defining each curve and feature of your face. It was like a painting brought to life, so enticing, so mesmerizing. One of these days, he'd get himself a painting of you.

He gets his work done, worry not. Ayato doesn't want to tell you such things as well, for he fears that you'd cease staying with him when he's far too busy in his office. That's the last thing he wanted. Ayato just can't get enough of you.

Today was one of those days. Busy, piles of paper stacked left and right on his desk. The only difference though was the gentle tunes that played throughout his office. Melodious and soothing, your deft fingers meticulously plucked and strummed the strings with practiced melody. It made his skin tingle, the way you played the lyre.

Ah, he thought, So that's why the tips of their fingers felt calloused for the past few days, crossing his arms as he watched you with a smile on his face, enraptured by your performance. Of course, he noticed, he dared not to miss a single detail about you.

Ayato was greedy like that, wanting to know more of you, to love it all, to love your entire you.

Your sublime music reminds Ayato of the tranquil crash of waves against the many rocks on the shore, against the sand, followed by the strong gusts of wind that faintly taste of salt. How exhilarating, your music feels just like how he imagined it.

Just as Ayato was about to pick up his pen once more, opting to listen whilst he sign his papers, the once melodic harmony was broken by an out-of-place pluck, a wrong note. Ayato does care a little about mistakes, as long as he can bring himself back up.

But you don't share the sentiment, he could only assume.

"Fuck!" You curse out loud, then slammed your hand against the strings, though it had little force in it, not intending for it to break, only to let out your frustration. "Can never get that part right!" You grumble under your breath, playing the piece once more but at a faster pace.

To go back to where you left off, to play that part once more, but without mistakes. You played with your brows furrowed and a big frown on your face.

Ayato couldn't help it. He laughed loudly, hand covering his lips as his shoulders shook uncontrollably. It seems like you were in your own world, because you seemed startled, whipping your head towards him and flushing deeply. It wasn't rare for Ayato to laugh, especially when it comes to you.

But this was different. It was a wholehearted laugh, one that came from his chest with tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. Ayato learned another detail about you that day; how you deal with your music-related mistakes. It was hilarious to see you huff so angrily at an instrument as if it was at fault.

A simple detail, sure, but it's you. It makes him love you even more.

- ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛❛ If you like this a lot, consider reblogging! I'll appreciate it very very much! Don't repost and/or translate my work anywhere. ❜❜ ┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌

[starryserenade]

WIP: Fantasmic Fic

Notes: I'm literally only posting this now because of what happened the other night to poor, ol' Murphy...since I have nothing else to pay tribute to my potentially shattered dreams xD

I haven't worked on it since December of last year and it's not even a finished chapter, but I'm trying to play around with different concepts for a story themed after Fantasmic. There's so many little ideas I can't decide between, so this is definitely not going to turn into a full fic anytime soon. I've just been trying to plot one out for a good five years and can't find a concept that satisfies me entirely, so eventually I just started writing in the hopes it would make itself happen.

That said, quite a lot I don't like about the concepts I was working towards when I was working on this, so ya know. It might not go anywhere.

Anyway, read if ya like! Pass it over if you don't. That event was just...so in line with the sort of thing I've been playing with to launch the story (not Mal/Murphy catching fire lol, but some inexplicable, sudden thing causing the show to go VERY wrong), that I felt like I wanted to throw this out there.

Enjoy?

~~~~~~

Welcome to Fantasmic. Tonight your friend and host, Mickey Mouse, uses his vivid imagination to create magical imagery for all to enjoy.  In a moment, you can experience a beautiful fantasy or an exciting adventure.

But beware. Nothing is more power than the imagination, for it can also expand your greatest fears into an overwhelming nightmare…

~

The narration droned on into its final words as Mickey tugged nervously on the rim of his coat. Around him, the bustle of preparation filled the island like a swarm. A flutter of fabric then the curtsy of a passing princess, the salty scent of a pirate sweeping by, and a flurry of unintelligible frustration from a voice belonging to a certain temperamental feathered friend.  Then, out of the corner of his eye, a horned silhouette with a piercing green gaze.  He swallowed as Maleficent’s eyes narrowed, then breathed a sigh of relief when she closed them and sent a brisk nod his way.  The mouse smiled and nodded back, shaking off the anxiety with a flick of his tail, though it clung to him nonetheless.

A single note, the gentle ring of a bell, struck the air and, at least to Mickey, the world went silent.  With every moment that the chime continued to grow, his focus narrowed until nothing but a quiet, dark tunnel and an inexplicable fear remained in his mind’s eye. The question that had begun to haunt him night after night quietly crept in.

What if I’m not enough?

But a gentle hand touched his shoulder, pulling his thoughts from the shadows.  She was there for only a moment, but Minnie’s quiet whisper as she swept towards the ‘Twain to await her cue, pixie dust trailing from her dress, was all he needed.

“You are everything you need to be, and more.”

He closed his eyes and grinned softly as the bright chime of her laughter melted into the island’s growing ring.  Then, with a deep breath, he gathered the heat of enchantment to his fingertips.  The quiet sound expanded into a roar of cymbals and in the moment it reached its peak, Mickey let the magic overtake him entirely.

A flash of sparks burst forth from the stage, enveloping the mouse in pure light as he stepped into view.  The crowd erupted. Their hearts flared. Mickey saw, and laughed for pure relief. For to him,  the glow of a thousand hearts meant only one thing: they believed. 

He reveled in their awe as he bent the light and color to his whim, whisking forth a whitecapped wave and dyeing it a midnight blue.  Though his focus shifted from place to place, he kept the crowd constantly in the corner of his vision. With every motion, every flick of his wrist, a stream of magic sprung forth and their wonder grew all the greater. 

But it’s all too easy to become lost in approval, and to confuse attention and applause for true belief.  And Mickey, for all his best intentions, had become stranded in such thoughts.  They clapped. They cheered. So when a dark cloud slipped over the moon, concealing its light, he paid no mind to the flicker of darkness that sprouted along with it. This shadow grew. And silently, subtly, it took form until like a serpent it was slithering through the crowd.  

It tasted the air and swiveled sharply, eyes locked on a target buried somewhere within the jumble of shifting bodies, all oblivious to its presence. Shadows are often drawn to light, and this creature was no different.  The brightest hearts served as beacons in its eyes, and it was to one such heart -- a child’s, blazing with wonder and hope -- that it raced with unbridled vigor.  But its confidence was misplaced. For as it met with the light, fangs bared, it released a stunned hiss and shrunk back from the heat of the flame, yet too great to overcome. 

The serpent shook its head then sent out a flickering tongue to taste the air once more.  With far greater caution, it now set its sights on other hearts. Those whose light was bright enough to attract, but too cold to weather the chill of a venomous nightmare. And when this creature sank its fangs into the heels of its first victim, the poison sparked a new kind of fire.  Fiercer. Hotter. A wild blaze that leapt and flared with every shifting breeze.  But this flame gave off no light. Rather, in an inky, molten flow of darkness, it consumed it. 

The venom spread rapidly, tainting the light with shadow as it jumped from heart to heart.  Under its grip, doubt and disbelief took root in the crowd and the same glowing hearts which had fueled Mickey’s hope -- his magic -- were now fodder for a darkened wildfire beginning to ignite.  

Mickey, having conjured a twinkling likeness of himself in the mist just moments prior, had turned his back to the audience for only a moment in order to ascend the wooden staircase toward the higher level of stage.  He was altogether oblivious, and skipped up the steps with a playful confidence, tail trailing behind him in rhythmic time.

Maybe Minnie was right, he thought with renewed relief. Maybe I am enough.

He cast a wistful glance at his silhouette as he passed in front of the mill, and shuddered.  The shape of his sorcerer’s attire rested upon the shadow’s head, a looming reminder of all he had yet to achieve.

“I hafta be,” he whispered under his breath, then whirled around to face the crowd.  In that same moment, as he lifted his hands to release a flare of magic from his fingertips, his breath hitched in his throat and a chill ran down his spine.  The hearts of the audience, which only moments ago had been glittering and bright, were now faint and ever-fading. Mickey had no way of knowing, nor any reason to believe, there were other forces at play, and was altogether overcome by a crushing sense of doubt.

The famous flare of magic, which so many waited eagerly to see, never came.

The island went silent and the audience, impervious to their own fading light, did the same. Mickey cast a panicked look at his hands, then stumbled backwards. Try as he might, the magic would not come. It refused. And with every second he stood in silence, the glow across the water grew ever darker.

In the uncertain flicker of Mickey’s own heart, a shadowy pair of eyes found their next target. 

A cold rush of wind swept over the audience and with it a bitter murmur that rippled across the water and filled Mickey’s ears.

“We don’t believe.”

Whether the words were spoken, or simply conjured from the invading magic, was unclear. But Mickey heard them nonetheless, and it gave the dark creature exactly the foothold it needed.

He did not see the snake, nor feel its bite, but the venom pierced his heart like the sharpest thorn, and the fear within grew tenfold. A smoky haze of emotion clouded his mind and he lurched forward with a gasp as bitterness surrounded him like a deep fog. Then, through the mist, a quiet, haunting voice whispered in his ear.

‘You could make them believe…’

Mickey was not one who much liked the idea of making anyone do anything.  So when, for a brief moment, he actually humored this idea, it surprised him. But why should it? A small piece of his heart fought fiercely against the thought, but a growing part of him wanted to dive deeper. To explore the possibilities he’d once thought forbidden.

It was the ring of a familiar voice that tipped the scales, and gave the light in his heart the edge it desperately needed.

“Mickey!”

When he blinked, Minnie was there in front of him. In the shine of her voice, the fog receded.

“Mickey, are you all right?” she breathed in a way that made it clear she knew he wasn’t.

He couldn’t respond at first. Glancing past her, he tried to steal a look at the crowd -- to see if there was even a glimmer of light left in their hearts. He saw the people. What he could not see, no matter how hard he tried or how long he stared, was a hint of either light…or shadow. His eyes were blind to their hearts.

He felt empty.

“I can’t…I can’t see them.” He looked at Minnie who, with unspoken understanding, found his hands and squeezed them tight. “I can’t feel them,” he whispered in a voice that was almost a whimper. 

“Oh, Mickey…” 

A booming voice surprised them both.

“Your attention, please. Due to unforeseen circumstances, this performance of Fantasmic has been canceled.”

An enormous ‘boo’ erupted from the crowd across the water, and Mickey ripped himself away from Minnie’s grasp.

“No, no!” He motioned frantically to the tech booth stationed in the midst of the crowd. “Don’t stop it! I can fix this! I can-” 

“You will,” Minnie urged him abruptly, and grabbed his hand as she began to usher him off the stage. “But not now.”

“But…” Mickey cast another glance across the water, swallowing the shame that rose inside him.  He could no longer see their hearts, but he didn’t need to to see their frustration and disappointment. Beside him, Minnie shuddered just slightly. One look at her face, which had only minutes ago been glowing with a light fueled by faith and trust, and he knew that whatever this was, she could feel it too. Her eyes were now dull and tired, and the light surrounding her was nearly gone. 

Meekly, Mickey surrendered and followed her away. 

Behind the curtain that shielded the island from prying eyes, utter madness was breaking loose.  The princesses were gathered together, speaking in hushed, panicked whispers. Cinderella’s dress had dissolved into rags. Rapunzel’s locks were once again losing their golden sheen. Ariel could not find her voice at all. Virtually everyone else was crowded around the few stage managers that happened to be there, talking over each other to try to get any answers whatsoever. 

It was Donald who spotted Mickey first and, with little regard for subtlety, loudly squawked out his name. “MICKEY!”

All eyes turned, and Mickey wished he could sink into the ground to escape their stare as his friend came darting over.  If there was one thing Donald was known for, it wasn’t his impeccable articulation. Years of friendship had made him at least comprehensible, but the frenzy with which he launched his words at Mickey left the mouse as lost as ever.

“Donald! Wouldja slow down? I can’t understan-”

“Gawrsh, Mick…what happened?” Goofy interrupted, sauntering over with only a hint of concern…which was still significantly more than usual. “One minute everythin’s fine ‘n dandy, and the next, all the magic’s kaput!”

Donald huffed and glared at Goofy. “That’s what I was saying.”

Mickey opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again. Everyone -- princesses, pirates, and virtually every other member of the cast -- all stared silently, waiting with bated breath for his explanation. But he had none. He could not begin to explain what had happened, or what he had lost.

[rosanna-writer]

⏳😱🙌 for the emoji asks!

⏳If you could go back in time and tell your younger writer self something, what would it be?

Hmmmm...probably something like "your skills will catch up to all those big ideas you have, just give it time." I think there's this frustrating period you go through as a writer that can last a long time where you have really, really good, compelling ideas for premises but your skills aren't quite there to execute them. And it sucks because you have this awesome vision in your head but it takes time to develop the skills to identify what's not working in a draft so you can fix it and get it to live up to all the promise. I did NaNoWriMo for years and got stuck in this place of being able to finish first drafts but not understanding how to big-picture revise, and it was this grind of trial and error of trying to figure out what worked for me. I'm not, like, a writing god or anything, but I feel like I'm over this particular hurdle and it feels so much better.

😱What's your greatest fear as a fanfic writer?

Going viral, tbh. I feel like I have a nice thing going where I have enough readers that I don't feel like I'm chucking my fics into a void, but I'm also not attracting the attention of weirdos/people who'd harass me/people who don't have a sense of fandom etiquette. I'd really like things to stay that way!

🙌What's a line or paragraph of yours that you're proud of?

This one from a Rhys POV chapter of to make them love me and make them seem effortless! Something about the combo of Rhys realizing that Feyre sounds a bit like him when she's doing her Queen of Nightmares thing and the arrow metaphor just feels like PEAK Rhys POV Feysand

"Oh, Tamlin," Feyre croons, all soft condescension. Cauldron, she even sounds a bit like me. "You never wondered why that sound was so consistent, night after night? Not once?" She pauses, but the room stays silent. Tamlin can't even look at her. Then she continues, her voice sharper, firing the kill shot, "Every single one of those climaxes was faked. You might have had a chance at breaking the curse if you knew anything at all about pleasing a woman in bed."

[femboty2k]

Prologue and first chapter of a book I'm working on. Working title is "Taking Stars". 4720 words total, writing below the cut.

Prologue: A task 

Oh the bitter cold. That thin glass knife that sliced through the silence of the cave with naught but echoing drips of moisture falling from the stalactite above to accompany. Winter's grasp chilled the very mountain to its core, none were spared. It was this that made even the soft flickering glow of the torch obsolete in staving off the icy pins that ravaged the occupant's bones. However, only one shivered as the living do to prove our lust for warmth. The other sat on the cold stone tracing strange sigils in the fallen snow that drifted in from the cave's mouth. It had been several minutes since either of them had spoken, but much was said with mere glances.

"You were wise to answer my call, young sorceress… I am in great need of your assistance…" His words are at the edges of her mind. No breath left the shaggy hood that covered his visage. No sign of life save for the finger he dragged along the wet stone beneath his crumpled body. Words would not form from her. They froze in her mind as the winds howled stronger from outside.

"You have been casted out… I can see it in your eyes… Lost and alone… We are much the same, you and I…" The torch's flame dropped low, now only casting a dull blue light on what was immediately in front of her. Again she tried to speak. To say something to her host. But something was wrong. As if standing in the presence of something not quite human, she felt cornered. Like an animal had trapped her in its den.

"You have nothing to fear, young one… I have only words to impart… Only a request… Would you sit and hear me..?" Her agency, while her own, fell short of her will. She wanted to leave. She wanted to run. Continue the path she had carved out through winter's snowy hues and find a place far away from here. Her senses told her she was in danger but she knew not what danger was beheld. Perhaps unwillingly, she sat.

"Thank you… Truly… My request is for but a simple errand, if not a time consuming one… High atop the northern peaks, where the moon hangs forever in the sky and night looms unending, there is an observatory… Once staffed by the greatest minds in all of sorcery it has been long abandoned after the endless night washed over those lands… It is the Astral Observatory… You must go to this most hallowed of places…"

Outside the winds began to scream. Even nature itself begged her to leave, to heed her instincts. But still she listened. "You must go to the Astral Observatory and pluck the stars from the sky for me… I do not require many… A small sum will do… Bring them back to me and I will reward you in any way you see fit… Do this and both of us will finally… Belong…"

Chapter one: Wisdom from a stone

Sunrise. The dream had tortured her sleeping mind for nights on end, though the conversation with the strange hermit had long since passed. She had made camp near some fallen trees, the massive logs made good shelter from the seemingly endless rains of the colder seasons. 

It wasn't quite cold enough for the snows of the northern regions to fall here, but plenty cold enough for her to cling to the thick hide blanket she had wrapped around herself for the night. A fire was pleasant company, and a meal would assist her in rousing her still drowsy mind.

"I'm so sick of dried venison…" Words spoken to no one as she choked down a hunk of hard salty provision. Luckily dried tea kept just as well in her pack, and thanks to the rains she had plenty of water to boil over the crackling flames. The earthy aroma filled her thoughts with memories of the humble quarters she had been given back within the mighty walls of the academy. Not a day went by where she didn't think of the time she had spent at Brygenswerth. It had been the closest thing she knew to a home.

Her journey had taken her far from the courtyards and gardens she had known in her previous work. When she was cast out she had taken to the road, carrying what little she owned on her back. From the western cliffs she had trudged aimlessly through the highlands. At first she had tried to remain optimistic about her expulsion from the position of groundskeeper as well as her banishment from the grounds themselves. She had gotten to see many of the small villages that dotted the rolling greens and mighty black cliffs that made up her homeland. It wasn't until she began to question where exactly she was going that dread set in.

Lost, purposeless, alone. She had been banned from approaching any of the remaining bastions of sorcery academics. And with the lands in the state they were in, so untamed and wild were they after the resettling, it was difficult to find a village that was willing to let an outsider familiar with magicks stay amongst their populace. "Some quest this has been…" 

Her travels lead her deeper into the eastern forests and eventually to the rocky crags of the southeastern reaches. She had perhaps planned on taking what money she had to offer and buying herself passage on a ship to one of the further lands. Maybe if she had done that she would be leading a much simpler life now. Fate had decided otherwise. For it was in those mountains, now draped with the soft white sheets of winter and choked by the howling sea winds that blew in from the coast she had met the hermit. 

Strange and enigmatic in his mannerisms, though elderly and quite unassuming in appearance, he had offered her a place to stay for the night as well as directions to the port. That night he made the proposition that now sat heavy on her subconscious. Why had she agreed? Was it perhaps the call of purpose that drove her onwards each day? Whatever the cause, her patience was wearing thin with the task. 

The eastern forests were not a friendly place. Each day she spent getting lost in their trunks and underbrush was another she felt as if it would swallow her whole if she made a wrong step. "Blasted woods… I should've tried to buy a map somewhere before just setting out like this…" Repacking her campsite she prepared for another day of walking, when the sound of snapping twigs caught her attention from behind. She slid into cover as quietly as possible, pressing her back to one of the gargantuan logs that lay on the forest floor. 

Peeking around the mossy exterior, she could see no aggressor. Though she did see the telltale signs of something stalking prey. 

"Tracks… Large, clawed, not good…" Her eyes fell on a set of fresh claw marks dug into the bark of a tree nearby the tracks. "It climbed…" She looked cautiously through the branches above her. Windswept leaves and dangling moss tricked her eyes. Her hand drifted down to the ground and readied her casting stave, the catalyst in its head glowing faintly as she prepared herself. She held her breath for a moment, trying to create more silence. Much to her despair, the sound of breathing did not cease. 

A mighty set of jaws gnashed out from the underbrush in front of her. Teeth and claws in a flurry of swipes tried to rend her flesh as she fell backwards to the ground. Her stave clattered across the forest floor, the surprise had disarmed her. The beast reared up from an unsuccessful strike. Matted fur thick with moss and the scars of past hunts shook like trees blown in a storm as it crashed down in an attempt to pin her. Rolling to the left she reached for something she could swing, something solid to drive into the creature's head. Monstrous growls escaped its throat, its mouth filled with unmatching teeth and foul breath seemed destined for her side with the next bite. 

Her hand tightened around a fallen branch. Swinging with all the might she could summon, it collided with the monster's jaw with a satisfying "CRUNCH". She saw teeth fall to the ground as it bellowed in pain. Precious seconds had been bought. Frantically she dove for the stave with all the fearful vigor of a mouse cornered by a house cat. At last, the familiar hum of magick coursed through her arms. Knuckles white and heart pounding she rolled onto her back and screamed to invoke some horrible destructive power from the aether.

 The catalyst lit up a piercing azure, sending a wave of force tearing through beast and trees alike. Viscous black fluid sloshed onto her legs, painting her outline on the forest floor with viscera. Gurgling and choking the beast fell to the ground having had a sizable chunk of its body vaporized by the raw fury she had unleashed. Acrid smoke floated up from the catalyst's heated prism. She had won, at the cost of now feeling drained of most of her energy. Such dangerous tactics only came into play in desperate attempts at self preservation. Luckily, this time, they had worked.

Standing was a labored task. Her clothes and much of her exposed skin was now ripe with the murky blood of her attacker, and in the cold air it began to harden and cake to the thick furs of her outerwear. Even with the rain washing some of it away it wouldn't do her much good to travel in this state. She needed to recover and clean herself, as well as her garments. A well known landmark of the eastern wood was the so-called "Troll's Cauldron". 

A large hot spring that sat near the center of the territory on its most elevated point. If she had been keeping track of where she was correctly, it shouldn't be very far away.

Gathering what was left of her camp she raised the stave to the sky while chanting a soft incantation under her breath. With what little more she could muster she sent small sparks of glowing dust into the wind. They danced hither and thither, awaiting instruction. In her mind she pictured the spring. She had seen it in a book on the region's geography all that time ago at Brygenswerth. Concentrating, she aimed a finger at the dust motes and spoke a command. "Find the warm waters… Find the steam…" 

They did as they were told. After the command was spoken they began to float lazily to the east of her current location. Clutching the stave tightly in her grasp she used it as a crutch. Truly she had overexerted herself. It wasn't wise to conjure up such potent magicks so quickly, though she felt her life was well worth the risk. The forest's peaceful atmosphere did much to make her feel recharged on the slow amble towards what would hopefully be her next bath. 

The soft rains soaked the ground underfoot as small creatures more accustomed to the wet seasons skittered out of her path. Slick looking newts slid under large stones while stalwart looking toads lept from fallen logs into warmer mossy crevasses. Alert but somewhat calmed, she trudged onward. Occasionally the motes would sway off to the side prompting her to turn and disturb yet some other strange flora and fauna that called these reaches home. Had she not been fearing for her life still, it would have been an invigorating walk through undiscovered nature. After much meandering through brush and shrub, she could hear running waters off in the distance.

It began as a gentle roar from beyond the trees. The closer she was the more it grew until finally she could see the crater-like walls of the spring's basin. From up the rocky hill flowed several small fountains that drained into the steaming pit below, and in the frigid air the humid steam felt too inviting to ignore. She set her pack down on the brim of the near perfectly circular spring and wasted no time stripping herself of the disgusting clothing. It was somewhat torturous, but she opted to wash her clothes first in one of the smaller runoff streams that flowed down into the surrounding woods. She also took time to build a small fire to ensure they would dry properly in the rain. 

At last she plunged herself into the mineral rich waters. The heat permeated down to her bones as she lay there to take in the rare moment of respite from her travels. It was doubtful that any predators would follow her here. Save for the treeline which sat some distance away there wasn't much cover for which to stalk from, nor was it common for natural beasts to walk the woods this time of year. Letting her shoulders fall she slipped into a deep relaxation. Able to fully admire the scene that nestled itself so serenely around her. 

The early winter winds swayed the tree branches in such a way that it looked as if they were huddling together for warmth. Winter birds called out from within their dull green canopies creating a symphony of light trills and deep coos. She watched the steam dance from her limbs into the winter air while she washed herself. It had been some time since she was last able to bathe. There weren’t many inns or even villages out this far from the safer paths that ran along the forest’s border. Warmth seemed so precious to her now. 

Scrubbing grime and dried beast blood from her skin, she studied her body as if analyzing some foreign entity. Tracing a finger up her arm to the softer flesh of her shoulder and chest.  The labor she endured out here made her think about her time back within the walls of the academy. She wasn’t much suited for schooling, or so she had been told. Though she had a good head on her shoulders, grasping the finer points of magick channeling and spellcraft had eluded her. Her body told of her previous occupation well. Suited for work, tall, large and wide. Years of groundskeeping had toned the muscularity of her arms to an impressive degree, something she much more enjoyed being hidden under the formlessness of her thick winter coat and furs. 

Once clean she again laid back against the short natural wall of the spring. It felt like she could watch the rolling clouds above for an eternity. Bruises from carrying her pack for days on end felt as if they were lifted from her skin, and the frigid rain falling on her face did little to bother her as it was warmed by the ambient heat of the spring. It felt so strange to be so exhausted after waking up only a short while ago. “Never channel without proper intent…” She whispered the first rule of the sorcerer’s creed. “To channel wild forces is to become a conduit for chaos…” The words escaped in a cloud of vapor. What did they really mean to her? One not of proper ordainment to brandish the title of “sorcerer”. It had certainly saved her life, despite the negative effects. The thoughts chased each other around her mind like playful dogs while the winter’s soft song gently lulled her into a restful sleep within the rejuvenating waters. When she awoke, she was relieved to see that not too much time had passed. Only an hour or two judged by what little of the sun she could see through the clouds. Her body felt well rested, her mind as clear as the spring itself. Continuing her journey would certainly feel much better now. Reaching for her cloak, something disturbed her calm awakening. An enormous shape that had seemingly moved next to her in the time she'd spent napping. A titanic set of shoulders connected to trunk-like arms sat still in the water, and between them a long neck craned upwards to let the rain trickle down from a shaggy bearded chin. 

A troll. Mythic creatures. Older than the land itself, some said. Legends would tell of them turning to stone during the day. However, the dusky grey flesh and windswept hair of the one next to her told her it was very much awake. Slowly, in an attempt not to disturb the water and give herself away, she reached for the cloak and stave. If she could just gather her things and escape back to the treeline, she could dress herself and be on her way without another confrontation. Her fingers touched the rough spun wool of the cloak just barely managing a grip before suddenly, the garment was lifted from behind her by a massive hand and placed gingerly next to where she sat. “Awake are ye? Best get out and bundle up. Storms picking up now, wouldn’t want to catch cold.” A voice groaned like smooth ale being poured from a barrel. 

Shakily she turned her gaze upward to see the troll now facing forward, attempting to avert its gaze from her as it nudged the cloak closer. “Disrespectful to look upon someone while they’re indecent. Take yer’ time, dress yer’self.” Fear soon faded some and mixed into disbelief as she realized they had been speaking to her. Had they come to enjoy the spring as well? Clearly if they intended on doing her harm there had been ample time to do so while she slept. 

“You’re… You’re speaking to me?” Her voice quivered sheepishly both from the cold and her unease. “Not many others here. Besides ye and the trees. 

But they’re not much for conversation, good listeners though.” The troll chuckled at their own joke. A bassey rumble that rippled the water and shook their throat. “You’re not going to harm me?” The query came as she quickly darted from the water to her belongings, drying and hastily stuffing herself back into the thick fur-lined set. “Ah, no. I don’t think so anyway. Ye haven’t given me much reason to consider it. Fancy mage-types like yer’self usually have a better mind for knowing when ye’re outmatched. Figured I’d just give ye your space and let ye sleep.” Stave in hand, she approached cautiously. “I didn’t know trolls could speak… Truly I didn’t know trolls existed at all. For all the strange things in the world they-... Rather, you always seemed so… Whimsical.” 

The troll’s massive head swung on its neck, finally their eyes met and she could see the deep blue that told of unwritten centuries of life. “Must admit I’ve never been called anything so positive by yer’ kind… I thank ye, sorcerer.” The fire she had set when she first arrived still crackled despite her not tending to it. Had they set more wood while she was asleep? “Did you tend the fire?” “Aye. Gave a nice glow to the spring. Not like troll fire, all blue and devoid’a warmth. Only serves good as light.” Hesitantly, she sat on a large stone nearby, stave clutched tight in her grasp. “All the legends say you turn to stone during the day, how are you able to be awake? Were they wrong…?” Another bubbling laugh escaped from the titan, this time displaying the gnarled stone-like teeth that lined the inner section of their jaw. “No that be true, aye. I spend most of my time during the hours of sun a stone out there in the wood. It's these stormy months that come’a real blessing. All those clouds blot out the sun well enough for me to stroll whenever I please. My favourite time’a year, it is.” Their expression furrowed into one of confusion as they looked over her once again. “Don’t see many’a yer types out here though. What brings a scholar all the way out to the untamed wilds of the old wood?” 

Somewhat more at ease from the idle conversation, she mulled the question over in her head. “I’m no sorceress, just a wanderer. I’ve been given a task and it leads me through these woods. I’m to go to the northern peaks.” The troll’s heavy eyebrows lifted with an impressed nod. “That be a long way from here, not sorcerer. What task has set ye on such a long journey?” She was unsure if she was comfortable with sharing the true nature of her task. She herself wasn’t certain of what exactly the hermit had sent her to do. Only that “plucking stars from the sky” was too cryptic and enigmatic a thing to say to someone she had just met. “I don’t know, truly. For a long time I wandered without a purpose and… And I feel that this has given me one again. Even if I don’t understand it.” A heavy sigh sent steam rolling across the water’s surface away from the troll. “Ah the search for purpose… Yer kind much like that pursuit. Myself, I prefer the life of the wanderer. I collect stories, I see the world around me. 

Not constrained by tasks or obligations… Perhaps that is my purpose. To wander.” The old troll seemed lost in their own words as they spoke. Something profound was indeed imparted on her in the pondering of their own purpose. It dredged up more memories of Brygenswerth and the time she spent feeling as if she belonged. As if the work and study was her purpose. 

“I don’t know my purpose… I thought I did once. Have you heard of Brygenswerth?” A bird called from overhead as the troll searched their memory. “Yes, yes the walled academy to the west. ‘Pride of the highland sorcerers’. I remember it.” 

She smiled, long had it been since she heard the full title spoken. “I used to attend there. I was a groundskeeper. I also studied magicks on my own with the help of a kind professor.” At this the troll smiled in amusement. "How fun. A sorcerer without classes or experiments. Haven't heard of anyone doing that before." She chuckled. At the beginning of the conversation she had only responded to gauge whether or not she was in danger. As it continued though, it felt as comfortable as those long nights she spent conversing with the professor about magick theories and channeling technique. The voice of someone intelligent and traveled spoke proudly from the troll. "Oh I wasn't without experiments…" she shuffled her hands into her sleeves, pressing them to her face in fond remembrance. "I would sneak out of the walls sometimes. Down the cliffs to a cove I knew. I would practice my channeling there. It's also where I found the wood to make my stave… That was the last thing I learned before I was banished from the grounds..." 

Shifting their hulking weight, they stood from the waters and walked to a fallen tree nearby where they had laid a large fur shawl. "Humph, blasted cold. Ye'd think being made of stone would save you from the dreaded chill." With a loud thud they sat on the ground. "Ye spoke kindly of yer' mentor. Were ye close?" The memories stung too much. Shifting through those ashes would be for another time. Perhaps once she was alone again, but not now. "I….Do not care to remember at this time…" Her eyes looked longingly over the steam that rose from the spring, unraveling like the stalks of plants reaching up toward the sky. "I am sorry… To avoid your questions… You are a fine being. And I have enjoyed our talk thoroughly. I am afraid I must go, however…" Standing, she swung the heavy pack over her shoulders once more. The familiar weight was almost comforting, like she was making progress again. A thought crossed her mind before she began making her way back toward the treeline. "Can I offer you something to eat? It won't be much for someone of your… Stature… But I have plenty of dried venison. I wish to repay you for your hospitality."

She dug a hand into one of the side pouches of the pack and produced a hunk of dried meat. The troll, who was now puffing on a crude pipe made from a tree branch and filled with a sour smelling herb, smiled and took the meat gingerly from her. "I thank ye, wanderer. May you find strength to face your past on your journey to the future. I wish ye well." Unable to find words as poetic as the troll had, she nodded, offering one more smile before turning her back to the spring and walking back off into the woods. 

Once she had walked  what felt like a good distance from the spring, she whispered the troll's parting words to herself. "May you find strength to face your past on your journey to the future…" A fine piece of wisdom, though it's meaning somewhat waned in her mind. She was still uncertain if there even was a future on the path she walked. Had she really set off from the hermit's cave with the intent of completing his task? Or did she simply accept it as an excuse to walk to yet another corner of the world. Why would she face the treachery of the journey if not to complete the quest? Her aimlessness was seeded deep within the confines of her thoughts. Her legs moved independently of her brain's commands to simply sit against a tree and wait to join the rot that spilled its sickly sweet aroma into the air around her. Where she was going she could not return from if she continued to let the fog in her head cloud her judgment. There would be far greater threats than unknown beasts outside the woods the further north she pushed. 

Daylight sun dwindled to moonglow and flashes of lightning illuminating the thick ceiling of shivering leaves above. Hours of silence had passed since she left the troll's cauldron, and the rejuvenation she felt had finally begun to wear thin. Using the glow from her stave she searched her surroundings for a good place to sleep for the night. As luck would have it, an alcove stretched a short way into a cliff that stood tall nearby. Wasting little time in the darkness she darted into the cramped space, attempting to create a makeshift pillow from her pack to rest on. Sleep came easy, but became unwelcome when the snapping of twigs once again pierced the steady sound of rainfall. Her travels had made her a light sleeper, and she immediately rolled from her sleeping position to where her stave was laid. The azure glow revealed nothing from the mouth of the alcove, and she pressed forward slightly to try and extend her range of vision. Movement caught her eye. Something sprinted from behind a fallen log. Before she could loose a bolt of searing energy at the blur, another grabbed her attention from the opposite side. She was cornered. Outnumbered, but not outwitted just yet. Plunging the stave's catalyst into the earth she created a short wall of flickering blue flames in front of the alcove. A moment's respite, though the movement outside continued.

"Show yourselves!" The flames grew higher with aggression. Fighting to maintain focus she shouted out again, "Show yourselves!" This was of course assuming her assailants could understand the demand, but she'd gambled before. Finally a reply came in the form of a sling bullet smashing into the far wall of the alcove, right beside her head. Ducking lower and raising the flames carefully, she attempted to crawl a ways to the left. Unfortunately, her actions came too late. A whipping sound prefaced another stone sailing through the flames and colliding with her skull. The sudden impact knocked her to her side, loosening the grip on her stave. The flames died down giving way to the sounds of her attackers approaching. The last sights she managed to gleam from the dark was a lanky figure and the painful darkness of a boot stomping the consciousness out of her.

[dudewhosfondwithunhappiness]

Anxiety

I’m back. Turns out I wasn’t THAT bored. Honestly, I thought I would have more entries by now, not counting the emo shit that preceded this post. But I guess my laziness is just off the charts, maybe not on MY charts. Quick update, I am now on my last semester (hopefully), struggling with my thesis and trying to find a place to start my career. I joined another 2 organizations, one was useless, one helped me find opportunities, dead weight on both. Kidding. I contributed some things, which is my trademark, giving my bare minimum to say I have done something. I have 9 units remaining in my undergrad, running for Cum Laude, or running from, I’m not sure at this point. My whole family got the virus last year. I stopped playing DOTA again, then I started again, then I stopped for now, would start again soon for sure. I have also decided to pursue a software engineering/developer path. As a matter of fact, I got my first job offer and would likely be taking this one. 

ANYWAY, back to the main topic, anxiety. Honestly, I just laid down the previous paragraph to paint a picture of my anxiety right now, just so future me could read this and compare. I feel like vomiting, which was a sign of temporal arthritis but I’ve moved on from that. My heart is constantly racing and preparing for something that might surprise and disappoint me. This feeling was something that I’ve experienced time and time and again before the pandemic but it always disappears. Now, it’s just one after another. I think this constant feeling of uneasiness is how my body is when it is in neutral.  My breathing is just a series of deep ones, as if it is trying to drown whatever is inside my chest. 

I don’t know if it’s about my thesis that is not going so well, not sure if we would be able to finish it. The job offer that I already accepted and I’m now having second thoughts about whether or not I am rushing into things. Mom asked me if I’m rushing and I honestly did not know how to answer. Something like buyer’s remorse, in this case I’m the buyer and the expensive purchase is the trajectory of my chosen career path. I just hope I don’t burn out. I also concluded from this that my greatest weakness is that my fear of failure is so severe that I realized that I have been using that to be mediocre for as long as I can remember, not a good combination with someone who is really cocky. This realization deserves a separate post so I’ll stop there.

But what really pushed me into making another entry here again is that for some reason, it decided to peak now. I wasn’t able to breathe properly, I felt so alone. Honestly, I’ve been feeling like that for quite some time now. I don’t feel lonely but I do feel alone. I have my girlfriend, and she’s great but I sometimes feel like I’m being taken for granted. I feel like I have no one. Though maybe it is on me since I find it hard to open up, maybe I’m just hoping that she gets some initiative, you know? She reaches out but sometime I think it is insufficient. She asks what’s wrong with me and that’s it. Sometimes when I try to open up and talk, she ends up talking about something about her experience, but I think that’s empathy. But I also think that’s just me sabotaging myself by not meeting halfway. Maybe that’s why I feel alone. But I do love her and I think she’s the greatest girl in the world so that’s why I should probably face my problems or thoughts alone. 

That’s just about it with my venting. I apologize for not writing this in a funnier tone, just wasn’t capable of that at the moment. Though future me would definitely find this at least cringe enough to be funny, so hey, that’s got to count for something. 

One major oversight, presidential elections will happen 4 days from now, a pretty significant piece of Philippine history right there. Literally good against evil. Another huge chunk of my anxiety can be accounted to that. Fuck the Dutertes. Fuck the Marcoses. Fuck everything they stand for. Honestly, why am I worrying about my future so much cause when these guys win, might as well not have a future anymore. But hey, I promise that if Leni wins, I’m heading straight back here to make another update and I promise that I’ll make it funny.

And that is all for me right now. 

[hunterxhell]

Togashi entered the trend in Japan on Twitter because of Miura-sensei’s passing. I’m uncomfortable but at least I’m now seeing people talk about how messed up calling him lazy is.

The moment I saw that Miura passed I knew there would inevitably be discussion about Togashi, either people filled with despair that the same could happen to him or assholes "joking" that "he's next". I hope, more than the assholes out there, people are doing as you say and pointing out how disgusting it is to call him lazy.

Miura's cause of death, aortic heart dissection, can apparently be caused by high blood pressure. Miura has written extensively throughout his career just how unhealthy his working conditions were.

Hopefully you can open that image in a new tab to read it clearly? It's a list of comments over the years about how much work he was doing to the detriment of his health.

"I've come down with a high fever of 40 degrees celsius. Thinking about it, I've only had two days off this year." (1993, No. 12)

"I had a day off for the first time in a month and a half, and when I went out, I got heatstroke!" (1995, No. 17)

"I collapsed again from overwork. I missed Gwynn's Hundred Great Books. Ugh!" (2005, No. 9)

Togashi wrote in a self-published YYH doujin his fears of dying from overwork and how he decided he doesn't want to die this way.

"From when YYH began serialization up until the start of the Dark Tournament, I had half a day off every week in which I caught up on sleep. Other than that all I had time for were occasional naps, and I'd indulge in my hobbies by sleeping less. For a while, I quite enjoyed this. But my HP (as they say in RPGs) was gradually but surely falling, and around the time that I wrote a 31-page one-shot and simultaneously had to do color pages, my heart began to hurt every time I went without sleep -- and then it began to hurt more and more often.

"This was when I seriously started to think about the pace of production for manga. I thought, "I probably won't be able to keep regular hours, but if I sleep as much as I want to, when I want to, how much would I be able to produce?" I tried it out. I immediately began to fall behind on my schedule. But I tried to get some sleep every night. Around this time, my feelings about writing manga as a profession began to change. "I don't want to die from overwork. If I die, I want it to be when I'm having fun or when I'm drawing manga for fun. Color pages are scary. One-shots are scary." I also began to use some time before going to bed to relieve stress. I fell even more behind, and at the point where Sensui and Yusuke were fighting, this reached its first peak."

Before HXH even started serialization, Togashi had already identified how problematic a typical manga author schedule was for his health. I believe this is part of the reason why Togashi fully owns the rights to HXH and not Shueisha -- he no doubt fought Shueisha/Jump for this stipulation. This is why Togashi can do what he wants -- if Jump is shitty to him, he can just take HXH with him to a different publisher.

So what I hope this means is that Togashi has been taking care of himself ever since YYH ended back in 1994. What happened to Miura is his greatest fear and I admit that I also thought of Togashi when I read the news.

For what it's worth, I thought of an interview with Togashi from 2018. Here is a snippet (full interview translation here) where Togashi talks about his intentions to finish HXH:

"Still, that aside, I need to finish writing Hunter X Hunter. It has come to a point where either the story concludes first, or I die before that happens (lol). But I do intend to finish it. Although you can say that at one point in the story -- where Gon meets Ging -- I have completed the story once. I believe that some readers must have thought 'Wasn't that supposed to be the endgame?' and I did write it to seem that way. Still, I did not intend to cut off the flow of the story there, and I hope my readers could see that there was still room for continuation. As a reader of Jump myself, I also remember having thought 'Shouldn't this manga have just ended here?' and feeling pissed when it went on and on. I want to always be in touch with that feeling as a reader. But Hunter X Hunter as it is now has a lot in it that makes me want to keep on reading, even from my own perspective as a reader. And from my perspective as a writer, there are still many things in it left that I want to write, that I would enjoy writing. And so if anyone would be willing to enjoy this ride with me, that is all I can hope for."

Togashi is passionate about HXH and he intends to finish it, god willing that his health allow. People who say that he's "lazy" or "gave up on HXH" are assholes. I get it -- these people are upset and hurt because they miss HXH. I miss HXH as much (probably even more) than those guys, but let the man live his fucking life. Jesus.

[the-dendrophile-bookdragon]

Toxic

A/N: @jolovesfandoms Thank you for being so patient. I had a little writer block and uni. Hope you enjoy it!

Request: I was thinking of maybe Taron discovers the reader is in an abusive relationship and he does whatever he can to help her get out

Warnings: Toxic friendship, abusive relationship, angst

Pairing: Taron Egerton x gn!reader

Crying became your constant night activity. You felt isolated and at the same time so conflicted between two groups of friends. Or more like between your group of friends and one friend alone. She changed after her exchange year. Everyone told you or tried to but you didn’t believe it. Until it was nearly too late.

“And please, Taron isn’t even the greatest friend you have. When was the last time he initiated a get together?” She rolled her eyes and took a sip from her water. You looked down on the table. He actually asked you to meet him on Saturday because he was still so jetlagged that he couldn’t keep his eyes open. But you didn’t want to tell your best friend of fear she would get mad at you. Your anxiety reached its peak again and you started to pick at the skin next to your nails.

She talked about her boyfriend and how great he was. What his hobbies were and what he hunted on weekends. Next were her plans to fly over to Chicago and spent Christmas and New Year Eve with him. You were getting bored but you didn’t stop her, you didn’t want to be a bad friend and anger her. You told her little about your week. Most times you did something with your other friends which she commented with mean remarks. So you shut up quicky and let her do the talking.

After two hours of her talking and you nodding you told her you had to do something for work. You had enough of her and wanted home, curl on yourself into a burrito blanket, watch a sitcom and eat the Ben & Jerry’s you had in your freezer. You were so happy when you got home that you nearly wanted to scream.

You put on some comfy clothes. When you looked at the mirror you remembered a comment from your friend, “You know, if a man would be interested in you but would see you like that.” She looked at you sceptically. She came over unannounced on a day you worked at home. You were more focused on your work than on your appearance. She sat down at your table and looked you up and down, “No wonder you are still single.” You took a deep breath and sat down before your computer. “I still have to work. So please tune it down a bit and let me finish it. Then we can do whatever you want.”

She nodded in understanding, or so you thought, and went on Instagram. Ten minutes later you heard the infamous jingle of skype. Your friend picked up and enthusiastically screeched into the phone, “BABY!”

You took a deep breath and picked up your headphones from besides you on put them over your ears. You were in a smooth writing flow when she stood up to walk next to you and ripped your headphones off. She demanded that you greet her boyfriend and exchange some pleasantries.

You rolled your eyes at the memory and walked to your fridge to get the cup of ice. Next stop was your living room where you fell onto your couch and picked up your remote. You logged on to Netflix and turned on ‘Super Store’. Right now you needed something to wind down and laugh off your worries. Where was your Jonah?

Right on que Taron called. You stopped the show and picked up your phone, “What’s up, Koala Bear? Thought you were jetlagged.” You heard him chuckle on the other end. “Well I still am but I also want to see my favourite person. How does a brunch tomorrow sound?” You smiled, “Well I would love to. But I have a very important date with my bed.” He laughed and you giggled with him. “Damn! Not even when I pay and then we go for a walk.” You turned on your back and looked up to the sealing, “Tempting.” Taron sighted. “Can pitch in a movie night at mine.” You hummed, still not giving in to his pleading. “I’ll even make dinner and lava cake.” You grinned, “Sold!” Taron rolled his eyes. You heard him take a deep breath, “You know, after we go for that walk you promised me we can go grocery shopping. How does it sound?” Taron smiled and nodded to himself, “Sound like a plan. I see you tomorrow, little Panda.” You smiled giddily, “See you, Koala.”

The next day you met Taron at the little cafe in a side street. You stumbled upon it during your aimless wandering around in London. Most of your meeting places were found that way. You were a little early so you went to your usual spot and waited for a bit. The wait wasn’t long and ten minutes after you sat down Taron came around the corner. “I’m so sorry. Traffic was a nightmare.” You smiled softly at him and gestured at the chair opposite you, “Don’t worry, I didn’t wait so long. And you know I’m a patient person.”

After both of you ordered your usual you picked up your conversation. What books both of you were reading. A little bit about the movie Taron was staring at, “You will love it. It’s about Robin Hood.” Your smile got bigger, “Stop right there. No major spoilers.” At the last part you saluted both and murmured quietly ‘Major Spoiler’. You both had to snicker at your inside joke. People looked your way but you didn’t care.

After a while the topic of your other friend came up. You told the man sitting opposite you what she talked and did. How annoyed but at the same time anxious you were. Taron nodded in agreement or raised his eyebrows when you told him what she had to say about him. “Maybe you should stop meeting with her. She is not good for you. You struggled so long with yourself and she is ruining your progress. She doesn’t deserve your kindness.”

As if she heard your conversation your best friend called. You looked up at Taron and he gestured that it was okay to pick up. Immediately you regrated it, “Where are you?” You rolled your eyes, “Hello to you too. I’m at brunch with Taron. What it is that you need?” She huffed in annoyance, “You were supposed to pick me up and drive me to the airport. Now I have to get a taxi.” You balled your hand to a fist and pressed it together so your knuckles turned white. Taron saw this and took it in his. With his thump he gently caressed the back of your hand.

“You never told me to do it. You only told me when you would fly over.” She sighted again, as if she was the one who should be annoyed by the situation, “I fought you will pick me up after I told you in detail when I have to be to the airport and everything.” You shook your head and rolled your eyes.

Taron gestured for you to give him your phone and you gave it to him with a little hesitation. He put your phone to his ear and cheerily started the conversation. “Hey, here is Taron. They can’t pick you up right now you have to take a taxi.” He put his elbow on the table and leaned his cheek against the knuckles of his free hand. “Well no she can’t because she had a class of bubbly vine. And if you would have a drivers licence you would know that it isn’t allowed to drive when you have consumed alcohol. So please call a cap it will be faster than trying to get them to come.”

After that Taron hung up on her mid-sentence and turned off your phone completely. Your eyes were wide as saucers and your mouth hung a little open. Taron just shrugged. He took a sip from his coffee and raised his eyebrows wickedly. “Something the matter?” You shook your head, still a little dazed. “Well, guess who called my agent and wants me to play them? Guess!”

A week later

Nearly a week without any trace of her in your notifications. You had enough of her treatment and called her. She picked up. You regrated ever calling her.

After skyping with your supposed ‘best friend’ you called Taron. He immediately picked up. “Hey, everything fine.” You whimpered into the phone and Taron understood. “I’m coming over. Indian sounds good?” You nodded and sniffed, “Get Samosas and a Mango Lassie.” He chuckled, “As if I would forget these two things.”

Half an hour later he stood at your door with exotic spices wafting into your nose. You let him in. Taron put down the bag of food and enveloped you into a warm bear hug. “You know that she doesn’t deserve you?” You shook your head. “But you should. You are too good and too pure for a human being like her to ruin you. Stop meeting her demands. Your mental health went down the day her and you met for the first time again. She is abusive and manipulative. I think you don’t realise it but since she came back from the exchange year she tried to separate you from me and the rest of our friends.”

You glanced up into his grey orbs. He saw the shock and panic clear in your eyes. “Don’t worry. I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at her. She nearly took away my sunshine and made them into a cloudy day.” You smiled a little. “I broke off our friendship. I called her earlier and asked her why she isn’t answering me when I write her. Then she asked me if we are still friends. Because for her we aren’t anymore. She reasoned that I never texted her back or called her and that she does all the work in this relationship. So I told her that I had a lot of work and I would have called her when I had time. Then she accused me of being a bad friend for not saying something. And when I told her that I had no time she said she didn’t either but she made space and I should do the same for her. When I told her I did that nearly every time when she wanted to meet but she wouldn’t do the same. And then she called me selfish.”

Taron’s grip tightened on your waste, “Pardon my English but she is the selfish bitch. How dare she! You are the most selfless person I know. You think about others wellbeing before yours. You always ask me when I’m miles away from you, how I am. If I have eaten enough. Every time you asked me about my wellbeing, I feel like I’m interrogated. Even my own mother isn’t so persistent to know if I have eaten anything healthy in the last month. She is the selfish person.”

You nodded, “And I told her how I felt. That I felt like she never listens to me and I felt like she never asked me how I have been. And that I felt like she wanted to isolate me from you and the others and that I didn’t like it how she talked about all of you. Especially about you.”

Taron frowned. “She called you a bad friend. For never having time for me. And she said you are an asshole for-“ You broke of your sentence. Trying to swallow down the heavy lump that was stuck in your throat.

Taron inhaled sharply. He focused on your white ceiling to calm himself down. He was enraged about what this snake tried to plant into your head. “She knows what my profession is. And if we can’t meet in person I call you via Skype. I call you when I don’t have time because my schedule is busy. I love you too much. Even the thought of neglecting you makes me want to slap myself for you.” He went on about your ex-best friend and how toxic and manipulative she is and that you deserve friends who are there for you. But you didn’t listen anymore. You lost your line of thoughts when your best friend of many years confessed his love for you. The actor was spiralling and rambling on and on. You studied his face. How it morphed into various emotions. Anger, frustration, hurt.

You grabbed his face and silenced him with a kiss. First is shy but eventually it grew more heated the second it went on. You broke the kiss to Taron’s dismay. He whined and chaste your lips but you held him back, “You promised me food. And you have to help me erase her from my life.” Taron smirked behind your hand, “Oh I can think about some thinks.” You rolled your eyes and swatted him on his shoulder, “Behave for an hour, you horn dog.” His smirk widened and he bowed down to you, “Yes, me lady.” You giggled as he took your hand and kissed the back of it. He didn’t let go and started to kiss up your arms, over your shoulder, up your neck where he lingered on your pulse point and sucked a kicky on there. After five tortures minutes he reached his destiny, your lips. You met his assault to your lips with fever.

Slowly both of you moved into the direction of your kitchen. Both of you had to come up for air. You smiled up at Taron whose chest was heaving. He wore a cute little half smile on his kiss swollen lips. He moved away from you and turned around. You whined at the loss of warmth. “I promised you food, didn’t I love?” You smiled dorkily at him, “Yeah you did.”

Wanna stay updated? Click here

[thespiral]

INTRODUCING THE 80S DOCUMENT... a comprehensive doc on this funny mentioned-only raider faction that is incredibly fucking cool and a crime no one has mentioned them yet

this is more or less a compilation of different canon, semi-canon and fanon references! most of it taken from the hearts of iron 4 mod old world blues, joshua sawyer's simple and sprinkled some fanon from my head in here as well. this is to hopefully make other people aware of these guys!

a MASSIVE thanks to my partner alex for helping me write this up, the tops server members for lore council, esseress and everyone else who i rambled on and on about these guys. thank you so much

you can find the document here!

(and also under the cut!)

The 80s are a gang of raiders that operate along the Northern California 80 Freeway, mostly in the region northeast of the lawless, uncontrolled city of Sacramento. They occupy their own territory stretching between New California and the shores of Great Salt Lake, bordering the land of their longtime enemies the White Legs.

They are known for raiding frontier towns for supplies, kidnapping people, their tireless pursuit of enemies and for their occasional use of motorcycles. They are rightly feared for their ability to cover large areas of land with very few men using said motorcycles. They have recently spread out over a larger area, notably the I-80, due to the collapse of the Nevada Desert Rangers and the NCR's inability to patrol or keep tabs on the territory.

History

After the bombs desolated the country, the 80s began as a group of people that banded together out of necessity and trekked through the I-80, believing that the highway had to lead somewhere safe. The early origins of the 80s are muddled by word of mouth and mostly forgotten, but they fully coalesced into a raider faction when others learned to fear them.

The first peak of the 80s’ was reached when they took Sacramento for their own. For the first time, many 80s began to settle down and build a raiding community, often attacking smaller settlements in the area. These transgressions eventually led to the New California Republic expanding and securing its borders by taking Sacramento back, forcing the 80s out of the city.

The 80s then tore through Nevada, following the I-80 and launching massive raids on almost every community they came across for supplies and equipment, including NCR cities such as New Reno or Vault City. This led to even greater notoriety and, despite having been mauled by the NCR, drove fear into the heart of the Republic as they made their way to Utah.

Currently, the 80s have mostly settled in Wendover, expanding it into a town. Most of their conflicts lie with the neighboring White Legs, and they await the opportunity to strike back at the NCR and reclaim Sacramento.

Culture

The 80s primary philosophies are that other 80s come before all else, that the enemy of their enemy is their friend, and that settling down is the opposite of freedom. They value a wild and free lifestyle, cheap thrills, mechanical and driving prowess, and the road. While some communities support them along the roads, they are their own priority above all, and many relations with other groups are sustained through physical threat.

While all 80s can be defined by a few common traits, most of them are decentralized and spread across various chapters. Each has their own rules, hierarchies and banners. Some chapters are nomadic, while others settle in towns they have conquered, and others live in self-made settlements by the road.

Identification between each chapter varies from chapter to chapter, with the most common traits being tattoos, body art, patches on armour and jackets, and so on. While in-fighting between chapters is common, the 80s are generally extremely close-knit compared to other raider factions. In most chapters, higher-ranking members wear red or blue I-80 road signs, while regular members wear the more common green signs, and initiates and hangarounds have no signs.

While most 80s are born into their respective chapters, the 80s will occasionally take on new initiates that are young or have potential when it comes to driving and repair skills. An initiate, or hangaround, mostly runs errands for fully-fledged 80s until the others have decided they are eligible for an initiation ritual. Most potential initiates have to go through a ritual to prove their worth, such as salvaging a motorcycle and making it their own.

Economy

When the 80s started out, they were disorganized and originally had to rely on raiding to get by. During their early years, raiding was quite profitable in the wasteland, and this time period would later be called the golden age of raiding. As time went on, however, theft and slavery became unsustainable as societies grew, and many chapters of the 80s were forced to turn to other means of survival.

Using their vehicles to travel greater distances faster than any other society could manage, many chapters of the 80s turned to drug trade, gun running, package delivery, caravan running and trading. Many chapters have become their own communities, and some have settled in certain locations to farm. There are still active raiding chapters, but in the present they are few and far between.

Despite no longer solely relying on raiding, some chapters still intimidate weaker communities into giving tribute to them, having no issue doing so with their vehicles. They also charge a travel tax on all outsiders that would cross their roads.

Military and Technology

The 80s are well-known for their expertise in and quantity of vehicles ranging from the common motorcycle to the large semi-truck. The 80s scavenge, repair and even build their own vehicles, and almost every member at least has their own motorcycle, as a common initiation rite requires new members to salvage their own bike. They also find and use old schematics to improve upon their designs, or create their own from scratch.

Most 80s make their own equipment when they cannot scavenge, from tires and tools to homemade fuel. Many bikes have been made to run on ethanol and other biofuels, while others run on energy cells, fusion cells, or any energy source that’s available.

Using these vehicles, the 80s utilize speed to break through enemy walls in battle, and often overwhelm their opponents before they can truly attack. They rely on hit-and-run tactics, and as a result have great offense and poor defense. For example, one common attack involves holding out a machete while driving by the enemy; destructive, but leaves the rider open for many attacks.

The most commonly used weapons are anything close and decimating. Many 80s carry shotguns, automatic guns and throwable explosives that are relatively easy to use while riding.

Politics and Diplomatic Relations

The cultural tenet of the 80s coming before anyone else carries into their politics. Little of the outside world affects their internal politics or laws (or lack thereof). They are somewhat hypocritical in that they believe in freedom for themselves and no one else. The 80s have no one leader, and overall are decentralized as a faction.

Each chapter has their own subset of laws, or none at all. While most 80s are close-knit, there is currently infighting between chapters as they debate on whether to settle down or continue raiding. Some believe that settling down goes against what the 80s stand for and would be abandoning their origins, while others believe they won’t stand a chance against other factions if they continue to raid.

The 80s are relatively cold toward other factions, with few allies and many enemies. They are generally neutral toward other raiding factions, such as the Jackals or the Vipers, but would put aside their differences for the sake of attacking the greater enemy, such as with the Great Khans or the Powder Gangers. No matter what, however, they will make it clear that they are their own priority.

The New California Republic is one of the 80s greatest and most powerful enemies. From the very beginning, the 80s and the NCR have fought each other as the 80s raided civilians and the NCR tried to stomp them out along with other raider factions. This culminated in the NCR taking Sacramento and forcing the 80s to leave for Utah, marking the NCR as the 80s’ worst enemy. Any 80s would not hesitate at any opportunity to get back at the NCR, no matter how petty or who they would have to ally with.

After the 80s were forced to travel to Utah, their territory began to border the White Legs’, and they frequently intruded on their land. This has led to many skirmishes between the two factions as they compete for their own territory.

While Caesar’s Legion does not have much presence in the West, many 80s have heard of this new threat against the NCR, and most who have are eager for any potential ally to get back at the NCR for Sacramento. The 80s know little of the Legion or what would happen to them if the Legion was successful, but are willing to do anything if it meant victory.

References

https://fallout-archive.fandom.com/wiki/Simple_organizations#80s

J.E. Sawyer’s Fallout Roleplaying Game

Hearts of Iron 4: Old World Blues

And all the other people that helped contribute to this document

[a-writes3]

Sex On Fire

Krashlyn x Reader

Warning: SMUT. 

This is my first time writing smut so it’s not gonna be the greatest but here we go. This is way longer than expected. And kinda kinky. But please feel free to tell me your thoughts and don’t hesitate to give me requests. There will be more parts to this. It will be a series.

Readers POV

We had a day off from camp which led to others, mostly sonnett and Kelley, forcing everyone into a group trip to a bar across the street from our hotel. All night I could feel Ali and Ashlyn’s eyes on me. Sure, I was super attracted to the couple but I never made a move due to the fear of rejection. But when the night was over and the duo was walking up to me to steal me from the group that’s when everything changed.

“So, you want to come to our room when we get back?” Ashlyn, The more dominant one of the pair, asked me. The tone of her voice low.

“I-Uh. I-.” I couldn’t help but stutter out.

“Come on. We all know that you like us and we like you so.” Ali said with a flirtatious voice.

The alcohol must’ve taken over because all of my inhibitions were gone and I could only say one word.

“Okay.”

And with that I was being dragged along the sidewalk by the two women into the hotel. Ashlyn’s strong arm wrapped around my waist while we were walking up the stairs.

When we got to the room Ali eagerly retrieved the key card from her pocket before opening the door and locking it behind her. I suddenly froze in the middle of the room when realizing what was about to take place.

Ali took my hands into hers while looking into my eyes. “Come on.” She led me to the bed, sitting me down near the edge. “Can I kiss you?” She gently asked. A sweet but slightly seductive tone in her voice. I shyly nodded and she closed the space between us.

When we pulled away Ashlyn guided me to the middle of the bed, laying me down before kissing me as well with a dark look in her eyes. Before continuing she stared into my eyes, “Are you sure you want to do this?” I nodded but she just shook her head slightly. “I need you to say it.”

“Yes,I want this.” I replied.

With that Ali and Ashlyn gave each other a look. Ashlyn was obviously the more dominant energy in the room and started to slowly and teasingly take off all my clothes except for my underwear which her fingers were ghosting over barely touching me and I couldn’t help but whimper at the contact or lack there of.

A smirk was obvious on both the women’s faces. Ashlyn kisses from my lips, down my jaw before stopping at my ear. “I’ve barely even touched you and you’re already a mess.” She said before slightly biting my ear causing me to moan once again.

Ashlyn sat up removing herself from me, I sighed harshly at this gesture. “You’re a needy one, huh?” Ashlyns tone was teasing with her smug grin that was set on her face. She and Ali shared a look, automatically knowing Ashlyns plans Ali lifted me up before sitting with my back to her chest.

After a moment Ashlyn peppered kisses all the way down my body stopping right about the line of my underwear and looking up into my eyes. She slowly removed the cloth that was covering myself. The cold air hitting my sensitive clit made me moan. Ashlyn chuckled slightly at the desperate sound as did Ali.

Ashlyn began kissing my stomach again but when she reached the spot where I needed contact the most she moved on to the middle of thigh, leaving dark marks as she went on. “Ashhh..” I whine.

“Tell me what you want baby.” She replied before blowing on my clit which ignited a loud moan from me followed by whines.

“I don’t think you answered her question, babygirl.” Ali spoke up with a surprisingly dominant tone and reaching to play with my nipples.

“I- I” I stuttered but couldn’t quite get out any words as both of the women were slightly touching me in different ways. My sense were on fire.

“Hm?” Ashlyn asked.

“I want you to fuck me. Please. Please god. Please just touch me.” I finally managed to get out in a quick manner.

This ignited something in Ashlyn who immediately began an assault on my pussy with her mouth. Her strong hands found themselves holding onto my thighs as if they were going to run away from her, definitely leaving bruises. I let out loud moans which could probably be heard from across the hotel but in my current state it didn’t matter.

Ali was behind me running her hands everywhere she could touch while whispering dirty things into my ears. “You’re so sensitive aren’t you? You know, you’re being such a good girl for us.” She could see that I was closing in on my release. “Are you gonna come for us baby?” I slightly nod. Right after I did this Ashlyn removed her mouth from my center. I groan at the lack of contact before throwing my head onto Ali’s shoulder.

“You don’t get to come yet.” Ashlyn rasped out. I roll my eyes slightly before bucking my hips up to try and get some sort of relief. Ashlyn pushed my hips down onto the bed roughly. I roll my eyes again but this time both of the women noticed. “Oh, so you’re a brat too? You know, Brats don’t get to come.” I groan loudly.

Ashlyn then leaned up to kiss her fiancée who was still positioned behind me. The kiss was long and heated which didn’t help my current state.

Before I could register anything else Ashlyn had thrusted two fingers into me without warning causing me to erupt to loud moans of her name and curses. My back started arching off the bed and both Ali and Ashlyn place their hand on my stomach so I was flat against the hotel mattress.

Suddenly Ali’s free hand found its way to my clit and started circling it at a quick speed. I grab onto her forearm to help center myself but my mind was foggy from the pleasure coursing through my body. Soon enough my body was shaking from an orgasm but that didn’t stop either woman from stopping their motions. I tried to squeeze my thighs together to stop them but Ali’s hands pulled them apart and held them in place while Ashlyn’s tongue replaced Ali’s fingers. Within minutes I was again reaching my peak, this time Ashlyn pulled away but somehow I knew the night wasn’t over yet.

Ashlyn and Ali swapped places, Ali seemed to enjoy using her fingers more than anything mostly to be able to see the looks on my face. Her fingers traced my clit barely touching it purposefully teasing me. Soon enough she started circling it at an agonizingly slow pace. Her lips found their way to my neck but making sure not to leave marks in places the whole world could see. Ali’s fingers finally entered me, fucking me roughly and quickly. Her mouth was making hickeys all over my collarbone and chest. Her fingers slowed.

“Ugh.” I exclaimed with a whine. Ashlyn’s hand found its way around my throat, barely squeezing it but enough to where my breath staggered.

“What’d I say about being a brat, princess?” Ashlyn said lowly. At this point Ali’s hand had stopped entirely as she gave me a look that I could only read as “you’re not getting what you want just yet.” Ashlyn put her fingers into my mouth, taking them out and placing them onto my clit. I gasped in surprise but she stopped as quickly as soon as she started. A few moments passed with no contact so I resorted to begging which seemed to work earlier.

“I’m sorry. Please.”

“Please what?” Ali said with a quirked eyebrow. When I didn’t answer Ashlyn’s hand squeezed my throat a little bit harder.

“You answer when asked a question” Ashlyn growled.

“Touch me please.” I squeaked out.

“As you wish.” Ali replied.

Ali put her fingers inside me once again quicker than before if possible. I put my hands on her back which resulted in my nails raking down her back. The moan that came from her mouth only heightened my pleasure. I felt my self getting closer to my release and Ali could sense that and her pace quickened and her fingers were practically pounding into me. As i was about to scream out in pleasure from my orgasm Ashlyn slammed her lips onto mine forming a passionate kiss and once she pulled away her mouth was replaced by Ali’s whose tongue explored my mouth. 

When Ali’s mouth moved from mine and her fingers left my body, She brought her fingers up to her mouth and cleaned them off before kissing me again so i could taste myself and then kissing Ashlyn who moaned at the taste. After what i could sense was hours the two women finally stopped their movements which was followed by the whispers of praises from both of them.

“You were so good for us Babygirl.” Ashlyn said before kissing my forehead which was layered with sweat. 

“You did so good Princess.” Ali said into my ear. I cuddled into her side with Ashlyn rubbing my back but this only lasted for a few moments. 

“As much as i love this, Good sex is always followed up with good aftercare which means a nice warm bath.” Ashlyn said, her voice sweeter and gentler than ever before. 

“Ugh. But i’m so tired.” I said as i could barely keep my eyes open. 

“I know Baby but it’ll help you not hate your life in the morning.”

I groan loudly before putting my face into the nook of Ali’s neck who just smiled sweetly. 

“How about this, Ashlyn gets the bath ready and i’ll stay here with you for a few more minutes.” Ali said.

“Fine.” I replied with a frown.

A few minutes later Ashlyn carried me into the bath. Both of the women taking care of me and washing me up. The bath ended with Ashlyn carrying me back to the bed. It wasn’t long before i fell asleep in between the both of them. When i woke up a few hours later i started to panic at the unfamiliar surroundings but soon remembered the events of the night before. Now my head was filled with questions. Was it just sex? Was it a one time thing? Do they actually like me? 

Although i was tangled with other arms i found my way out of the bed and found my clothes before putting them on. As i was about to walk away I felt a hand on my wrist to stop me. 

“Where are you going?” The sleepy voice belonged to Ali. Her bare body was on partial display and i found myself staring for a few seconds which Ali smirked at.

“Oh uh just back to my room.”

“Why? Just stay here with us.”

“I wanted to get going before the other woke up and figured out what happened, you know?” Before she could respond i spoke again, “I’ll uh see you later.” I pulled out of her grasped and hurried out of the room leaving a confused Ali behind.

[fireflyinsummer]

An Amalgamation Waltz 1839. |01|

> pairing: min yoongi x reader

> genre: FallenAngel!AU

> words: 23k

> warnings: hints of smut (heavy make out), a scene of harassment (nothing explicit), violence. possible heresy. forgive me. a third party’s unrequited feelings for OC. don’t know if i did this right, it’s 3 am right now.

> summary: When it comes to the both of you, a lifetime is not enough. And when it comes to you, there’s really no lines he wouldn’t be willing to cross. Even on the brink of a war that could destroy the world as we know it, you’re everything.

  “ (...) ‘Would you be able to love someone as tainted as him?’ he asked wistfully.

  You lifted your upper body, compelling him to a sitting position as well.

   ‘I’ve never had to,’ you pecked his lips chastely, even though he still kept his eyes trained on the grass underneath you.”

a/n: my love for Paradise Lost gave birth to this. i really like this one :) gonna be posting the second (and last) part soon! no need to say that PL was just an inspiration, this isn’t exactly based on the poem. 

                                               “(…) Here at least

We shall be free, the almighty hath not built

Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:

Here we may reign secure, and in my choice

To reign is worth ambition though in hell:

Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven.”

     The sudden thud on the wooden surface of the table made you jolt and close the book, heart rate increasing considerably.

  “Y/N.” His voice was deep, dragging your name through his teeth to evince his annoyance. The bustling café was already at its peak hours and you didn’t even notice the time as it passed you by.

  “Yes, Taehyung?” You ogled your grumpy friend, his noisy arrival being due to the study material he tossed in front of you.

  “You said you’d help me with English lit. I was waiting for you at the library for about an hour and your phone is off.” As you remembered why you were even in the café in the first place, you threw him a guilty look. He pouted. “Hey, what does that Milton guy have that I don’t? And the fancy words don’t count.” You giggled.

  “John Milton has nothing on you, Tae. He’d probably need my help to get through this semester as well.” The joke seemed to almost let you in his good graces again, but you knew he still needed the bribery. “I’ll buy you your favorite if you forgive me.” You could tell he was fighting back a smile upon hearing your offer, his mood suddenly uplifted.

  “Okay. But don’t think I’ll let you off the hook that easily.”

  “I wouldn’t dare. Wait here.” You went to the balcony to pay the check and get his frappuccino to go. Taehyung was a sweet guy who liked sweet things, and that also applied to his coffee. His sweet tooth earned him a nickname from you – Marzipan. Waiting for the bartender to finish your order, you looked over where your best friend was digging through your copy of Paradise Lost without much enthusiasm.

   You had moved in next door to his house about fifteen years ago, and you two instantly initiated a solid friendship. As much as you could say about three-year-olds. Despite him being one of your favorite people in the whole world, the both of you were into totally different things. He went to parties, you enjoyed some lone quality time. He played all sorts of sports, you preferred to stick to your writing and, sometimes, the piano. You were still working on the latter. But even though you seemed to be totally opposites, he still got you like no one else could. He was the person you told all your secrets to, not that you had that many anyway, and you liked to think – no, you were sure of it – he felt the same way about you.

  “Here’s your overly-sweet drink, Marzipan. I don’t even know if you can still call it coffee,” you scowled.

  “Don’t diss my frappuccino, it’s the sole reason of my forgiveness.”

  “Yeah, right. So, you wanna get going? I’m sure you have a lot of thoughts on that book already.”

  “It was very average so far, if I do say so myself. I don’t know why you like it so much,” he teased you.

  “Well, that’s what the private lessons are for. So I can teach you good taste.” You pushed the door open and immediately shivered as you felt a cold gush of air. It was snowing.

  “Here, take my coat. Why don’t you ever wear decent clothes in the winter? I swear to God, I don’t know how you never caught something serious, like pneumonia or whatever,” he scolded.

  “You don’t have to. We’re near home anyway,” you tried to reassure him, but he was, as usual, outwardly ignoring it. “Really, Tae, it’s no big deal. Let’s go.” He was ready to fight you on this one, but you were already walking away. He took a few hurried steps to catch up.

  After a ten-minute walk, daylight was almost completely gone, lit lampposts following its wake. You both hit the front door rug with your feet several times before getting inside, your mom was a bit freaky when it came to cleaning.

  “Mom, Tae’s here!” You shouted from the living room, guessing she was in the kitchen. “We’re going upstairs for a bit! School work!”

  “Okay, honey! Tell him that dinner will be ready soon!” She responded.

  “I love you, Ms. D’Angelis!” He shot back. Yes, you had an italian background. When she heard his voice, she made sure to come out and greet him.

  “Love you, too, honey”, she pecked his forehead and he beamed. They liked each other way too much for their own good. “And you,” she pointed in your direction, “give mamma a kiss.”

  You sighed before attending to her request. It was in your best interest not to fight it. “Okay, enough of this. We’ll be upstairs if you need us.”

  “Have fun, kids.” You sure would. Taehyung might beg to differ.

  The rest of the night was somewhat peaceful. You had helped Taehyung as much as you could before your mother called you out to eat, claiming that you shouldn’t starve the boy and then make him eat a cold meal. He couldn’t agree fast enough. For the most part, that was your life. Uncomplicated and comfortable, which was plenty for an eighteen year old. When you went to bed after practicing the piano for a little while, you were completely unaware of the pair of pitch black eyes that observed you through the window. But he was fully aware of you.

  ||\\

                                                                    [Fear of the Water, by SYML]

  You knew it was a dream. From the moment your brain processed the heavenly sight that unrevealed before your eyes, you knew. It was breaking dawn, the soft orange light kissing the ocean like a long lost lover. You were at the end of a cliff, but couldn’t find it in yourself to be afraid. You looked down at the waves that broke into the rocks almost violently, the salty breeze somewhat comforting. You loved the sea.

  Taking a few deep breaths, you barely noticed the crack. The sound came from somewhere behind you, but you didn’t want to look away from the view, neither did you want to wake up. When you heard it again, you recognized footsteps. You turned around lazily, curious as to whom it would be the visitor of your reverie. When you fixed your eyes on him, though, you stopped breathing for a moment and your heart surely skipped a beat. He was a stranger in a number of ways, for he was seemed truly unworldly. Maybe ethereal was the word you were looking for. His violet eyes were scrutinizing you from head to toe. Beautiful. His hair was dark as it fell like a silky curtain on his forehead. Not a single flaw on his skin or his body, but none of that was as breathtaking as what lied on his back. Great, large white wings, so beautifully outstretched that you felt unworthy of looking at them.

  You opened your mouth a few times, but nothing would come out. Probably for the best, you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself in front of what was probably your mind’s greatest creation. How you could come up with him was beyond you. You wanted to ask his name before it all ended and you had to go back to real life, back to average. You wanted to touch his face, his wings, see for yourself if they felt as they looked. You wished you never woke up. As he took a step closer, you took your own back, startled at the sudden movement. Before you realized your mistake, it was too late. You had lost your balance. You knew it would be over soon. Taking one last look at the stranger, you saw as he stretched one arm to reach you, but to no avail. Too soon, the wind was ricocheting your skin and you were falling.

  You woke up with a loud gasp as you searched for air, finding it oddly rarefied. When you registered the annoyingly high pitch of your alarm, you whined. Real life was the last thing you wanted to face right now, but if you told your mother that you’d stay in bed daydreaming about a figment of your imagination, she would personally retrieve you from the bed and toss you into the shower. Made sense.

  Getting ready as quickly as you could manage, you felt excited for no obvious reason. Maybe it was the afterglow of the dream, but now you were eager to get out of the house, as if you wanted to find him. Which was insane, because you knew he did not exist. Come to think about him now, it was getting harder by the minute to remember his face. You panicked.

  Running towards your desk and grabbing a pencil and your notebook, you tried to recreate him on paper, which was a lost battle from the start. Even if you were some doodling genius – you were definitely not – you would never be able to do him justice. You doubted anyone who had ever stepped on this planet, past or present, ever would. It was not the kind of beauty that could be explained or demonstrated, but rather felt. He wasn’t just inhumanely pretty, wings and all. There was something about him that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. It may sound cheesy and totally deranged, but you felt whole in those few shared moments, like you knew him your entire life. Your mind didn’t recognize him, but your body did.

  Groaning at the piece of paper and throwing the pencil at your baby-blue wall in annoyance, you gave up. It was pointless, his features were already escaping your mind. You didn’t know why you were so hung up on a dream, honestly. Seeing that you were a little riled up, you decided to let it go and just finish getting ready for class. You could see through the window that Taehyung was already waiting for you.  

    ||\\

 “So, how did it go?”

  He pouted before answering. “It went alright.” Lies, he was a big fat liar.

  “C’mon, Marzipan, be honest with me for a second.”

  The nickname finally broke him down. “Fine, I hated it. I remember you telling me about every important detail of the subject yesterday, but I couldn’t put it on paper. Plus, why the fuck does he have to elaborate the questions so much? Most of the time I didn’t even understand what was being asked. Literature sucks,” he whined indignantly. You could tell it was taking a toll on him.

  “Don’t worry too much about it, okay? I will help you. We’ll both graduate this year, yeah?” you reached his hand on a reassuring squeeze.

  “If you say so.”

  “I do.”

  “Then sure. But you have to take me seriously, Y/N,” he warned you. “No more losing track of time in coffee shops.”

  “Hey, I bought you a frappuccino, that incident should be six feet under by now,” you accused and he mumbled a grumpy response.

  The both of you spent half of the morning taking the lit test. You thought you did fine, though the questions really were a little bit tricky. Walking side by side with Taehyung, you didn’t notice him at first. But once you realized there were no seats available right next to each other, your eyes eventually landed on his.

  “We can’t sit together through this class, we’re too late,” Tae grumbled, trying to get your attention back to himself, but to no avail. “Y/N? Hey!” He flicked your forehead and you yelped.

  “Did you just… flick me?” you seethed.

  “I wouldn’t have had to if you weren’t lusting over the new guy. Who is he, by the way?” If you acknowledged the hint of jealously in his tone, you didn’t show it.

  “I was not lusting over anybody,” you huffed.

  “If you say so.”

  “Stop saying that.”

  “Grumpy. Is it because I caught you?” You just snarled and took a seat at the front row, while he chuckled and chose the one in the back.

  To be honest, you were lusting a little. Those eyes seemed oddly familiar, though you couldn’t quite put a finger on why. The rest of the day passed by smoothly; you were able to sit with Taehyung for the remaining classes you had together and even helped him a bit with some homework. After a while, your new classmate was nowhere near your mind, despite that funny feeling you got every time you looked at him. Maybe it was because he was stunningly handsome. Who knows? You never cared much about those things, but you were only human.

  On your way home with Taehyung, you felt eyes burning on your back. You turned around and found him staring, expression unfathomable. He wore a black lather jacket, jeans and a black shirt, his dark hair beautifully disheveled. He gave you a wanton grin and you scoffed. Well, you knew his type, and it unnerved you to death.

  Preppy playboy. Nothing more, nothing less.

  He cut off the eye contact abruptly, heading towards a grey motorcycle. No shit, huh? You almost laughed at the predictability. You weren’t exactly into bikes, but that looked expensive. And it suited him perfectly.

  “Holy-… do you see that? That’s a Triumph fucking Rocket,” Taehyung gasped, shaking your elbow lightly. “A 2500cc engine capacity Triumph Rocket. Man, his parents must be loaded. That’s not a high schooler’s bike,” he said, almost dreamy. Yeah, you saw that coming from a mile away.

  “You talking about the new guy?” You asked nonchalantly, turning your head as you resumed walking.  

  “Don’t even try to pretend you weren’t ogling just now,” he accused.

  “You’re obsessed with our new-found bad boy. Maybe you should date him, Tae,” a snicker left your lips at his appalled expression.

  “Shut up,” he pushed your shoulder. “I’m just curious.”

  “As in bi-curious?”

  “Okay, that’s it, I’m leaving you behind,” he grumbled as he fastened his pace. You chuckled, trying to catch up with his long legs.

  When you arrived home, you noticed an attempt of a drawing on top of your bed. It looked like a poorly doodled angel. First things first: though it definitely looked like something made by your hands, you didn’t have any recollection of it, let alone of leaving it on display like that. You looked around, searching for something, but nothing else seemed out of place. Trying to shrug the uneasiness off, you picked some clothes off the wardrobe and went for a warm bath.

    ||\\

  It was a Saturday afternoon, so you planned to do the usual: hit the library and grab some coffee on your way home. Taehyung had promised to watch a movie with you this weekend, but a surprise party to one of his friends came up. He’d invited you to tag along, more out of habit than anything else. Your answer was always the same when he asked you to spend time with his peers; you weren’t even remotely fond of them. They had maybe one functioning braincell and a whole lot of conceit. Not your crowd at all.

  “Mom, I’m leaving. Do you need me to get you anything?” You said, already on your way to the front door.

  She was sprawled on the couch, gazing attentively at the TV.  “No, honey, thank you. Are you going out with Tae?”

  “Nope, something came up, we rescheduled. I won’t be long.”

  “Okay, then. Be careful!”

  “Will do!”, you shouted from the outside.

  It was closing time when the sweet old lady had to gently kick you out. You weren’t surprised when you found out your phone was dead; you probably had a billion calls from your mother and, if she was desperate enough, maybe even Taehyung. Letting out a sigh, you grabbed your stuff quickly and waved goodbye to the librarian as you made your way out the door, grumbling to yourself about not being able to pick up some coffee now.

  The air was hazy and cold, you couldn’t see more than ten feet ahead, and the streets were oddly empty. You tightened your coat around your body and quickened your pace, not willing to spend more time outside than you needed to. Seeing that all the stores were closed, you realized that Martha (the librarian) probably let you outstay your welcome a little bit. You cursed at the freezing night and your cheap coat. Taehyung was right, you should buy warmer clothes.

  Lost in thoughts, you were stupid enough to miss the drunken noises coming from the end of the street. There was a group of three men coming your way and they all seemed to have ingested an unhealthy amount of booze, laughing loudly and pushing each other playfully. You felt cold sweat fall down your spine but just tried to ignore it, hoping that you’d be able to pass them by without being noticed.

  “Y/N?” His voice was dragged, and he was tumbling around the words. It was only then you realized they were from your school, the boy in the middle being Jimmy, Taehyung’s drink buddy.

  “Hi”, you tried to stay as far away as possible, but the one with the fashionably boring rectangular glasses didn’t let you, hooking his arm around your neck. He reeked of cigarettes and whiskey.

  “C’monnn-“ he hiccupped, “don’t you wanna par-tay with-“ another one, “-us?”

  You repressed the urge to gag as your pulse quickened.

  “Not really. I have to go,” you almost managed to untangle his disgusting arm from you, but he kept it in place, holding you tighter. “Let go of me.”

  You were annoyed. And scared to death, to be honest. These boys didn’t exactly live by a moral code, and the four of you were alone in the middle of nowhere. You didn’t trust them.

  “Aww, don’t be shy, princess. You’re always so… boring. Makes me curious about what you’ve got going on under all… that.” The last one, Ian, made his way towards you, snickering menacingly. He wasn’t as drunk as the other two, and if you could give a hunch, you’d say he knew exactly was he was doing. That scared you even more. Feeling the brick-wall hit your back, you realized you were cornered, a curse escaping your dry lips.

  “Look, I really have to g-“ he cut you off by pressing his body into yours, making you lose your breath for all the wrong reasons. “What the fuck, man?! Let go of me!” You were visibly growing desperate as you tried to punch his face and his chest, but that only earned you a chuckle from him as he held both your wrists with one hand.

  “Feisty. I like it.” You almost puked right then and there, the bile stuck in your throat making you scowl. He let his filthy fingers slide down your sides, until he could grope your ass.

  Your stomach sank, heart drumming against your ribcage as you held back a whimper.

Okay, think.

  Taehyung had taught you the basics about self defense a thousand moons ago. And yet, you realize that it was nothing like the real thing. You balled your clammy fingers tightly, knuckles white as you scanned every corner of your brain to try and find a way out.

  “Tae will kill you if you touch me,” your voice trembled. You couldn’t help it.

  He laughed whole-heartedly. As if the mere thought was actually funny to him.

  “He wouldn’t dare, sweetheart. Besides, I think he actually wouldn’t mind sharing his bitch with us for the night,” he stated. “He’s not using it anyways,” he punctuated with a roll of his hips and, this time, as you felt the pathetic bulge inside his pants, you couldn’t hold back a tiny sob. Because fuck, this was it. There was no way you could take down three grown men on your own.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The voice was low and steady. It made your skin crawl. You snapped your head and looked at the dark haired man standing behind the boys. Ian lazily turned around, still keeping your wrists wrapped tight in his hand.

  “None of your business, newbie. Now get out of my sight before I lose my patience.”

  When he chuckled, it was different from Ian’s. It was darker, rougher, and concealed a vicious ferocity that you knew was there. You knew because, as he disregarded your aggressor and looked you in the eyes, you almost feared for them.

  “Ian, dude, let it go.” Jimmy instantly sobered up and tried to avoid any confrontation. To think he spent time with your best friend but would let Ian harass you without saying a word was disgusting. “Come on, your old man will kill you if you get in trouble again.” So that was his main concern. Still looking out for his shitty, abusive friend. Men’s sorority really is misogyny.

  “You should listen to your friend. Believe me, you won’t survive me when I get my hands on you,” he stated matter-of-factly. You felt the sincerity in your bones. And so did Ian and his stupid cavalry. “Leave.”

  Ian sighed, but relented. You felt a hot wave of relief as he disconnected his body from yours, leaning on the wall for balance as your legs wabbled.

  “You better watch out,” he spits.

  “Y/N, I... I’m really sorry,” Jimmy said as he scooped his friends and dragged them away from you. “You too, Min. He’s just drunk. We would’ve stopped him if it got too far.”

  He’s lying. You can tell.

  “Get the fuck out of my sight,” he growls, his composure faltering for a minute. As they stray out of view, he turns his gaze to you.

  “Care to tell me what the hell are you doing walking alone in the middle of the night?”

  He’s angry.

  You scoffed, adjusting your coat around your shoulders and straightening your back.

  “Thank you for the help, but I’m too old for a babysitter,” you say. “Besides, I don’t even know you.”

  He looks at you and, as if trying to regain some sense and control a fit of rage, he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose before exhaling a long puff of air.

  “Alright. My name is Yoongi,” he takes you by surprise as he snatches your wrist in an iron grip, “And I'm fucking walking you home.”

  As he drags you across the street, you want to yell at him. You want to tell him to fuck off, you preppy bastard. But you don’t.

  Because the truth is, you’re so fucking grateful. God knows what would’ve happened if it wasn’t for him. As he calms down, he drops your hand and slows his pace, allowing you to catch up without having to make an effort. You want to talk, but you choose to stay quiet.

   Now that you weren’t so skittish anymore, it finally dawned you how the snow was beautifully spread throughout the streets, the trees, the buildings. Everything that was cool, cold, blue, held some fascination to you. Summer was never really your season – it had always been winter. To be able to curl up on your couch with a warm blanket and a hot cup of coffee, it was heavenly. You always thought that, if you could see the world through a color palette, it would be in different shades of blue.

  The snow was not the only thing that you were entranced by, though. Yoongi was, from what you saw so far, much like winter to you. Harsh when needed, cool, but also peaceful and comforting. He didn’t urge you to talk about the incident; he didn’t urge you to talk at all. His mannerisms caught your attention from time to time – how he constantly ran his long fingers through his hair, how his eyes seemed to flutter shut lazily a few times in a row, or how he carried himself so elegantly that it almost made you jealous. He looked terribly familiar, too.

  “Why are you staring?” His bluntness caught you off guard, but still couldn’t disturb the peacefulness of the moment.

  “Just curious.” It was true. “Apart from the motorcycle and the superhero complex, I don’t know much about you.”

  “Well, there’s not much to know.”

  You hummed in response. “What are you doing here, then?” You ask, and his feet come to a halt.    

  “What is this, an interrogation?”

  You scoff, and you both start walking again. “Just trying to make conversation. Besides, I’m actually curious,” you ponder. “People don’t move into this town very often,” you kick the snow under your feet. He sighs.

  “I’m here with my… brother,” he hesitated before continuing, “he’s my guardian, sort of. We used to move a lot. Work thing.” He couldn’t hold back a grimace, but it disappeared in a second. You wanted to ask about his parents, but felt like you’d be crossing a line, so you kept your curiosity to yourself. “Now you tell me,” he said.

  “Tell you what?”

  “About yourself. Your family. Whatever you want to.”

  “Um, let me see. I live with my mom. We moved from Italy when I was about three years old. My dad… my dad stayed.” You didn’t want to get into it, and he immediately noticed, just nodding for you to continue. “She’s been taking care of me by herself since then.”

  He hummed in understanding, sparing you a few glances that you couldn’t quite decipher.

  Before you knew, your house was already in sight. You wished you lived farther, just so you could keep that strange interaction on for a little longer.

  “Well, this is me,” you announced. Lying about your address had crossed your mind somewhere along the way.

  “Sorry if I was a jerk,” he surprised you by saying. You mouth opens and closes a few times before you say anything.

  “It’s okay, I guess. I was pretty riled up, too.”

  He nodded. “See you Monday, then?” His voice was deep and silky.

  “Yeah. Hey, I… I’m glad you showed up when you did.”

  “I am, too,” there was a dark undertone in his voice. “Good night, Y/N,” he surprised you by leading his right hand to the top of your head and lightly messing your hair before walking away. You stood still for a minute, until your mother opened the door.

  “Y/N?! Darling, why did you take so long? I was so worried!”

  “Um… Sorry, mom. I ran into a friend and my phone was off.”

  “Well, you should’ve at least borrowed your friend’s phone to let me know, things aren’t like they used to be around these parts anymore, it’s getting pretty danger-“

   She kept talking as she let you in, but you couldn’t concentrate. That night, you dreamt of him.

   ||\\                            

 “(…) Farewell happy fields

Where joy for ever dwells: hail horrors, hail

Infernal world, and thou profoundest hell

Receive thy new possessor: one who brings

A mind not to be changed by place or time.

The mind is its own place, and in itself

Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.”

     You didn’t think of yourself as an early riser, but when Monday morning came, you woke up before the alarm – and seemed almost delighted to do so. To be honest, you really tried to ignore the eagerness to see him again, but to no avail. The day before was thoroughly torturous, flashes of the short period of time you spent together coming back to haunt you now and then. At some point, you were so annoyed that you just lied on the bed and attempted to blast your eardrums off by listening to some crappy rock band at full volume. It didn’t work, obviously, and now you probably had hearing damage. The cons and cons of obsession.

  At this exact moment, for the first time in your entire friendship, you were banging on Taehyung’s door first. Because you just couldn’t wait a minute longer.

  “Damn it, woman, was is it with you today?” The sound of his voice was muffled. That, or you were going deaf, there was no way to tell for sure.

  “You’re going to make us late, Marzipan!” At that, he opened his bedroom door slightly, just enough so you could peek at his disheveled hair and sleepy face.

  “It’s dick o’clock in the morning, we have at least forty minutes until we leave,” his voice was rugged and he had an aggrieved look plastered on his pouty face.

  “I brought you coffee,” you smiled at him while raising the thermal cup.

  “Stop the madness and go wait for me downstairs, Gilmore girl,” he grunted. “Dad probably misses you, the poor old man. Keep him company, will ya?”

  “Don’t be silly, Mrs. Kim need his sleep in the morning.”

  “Then shut up and don’t wake him,” he grunted, closing the door shut, but it took him just a second to reopen it. “Wait, if dad’s asleep, how did you get in?”

  “I, uh… Might or might not know that you keep a spare key inside the porcelain elf’s hat,” your lips tugged upwards sheepishly.

  “Of course you do, you little imp. I’ll be down in a sec,” he grumbled and shut the door again.

  Taehyung had asked you a couple of times why you were so anxious to get to school that morning, but you just brushed it off with an excuse that you knew he wouldn’t buy. There were several reasons as to why you wanted to keep things to yourself for now. Mainly, it was because you were afraid that he’d be furious enough to break Ian’s face in front of everybody once you told him the whole story. Not that you felt any sympathy, but rather that you didn’t want Tae to get in trouble. You’d tell him as soon as you could, though. You didn’t care for the idea of him being friends – or whatever they were – with Jimmy.

  As soon as you stepped into school ground, you discreetly searched for his motorcycle in the parking lot. It wasn’t there. You tried not to let the disappointment show on your face, but you couldn’t help it. He didn’t come today. Who cares? As much as you wanted to force some sense into your stubborn brain, you were still hoping he’d show up, even if you didn’t talk to each other. You just wanted to see him, is all. Great time to start acting like a stupid teenager, Y/N. Kudos.

  You were in the middle of a pretty heated argument with yourself as you entered the classroom. Taehyung picked a desk in the middle, as he usually did when the both of you were able to sit next to each other. You were almost putting your stuff down at his side when something caught your attention. There. You felt a girlish jolt of excitement when you saw Yoongi sitting at the last row. His silky black hair was damped, probably from the shower, and he was wearing a black, long sleeved shirt, v cut. You were about to divert your eyes, but then he stared right at your face and calmy removed his bag from the chair next to his. He smirked, as if defying you to take a seat. Annoying little piece of-

  “Tae, do you mind if I sit somewhere else today?”

  “What?” He looked at you, confused. “Where do you want us to…” Your eyes flashed to the end of the room and he followed your gaze. “What? Why would you-”

  “Do you mind?”

  “Uh… No?”

  “Okay, great. See you soon.” You knew Taehyung was confused, so you should probably be thinking of what to tell him when this class was over. But for now, you just carried yourself to the empty spot in the back. Yoongi was looking at you with an amused expression, hiding his little smile behind his intertwined hands. You wanted to wash that smug off his face so bad. You took a seat and his scent assaulted you, warm and musky. Almost irresistible. You saw Taehyung from across the room gazing at the both of you with an inscrutable countenance.

  “Is your boyfriend mad that you sat with me today?” He audaciously asked.

  “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “I see. Must be hard, then,” he looked almost sympathetic.

  “What?” Your face contorted into confusion.

  “Nevermind. Tell me how was your Sunday,” he said while opening his notebook and doodling something you couldn’t decipher yet.

  “So we’re friends now?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Shouldn’t you ask me first?” You lifted your brow.

  “You’re bossy today.”

  You were about to give him a proper answer when the teacher barged in, almost breathless. As the class began, focusing on Hess’s Law was your main priority, it really was. But you couldn’t help the tingle crawling up your skin every time he unintentionally bumped his arm into yours, because he was still drawing, keeping his head down since Mrs. Edwards started talking. Still, you couldn’t move. No. Focus. You held onto the edge of your desk with one hand, knuckles white, as you kept the other taking notes on the subject.

  “Relax,” he softly whispered, not taking his eyes away from his notebook. You immediately loosened the tight grip of your left hand.

  “I’m relaxed,” you lied, imitating his tone. He chuckled, lifting his head to show you the most beautiful gummy smile. God, why was he so distractingly handsome? His soft, pale skin, his cat-like eyes. His hands, Lord, you wouldn’t even dwell on his hands. Everything about him was appealing, alluring. His voice, his smell, his gaze. He was devilish.  

  All of a sudden, he ripped off the page he was working on. You tried not to get even more distracted, keeping your eyes on the board, until he touched your arm with his hand. You tensed. “Here, keep this if you want to,” he said, passing the folded paper to you. Curiosity washed over your face and you were about to unfold it, but he stopped you. “I don’t think you should open it now.”

  “Why? Is it, like, an erotic sketch?” You could tell you broke his demeanor a little, he seemed both shocked and amused.

  “I wonder if that kind of thought crosses your brain very often. You’re filthy, Y/N,” he smirked. You almost choked at his tone and his words. He was teasing you, and you refused to go down without a fight.

  “Well, I don’t exactly know you, do I? You could be a perv.” He bit back a chuckle.

  “I’m an honorable man. You’ll see.”

  “Will I, now?”

  “Yes. We’re friends now, aren’t we?”

  “You haven’t convinced me yet.”

  “Challenge accepted.” The two of you stared at each other for a few seconds, then the bell rang. He grabbed his stuff and got up, then tilted his head and asked, “Do you want a ride… friend?”

  “I thought you didn’t ride here today.” Confusion stained his expression before he realized the meaning behind your words. You could see the enlightenment in his face and suddenly banging your head on a wall wasn’t all too bad. He was too cocky for his own good, and now you’ve just made it worse. Way to go.

  “I parked on a different spot,” he responded.

  “Yeah, sure. Uh, anyways… Thanks for the offer, but I’m going home with Tae.”

  “Suit yourself.” Before walking away, he turned around and said, “I’ll save you a seat tomorrow, Y/N.” Before you could elaborate an answer, he was already out the door, and Taehyung was in front of you with that ‘what-the-actual-fuck’ face he made every time he was caught off guard.

  “I’ll explain on the way home,” you sighed.

        ||\\

  You were both in the safety of your bedroom when you told Taehyung everything. From how Ian tried to do God knows what with you, to why he wasn’t able to. Pure luck. It was pure luck that Yoongi happened to be passing by, and it was pure luck that he’d bothered to check what was going on. You told him Jimmy was there. You saw the guilt and rage clawing their way to his chest, and there it was; the reason you were wary to tell him in the first place. Taehyung was explosive, a force of nature when he let himself indulge.

  “I’ll kill him. Why did you hide that from me?” Even though he was trying his best to hold back, you could still tell how furious he truly was. “Answer me, Y/N, I’m not fucking around here,” he didn’t mean for it to sound like a scold, but it still did.

  “I knew you’d be mad,” you retorted.

  “Of course I’d be fucking mad. I don’t think you understand just how mad I am.”

  “I know. Tae, really, nothing serious happened. It’s not worthy getting yourself in trouble for it.”

  “How can you even say that?” he barked.

  “Promise me you’ll let it go,” you asked softly.

  He looked like he’d just heard the worst profanity fall from your lips. “I don-“

  “Promise, Tae,” you were using your serious voice now, the one you used to tell him that no, it was not okay for him to mess with your books back when you were kids. You took it to the heart too often. He stared at you for a moment or two before sighing.

  “Okay,” he grudgingly said. “If that’s what you want.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you,” he said after a moment.

  “It’s not your fault. Really, it’s not.”

  “I know. I’m just… sorry,” he let his head rest on your lap. You hummed and stroke his hair for a while. These little moments of utter understanding and peace was one of the reasons he was your best friend. The person you could rely on, always. And he could always rely on you, too.

||\\

   A few weeks passed you by in the blink of an eye. After the infamous events of that night, you and Yoongi grew closer each day. Not that it was always easy, he was infuriating at times; you had to be sharp to keep up with the incessant bickering. But, for what it’s worth, you were able to gather that he was much more than just a little shit, even though he tried to deny it. 

   And you suppose that’s one of the reasons to why your stomach flutters and your heart skips a couple of beats when he gets too close. 

   Probably a month too late, you come across that piece of paper Yoongi had mysteriously given you the first morning you sat together.  You took it in your hands with a gasp and carefully unfolded it, taking a sharp intake of breath at the drawing. It was a pair of eyes – your eyes, perfectly detailed by strong, yet delicate, traces. It was beautiful and left no room for doubts as to whose they were. The cocky bastard was actually pretty talented, you had to give him that. Before you had much time to think about it, your phone rang. You hesitated a moment before picking up, the number was unknown.

  “Hello?”

  “Did you like it?” The voice on the other line was coarse and drawn, and you recognized it immediately.

  “How did you get my number?” You asked while laying yourself on the bed, staring at the ceiling. 

   He had become a constant whenever you were at school or at the library. Nothing beyond that. The call was a pleasent surprise.

  “I have my ways. Will you answer at least one of my questions anytime soon?” There was a hint of a boyish amusement in his tone, and that instantly made you lighter. You liked him better in a good mood.

  “You don’t answer any of mine, so why should I bother?” You shrugged, even though he couldn’t see you.

  “That’s hardly fair. What do you want to know, George?”

  You scoffed at the nickname. “First things first. I want to know how you got my number.”

  “It’s not so hard to get privileged information on the students’ personal data if you’re charming enough. Ms. Parker has a soft spot for me.” Of course. You should’ve seen it coming.

  “You’re shameless,” you scolded half-heartedly, taking a plushie in your hands and squeezing it.

  “It’s one of my many qualities. So, can you answer me now?”

  “Hmm… I might’ve liked it,” you stated, referring to the book he’d recommended. “But you’re already a pretty conceited man, so I should probably spare you the details.”

  He was silent for a while, and you almost mention the drawing you found in your backpack. But then, he’s talking again. “So you think I’m pretty, huh?”

 “Are you… Have you-“ you stammered in astonishment and he chuckled. “Do you actually select the words you want to hear?” you asked and he hummed.

  “Where are you?”

  “Home,” you answered without much thought.

  “I’ll pick you up in ten. Be ready.”

  “Wait, what?” You jolted out of the bed, dropping the plushie on the floor. “You can’t just… decide that. What if I’m busy?”

  “You’re not.”

  “What if I don’t want to?”

  “But you do,” He sounded almost confused. And he was right, you did want to. Somewhere deep inside your brain there was a voice saying that you should’ve objected at least a little bit more. But, against your better judgement, you kept quiet, and soon enough your silence gave you away. “I’m hanging up now. See you soon, George.” You meant to talk back to him, but he’d already ended the call. That, arrogant, insolent, contemptuous jer-

  Before finishing that thought, you remembered you didn’t have much time. So you took a five minute shower, put on a little mascara and went out of the bathroom to find something to wear. There wasn’t enough time to go wild, so you just went for your favorite pair of mom jeans and tucked a burgundy sweater in. After brushing your hair and your teeth, you were ready.

  As soon as you were done, you heard a horn and rushed to the window. There he was, in all his glory, hips resting against his stupidly cool Triumph Rocket. Black boots, black jeans, black long-neck shirt and his usual leather jacket. Wonder what his favorite color might be, you scoffed. He shot you a smirk that made you hold your breath for a moment. It now occurred to you that you had no idea as to where he was taking you. Also, was it a date? A friend thing? Shit. You should’ve said no. You sighed. It was too late now.

  Before running downstairs, you sprayed a little bit of perfume on the nape of your neck and your wrists. Chloé, your signature scent.

  “I’m going out for a bit.”

  She was sitting by the window with a hot beverage on her hands and a book on her lap. Like mother, like daughter.

  “Last time you said that…”

  “I know,” you cut her off gently. “But I have class tomorrow. I promise I won’t be long.”

  “Is your phone charged, young lady?”

  “Yep, it is.”

  “Then call me if anything happens, alright?”

  “Sure thing. Bye, mom,” you gave her a brief peck on the forehead and rushed out the door.

  He was waiting for you at the porch, even more breathtaking now that you could see him up close. His musky scent was stronger and his pale skin was glowing. He was drinking you in with mysteriously piercing eyes.

  “Come,” he said, taking you by the hand.

  “Where are we going anyway?” you asked. As the both of you approached his motorcycle, you were trying your best not to trip.

  “You’ll see.” He took a helmet off a compartment that you didn’t know to exist and cupped your face to hold you still before he put it on you.

  “Is this like a Hitchcock movie? Will you take me just far enough so I can meet my fate by the end of the night?” A hint of dread crossed his features, but he composed himself soon enough.

  “Do you believe in fate, Y/N?” He asked, fixing the straps under your chin, his fingers setting your skin aflame.

  “I don’t know,” you couldn’t pinpoint exactly why, but his countenance urged you to provide a proper answer. “Faith is just not my strong suit, I guess,” you mumbled.

  Yoongi pondered about what you said for a moment. “Hold that thought, yeah?” Then he climbed the vehicle. “Hop on,” he started the engine. You were now too aware of the fact that you had never ‘hopped on’ one of those. “Don’t worry, I’m a really good driver,” he tugged his lips upwards.

  “I just… I’ve never done this.”

  “What, ride a motorcycle?” He asked and you nodded. “Trust me. I wouldn’t let anything happen,” he reassured you.

  I know. So you climbed the damn thing and held tight onto his waist, almost comforted by his warmth. He felt the sensitive skin on his back crawl at the contact. Especially between his shoulder blades.

||\\

     You spent the entire ride with your eyes closed. If you had any doubt that Yoongi was a mad man, those god-knows-how-many minutes on the back of his motorcycle had erased them completely. He was going fast. You could feel the wind ricocheting your face relentlessly, and every time he had to make a turn, your stomach fluttered. Sometimes, he turned his head just a little bit, as if checking if you were at least breathing, but you would grit your teeth and snap at him to look ahead, tightening your grip. You could feel him chuckle, his whole upper body being assaulted by small tremors.

  But when you finally arrived at your destination, it was all worth it.

  “Do you like it?” Expectation washed all over his ethereal features.

  “Do I… like it? It’s amazing,” your eyes sparkled with wonder and astonishment at the sight of the ocean. You were at a relatively high spot, like a small cliff, and you could smell the delicious salty breeze that you adored so much. But what truly amazed you, what really took your breath away, was the electric blue lights sparkling all over the wave crests. “Bioluminescence! How did you find this place? Can we go down?” You asked with the biggest smile, a childish excitement seeping through your tone. He giggled, the most magnificent, angelic sound you had ever heard.

  “I’d rather if we didn’t. I don’t want you to meet your fate at those slippery rocks, it wouldn’t be very Hitchcock-y,” he joked. You felt a bit disappointed but chose to let it go. The night, the sea, the sky; it was all too beautiful for you to allow yourself to be petty.

  He took a few steps ahead and sat closer to the edge, wind whisking his hair and making his catlike eyes narrow. You followed suit, sitting in lotus by his side. You both took a minute to appreciate the sight, falling into a comfortable silence, that was soon broken by his husky voice.

  “I come here a lot when I need to remind myself of who I am. Of where I’m from,” he said, still looking at the waters below, eyebrows furrowed. “I never thought of bringing anyone else here before.”

  “So why did you?” Your voice was small, whispered.

  “I don’t know. I guess…” he stopped for a moment. “I possibly just wanted to make sure you were okay. And I don’t know any place else that feels more like home to me. Perhaps I also wanted to share it with you.” Then he turned his gaze to you, eyes reflecting the moonlight. He was divine, bewitching. Especially now, when he seemed to be opening up to you for the first time. You felt your heartbeat speed up at his confession.

  “Thank you,” you said softly, diverting your gaze to the waves. “I can understand why you’re so fond of this place. It’s blissful, feels like heaven.”

   He humms, fixing his gaze on the crashing waves above you.

  “Y/N.” He was surveying your face now, as if trying to read you. Expectant. 

  “Yes?”

  “Do you believe in heaven?” His voice is a whisper and, for a moment, you wonder if you’d heard him correctly. 

  That was probably the last question you’d expected from him, it took you completely by surprise. You inhaled deeply, searching for the right words, but ended up blurting what first came to mind.

  “For all I know, heaven is here. Hell, too. I want to be better, yes, for the people I love. I want to be better for whoever needs me to be, because I know how tough this can get. If there’s an afterlife… at least I’ll know that I tried to be good for the right reasons. So yeah, let’s say I don’t dwell on it. Whatever happens, happens.”

   By the time you finished talking, there was something sparkling deep inside his onyx eyes that you couldn’t recognize.

  “That’s sort of refreshing,” and there it was again. The sheepish gummy smile you adored so much, so utterly genuine and divine you thought you’d die.

  “What about you?”

  “Yes. Heaven, Hell, the whole ordeal. Except for God.”

  “But… How would it be possible for all those things to exist without God?”

  “That is not what I said,” he let out a humorless little chuckle. “Let it suffice that God is… I believe, much too real. Just not how humankind paint him to be. I believe God exists; I just don’t believe in him. Not anymore.” His tone was raw and melancholic. You ached with the need to console him, because he seemed adrift; and that bothered you more than it should.

  Without realizing, your face had gotten closer to his, and suddenly he was all over the place. All you could see, smell, hear, it was all him. He must have known, because then he traced your features lightly with his long, graceful fingers. You thought that was it. That was heaven.  

  You closed your eyes so you could savor every second of it, heartbeat going wild and butterflies assaulting your stomach. He lifted his other hand, and now he was cupping your face gingerly, like you were made of glass. Every touch ignited something foreign and glorious inside of you.

  He shifted, moving closer, and his scent hit you, unyielding, but you didn’t dare to open your eyes. When his lips finally brushed against yours, it was enough to set something off, and your hands made their way to his neck on their own as you let out a shaky breath. You pressed yourself harder and sucked on his bottom lip, before caressing it with the tip of your tongue, earning a groan from him.

   Well, shit.

  He took the hair in the nape your neck in a dainty – yet firm – fistful, asking permission with his tongue to deepen the kiss. There was no denying him, you could never. His taste, God, you could spend eternity tasting every single bit of him. When he licked past your teeth, you moaned, and it was so utterly pleasing, sinful, that he felt compelled to go harder, mercilessly swirling his tongue inside your mouth. There was no room to breathe, the neediness for one another unbending.

  You don’t know how much time you spent in that haze of mind-numbing desire, but neither of you dared to stop. Until your phone rang.

  You jerked away, pupils blown wide from the intensity of the moment, skin flushed. You were both panting, eyes trained on each other, searching, scrutinizing, waiting for a reaction. His reddened, glistening lips were parted slightly and he seemed displeased to cut the moment short. Even so, he managed to talk.

  “You should probably get that,” he gusted, trying to catch his breath.  You couldn’t find it in yourself to do anything but nod.

  You took the device out of your back pocket and checked the ID caller, brows furrowing. He mirrored your expression.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s a girl from school. We have history class together. That’s… odd,” you said. You and Sarah have never had a real conversation, one that didn’t involve Napoleon or Julien Sorel. You just had her number saved because of a paper you had to do together a while ago. “Hello?”

  “Y/N? Thank God,” she sounded truly relieved. “Look, I’m sorry to bother you but… We’re at the school’s gym and-“ she let out a loud gasp, and only then you noticed the noise in the background, an uproar of voices and… Did you did hear a punch?

  “Sarah? What is it?”

  “Tae’s here. Y/N, you should come…”

  Your blood ran cold.

  “What? Is he okay? Sarah, tell me what’s going on. Now,” you blurted, already standing, missing the way Yoongi’s face contorted in confusion and concern.

  “We tried to stop them, we really did, I-“

  “Sarah,” you grunted.

  “Okay, yeah. Him and Ian are at each other’s throats right now, it’s pretty bad. Y/N, I don’t think it’ll be long before someone calls the cops. I just thought I’d let you know, ‘cause-“

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” you cut her off, and then hang up.

  You were a lot of things at that moment, but mostly worried and angry. You had told him not to, you had told him to let it go, and he went behind your back. You heart rate was through the roof, adrenaline rushing through your veins. But this time, it wasn’t out of passion.

  “Y/N,” Yoongi had a wary look on his face. “Tell me.”

  “Can you take me back? Tae’s in trouble.”

  ||\\

  He hadn’t meant to. He really hadn’t meant to break his promise, but he knew it was bound to be broken the minute he made it. The idea of someone else touching you was torturous enough, but to think of them doing it without your consent actually drove him crazy with rage. Those unbidden images of you scared, asking that piece of shit to stop, only for him to hold you tighter, closer, wrapping his filthy hands around you… it wouldn’t stop coming to him, even though he’d tried his hardest to restrain them. It had haunted him ever since you told him. He felt sick. He hated himself for not being there for you, with you. Like the disgraceful best friend he was, he’d canceled movie night to get wasted. Ugly feelings, even the ones he didn’t care to admit, pierced their sharp claws at his chest. Guilt, exasperation, jealously.

  He’d tried to suppress the bitterness from watching you with the new guy, he tried to be just glad that he was there and hold out against it, because if he wasn’t… The point is: he really tried. But the way you looked at him made Taehyung’s stomach sink. He’d never seen it before, and he craved it like a man in the desert did a single drop of water. He wanted to be on the receiving end of that gaze more than anything.

  He’d go mad if he stayed inside, so he went out for a jog. Your mother had told him you weren’t home, and he figured you’d be at the coffee shop near school. What a big surprise it was when he found Ian next to a blue SUV that was parked near the gymnasium. He choked out a chuckle; it was just too tempting. Rage boiled trough his veins, and at that moment he knew he couldn’t hold back. He couldn’t not break that scumbag in half, even if that meant he’d be going against your wishes.

  So he did. Every punch, given or taken, satisfied him little by little. Because he also deserved to be punished, he thought.

 ||\\

    “What was that shit that you pulled? After I explicitly told you to stay out of it! Why now?”

  Taehyung had a bloody nose, a deep cut just above his eyebrow and some pretty ugly purple spots all over his upper body, staining his previously pristine skin. When you and Yoongi had arrived at school, you discovered he’d been taken. By a police officer, nonetheless.

  You’d been so mad. But now that he was in front of you, all screwed up in torn clothes, the speech you had prepared escaped your mind. You just couldn’t understand his impulsiveness, and the fact that he was in a tiny, smelly cell because of you was infuriating.

  “We both knew it was bound to happen eventually, so I figured rather sooner than later,” he answered nonchalantly.

  “Taehyung,” you said through gritted teeth

  “What, Y/N?!” He snapped. “You wanted me to let him get away with it?”

  “Yes! Yes, I literally told you that that’s what I wanted!”

  “Well, too bad,” he darkly said. He knew he was in the wrong here. But he was just too riled up to think straight.

  “Okay,” you said, taking a sharp intake of breath while running your fingers through your hair, “Okay, let’s be practical about this. Your dad is coming, right? We can talk about it at home.”

  “Fine,” he said, avoiding your eyes.

  “Fine,” you, too, knew how to be petty. “I’ve got to go outside for a minute. Behave,” your gaze flashed to an officer for a second, but quickly made its way back to Taehyung. When you realized he wouldn’t give you an answer, you just sighed and carried yourself out the door.

  As soon as you stepped out of the threshold, you saw Yoongi leaning on his motorcycle, arms crossed and head hanging from his shoulders. You didn’t know what tonight had meant. You wanted to at least try to figure out if he felt the same as you did, but you had bigger problems. And to be honest, you’d rather sleep on it. It was all too intense and hazy.

  “Hey,” you said, walking slowly towards him. He lifted his head and offered a tiny smile.

  “Your boyfriend really hates my guts, doesn’t he?”

  “He’s not-“ you cut yourself off when you realized he was just messing with you again. Of course he is, he stuck his tongue down your throat just an hour ago. “Anyways. I guess Tae will be out in a couple of hours, but I have to stay here and wait for Mr. Kim. Thank you for… tonight.”

  He nodded. “No problem, George. I’ll call y-“

  Suddenly, his eyebrows knitted together and his whole body tensed as he straightened himself. If you ever told anyone about this, you’d probably be admitted in a mental facility. But you swore that, for an instant, his eyes changed colors, going from pitch black to a deep violet. It happened in a heartbeat, and then he wasn’t looking at you anymore, but at something past your shoulder. You felt a chill run down your spine as you turned around to see what caught his attention.

  A tall, broad-shouldered man was walking towards you. As his lean figure got closer, the tension grew almost palpable, and you could see from afar he had a small smile plastered on his plump lips. But it wasn’t comforting at all. Instead, it was vile, almost sadistic. Your head snapped to Yoongi again, and you saw how he didn’t move a muscle, fists closed tight and jaw clenched. That made you panic a little.

  “Yoongi, what-“

  “Y/N, go inside,” his voice was hoarse and restrained, like he hadn’t talked in weeks.

  No, you wanted to say. That man, whoever he was, screamed bad news. He walked like a predator, and you felt like his prey. Though your self-preservation instincts were going wild with every step he took, something stronger made you want to stay. You knew he wasn’t here for you, but for him. And that sparked a need to protect him that you didn’t know to exist, nor where it came from. However, you just kept quiet and waited for the man to catch up, not missing the murderous aura emitted from Yoongi.

  At last, he stood in front of you, reddish hair and twisted smirk still on his face. You could see him clearly now, and he was beautiful. The kind of beauty you’ve only seen once.

  “Has anyone actually pressed charges this time, little brother?” His voice was deceivingly soft.

   Brother?

  “How did you find me?” Yoongi asked with an icy voice that almost made you shudder.

  “Is that how you greet your elders? Father would not be pleased.”

  “Well, you’re one to talk, aren’t you?”

  “People are still hung up on that, I see,” the man chuckled. “Yoongi-ah,” he said, his feet taking him closer at a slower pace. Yoongi kept his ground, knuckles white from his balled-up fists, while you instinctively took a step back. That’s when they both seemed to acknowledge your presence. Yoongi’s eyes bulged slightly, his pale skin becoming ever paler, while the other wore an unreadable expression on his face.

  “I told you to go inside,” he almost growled, taking your wrist in an iron grip and pulling you to stand behind his back. You didn’t understand. You didn’t understand any of it. Why did he seem so threatened by his own blood? The man was scary, sure, but was he actually dangerous? Your head was spinning, so you held onto his jacket to keep yourself vertical.

  “Were you not planning on introducing me to your friend, baby brother? That’s just rude, you know how much I love meeting new people.”

  “I’d advise you to be careful now, Jin.” The threat in Yoongi’s low voice was noticeable even to you, but Jin didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, he relished on it. His little brother didn’t get all protective over just anyone, and the fact that he didn’t want the eldest to know about you pointed straight to a weak spot. One which he intended to take full advantage of.

  “Easy, Prince, no need to get riled up,” Jin chuckled again, lifting both hands in a sign of peace. “What do you take me for?”

  “Neither of us can deny your nature, can we, brother? It’s the reason why we’re here in the first place.”

  “It’s true. Have you told her your name yet? Since you appear very comfortable sharing such details in front of her.”

  “What are you doing here? I thought I had made myself clear the last time we saw each other,” Yoongi changed the subject, hoping you wouldn’t pay much attention to his question.

  Jin’s face turned serious for the first time before he spoke. “They approached me, Yoongi-ah. It would seem that they need their Flam-“

  “Quit it!” Yonngi growled. “Hold your tongue, I don’t want to hear any of it. You need to go.”

  “Not until I have delivered my message.” The well-proportioned man stood his ground.

  Yoongi took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He could not have this kind of conversation in front of you – in front of anyone, for that matter. Jin was breaking the rules; an old habit of his. “Then I need you to wait for me at home. I suppose you already know where I live, don’t you? I’ll meet you there soon.”

  “Alright then. Y/N, it was splendid meeting you. I do hope I get to see you again soon.”

  Yoongi scowled as he watched Jin turn on his heels and disappear in the night. For all he knew, Jin would never get this close to you ever again. He was caught off guard today. He then turned around, black orbs scrutinizing you for a reaction.    

  There were many things going through your mind at that exact moment. Too many questions, he could tell. You looked at him in a grimace of confusion and horror.

  “How did he know my name?” That was the first thing that popped into your mind. You hadn’t said your name, neither did Yoongi. “And who’s ‘they’? And did he really just call you prince? Is that a pet name or something?” You blurted out, sensing you wouldn’t have too much time to elaborate the questions the way you wanted to.

  He looked into your eyes, face contorted in what you could only describe as a desperate hesitation, brows furrowed and lips pressed into a fine line. He was pondering his options. You knew that because, when he made up his mind, you could clearly see the taint of resolution.

  “I can’t answer your questions,” he muttered.

  “Why not?”

  “I’m really sorry, Y/N. Please, just forget about this. All of it.”

  “What are you talking about?” you were on the brink of losing it at this point. First Taehyung, and now this. He wasn’t making any sense. But his eyes spoke to you in ways he couldn’t. Only then, you understood. “No,” you said with a resolution of your own. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Listen, it’s okay if you don’t want to tell me right away, whatever it is, just don-“

  “Y/N.”

  “Yes?!”

  “Close your eyes.”

  “Why?”

  “Listen to me just this once,” he groaned, stepping into your personal space. He twisted your hair in one hand, holding your face securely to his. When he rested his forehead on yours, your eyes gave into his wishes, closing on their own. “I’ll be gone for a little while, George,” your breath hitched, but you didn’t interrupt him. He gave you a light peck on the mouth, lips soft and moist, breath hot on your face. “I have to settle some things straight. Be good for me while I’m gone, yeah? Don’t do anything stupid,” he frowned.

  “Will you come back?” your voice almost cracked, ‘cause you weren’t so sure of his answer. You felt foolish. You’ve only known him for a short period of time, after all. But the intensity of your feelings, though you couldn’t discern them clearly yet, scared you.

  This felt horribly like goodbye – it was, at least for now – and you hated it.

  “Do you want me to?”

  “Yes,” you answered straight away.

  “Alright,” he nodded. “Then I will.”

  You didn’t dare open your eyes when he stepped away from you after one last chaste peck on your lips, nor when you heard him start the engine of his Triumph. But when you felt a warm hand on your shoulder, you jolted slightly and your eyes fluttered open.  

  “Let’s get you inside, kid” Mr. Kim said softly, brushing away a lonesome tear from your cheek. “Then you can help me scold my boy for making us come all the way to the police station on a school day, how does that sound?” he tried to uplift your spirit, and you offered him a half-hearted smile.

   ||\\

                                                       “Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell;

And in the lowest deep a lower deep

Still threatening to devour me opens wide,

To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven.

Oh then at last relent: is there no place

Left for repentance, none for pardon left?”

     It’d been four weeks since the last time you saw him. A whole month since he’d disappeared completely. At first, you waited anxiously for him to reappear out of nowhere. For him to just slide into the classroom, like he’d done the first time. But as time passed by and the third week came, you grew worried. He didn’t get specific about how much time it would take for him to do whatever it was, but you imagined it would be one, maybe two weeks. But now, a month later, you were beginning to wonder if he’d even come back at all. If something had happened, if he was okay…

  No. He promised.

  You’d rather not dwell on the possibility of something going wrong – hell, you didn’t even know what he was doing or what was that strange conversation he had with his deviant brother in front of the police station. You had a few theories, though. Not that you’d ever utter them out loud.

  Number one: mafia. Maybe not The Godfather sort of thing, since that seemed pretty outdated, but rather… Scarface, perhaps? So you had come up with the idea of Jin being a druglord; nothing more, nothing less. It made sense, to be honest.

  Number two: well, number two wasn’t exactly clear on your mind, but had something to do with super rich parents and an insane heritage. He could be the prince of an empire, right? You didn’t know anything about his family, except that his brother was blood-curdling.

  You just wished to keep your head in the right place until he explained the situation to you. If he explained, that is. Sighing, you tried to contain your derailed thoughts and get back to the real world, where Taehyung needed you to pay attention to Mamma Mia! for the nth time.

  “Alright, that’s it. You didn’t even sing along during S.O.S and that’s where I draw the line,” he said, taking the remote from your hand and pausing the movie. It was a cozy night and you were both plopped on the couch wearing socks and sweatpants.

  “When have I ever sang along during S.O.S, Tae?”

  “I remember it vividly, we were eleven. But that’s not the point,” he retorted. You bit your lip and kept your eyes trained on the frozen screen of the TV, already sensing where this was going. “You’ve been like this for a while now.”

  “Like what?” you pushed, trying to feign innocence. You were not in the mood for this right now. You just wanted to stare unseeingly at the TV and have some private time with your own thoughts until the movie was over.

  He sighed. “Look, I can only guess what’s going on,” he scowled, but tried to compose his features into a serene mask before speaking again. “But I need you to not be in your own head for a minute.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. I want to help,” he said, taking your hand in his. The touch was warm and familiar.

  “I know, Marzipan,” another sigh. You took your hand from his carefully and got up. “I’m going to the store, you want something?”

  “What, now? Y/N-“

  “I just-, I need coffee and snacks if we’re pulling this off. If you want me to keep my eyes opened during Moulin Rouge, that is,” you pointed out matter-of-factly

  Taehyung shifted in his seat, face contorted in confusion, wariness and a hint of hurt. “Do you want me to go with you? It’s late.”

  “No, it’s fine. You can stay and plan ahead, I’m sure we’re not stopping at the next one.”

  He watched you silently while you fumbled for your keys. When you found them, he muttered: “Don’t be too long.”

  “I won’t.”

  As soon as you crossed the threshold, the cold air of the night hit your skin, making you shiver slightly. You closed the door and hid your hands in the pockets of your sweater, bringing it closer to your body in a poor attempt to keep the warmth from escaping.

  Walking towards the convenience store located a couple of blocks from your house, you let yourself get lost in headspace again. You knew you weren’t being fair to Taehyung. As much as you wanted to talk about this situation with him, you couldn’t. It felt like betraying someone who hadn’t even put their trust in you to begin with. Yes, it was unfair, and maybe you were being a shitty friend every time he tried to have a serious conversation about the subject and you brushed him off with an excuse, like getting coffee in the middle of the night.

  You sighed, not really willing to wallow in guilt tonight, and just tried to focus on your immediate task. One step after the other, then one more, and you could already see the lights of a tiny single shop, the only one opened this late at night. It belonged to Mr. Newton, a sweet old baker who treated you kindly every time he was filling up for his cashier.

  You entered the store and heard the little bell announce your arrival. Much to your surprise, Mr. Newton was working there that night. As he saw your expression of detachment, he frowned. So you tried to arrange your features in a polite smile before speaking.

  “Hello, Mr. Newton.”

  “Y/N, child, why are you wandering alone when it’s already this late?” he asked softly, though clearly concerned for your safety.

  “Don’t worry, sir,” you answered, walking towards the cooler where they kept the iced coffee and taking two in one hand, as you went for the chips next. “Tae and I needed a little snack. Movie night.”

  He nodded and you placed the items on the counter for him to scan.

  “Well, then. Tell that kid to come by whenever he can. My wife wants to send some essential oils for Mr. Kim’s aromatherapy sessions,” just as he’d said it, he got a bit closer to you, as if the next words to come out of his mouth were a secret. “Truth is, she misses him. The boy is the only one who can stand her cooking.”

  Despite being moody, you chuckled wholeheartedly. No one could be indifferent to Taehyung’s charms, it seemed.

  “Yes, sir, I’ll tell him.”

  As you went through your wallet to pay the old man, you heard the little bell once again. Mr. Newton greeted the new client, but you were too engrossed in finding the right bills to snap your head in the newcomer’s direction. However, the inquisitive sound that left the old man caused you to steal a glimpse, catching auburn hair and broad shoulders in their wake. You stood still for a moment, trying to recall why those locks seemed so familiar. Until it hit you.

  “Jin?” you breathed, not loud enough for anyone in the store to actually hear you. Just as you muttered his name, he closed the door and turned left, disappearing from your sight. You gasped. “Keep the change, Mr. Newton!” you said – audibly, this time – leaving a ten dollar bill on the counter and grabbing your stuff as gracefully as you could muster, rushing to the door like your life depended on it.

  “No running in the store, kid!” he tried to scold you, but could already feel the cool breeze as you opened the door and looked around, expecting to find his brother. Only this time around you weren’t scared, no. You wanted answers, heart beating fast at the possibility of hearing from Yoongi, maybe even seeing him… Okay, no, not the time for this, first things first.

  When you realized he was nowhere to be found, you ran. Left. He went left. You passed by a few houses and almost tripped on a stray cat, turning your head to the side to check on it and apologizing profusely as you picked up your pace again. A few blocks later, you were already out of breath. You came to a halt and put both hands on your knees, gasping and feeling your lungs burn.

  Trying to ease your labored breathing, you realized that you were probably going crazy. A halfhearted chuckle escaped your parted lips. You were disappointed, even if actually meeting the redhead meant trouble. Trying not to let frustration and melancholy get the best of you, you decided to just let it go and head back home. Even if it was Jin, he probably wouldn’t tell you anything anyway.

 ||\\

    The snow under your feet was slippery as you got out of the library, leather backpack and navy-blue beanie on. You held a large cappuccino on one hand, careful not to spill it as you dodged passers-by and umbrellas every now and then. The streets were a little crowded that afternoon, and you were dying to get home and relish on Mrs. D’Angelis’ famous chicken noodle soup. Maybe she’d even grant you a warm glass of wine if you asked properly. You tried to occupy your mind with ordinary, day-to-day thoughts, trying to ignore the flutter on the pit pf your stomach.

  During that entire week, you were constantly under the impression that something was off. When you were going to school with Taehyung, or grocery shopping for your mother, there was always that tingling feeling on the nape of your neck that told you that someone was watching. Then you’d turn around and nothing. No one was ever there. The uneasiness was uncomfortable, but you didn’t feel endangered, just really jittery. And your motto was: no better medicine for anxiety than tons of caffeine.

  “Mom, I’m home!” you crooned, taking your coat off and discarding the empty thermal cup.

  “In the kitchen, honey!”

  The smell was splendid. You took a deep breath, already yearning for the hot meal, and kissed your mother on the cheek while she stirred… something.

  “Uh, smells nice,” you praised, making your way to the fridge for a glass of water. “I’m shocked Tae hasn’t come knocking on our door yet. Maybe his flair is broken because of the flu.”

  “Is Taehyungie sick, honey? Why didn’t you tell me?” she almost whined.

  “It’s nothing, just a bit of phlegm. But I’ll take some of these,” you pointed to the pots, “for him and his dad later.”

  “You really should. Now go upstairs and change before dinner.”

  You mumbled a response and climbed the stairs to put on some good old band t-shirt and sweatpants. You didn’t notice the broad-shouldered frame behind the door, and as soon as you closed it behind you, you felt a cold hand covering your mouth, while the other held you in place by the waist. Your whole body tensed, eyes bulged and breath hitched. Fuck. You were prepared to let out a loud scream, but his whispered voice stopped you.

  “It’s me, it’s me,” he shushed you. As a reflex, your muscles relaxed. “Gonna take my hand off your mouth now, George,” he informed, slowly moving his hand from your face.

  Of course it was him. His smell was all over the place, his touch still left little electric jolts on your skin. You snapped your head and turned around to face him. You realized your memories could never do him justice. He was so heartbreakingly handsome, you could cry. Pale skin, shiny disheveled raven hair. You noticed the circles under his eyes were darker and he seemed exhausted. Regardless, when your eyes fell on his lips, your body reacted before your mind could.

  Your hands made their way to the nape of his neck, caressing and gently pulling his hair. At the same time, you clasped your lips together on a desperate kiss. His surprise didn’t stop him from matching your frenzy, grunting as he sucked your upper lip and asked permission with his tongue, one that you promptly granted. Henceforth, your tongues performed an erotic, lewd dance as they fought for dominance, swirling and exploring each other’s mouths.

  Only when the back of your knees touched the bed did you realize he was moving you towards it. He broke the kiss for a moment to mercilessly throw you on the soft duvet, and you let out a surprised moan when he immediately covered your body with his, mouth returning to yours. A primal need surged from within you when you felt one of his hands roaming at your side lustfully, gabbing tight on your ribcage, your waist, your hip. He hoisted your leg and you hooked it around him, holding back a loud moan when he pressed his erection to your groin. You could feel your panties drenching from the sudden contact, a new wave of desire making your core ache.

  “Y/N-“ he tried to speak through heavy breathing, his lips never leaving yours long enough for him to finish a sentence. “Baby,” he groaned, obviously trying to say something, but you weren’t ready yet. You rocked your hips against him, earning another lecherous noise from his rosy lips as he closed his eyes shut.

  You used that moment of weakness to knock him to his side, climbing on top of him as you clamped your thighs harder on his hips. His eyes went dark at the sight, a devilish smirk tainting his beautiful features. You didn’t give him time to say anything, taking his lips on another bruising kiss. His hands on your ass, squeezing and groping, and you felt him throb inside his pants. You moaned, a gush of wetness coming out as you clenched around nothing. You couldn’t form coherent thoughts anymore, pressing yourself harder against his bulge as you rolled your hips, searching blindly and desperately for a sweet release that was already so close…

  “Hold it, baby.” His voice was stern, and he pinned both your wrists on your back, his hands seeming incredibly big when closed around them. He was sitting now, hot, labored breath hitting your lips, heightening your senses and sending shivers down your spine. You crumbled under his dominant demeanor, feeling an inconceivable need to obey, and instantly stood still. It surprised him as much as it did you, and you saw a smug grin plaster itself on his face. “That’s it. Be good for me so I don’t lose my mind.”

  You let out a breath you didn’t know to be holding and weakly nodded, mind still clouded with want. He let go of your wrists and gently pecked your lips, sitting you down on the bed instead of his lap. Father knows he would be physically uncapable of having a proper train of thought if he didn’t.

  “So… I guess we have a lot to discuss first, don’t we?” his smile was sheepish now, hands going through his hair in a nervous tick.

  “Yes,” you breathed out. “What happened? I was so worried, Yoongi, you have no idea. I didn’t even know where you were or what the hell you were up to, I-“ you took a moment in order to stabilize your voice. You knew you were affected by his sudden absence, you just didn’t know how much until now that he was actually in front of you. “I don’t even know what the worst case scenario could be, but I bet my thoughts came pretty close,” you chuckled humorlessly.

  “I’m sorry, I never meant to worry you. If I knew I’d be gone for that long, I would’ve told you before I left. I missed you so much,” he confessed, voice lower than before, and rested his forehead on your own.

  “Tell me. Please, I need to know,” your brows furrowed.

  “I met my brothers,” he paused, waiting for a reaction that never came. It’s not that you were not surprised by the information that he had other siblings, you just wanted him to finish it before you spoke. “Jin aside, I spent… years apart from my family. You could say that we didn’t leave things on the best of terms when I left father’s, so it was a surprise for me when I learned that they wanted to talk. Notwithstanding that it’s out of need, not love.” His heavenly features contorted in hurt and resentment, and you felt you own heart clench. You gave him an eskimo kiss as a sign of reassurance and he smiled timidly. “They offered to take me back. It’s… certainly a grand gesture for the likes of us,” he shook his head slightly and knitted his brows.

  “Isn’t that a good thing? Don’t you miss them?” you didn’t know why your voice was so small.

  “Not anymore, no.” His gaze was intense and made your heart beat impossibly faster. “I do miss them. They used to be my whole existence, the reason for every breath of mine. But now… now everything’s changed.”

  “What’s changed?”

  “You.”

  Your breath hitched. If it was anyone else, if it was any other situation, you’d laugh at the cheesy line. But this was him, and that, too, changed everything. That one word was enough to unleash butterflies in your stomach, enough of them to knock you breathless. The truth behind his statement carried a heavy meaning, one that you yearned for and that made you giddy. His onyx orbs were wary, and you wondered if he was blind to the utter relief plastered on your face. It was selfish, but you couldn’t help it. Not when it came to him.

  “H-How come?”

  He chuckled. “Don’t get bashful on me now, George, I’m pretty sure you understand.”

  You tried to scowl, but the grin was insistent on your lips. “Alright, let’s put a pin on that. You still haven’t told me everything. What did your brothers want?”

  “Y/N, there are certain things about me and my family that I cannot tell you. It wouldn’t be safe.”

  “You don’t trust me?” you were mainly curious, but a hint of hurt could be heard, too.

  “That’s not it. It just wouldn’t be safe for you.”

  “Is your family involved in something… illegal? Is that why?”

  “Not illegal, no,” he chuckled.

  “Then I don’t understand.”

  “I know. But please, George, don’t be stubborn about this one. All I’m asking for is a leap of faith,” his eyes were pleading as they bore into yours. Was he aware that he could probably convince you that the sky was neon green if he looked at you like that?

  “It’s a big leap,” you mumbled.

  “I know. Just trust that I have good reasons,” he smiled softly.

  You sighed. “Fine, Romeo, keep your secrets. Just tell me if you get too deep into whatever it is that the Min’s are hiding. I care about your safety just as much as you care about mine.” You forced the heat back, secretly hoping that it did not reach your face in time for you to actually blush.

  “Doubt it,” he grinned. “Dinner is ready, Mrs. D’Angelis will be coming for you soon. I should get going.”

  Your face paled as you rushed to the wardrobe, retrieving some clean clothes from your drawer. “Wait,” you stopped on your tracks in the middle of the room, glaring at Yoongi through narrowed eyes. “How do you know that?”

  “I have my ways,” he shrugged, then tugged his lips upwards on a daring smirk. “It’s a secret.”

  “If you keep giving me clues I might just figure it out. Go on.”

  He chuckled and stood up from the bed, walking languidly in your direction. He touched your nose with the tip of his index finger, tracing it’s way all up to your forehead, then coming down to your jaw, where he grabbed firmly. His lips were smooth and slightly damped as they softly touched yours in a chaste kiss. A ragged sigh of pure bliss escaped you, and you tried to fight the haziness.

  “Bye, George,” he was still lingering when he spoke. As he broke the contact and turned to the window, you woke up from the trance.

  “Stay,” you breathed out. He looked at you with a hint of confusion. “I-I mean, you can stay if you want. I can bring you some of mom’s soup and we can eat it here. But you don’t have to, if you’re bus-“

  “Okay,” he deadpanned.

  “Okay. Yeah, uhm… I’ll go change in the bathroom, you can make yourself comfortable.”

  “Already am,” he said as he threw himself on the bed, bouncing a little. His countenance was amused and he eyed you intently, toying with the elephant plushie.

  “Of course you are,” you snorted, carrying yourself to the bathroom.

  That night, you both relished on your mother’s cooking while watching some old movie about Cole Porter on your laptop. You were sure that it wasn’t his cup of tea, but he payed attention to it nonetheless. After you were done, you offered to take the dishes downstairs, since your mother would probably have a stroke if she knew there was a boy in your room. You stopped by Taehyung’s to check on him and offer his favorite hot meal, but it didn’t take more than five minutes. You were on a hurry, and he knew better than to question it.

  Back upstairs, you and Yoongi curled up under the covers and tried to find something interesting enough to watch for what seemed to be ages, your head resting on his chest and his hands holding you securely by the waist. It wasn’t long until you fell asleep, and only then did he leave, pecking your forehead gently before jumping out the window.

  ||\\

  “Get in.”

  “No,” you tried to end the discussion then and there. As expected, you failed.

  “Y/N, you can’t go back on pinky promise. You should’ve thought this through.” His goal was to sound stern, but in reality you could see the hint of a pout on his lips. “It’s my birthday.” Okay, there it was. That was definitely a pout.

  “No,” you closed your eyes shut and facepalmed – for good measure. “Don’t give me those eyes, I’m not looking,” the sound was muffled by your hands.

  He wrapped his incredibly large fingers around your wrists and whined: “Come on, we’re already here. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “Why on earth would you say that?” you instantly took your hands from your face and shot him a glare. He had the nerve to chuckle.

  “You can’t possibly expect me to do this alone.”

  “You can’t possibly expect me to do this at all,” you retorted, kicking the snow piled up near the curb, shunning away from his puppy dog eyes.

  “You promised you would! I’ll do it, Marzipan. If you win this round, I’ll get a tattoo with you as a birthday present,” his voice was high pitched.

  You snorted. “I was out of it, mental faculties completely fried. Drunk on power and merlot. Plus, I’m pretty sure you cheated, you could never beat me at Mario Kart,” you grumbled.

  “I did not cheat,” he was outraged. “I’m a lawful man, I abide by the rules, and they are clear: a bet is a bet.”

  You honestly have no idea why you let him talk you into this. Perhaps because you’ve been feeling guilty lately, and therefore didn’t have the heart to turn him down when he broke into your room to collect his victory this morning. It’s a good present, right? To get tattoos with your best friend? He had been trying to convince you since three birthdays ago. You hoped it would be enough to ease a bit of the weight on your chest.

  Truth is, you had been spending too much time with Yoongi these past few weeks. After what happened when he showed his face again, it became routine that he came by almost every night when your mom fell asleep. You’d talk, watch movies, kiss… But what you enjoyed the most were those moments where you curled up in his embrace, face buried in the crook of his neck, and neither of you would say a word. You’ve always appreciated peaceful silence, but those moments were so much more. You felt truly connected to him, in a way you’d never felt with anyone else. Like you were both pieces of the same puzzle, cheesy lines aside.

  Or when he would be the one to rest his head on your chest, blinking lazily as you twisted his silky, raven locks in your fingers. Perhaps those were truly your favorites, as you felt the incontrollable urge – need – to be protective of him, to never let anything disturb his serene, almost childlike countenance, so bare before you in the night’s veil. Before the sun came up and brought back the little wrinkle between his eyebrows.

  During the day, you often returned to his safe haven – one that ultimately became yours, too. The waves breaking against the rocks, the salty breeze, the deep blue of the ocean, you had gotten acquainted to it all in a heartbeat. On occasion, you’d bring warm, fuzzy blankets, hot cocoa and books, spending an entire afternoon on your own personal eden.

  You never meant for any of it to get in the way of your friendship with Taehyung, but counterbalancing proved to be harder than you first thought. Although you may have gotten too caught up, inevitably distancing yourself a bit, you were now eager to make it up to him. He was like family, after all. So here you were.

  “Fine, have it your way. But I’m telling mom that you put me up to this,” you threatened. The snow under your boots making a crunchy noise while you crossed the street to get to the tattoo parlor.

  “She won’t believe you. I’m a saint. I’m her Taehyungie.” He was beaming.

  As soon as you got in, you saw a man sitting behind the counter. He was buff, and you’d bet that pretty much his whole body was covered in piercings and tattoos – mostly about dragons and snakes. Looks aside, his voice was warm and welcoming when he greeted you.

  “Welcome, kids. My name is Eli, how may I help you today?”

  All the drawings and pictures on the walls seemed to have detained Taehyung’s attention, so you plastered a polite smile on your face before answering.

  “Hi. My friend over here came to get a tattoo,” you pointed at the boy beside you and he scowled.

  “We both did,” he smiled at the receptionist.

  “Alright. You have to sign a couple of forms before we get into details. You’re both legal, right?” the receptionist asked and you nodded. “Peach. Just a second,” he turned his attention to the computer in front of him, taking a couple of papers from the printer soon after. He handled you each a consent form. Before you signed yours, you exchanged a look with Taehyung, almost having a whole conversation – bickering – with him through knowing looks.

  “Here you go,” Taehyung handed the papers to Eli.

  “Cool. Do you guys have something in mind? We have a few drafts you can check out. But if you already know what you want, Hyunjin can draw it when you get inside. Don’t worry, he’s good.”

  “I have something in mind,” Taehyung offered a bright boxy smile. “I guess I’ll just explain it to him, then.”

  “Great,” Eli turned his eyes to you, realizing that you definitely had not made up your mind just yet. “If that’s the case, I’ll let him know that you’re going in,” he said to Taehyung, who nodded in response. When the buffy man went to the back, he glared at you through narrowed eyes.

  “I’ll come back with permanent ink on my skin. You better not chicken out by the time I’m done,” he threatened.

  “Hope you don’t regret it within the year,” you taunted.

  “I won’t,” he snorted.

  Eli returned a second later, excusing himself to lead Taehyung to the tattoo artist. In the meantime, you picked a binder that was resting on top of the counter to take a look at the drawings he’d mentioned, hoping to find something you’d actually like – or at least an inspiration. Most of them were very intricate, and although they were beautiful, you wanted something simple. Less is more when you’re tainting your skin for life because of a bet.

  You were turning the pages with such disinterest that you almost missed it. It seemed unfinished, just a sketch, and you couldn’t quite pinpoint the reason as to why it caught your attention in the first place. It was a dragon intertwined in a circle, it’s countenance exuding fierceness and strength. Inside the circle, however, was just an unembellished arrangement of lines, one that was strangely familiar and alluring. 9-7-1-12-6, if you think about a clock.

  “Oh, I see you’ve found Lee’s work. What do you think?” Eli pulled you out of your headspace.

  “Uhm… Yeah, he’s great. His drawings are pretty authentic.”

  “Uh huh, he’s been working on those for a while now. So, do you have any idea what you’re gonna get yet?”

  “Not really. I mean, I liked this one,” you pointed to the page you were previously analyzing. “Do you know if it means anything in particular?”

  “Yes! Actually, it does, but I can’t really remember what. I think it’s a sigil, though. You know, one of those thingies people believe to be magical.”

  “Mhm.” You really didn’t know why you felt the need to purge those next words, but you were saying them before you could stop yourself. “This is it.”

  “What? You’re gonna tattoo that?” Without even knowing what it means?

  “Yes. I liked the dragon.”

  ||\\

  His lips were soft against your collarbone, leaving a trail of goosebumps on their wake when he moved them lazily to your jawline, wet little kisses making you squirm and sigh. His index finger was tracing patterns on your bare thigh, caressing and examining as if he’d never done it before, as if you were a made of glass. The sun had graced you with its appearance for the first time in weeks, and you wanted to enjoy the good weather as much as possible, so you had convinced Yoongi to lay on the grass by your side.

  “Tired of Miss Brontë already, love?” his velvety voice evinced his amusement.

  “Can’t read. You’re distracting me.”

  He chuckled lightly, delivering small puffs of air on the crook of your neck, and raised his head just enough to look at you, blocking the sunlight and making it possible for you open your eyes. Before he’d made his mission to disturb your concentration, you were reading for him, like people do with kids before they go to bed. It became a thing after the first time you did it, and now he picked a different book every week or so. When you’d asked about it, he just shrugged and declared that ‘It’s just nice. I like hearing you.’ This week, it was Wuthering Heights.

  “Continue, please,” he adjured, laying his head on your chest as a demonstration of good will. You grabbed the book you’d previously set aside and opened it, leaving one hand free to play with his locks.

  “That, however, which you may suppose the most potent to arrest my imagination, is actually the least, for what is not connected with her to me? and what does not recall her? I cannot look down to this floor, but her features are shaped on the flags. In every cloud, in every tree—filling the air at night, and caught by glimpses in every object by day, I am surrounded with her image. The most ordinary faces of men and women—my own features—mock me with a resemblance. The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her.”

  His eyes were no longer closed, he was gazing at you.

  “Do you pity him?” he suddenly asked.

  “Heathcliff? I don’t.”

  He nodded slowly. “So, you think there’s no redemption, then?”

  “Not for him. He lived and died as an antagonist. Some might think his cruelty is just an expression of his frustrated love for Catherine, or that he conceals at least some virtue, a romantic heart. They expect him to be anything but what he constantly proves to be, they expect misunderstood heroes. But he himself acknowledges his sadistic nature.”

  He stood still, seeming to be lost in thoughts while tracing invisible patterns on your shoulder and refusing to meet your eyes.

  “Would you be able to love someone as tainted as him?” he asked wistfully.

  You lifted your upper body, compelling him to a sitting position as well.

  “I’ve never had to,” you pecked his lips chastely, even though he still kept his eyes trained on the grass underneath you. “Hey,” you dig your nails gently on the nape of his neck, asking for his attention. When he raised his head, the wrinkle between his eyebrows was there again. It worried you that, since he’s been back, it’s been a constant feature of his. Every now and then, his face twisted into an inscrutable grimace. “You understand, don’t you?”

  A half-hearted nod was your response, and he built up the mask to conceal his discomfort once again.

  “Enough vitamin D for you? I can’t stand the heat,” he grumbled.

  “Yeah,” you chuckled, pressing your lips to his forehead and standing up, stretching a helping hand. “Where do you want to go?”

  “My place.”

  Which was code for: Your mom is home and I want to pass out on my bed nuzzling you.

  “Whatever you want, grandpa.”

  “Be a brat and I’ll hit the throttle,” he threatened, positioning himself on top of his Triumph. Sometimes he took full advantage of just how dreadful you found his two-wheeled vehicle. And it always worked. You snorted, climbing on the back seat and wrapping your arms around him. “Hold tight, George.” His warning was delivered with amusement, but you knew better than to take it lightly.

  The fifteen-minute trip went as smoothly as it could, and even though you’d made sure to keep your eyes closed, you still felt dizzy and light-headed when he parked into the old building’s garage. He sensed your distress and got off the motorcycle slowly, careful when untangling you’re your arms from his waist and never completely breaking physical contact.

  “Open your eyes,” he murmured, one hand on the small of your back and the other placed on your hip. You took a deep breath and your eyelids tentatively fluttered. His lips brushed your right cheek as he effortlessly lifted you and put you down on the floor, covering the entirety of your hand with his and making a beeline for the elevator.  

  Yoongi’s apartment was on the fourth floor, which happened to be the last one – the building was a small, fading-yellow rectangle in the middle of a quiet neighborhood. In a way, it suited him. Secluded and discreet. Perfect for a misanthrope such as himself, given that you’d never even bumped into one of his neighbors – and you’d been visiting quite regularly. On another note, however, it was uncannily unpretentious for someone like him.

  He stopped for a moment on the front door, fumbling for the keys in his pocket. As soon as he opened it, you made your way to the couch, crashing with a sigh, face buried in the cushion. A minute had passed before he plopped on top of you, compelling a puff of air out of your lungs. You grumbled something about manslaughter, but the sound was muffled. He ignored you, making himself comfortable by nuzzling your neck and taking off his shoes using only his feet. You chuckled, making an effort to turn on your back so you could catch a breath.

  “Sleepy?” you asked, running your fingers through his hair. He hummed a response, content with your ministrations. “I, uh… have something to show you.”

  He raised his head from your throat, eyeing you curiously. “What is it?”

  “Bedroom,” you commanded.

  “Oh, I see,” he taunted, but stood up nonetheless. You rolled your eyes.

  You guided him to his room and closed the door behind you. He leisurely sat on the bed, waiting cautiously for you to proceed. You sucked in a deep breath, growing doubtful under his gaze. Pushing all insecurities aside, you unzipped your shorts.

  “Y/N, what are you doing?” he warned in a low-pitched, deep voice, orbs darkening considerably. You dismissed it, tiptoeing closer to him. He straightened his back and raised his eyes to meet yours, searching for any indication of what you intended to do. You pushed the waistband down, letting the piece of clothing pool on the floor, but he didn’t flinch, attention still focused on your features. When you hooked one finger on the hem of your white panties, he quickly snatched your wrist on a tight grip, brows knitting together. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, baby. You know that, right?”

  Your chest swelled with warmth and affection. After the night he came back, things heated up a couple of times. Once he’d realized how tense and anxious you got at first, he began to hold back, withstanding your advances. You never verbalized anything, but he had a hunch, and pressuring you was definitely not on his to-do list. He was being respectful and caring, and although you shouldn’t accept nothing less, it made you feel safe. He made you feel safe, always.

  “Let me show you,” you murmured, a soft smile blooming on your face. He seemed puzzled, but ended up nodding warily. When you moved your finger, slightly pushing the fabric down to expose your hip, he finally had the guts to jeopardize his restraint and look down. You didn’t know what you expected his reaction to be, but that certainly wasn’t it.

  His breath hitched and he paled, eyes almost bulging out of their sockets. He didn’t move a single muscle, whole body tensing up. It was as if he couldn’t fully comprehend the sight before him, like he couldn’t believe. He composed himself soon enough, but you could still see the glint of shock in his eyes. It didn’t make any sense.

  “When did you get that?” his voice came out flat and a few octaves lower than usual.

  “A couple of weeks ago,” you frowned. The tattoo that marked your hip was now almost fully healed. You were doubtful in the beginning, but now you kind of grew fond of it. “What’s wrong?”

  “Do you know…” he cleared his throat, fingers twitching. “Do you know what it means?”

  “Not exactly,” you confessed sheepishly. “The tattoo artist said it was a religious symbol and… Truth be told, I’m not even sure why I did this. Just felt right,” you mumbled, realizing then that you probably sounded a tad out of it. You held your lip between your teeth, unsettled.

  “Yes. It’s the sigil of one of the seven archangels, love. It’s… Michael’s… sigil,” his jaw clenched, but his tone was now softer. “It’s used to invoke strength and protection. The ancients believed that, if you will it enough, he will be able to hear your prayers and, perhaps, be of assistance,” he laid his hand flat on your skin, stroking the symbol with his thumb, oblivious to the little jolts of electricity the simple gesture sent through your body. An unfamiliar mixture of dejection, despair and awe flashed through his onyx eyes, and you wondered what it was that he wasn’t telling you that could’ve possibly elicited such reaction.  

  “How do you know all that?” you wanted him to focus on something other than whatever it was that poisoned his thoughts.

  “Father taught me,” he shrugged.

  It’d been a while since he last mentioned his family. But you knew he was thinking about them whenever you saw the accentuated wrinkle every time he furrowed his brows, or when his muscles felt so tense to the touch that he was akin to marble against your skin. He was worried, he had been for a while now. And it scared you. You needed to know.

  “Yoongi…” the uncertainty that laced your tone made him squeeze your flesh encouragingly. “Where is he? Your dad.”

  “Home,” he stated tersely.

  “I know, but… Where is home? And what about your brothers? I know you said you don’t speak to them anymore, you just never explained why.”

  “We’ve already talked about this. They’re home, too. Y/N, just forget it,” he shook his head, avoiding your gaze.

  “Why do you build this wall between us every time? It’s frustrating. I can help-“

  “You can’t,” he deadpanned, breaking off any contact when he got up, making his way to the door. His demeanor screamed for you to back off, that he had no interest in continuing the conversation. But you were done being left in the dark.

  “Why is it so hard for you to trust me, huh?”

  “I already told you that it’s not a trust issue,” he raised his voice. “Why can’t you accept that I don’t want you to get caught up in the middle of my mess?”

  “Well, I am caught up in the middle of your mess!” you roared. “You were gone for an entire month and have been on edge ever since you got back. Something’s going on, I’m not stupid.”

  “Jesus Christ, Y/N,” a deep growl escaped his throat. “It’s none of your business, if we’re being honest here. They’re my problems, I’m the only one who can fix them – hell, not even that.”

  “If you could stop being such a jerk for a second, you’d realize that they became my problems, too, as soon as I fell in love with you. But you’re so far up your own ass that we can’t even discuss things without yelling at each other,” you spit the words. “Do you know what it’s like for me to watch you struggle like you’ve got the whole world on your shoulders? Especially when my hands are tied,” you stepped closer to his figure, heart hammering on your chest after your little speech. It was nothing but a whisper when you said, “You’re not alone, you idiot.”

  His whole expression softened, and you could recognize a faint smile on his velvety lips. Taking a deep breath, he closed the distance between the both of you and let his hand rest on the column of your neck.

  “I am an idiot,” he nodded, visibly calmer. “And you’re stubborn, you know that?”

  “Might have heard something about it,” you grumbled.

  He hummed. “Forgive me. Could you?”

  “Maybe. Will you… I mean, I just wish you’d open up a little. I’m scared, Yoongi,” you confessed.

  “Me, too.”

  “I know. That’s why.”

  He shook his head and lowered it until his skin touched yours. “I’m scared of your reaction, baby. I don’t know if you’ll want me once you discover the truth,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

  “I’d say you’re safe. Unless your family is trying to coerce you into becoming a real life Michael Corleone. You didn’t shoot anyone in the head, did you?”

  He chuckled wholeheartedly and took a step back to maintain eye contact and mock you properly. “That’s your theory? That I’m a mobster?”

  You looked down sheepishly, before answering nonchalantly in a small voice, “One of them.” He couldn’t help himself, even though his hand was pressed tight against his mouth and his eyes were glistening with unshed tears of amusement. He tittered.

  “May I know the others?”

  “No,” you glared.

  “Oh, George, what if I ask nicely? What if I say please?”

  “Not even then.”

  “How about pretty please?” You shook your head, trying to pass through him to get to the kitchen, but he encircled his arms around you from behind before you could grasp the knob. “And what if I tell you that I am, too?” he breathed in the shell of your ear and you held your breath for a second. You didn’t need him to vocalize what you already knew, but you felt butterflies fluttering anyways. Still, you kept your ground, suddenly very conscious of the fact that your shorts were still pooled on the floor near the bed.

  “Closer, goodfella. But not enou-“

  The loud bangs on the front door cut you midsentence. You felt Yoongi’s body stiffen before something that sounded terribly similar to a low growl broke out of his throat.

  “Get dressed and stay here,” he ordered, authoritative. He didn’t spare you a glance before exiting the bedroom, and you felt a dreadful feeling claw up your insides, piercing your gut and making you nauseous. Pulse thrumming viciously under your skin, you fetched your shorts and wiggled it up, fastening the belt with shaky hands. Stop overreacting, you told yourself over and over, growing more anxious by the second. You couldn’t understand why, to be honest.

  Taking deep breaths, you forced your fidgety fingers to stay still as you fell limp on the soft mattress, eyes closed. Your mind wandered to the safe haven: cotton clouds and baby blue sky, the smell of the grass, the books scattered around you and him. For a minute, you could truly take the edge off. Until you heard the noise of glass shattering on the wall.

  Getting off the bed as fast as you could, your head spun. You opened the door quietly, careful not to expose the presence of another person in the house, and made a beeline to the kitchen. While you looked franticly for something that could be useful as a weapon, you tried to stay attentive to the sounds. They were muffled, but you could discern at least two voices, apart from Yoongi’s.

  Alright. Great.

  As any sane person who’s watched more than a few movies would do, you went for the most obvious choice. Knives. Better safe than sorry.

  Almost counting your steps, you tiptoed your way to the living room. The voices were not very loud, but you could easily understand what was being said now that you were closer.

  “It’s imperative that you return with us now,” a dulcet, almost high-pitched voice uttered softly. “I am sure you are aware of your responsibilities. It’s time.”

  You stayed hidden behind the icy-white wall that separated the two rooms, gripping the hilt of the knife so tightly that your knuckles turned white. Maybe you shouldn’t be eavesdropping, that was clearly a family matter. Maybe you should lock yourself in Yoongi’s bedroom and do as he said. But the truth was that you were far too curious – and now far too enchanted by the childlike voice – to stop yourself from prying.

  “I believe you have already forgotten about the current state of affairs, then? Father exempted me from my duties as soon as he banished me from the Gates and sent me to exile,” Yoongi spit. You could see it clearly in your head as he ran his fingers through his hair in annoyance. He sounded… different. You didn’t have the courage to tilt your head and steal a glance, afraid they’d catch the motion.

  “Father warned you about the consequences of your stubbornness, Michael, but you were very much unyielding in your misconceptions,” the second person said, gruffy and curt.

  “It is not a misconception to care for our own flesh and blood.”

  Wait. Michael? Had he been listening to your conversation earlier? If the man wasn’t so deadly serious and the air so dense, you would’ve laughed – although you felt that it was probably not the right time to let out a full-throated  guffaw to mask an anxiety attack.

  “Our own flesh and blood abused his role as a persecutor and bent the rules for his own selfish purposes. Azrael is fortunate if Father ever forgives him, albeit we both know he will. Brother, I know you hold the highest regards for truth and justice, but it was not your place to question an order.”

  You could hear the crude man pacing around the room as he spoke. Hoping to stay unnoticed, you sneaked a peek. The first person you landed eyes on was not at all taller than you, and you supposed that was the first man you’d heard. His hair was silvery, almost platinum blonde, styled in a way that evinced his beautiful forehead. The way he carried himself was elegant and graceful, like a ballerina, and his appearance suited his youthful voice perfectly. The second figure to catch your eye, though, was the complete opposite. Tall, lustrous olive skin and brown hair, he was intimidating at first glance. His steps were heavy on the floor, nearly clumsy.

  “Perhaps there lies the problem. We are never to question, even whilst we deem fit. Azrael is the embodiment of corruption and amorality; it’s consensual, we are well aware. No matter how devious, he is needed. Casting one of the Seven out ought to never be an option. Be that as it may… There are only five of us within the Gates now. Was I supposed to receive graciously the task of exiling our own brother?”

  You were growing considerably annoyed by their choice of words. Why the hell would they be talking like your great-grandparents? All cells in your body were telling you that it was supposed to be cringey, but in reality it was nothing but alluring. Charming. And that’s where all the annoyance came from.

  “It is unwise to go against His instructions. Are you a rebel at heart, Prince?” The man stopped his pacing to let the words tumble out of his mouth, venomous. You could tell by Yoongi’s countenance that he was about to lose his composure, and in a way you were yet to see. His body were trembling slightly in fury, and his lips were compressed together in a well-defined line. You were astounded, however, by his eyes. In that moment, you couldn’t move even if you intended to. They were tinted in a deep violet, just like you had seen before at Jin’s encounter, except that, this time, they hadn’t gone back to black.

  “This has nothing to do with the Rebellion, Raph-“

  “Then why disobey? Do you plan to defy Father as well? It would be entertaining to watch you fight your antithesis for the throne of the underworld,” he chuckled.

  It all happened in an instant, but for you it felt like slow motion. Yoongi was convulsing within himself, as if attempting to refrain a great deal of energy from breaking free. Once you saw blood oozing from his closed fists, you knew it was a lost battle. But never, ever, could you have foreseen what came next, what kind of energy – power – exactly he was trying to repress. For a very brief moment, everything stood still. If you had been able to avert your eyes from him, you’d see the silvery-hair figure shudder. You’d see the faint smirk on the lips of the man who caused Yoongi’s outburst, even though he was, deep down, a tad terrified. But you did not have time, nor will-power, to pay attention to anyone but him, ablaze amethysts shooting daggers at the man before them.

  Then everything came crashing down. Your beliefs, the world as you knew it, it was all taken away ruthless and abruptly once you saw white feathers rip through black shirt. You gasped audibly, falling to the floor with a dull thud as the knife clinked at your feet. None of them noticed, too entranced by the interaction that unrevealed itself. Yoongi got to his prey at an unhuman speed, grabbing him by the throat and caging him against the door. The horrid sound was enough to make you wince through your stupor, and, if it were anybody else, their skull would have cracked. The man, however, only clenched his jaw to suppress a whimper.

  “How dare you speak ill of your Leader like this?” as his voice went down a few octaves, Yoongi’s hold tightened visibly. The man-child seemed as ready to meddle as he would ever be, though still too frightened to actually move. “How dare you, brother, mention the Chief of the Heavenlies in the same breath as his nemesis? Mere one hundred and fifty years, Raphael, and you already built the temerity of being impertinent towards me? Or have you simply forgotten who I am?” his wings were whooshing, as if he was preparing to – quite literally – take flight at any given moment. They were stupendous, bigger than he himself, and so snowy-white, so untainted. Truly immaculate, contrasting with his raven hair.

  His angelic features, albeit glorious, could never outstand the magisterial way to which he spoke, imposing authority. Like he was born for it. Everything about him in that moment urged you to bow before his feet, and you weren’t even the one holding his darkened glare. It was entirely alien to you, a facet of him you could barely conceive, let alone process. Raphael undoubtedly recoiled at his words, but tried to conceal it.

  “Then show me. Do your title justice and lead us to victory, as I know there is no wrath nor passion greater than yours. Not for a moment have I forgotten who you are, Flaming Warrior, but you certainly have.” Raphael spoke, and it fell to the ears like a prayer.

  As Yoongi’s wings retracted once again, you breathed what seemed to be the first intake of air in hours. He slackened his grip on Raphael’s throat, who then bent over in a fit of coughing. The boyish man’s shoulders visibly relaxed, and he let out a sigh. Of course, the little truce was bound to be broken the minute one of them laid eyes on you. It happened to be the blonde.

  “Michael, there is a human on your floor,” he whispered, resembling a kid more than ever with his eyes wide open. “Why is there a human on your floor?” he snapped his head, shooting the question directly to Yoongi’s face, and you saw his body stiffen. “Oh, Father! She’s heard our names! Brother…”

  “Silent,” his voice was gruff, and he turned to scrutinize your figure. You weren’t sure of how you looked from the view of an outsider, but you felt… Shock, maybe? Fright? You didn’t know who and what was in front of you, and all you could think was how come his eyes are pitch black now?

  “Yoongi, we violated the law,” the man you now identified as Raphael said.

  “Namjoon,” his eyes never left you as he spoke, “take our brother home and certify yourself that he does not mention today’s events within the Gates.”

  “B-But the protocol-“

  “Does not apply to her, Jimin-ah,” Yoongi cut him off, “If you still need me to fight by your side, that is.”

   He seemed appalled by the perspective of that being an option. “Needless to say, brother, of course we do!”

  “That means I am in charge, then. So, at your superior’s orders, will you be able to keep this to yourself?” Yoongi craned his neck to glance at them through his peripheral vision.

  “If it is what you want, brother,” he mumbled, averting his gaze to the floor in respect.

  “Well, that being the case, I fear we might have to end this dreadful visit already. Notify our soldiers that I am to be expected soon.”

  “Yes, sir,” Raphael responded with a worried frown tainting his beautiful face. He touched the cherubic-like man on the shoulder and they both left the apartment.

  Yoongi’s feet were glued to the floor, the same spot he’d been standing since landing eyes on you. Your breathing was labored and hitched; your throat so dry that it felt like sandpaper. He took a little step forward, slowly stretching one hand in your direction. You let out a low whimper, recoiling until you were almost balled up, knees pressed tight against your chest. He immediately withdrew his arm and flinched.

  “I told you to stay in the bedroom.” His voice was flat, it wasn’t a scold.

  “W-What- What the hell just-“ a sob broke through your throat, and only then did you notice hot tears striking your cheeks. “Y-Yoongi,” you weren’t sure of what to say, let alone if you were actually able to choke a whole sentence out.

  “Are you afraid?”

  Yes.

  Fuck, yes.

  Were you afraid of him, though? Granted, his whole countenance while exerting power over someone else sent chills through down your spine. But that was not the man standing before you now, no.

  “Who are you?” you asked, trying too hard to keep a clear head.

  He straightened his back. “My true name is Michael,” he muttered.

  “You know that’s not what I asked,” you objected.

  “Yes,” he sighed, “I know. Can you keep an open mind?”

  “An open mind?” you scoffed. “I’m here, aren’t I? After seeing a pair of wings growing out of your shoulder blades.”

  “You are,” he chuckled humorlessly. He then walked tentatively in your direction, sitting on the floor as well when he deemed close enough. “I’m one of the Seven.”

  Your face twisted in confusion. Your brain was trying to deny what your subconscious already knew. “Go on.”

  “My brothers and I… we are one of Father’s first creations. Have you ever heard of the seven archangels, George?”

  “Yeah,” your voice was nearly inaudible.

  “It’s easier for you to understand, then. We are responsible for maintaining harmony in Heaven. That, occasionally, includes keeping things in order between the Gates and Earth,” he paused, searching for anything in your face that would require him to stop. “I am… let’s say, of great importance to keep the balance between our worlds, including the nether regions. You might have already gathered that I’m their leader, so to speak. I am in charge of all heavenly troupes, every single one of Father’s soldiers is under my command, as well as I am under His. In times of war, I am indispensable. That’s why they call me Warrior Prince; amongst other things.”

  “So it’s… all real?” your voice almost cracked. “Hell, heaven… God?”

  “Pretty much, yeah.”

  “Then why are you here?” you murmured under your breath and his expression darkened.

  “Immortality can make you petty. Do you remember meeting Azrael? I guess you know him as Jin. Azrael is… unique. Known as the Persecutor, he was the first reaper to ever exist – created before I was, even. He harvests human souls in due time and delivers them to a realm that suits them best. Paradise, Purgatory or Hell. My brother can be misunderstood very easily; his job has brought to the surface a sadistic persona. We all deal with evil from time to time, it was born in our home, but… Azrael is death, it’s a heavy burden to carry. Infinite lifetimes dealing with the worst sentiments a human can ever experience is bound to leave some scars. He can be mischievous and quite a pain in the ass, to be honest,” he huffed, “but his loyalty is admirable. So, when he made an egocentric mistake, Father reunited us all to discuss the best course of action. Much like a trial, if you will. The point is: they banished him to live amongst his… victims for a certain period of time. I could never agree to that, I believe every single one of the Seven serves a purpose, we are all needed to maintain natural balance.”

  “So you rebelled?”

  “No,” he scowled. “I’m not a rebel, I’m… a nonconformist.”

  “It’s the same thing.”

  “Not for us, it’s not.”

  “Okay. Then what happened?”

  “It’s a long story, if you want me to explain it correctly.”

  “I do. And you’re everlasting, so I bet we have some time to spare.”

  “Right,” he snorted. “My people is a bit traumatized when it comes to defiance, you probably know why.”

  “Because of the devil, right?”

  “Lucifer deeply despises all of his nicknames. But yeah, he’s the reason. A very long time ago, Father decided to expand our family. My brothers and I were content, but when He presented the idea of more… more of us, more love, we agreed on the spot. See, He was never, ever, the tyrant your kind makes him to be. Until Lucifer, that is. He was… exquisite, my brother. From his birth, each and every angel to exist used to say that Father got inspired by me when creating him, but in a very distinctive way. As much as possible, we were the flip side of each other, although extremely similar still, if that makes sense. With time, our bond grew stronger; we became inseparable. Almost everything we did was in each other’s company: from training in the fields to reading manuscripts under the sunlight. My brothers and I didn’t have much to worry about, it was a very peaceful existence. We had not come to know sin yet.

   Needless to say, it did not last. Because we were oddly alike and yet so different, comparisons were nearly inevitable. I didn’t mind them back then, so I thought he would never take it to the heart either. I was wrong. Lucifer distanced himself slowly but surely, and with each passing day, he tried harder to triumph over me in a childish competition, one that existed strictly in his head. He’d become resentful, and his animosity soon spread like wildfire towards the others, too. None of us were able to comprehend a feeling we had never experienced ourselves, so it took us years to make sense of the situation. By the time we did… I guess it was already too late.

   When Father created your kind, the hierarchy became even more apparent: only us, the archangels, were allowed to interact with humans – even so, only to a certain degree and always serving a purpose. Father wished your… species to stay untouched by our graces. Masterpieces, as long as kept apart, he had said. You see, your people got it terribly wrong. Lucifer was never jealous of humans – in fact, he holds deep contempt for them. He was jealous of us, of me, because my new responsibilities evinced that we had different roles on the chain of command. If rancor was his first sin, fury came to be the second. He endeavored to make a point of how unfair it was of Father to ‘play favorites’ and provide the Seven with greater might. My brother was a very shrewd, intelligent being, but his envy made him blind to a lot of things.

  Lucifer used the following years to spread his beliefs right under our noses, and therefore was able to gather a herd of angels who succumbed to blatant lies just as much as he did. That was the beginning of the rebellion. His ability to lead was remarkable, but he could never be a true leader – not that he intended to, anyway. The reason is pretty obvious: my brother did not care the least about those under his directions, they were means to an end. His main goal was to dethrone the Seven, and for that he forged a deadly weapon: the flaming sword. The uprising initiated a war that none of us were ready for, not even him. For seven days, we fought. For seven days, we continuously killed our own. I suppose you already know the end to that story.”

   You were so fascinated by his narrative that you’d already forgotten the reason he brought up the subject.

  “I think so,” you said. “The real thing is actually so… different from everything I’ve ever heard.”

  “I know. Tales never accomplish the whole truth.”

  “But what does that have to do with the reason you’re here?”

  “Like I said, my kind does not tolerate defiance after everything that happened. When Azrael was sentenced, I didn’t exactly make an effort to hide how I felt about it. They didn’t take it very well, so if you ask any of them why I was exiled, they’ll say it was for disobedience. When, in fact, it was because I reminded them too much of him,” he sighed, and you both fall into a pregnant pause. “How are you taking this?”

  “I’m not sure. I guess I just didn’t have enough time to process yet.”

  “I know,” he twisted a strand of your hair in his slender index finger.

  All of a sudden, a realization fell heavy on your heart.

  “Is your time up?”

  His brows knitted themselves together. “My time?”

  “Yeah. You said you’d stay here… for a predetermined amount of time. Is that why they came to get you?”

  “No, George,” he let out a puff of air from his nose, “that’s not why they came for me.”

  “Then why?”

  “Think about it. Why would they need their General for?”

  You shook your head, trying to make sense of what he was telling you. Oh.

  “You said you were indispensable in times of…” your whisper faded to an end.

  “War,” he completed.

    ||\\

                                                                                                                                  “While they adore me on the throne of hell,

With diadem and sceptre high advanced

The lower still I fall, only supreme

In misery; such joy ambition finds.

But say I could repent and could obtain

By act of grace my former state; how soon

Would height recall high thoughts, how soon unsay

What feigned submission swore: ease would recant

Vows made in pain, as violent and void

For never can true reconcilement grow

Where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep:

Which would lead me to a worse relapse

And heavier fall: so should I purchase dear

Short intermission bought with double smart.”

      There was a thin layer of snow covering the streets once again. The friction between the tires and the asphalt was barely there, and if the circumstances were different, that would be your main concern. The wind howled as you cut through it like bullets, and you tightened your embrace around his waist, somehow enjoying the numbing air of a cold late-afternoon. Eyes wide opened this time. When he finally parked in front of the porch, you quickly hopped down and took the helmet off, placing it in the seat you had previously taken. Before you could say or do anything, Yoongi seized your wrist with a leather-gloved hand.

  “I’m positively opposed to this,” he blurted in a last attempt to change your mind.

  “I know.” You tried to free yourself from his iron grasp, but to no avail. It was getting easier to read his features, and you could tell he was still unsure. But you were not. “Yoongi, it’s my call.”

  “Don’t I have a say in it?”

  “Ultimately… no.”

  “Want you to be safe, that’s all. Let us be reasonable about this, why don’t you?”

  “I thought you understood better than anyone that I don’t get to be reasonable about this,” you sighed with impatience. “Please, I—”

  “Okay,” he loosened his grip. “I’ll wait here.”

  “Okay.”

  The light was off in the living room, your mother wasn’t home yet. You told yourself that it was better this way. Making a beeline to the stairs, you went over the little list in your head once again before entering your bedroom.

  Set of clothes, toothbrush, toothpaste, laptop… What else?

  You looked around, the baby-blue walls somehow mocking you, an excruciating reminder of simpler times. Memories of your childhood swirled inside your mind. All the times you and Taehyung would play hide and seek, the squeals he’d let out whenever you caught him off guard, how he was certainly faster than you, but would let you win a childish race every now and then. The familiar scent of caramel and coffee roaming around the house in the wee small hours of the morning after movie nights, your mom’s chocolate chip pancakes for lunch on Sundays. It all felt like a lifetime ago.

  Hauling your backpack across your shoulder, you had a weird feeling that that was it. That was goodbye. Although Yoongi had promised you’d be back safe and sound in a couple of days, you knew things could go wrong. It was a pondered decision; you were aware of the risks, he’d made sure of it. Still, leaving his side when there was a real possibility that he might not get out alive was just… not conceivable. Logically, you understood that, if things went south, you would not be able to do much. You did not care much for logic these days, anyway.

                                     [Cheers Darlin’, by Damien Rice]

  Stepping out of the room and shutting the door as quietly as possible—for no apparent reason—you hopped downstairs two steps at a time, making sure to avoid staring at other parts of the house that could trigger another episode of nostalgia. Too focused on the task of trying not to focus, you missed the six feet tall barricade blocking the entrance to the living room, crashing into it face-first. If it wasn’t for the unrelenting grip keeping you in place, you would’ve certainly hit the floor.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the flat baritone voice resonated throughout the empty space.  

  Of course. You closed your eyes tightly, taking a deep breath before even contemplating lifting your head to make eye contact.

  “Do you need something?” in a poor attempt to shield yourself, you parroted his dead intonation.

  “Do I need something,” he hummed. Then he chuckled, fists clenching around your forearms. “Are you leaving?” he spat. “What about your mom, huh?”

  “It’s just a couple of days. I’ll call her.”

  By the scowl plastered on his face, your dismissive attitude hadn’t worked the way you planned it to. You had to do this quick, like ripping off a bandage. If anyone could give you a run for your money in this situation, that would be Taehyung. You knew he’d try to persuade you into staying, so you couldn’t risk it. For both your sakes.

  “I see,” he remarked. “Were you planning to tell me you’re running off with your boyfriend or you’d just leave me to figure it out on my own?”

  His venomous words burned out of his mouth at lightning speed, tainting his tongue with a pungent aftertaste.

  “You know I would never do something like that,” the hurt that laced your voice was evident, but, maybe for the first time, it didn’t make him feel half as bad as it should.

  “Do I?” he scoffed. “For the past few months, it feels like you’ve already left. Wouldn’t make much of a difference if you actually did, I guess.”

  That did it. You felt tears well up in your eyes, but you were determined to not let them fall.

  “Okay, I’m not doing this,” you whispered, not trusting your voice enough to speak properly, and pulled your arms out of his grasp roughly. You darted for the closed front door, feeling sick to your stomach at the thought of spending another minute inside the house. He clutched your shirt tightly, as if it was a lifeboat.

  “Wait,” his fists clenched tighter. You could sense him getting closer, but you didn’t have the guts to turn around and face him just yet. He buried his face on your right shoulder, holding your hip now, nails bound to leave little crescent moons on your skin. “M’sorry,” he mumbled. “I hate this.”

  Your heart ached. You hated it, too. Pushing Taehyung away was never your intention, but you finally came to understand all the times Yoongi had kept a safe distance before. To keep you safe. You couldn’t risk it, not with Marzipan.

  “It’s fine, Tae.”

  “It’s not,” he shook his head, brushing his nose on the fabric of your blouse. Inhaling deeply, he moved to the nape of your neck. You shuddered. “None of this is fine,” a peck on the bare skin of your neck, and your entire body tensed.

  “Taehyung…” you warned.

  “Don’t,” he begged, turning you around. You were adamant on avoiding his gaze, so your eyes kept darting between your feet and your hands. “Don’t go.”

  While he rested his forehead on yours, one hand on your cheek and the other thumbing your collarbone, you knew what was about to happen. You knew, and, still, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him. You knew, but it was Taehyung, your best friend. Marzipan, the little boy from the house next door. Boxy smile, disheveled hair, sweet-toothed Taehyung. How wrong could it be? You were saying goodbye to a part of your own soul. How wrong could it be?

  When his lips touched yours, soft and ravenous, you really wanted it to feel right. But the answer to your previous question was: too wrong. You loved him, yes. But he wasn’t him. Didn’t taste the same, didn’t feel the same. His movements weren’t slow yet demanding, his hand wasn’t drawing invisible patterns on your lower back, his smell wasn’t musky enough. It just didn’t feel right.

  “Tae,” you tried to end the kiss, but he led his mouth back to yours like in a trance, nibling on your lower lip. “Taehyung, stop!”

  By the end of it, you were both panting. It dawned you how big of a mistake you had just made, and guilt made you nauseous. Neither of them deserved what you’d just done, neither of them deserved to have their hearts broken because you were such a fuck up.

  “I-I’m so sorry, Tae,” your voice cracked. He was about to answer, but you didn’t want to hear it. You couldn’t breathe, your skin was on fire and there was a big, nasty lump in your throat. You bolted out the door, only to be met with Yoongi’s inquiring gaze. It seemed to have broken a damn, and heavy tears tumbled down your cheeks. He rushed to meet you halfway, brushing the tears away as soon as his hands reached your face.

  “Hey,” he shushed you. “What happened, baby?”

  “Can we go home, please?”

 The crease between his furrowed eyebrows deepened, but still, he chose not to pry any further.

  “Of course, love. Of course we can,” he softly muttered, although still hesitant to take his hands off you.

  You climbed onto the familiar grey motorcycle and hid your damped cheeks on his jacket. The beast rumbled, gaining speed as you cut through the air. The ghost of Taehyung’s lips on yours haunting you the entire way back.

[colorsunimaginable]

the spare // chapter one //darkwizard!tom hiddleston x plus size ofc - voldemort wins au

Summary:

While on a mission to avenge the death of her best friend, Ilvermorny graduate Melisa Alder finds herself in the middle of the fight to defeat Voldemort. Upon capture after the Dark Lord's triumph, she's being sold at an auction with other muggle borns and blood traitors. Her only hope is also her only bidder - the tall, dark, and handsome Thomus Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's younger half-brother. Is he just another Death Eater or is he hiding more than just his face beneath the mask? Will she realize her true potential to be one of the resistance's greatest weapons?

*a Voldemort Wins AU with Tom Hiddleston cast as an OC x a plus size protagonist*

Notes:

This is a fanfic inspired by The Auction by LovesBitca8. I have so much love for the story and I also REALLY wanted to see Tom Hiddleston as a Dark Wizard in this universe with a plus size protagonist. It was writing itself in my head long before I put it on paper.

This is a dark fic with explicit moments of no-con, violence, and degradation of the plus size main character throughout its entirety, so please take that into consideration ahead of time.

words for this chapter: 4.9k

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

CHAPTER ONE:

We were losing.

That’s all I could concentrate on. We were losing and it was hopeless. I dodge curse and jinx after curse and jinx, somehow managing to send just as many. In this chaos, this crumbling ancient castle, surrounded by dozens of witches and wizards I didn’t know, everything is becoming too much. These literal children fighting the darkest and most powerful of our kind is heartbreaking. A part of me is aching for the life I had before all this.

The member of the Order of the Phoenix I’d been deployed to the grounds with, Arthur Weasley, is nowhere to be seen. I can no longer tell who was part of our group and where they were, the figures in the dim light are indistinguishable from good and bad.

I duck behind a thick tree to avoid a curse. Another one doesn’t follow and I chance a peak around the corner just in time to see the Quidditch Pitch ignite with a deafening boom. With the new golden glow lighting the field, I can now see around me. Well, as much as I could see without my glasses anyway. Only a few yards away, a hooded figure stands from his crouched position, his height silhouetted against the flames.

“I thought that was you,” he says, chuckling darkly. He moves closer, taking slow, sauntering steps. He removes his hood, a wicked smirk across his handsome face. “I believe you have something of mine.”

I point his wand at him and shrug, desperate not to show my fear. “Well that fucking sucks, doesn't it?"

Before he can say anything else, I throw a stunning spell at him. He easily reverses the spell, sending it back to me. I duck behind the tree again, swirling around to the other side to shoot beams of light like lasers from the tip of the wand. He quickly raises the length of his cloak like a shield, the beams landing on the black fabric and sizzling like the burnt end of a cigarette. The second I take an advancing step out from behind the tree, he waves his wand and an invisible force knocks me off my feet. I land flat on my back in the grass, a root from the tree digging into my side.

A familiar hysterical cackle comes bounding down the hill from the direction of the castle and I twist my head up to see her. She stops dead in her tracks when she spots me. She looks curiously from me to the other Death Eater.

“Surely you aren’t still dealing with this filth, Thom?” Bellatrix taunts, her eyes wide and wild as she stares at us. “The Dark Lord requires us in the Forest.”

He was beside her now. “You know how I take pleasure in tormenting them,” he purrs to her.

With her eyes on his, she points her wand at me, and the most excruciating pain I’ve ever felt in my life courses through my body. I don’t know how much time passes under the cruciatus curse, but when it ends, my voice is hoarse and I could have passed out asleep right there in the grass, every part of my body aching and exhausted. I’m barely aware that Bellatrix and Thomus were still there.

“THAT is how you torment them!” she hisses, pulling out a dagger. My eyes widen. I know what this woman could do with that. With what little strength I have, I’m desperate to try to get to my feet. “And this is how you kill them.”

The force of the dagger in my side sends me back to the ground. The wand lands at their feet.

“As if you needed reminding,” she says coldly, brushing past him in the direction of the forest.

He pauses a moment, eyes lingering at the blade embedded in my side. I can feel the warm blood quickly dampening my clothes as I stare back, seeing stars. His eyes flicker to my face briefly before he picks up his wand and continues on after Bellatrix. I close my eyes.

~*~

After months of making my Polyjuice potion and the several trials to make sure it would last long enough, at long last it was perfect. When I look in the mirror hanging on the back of her office door, the middle-aged face of Rita Skeeter stares back at me. 

“Let me go, you fat bitch!”

I turn to the real Rita Skeeter, her tight blond curls askew and her red lipstick smeared across her cheek. She struggles against the ropes magically binding her to her chair. I replace my wand with her own, sliding mine into my purse with an undetectable extension charm. 

“Silencio,” I whisper, pointing her wand at her mouth. She openly gapes at me, still trying to voice her protest. After rummaging through her purse for her makeup, I manage to replicate her thin arched brows and apply the red lipstick exactly as she has it. As I do this, I let her wand hover behind my head, curling my new blond locks to match hers. Finally I slide her half-moon glasses onto my face. I transfigure my clothes, baggy on her, into the exact acid green dress she’s wearing, the fit snug. The only thing I dreaded wearing were the heels. 

The last thing I do before leaving the office, is put her into a full body-bind curse. When I close the door to the room, I flip the sign to read Out of Office. 

Looking like Rita, getting into the Ministry of Magic is easy. Working directly under her as an intern for the Daily Prophet, I discovered that it wouldn’t be a shock to see her walking around. She often lurked, trying to ascertain any information about… anything. As long as it was juicy she could spin it any way she fucking pleased. It was a talent really.

I try not to look like I’m just wandering through the halls of the ministry. My nose is buried in a notebook, the matching acid green Quick-Notes quill clenched tight in my hand. I’m extremely glad I took a double dose of the Draught of Peace before descending in the decrepit red phone booth into the Atrium. 

Luckily, I manage to find Umbridge’s office easily on Level One. Her door sports two plaques that read her name and HEAD OF THE MUGGLEBORN REGISTRATION COMMISSION, respectively. An eyeball swirls in its socket between them. I’m about to knock on the door when I hear a voice behind me.

“Skeeter, did you have an appointment?” a balding man says. He’s standing in front of rows of workers at desks, magically assembling pamphlets. He looks a little disheveled. They all do.

I put on a coy smile and approach the man, taking my time to answer him. Next to him is a pile of those pamphlets. I arch my brow when I read the title, Mudbloods and the Dangers They Pose to a Peaceful Pureblood Society, and slip one into the crook of my arm. 

“Is she not in?” I say, finally dragging my eyes back to him. A smile remains plastered to my lips as I hope I’ve mastered her accent.

“She just left for the courtrooms.”

“Ah! Lovely.” I don’t bother to thank him, and head in the direction of the elevators, my mind scrambling for the route to get there. When the elevator voice announces the Atrium, I get off, looking to ask someone in guest services how to get there. Hopefully Skeeter’s never been to the courtrooms. 

Just as I get to the horrid Magic is Might fountain, there’s a commotion behind me, coming from the elevators. Three people burst through the crowd of dark robed wizards, one of them looking very much like Harry Potter. He has the exact object I’m looking for, dangling from his hand as they run. 

The quill, notepad, and pamphlet get shoved into my purse so I can pull out my own wand. I hold it up to my eyeline, thankful that Skeeter is far-sighted, as I point my wand directly at the golden locket. 

“Materiei vestigium,” I whisper and a green blinking light that only I can see shoots out from the tip. It flies through the frenzied crowd to land right on the object as he and his companions jump into one of the fireplaces and escape.

~*~

The blinking green light on my wand had been growing steady the further I walked into the Forest of Dean. The sunlight had been slowly dissipating for hours now. I’d have to perform the illumination spell before too long. 

I get to a clearing, the sound of rushing water nearby. The blinking speeds up, going so fast the light remains constant, but pulsing. I walk further into the clearing, confused. There’s nothing here.

Well, nothing that I could see.

“Well fuck,” I mutter into the darkness. I trust my tracking spell. It has to be here somewhere. Maybe it’s been hidden? Placed here to keep safe? “Lumos.”

I begin circling the clearing, pointing the light from my wand anywhere suspicious. There are plenty of crevices here to hide a locket. In the crook of a tree or buried in the leaves? That would take forever to search, though. Maybe if I focused on the darkness from it, I could find it here. Like I did in Diagon Alley. 

I close my eyes and inhale deeply, trying to focus. The memory of the feeling is front and center. It’s like my mind is sniffing out the source of a scent. It’s close. My feet follow where my senses direct me, making a beeline for where the darkness is. 

I have to come to a complete halt when I bump into something and stumble backwards. When I open my eyes, nothing’s there. I hold my hand up, attempting to advance again. I hear a muffled Stupefy before the spell hits me and my body tumbles to the ground.

~*~

When I come to, I’m tied to a tree, wandless. Three people are standing around me, wands pointed at my face. My eyes focus on Harry Potter, the locket is around his neck. I’ve found what I had been looking for. 

“Is that a horcrux?” I demand. They had wanted it, broke into the ministry for it. They have to know what it is. Harry Potter and his friends glance at each other.

“It might be,” the redheaded boy says. His arm’s in a sling. “What’s it to you?”

“I’m hunting them.”

“Hunting them?”

“Yes.” I nod toward the locket. “You got it from that pink woman in the ministry a couple days ago? Umbridge?”

“Do you work for the ministry?” Harry asks. 

“No, but I was there,” I say, trying to sound as honest as possible. I need them to trust me. We’re on the same side. “trying to do the same thing.”

They look at each other again. The girl, who I recognize now as Hermione Granger, opens up my backpack, which had transfigured back from the purse I’d used as Rita Skeeter. She begins to dig through it.

“What do you want it for?”

“I want to destroy it.”

Harry falters, his wand lowering briefly before his eyes harden and he raises it again. “Why do you want to destroy it, exactly?”

“What does it matter why I want to destroy it? You know who it belongs to.” They still don’t lower their wands. Not that I blame them. I look at my backpack. “Accio.”

Hermione gives a startled little gasp when a small shield-shaped wooden plaque shoots up into her hand. She pulls it out further, dropping my bag, and they point their illuminated wands at it. The wood is heavily charred with burn marks surrounding a splintered hole in the middle, traces of molten gold glisten under the light. Under the black burns letters could barely be made out: AWARDED TO T.M. RIDDLE FOR SPECIAL SERVICES TO HOGWARTS. 

“How’d the bloody hell you get that?” the red-head demands. 

“You’ve seen it before?” she asks him.

He nods. “Yeah, Filch made me polish the metal piece on it four times – kept saying it wasn’t clean enough.”

“I think that was because you vomited slugs all over it, Ron,” Harry says.

The red-headed boy – Ron – shook his head to brush off his annoyance. “Point is, I remember this thing from Hogwarts. I also remember it not being where it was supposed to be the last time we were in there.”

“When Angelina was locked in the trophy room?” Hermione gasps. “I remember that.”

They look to me and I shrug. “Look, I don’t know about all that. I’ve never been to Hogwarts.”

“Then how did you get this?”

“I found it hidden in my friends room,” my voice cracks. I haven’t talked about her in so long. I clear my throat. “There were some pretty good Disillusionment and Notice-Me-Not charms on it, but it was almost like someone wanted me to find it. You’d think something as important as that would have been hidden a lot better… But I could sense the darkness and found it.”

“Did your friend put it there?” she asks. 

I look down. “I don’t think so. She was a No-Maj.”

“No-Maj?” says Ron.

“No magic?” I explain. “You call them muggles here.”

“So what you’re saying is that your muggle friend had this from a school neither of you have ever been to?” says Harry. I grimace and nod. “Why’s it look like this?”

“Because I stabbed it with a basilisk fang I got from the Dark Arts professor at Ilvermorny.”

There’s sudden hope in all of their expressions and Harry asks, “Do you still have it?”

I shake my head. “The fang was so old it���s a miracle it even worked. It splintered apart the moment I stabbed it and couldn’t be fixed. Then the professor suggested I go see Albus Dumbledore to see if he knew anything more about Horcruxes, but when I got here… He had just died.”

“And how did you know about the locket?” Hermione asks.

“I saw a guy sell it to Umbridge in Knockturn Alley,” I say and then stare at the glistening locket around Harry’s neck. “The darkness coming from it is the same as that plaque. So I knew they were connected.”

“You don’t sound like you’re from around here,” Harry says. “Why do you care so much about destroying it?” 

I give a twisted smile. “You mean, besides the fact that the wizard who created it is like, awful?” My smile fades and I sigh. “The process for creating one, involves killing someone. My best friend is dead because of him. I don’t know why he chose her, but he came all the way to the US to do it. It’s only fair I come all the way here to return the favor. Or at least help... somehow.”

~*~

The first thing I’m conscious of are the lights. They’re so bright. I try squinting to see, but that isn’t enough. I try to lift my arm to hover my hand over my eyes, but my arm feels like jelly. The second thing I’m conscious of are the voices. I only catch snippets in between bouts of sleep.

“…why’d you even bother? She’s as good as dead…”

“…I did the spell… she’s not much to look at, but I just couldn’t pass up the chance at 5,000 galleons…”

“… no one even knows who she is…”

“… don’t think no one will care…”

The next time I wake fully, I’m in what’s clearly a makeshift hospital, no doubt to treat the survivors of the battle. There isn’t anyone I recognize. Most of the beds are empty, though clearly had been occupied at some point.

I try moving, sitting up even, but it’s useless. It seems the dagger in my side has been removed. No doubt my lethargy is due to blood loss and the lingering effects of the cruciatus.

I remember how Ron’s sister-in-law, Fleur, had treated Hermione after we had escaped the Malfoys. A hot bath and a massaging of the most damaged muscles is the most that can be done. If only I’d paid more attention during the Special Ed Healing classes at Ilvermorny. Maybe I would’ve been able to help her and myself.

I lie awake waiting for someone to come until I don’t have the will to keep my eyes open any longer. I fall asleep wondering if Harry, Ron, and Hermione had made it. If the only ones I’d come to care for had survived.

~*~

The wand is still shoved against my throat as a strong grip wraps around my elbow, pulling me forward down the large hall.

“Make sure she’s THOROUGHLY interrogated, Thomus!” the wild-haired, crazy eyed witch orders. Looking back, I make eye contact with Harry and Ron before they’re taken out of sight through a darkened doorway.

We stop abruptly and I’m shoved through a pair of double doors into an office. He tosses me to the floor, and I immediately turn to face him, shuffling away until my back hits the front of the desk in the middle of the room. I hear the door lock as I’m scanning the room for possible weapons, keeping his form in my peripheral vision.

“Look at me.” A command. An order. His voice is deep and I’m reluctant to give in, my teeth clenched in dread of what could possibly happen in the next few moments. I have a feeling this man knows a few dark and twisted ticks to torture someone. I make sure my Occlumency walls are sturdy before giving in to his command.

Little did I know the moment our eyes met, he was prepped with bombs to tear those walls down and let himself in. I shove forward dumb useless memories; doing my makeup, laughing with my friends at Ilvermorny, a scene from my favorite movie – nothing to pique his interest, but just enough to keep him distracted and searching.

Slowly, while I let the endless queue of memories play on the television in my mind, I follow the connection and fade into his own. His mind gives no resistance as I drift like a ghost from scene to scene, watching through his eyes. A tall blond boy with a long narrow face trips him, and the boy snickers before offering him a hand. Another scene – the man holding a very fair-haired girl by the throat, and the woman from earlier is pointing her wand at a cowering fair-haired man, screaming threats at him. Another memory, the same man and woman are sharing a heated kiss in a dark corner, away from the crowd of masked Death Eaters. They break apart when an oily black haired man sweeps into the room.

A girl screaming in the distance drops me out of his head, falling like dead weight. Hermione.

I’m back in this office. I bring my eyes to stare into his cold blue ones, his thin mouth almost in a sneer as he glares at me.

“Had your fun?” he bites out.

I scramble to my feet, quickly putting the large imposing desk between us, trying to ignore the pounding headache. “Seems like you did, too.”

“Ah, yes, I certainly loved watching you ridicule yourself in front of a mirror.” He points his wand towards me, his face a full sneer now. “What a fantastic waste of time.”

Hermione screams again.

“Y’know, not as much as this conversation, I’ll have to admit,” I say. “Why don’t we speed things up?”

Before I can barely finish thinking it, his wand is flying out of his hand towards my out-stretched one. He lunges, trying to recapture it, but instead it goes flying across the room behind piles of books on the floor. We make eye contact again for a split second before we both dive for it. He reaches the corner first and is hastily toppling the piles over when I doze full force into his side with my shoulder.

“Fuck!” he exclaims as I tackle him. He stumbles onto his side, his arm swinging wildly at me. A backhand goes across my face, cutting my lip with my teeth and losing my glasses amongst the books. I shove my way towards the wand anyway. My focus wasn’t on me getting the wand, but on him not getting it.

Finally, I see the wand, and just as I can barely pull it between my fingers, two strong arms wrap themselves around my waist and yank me back. The wand goes flying as we fall – him onto the floor, and me on top. The desperate move knocked the breath out of him and I use it to my advantage. I elbow him in the ribs, making him release his hold. Then I roll onto my knees and immediately spot the wand just above his head. He hasn’t noticed it yet because he’s still writhing under me.

Holding my breath, I quickly crawl over him until I can snatch up the wand. When I sit up, I’m straddling his hips. I lean on my right hand, holding him down by his shoulder, his own wand shoved up under his jaw. The only sound to be heard is our panting from the tussle.

“Ha ha,” I tease, smirking. “I win.”

If looks could kill, his glare sure would have torn me apart. He struggles against my hold, grabbing my hips and moving us just enough for me to realize my center was over his… my eyes widen. A loud crash of shattering glass comes from the distance, the sound honing in my determination. Before he can make another move, I stun him.

I scramble to my feet, quickly forgetting about the stunned man on the floor. Giving the door a quick Alohomora, I slide out, going in the direction of the noise. Just as I get to the large room, a body whizzes past me to the floor with a loud thwump.

“Stupid elf!” Bellatrix screams. “You could’ve killed me!”

I see Harry, Ron, and Hermione with the others standing by the bannister across the room. Pieces of glass and broken metal lay in a heap between us. I take a few steps towards them, only being noticed when I step on a piece of glass.

The wild-haired woman whirls, her arm flinging a dagger aimed straight for me. Before I’ve had time to think, my wandless hand is up, and the knife stalls in mid-air. I let it drop and briskly walk towards my friends, my wand hand now up.

“Dobby never meant to kill,” says the elf as I reach them. “Dobby only meant to maim or seriously injure.”

Behind my back, I hear the beginning of a spell, and I turn in time to see the elf snap the blond witch’s wand into his own grasp.

“How dare you take a witch’s wand?” Bellatrix woman shrieks. “How dare you defy your masters!”

“Dobby has no master,” the elf declares. “Dobby is a free elf! And Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends!”

Dobby reaches for everyone’s hand, and we disparate.

~*~

I struggle to tell how much time has passed. It felt like it could have been days, but all of the hard sleep left me unsure. The converted hospital room has no windows, and the Healers that came in periodically refused to speak to me.

I can only assume the worst outcome has happened. From my vantage on the grounds, it seemed like we were losing, so it wouldn’t be a stretch to believe we lost. Harry Potter must be dead, who knows how many others. What was the value of keeping me alive? Of healing me?

When I’m able to sit and stand on my own, men who were obviously Death Eaters came to escort me. They’re staring makes me instantly uncomfortable because I’m only wearing a one size too small hospital gown. The hallway they lead me down is long, the stumble of my bare feet lightly echoing against the super reflective black tiles. Our destination is a rest room with a few shower stalls.

“Wash,” one of them says. They don’t leave, but they turn their backs.

After I turn on the water, I gingerly remove the old gown, careful not to pull at my wound. I peel back a corner of the light bandaging. There’s deep bruising, but the gash where the knife had been buried to the hilt had been closed, simply a red scab now. Resealing the bandage, I squint to read a small, messy signature on my left forearm. G. Goyle in black ink. Confused, I rub it under the water, but it doesn’t budge. A tattoo… a brand mark. Ownership.

I try to pretend as if I were alone, and doing my best to Occlude my panic and anxiety while I wash away the dirt and grime. I have no idea what they’re keeping me around for. I wonder if there are others. Didn’t the man say something about galleons? I have no idea what that meant.

I quickly towel off. The warm water and crappy shampoo made the bright pink color of my shoulder length hair run and stain the white towel. I pull on the fresh hospital gown. It’s also too tight and I fold my arms over my chest.

Once done, they lead me across the hall to a room with an exam table in the middle and order me to lay on it. Then they leave and return with two Healers.

“We’ll test it on this one, too,” one of the Death Eaters says. I see the older looking Healer nod. She pulls out her wand and does a diagnostic charm on my wound.

“Are you pregnant?” she asks as she looks over the results.

“No,” I reply, my voice hoarse.

“Your wound is healing nicely. You should be able to take the bandage off in another day or so.” Her voice cracks a couple times as she speaks and her eyes keep bouncing to the Death Eaters standing by the door. I nod in acknowledgement.

She runs another diagnostic spell, a general one this time. It hovers over my body, blinking with lights that I couldn’t remember the meaning of. She looks to the other, younger healer. “Has she been getting food along with the rest of them?”

The young healer shakes her head. “No, she’s mostly been unconscious.”

“Dolohov, when she joins the others, ensure she eats. Her nutrition levels are low,” she says to the men. One of them scoffs.

“I will do no such thing,” Dolohov says. “From the looks of her she could obviously stand to miss a meal or two, I think.”

The healer clenches her jaw and I feel my cheeks heat with embarrassment.

“Do the other spell,” the younger Death Eater says, his tone eager.

I watch as the younger one mutters a spell and a warm feeling washes over me, beginning at the tip of my head and toe, meeting in the middle over my stomach. There was a little pressure, and a glowing white light floated up from my belly button.

“Fuck yeah,” exclaims the young Death Eater.

“Don’t get too excited, Goyle,” says Dolohov. “I couldn’t name a single person who’d pay 5,000 galleons for her, even if she is a virgin. You’d be lucky to get 2,000.”

Goyle. He must be the one who branded me.

“I’m sure I can show off her potential,” Goyle grumbles. “She’s got a mouth, doesn’t she?”

I grit my teeth to hide my scowl. I’m both shocked and offended. What the actual fuck are they talking about?

“Give her the suppressants, too,” the older one orders. “One should do it, she’s just a mudblood.”

The younger witch helps me up, holding my hand. The older one slides a vial into my hand. I hesitate, sniffing it apprehensively. Minty.

“I’ll shove it down your throat if you don’t take it,” the older Death Eater snarls.

The young witch smiles and nods reassuringly. I take deep breaths before tipping the vial into my mouth. A chill spreads through me, smothering the hum of my magic like fire in the rain. Tears prick my eyes.

“Now the last one,” Dolohov orders. The healers both hesitate this time. “We talked about this. We’re doing this to all of them, regardless of your experience with the procedure.”

The younger witch looks resigned. “Lie back,” she says to me.

The older one holds her wand up again, standing near my hips. She presses her hand on my waist, the opposite side of the wound. When she points her wand over my pelvis, realization hits me as to what’s about to happen. With no magic, my Occlumency isn’t present anymore and my panic and fear have sprung forward with full force. I contemplate saying I have the No-Maj contraception birth control, an IUD. No, it wouldn’t matter.

My eyes widen and I gasp as she mutters a spell and twists her wand over my left side, severing a fallopian tube. She leans across me to the right side, blocking Dolohov’s view. Her wand taps my hip and she pinches me hard. I gasp again, confused.

The Healer turns to him. “Finished.”

He nods and Goyle steps forward, pulling the lump of my poorly scourgified clothes from his robes. Thank god.

The witches turn their back to me to do paperwork as I dress, thinking. I’m relieved to know there were people still silently fighting. This act of defiance gave me hope. Maybe we weren’t lost.

[yostresswritinggirl]

Tales of The Ghost Writer

“You met Xingqiu at Wanwen Bookhouse when delivering a batch of your newly-published book. But as a ghost writer, no one knew it was you that authored such books. Safe to say it was cute watching the noble bookworm fanboy about you in front of you.”

Pairings -> Xingqiu x Author!Reader

Word Count -> 3518

Theme -> Long Fic, Fluff

Series -> #Bonafide specials (100 followers event)

Warnings -> Xingqiu's name might be mispelled at times, also he rambles a lot

Entry Log # 645:

I’ve once again delivered the new batch of books to Wanwen Bookhouse today at 4PM, 30 new books in collection to be sold. That would add up to a total of 420 published books for Legend of the Lone Sword. Despite its old circulation, collectors and avid bookworms still seek out the volumes. In a spur of the moment thought, the 4th volume was finally rereleased for more readers to get a chance to read them. While on my rounds, I’ve met a particularly peculiar fan.

“4th volume?” You nod as you set down the stack of books on the counter where Jifang stood behind with a welcoming smile. “Thank you, everyone has been asking about it for a while now. I don’t understand how people keep missing out on the last volume like so.” There was an exchange of giggles between you continued your idle chatter, busying yourself with recounting the stack to make sure the order placed was exact. Yep, 30.

You picked one up from the top pile as Jifang enters the bookhouse to gather the payment. It wasn't that much of a feat to carry a pile of 30 books when it's only this thick, you thought as you opened the book in the middle and... buried your nose in it, literally. Archons, the scent of freshly printed books had always been such a stress reliever of a kind. The imprints were still fresh as you run your thumb over the pristine white page of page 75, the gravings of the letter bumping it in such an intricate and endearing manner. You suppose it should be prime time you get a copy of your own-

"Ah, the glorious scent fresh books offer are quite irresistible to everyone," your head whipped to the side in a hurry at the embarrassing display. Yet your new company only offered a light-hearted laugh, floaty and flowing swiftly past his lips. You find it enjoyable to listen to. "Fret not, I don't judge such honest guilty pleasure."

His smile was soft and respectful as you return it, watching his hand (wrists largely ruffled) pick up the next book on the pile, his interest shining the more he recognizes the the piece of literature. Such expensive clothing and poise, you thought as you continued to inspect. "I knew Wanwen had a schedule of new releases today, but I was not informed it would be the 4th volume of the Legend of the Lone Sword!"

"A fan?" You mused as you placed back the copy you took, leaning against the counter as you watched him quickly scan the lines of the book. He was intensely staring at every word with such a calculating gaze, that sometimes break when he reads how the character would sometimes reach an impasse, or when a new discovery reaches its peak. His ardent gaze was enough of an answer. When he took a break from reading to pass you his attention, you hadn't realize how red your cheeks had been out of embarrassment. "I've always wanted to get my hands on my own copy of the 4th, yet everytime all bookhouses in Liyue keep running out of stock. Is delivery normally this scarce?" He'd gestured at the not so looming pile.

You nod in response with a forgoing giggle. "Publishing could be running into some... shortness of funds?" Subtle, yet he hums in disappointment at the thought. His little pout, adorable, as he buries his face in the book again. I would gladly fund such glorious writing, you thought you heard past the leather back before the ornate doors past the counter finally opened again.

"Ah sorry it took so long, I couldn't find the exact pouch for the- hey! You again, you've read and been scolded dozens of times already," the woman angrily gestures to the notice board by the table, "Pay first, read later!"

You snorted, thankfully masked by the sudden cry of the caught culprit as he was smacked (hopefully gently) on the head by the owner, forcing him to put back the book to the pile. "Hnghh, but Lady Jifang! You didn't scold her, she was indulging herself with the book just the same," you breathed a fake gasp of astounded betrayal, before you three had laughed in chorus.

The oldest of your trio scoffed in amusement as she placed the bag of Mora unto your waiting hand. "What, her? Why would I scold her, she probably knows every word like the back of her ha-" her rambling was then cut off by a loud smack on her bottom, a book expertly finding its way back to your hand with a perfectly cut smile. Her yelp was not unnoticed by the male as he laughs at the display.

"Let him be, he's really been patiently waiting for the release!" Jifang scoffs at the word patiently as you came to the defense of blunette. You were never really aware of the norm in Wanwen, as you usually come by at a time where you would have been alone. This was a first.

"Quite so! Just the start of the volume had me hooked, setting for the peak of the story climax! The synopsis itself already hinted of another inclusion of a new element into the story I had not expected from this style of a book, surely such a writer would not tread such parallel territory without being an expert teller-" Jifang watched in amusement as her gaze lands on you at the start of the bookworm's rambling, watching the redness touch the tip of your ear with an abashed smile shyly gracing your lips. Behind it she can see the mirth and amusement, something she outwardly shows with her own expression.

"Wow," was the Liyuean woman's only response once the speaker has finished his lengthy speech. His dorkiness stands with pride at his examination.

You cleared your throat before you could mutter your initial words, finally realizing the time. "That was... quite marvelous of an analysis. A-Anywaysss, thank you for your partnership, I hope the books are all sold by tomorrow!"

And with that you swiftly made your exit, wanting to find a place to scream the embarrassment out. Or maybe squeal, just to be subtle.

Entry Log # 15:

As a distant relative to the Guhua clan, the (L/N) clan was not exactly known to be tied closely to the prestigious clan known for their expert martial. However, despite the impure connection, they carry with them still the honor of learning the arts to a meticulous detail.

Your family was one of the living practitioners of the Guhua Arts, twice removed, yet your spotlight was not that obvious as the name would carry. Your father wish to carry a new kind of prestige without relying on the powerful namesake and he had been adamant since birth to grind every teaching and form of the art into his immediate family.

"Misogyny nor feminism will not save you from battle, only your own strength." Something along those lines, was what he said.

Your eldest brother was his main point of reference when scolding you on not taking your lessons properly. A slacker he is, now he lacks not only a means of security but also financial stability, that's what you end up to if you don't treasure the arts of our family. You have no idea how martial arts brings you monetary security, but you can't really state to your own father that his logic was a bit skewed.

Daily during morning and the first touch of evening, you had resigned yourself into training under your father's supervision. As the eldest daughter of the house, you carry with you still a responsibility to be strong. No fraility was accepted, and your mother always argues about your father's ever so masculine lifestyle being imposed on you, a lady that should be taught other customs for means of living.

Yet after every session, at the end of the day under the caress of the lamp by your study table, your hands move with precision and calmness he would have scoffed at in the dojo. The beauty of words and their power to create new worlds effortlessly had drawn you in too easily, ever since you were young you had a knack for the books your mother reads to herself or to you.

Entry Log # 651:

The next time you'd met the Wanwen Bookworm (nickname you gave) was a rare moment when he'd finally looked at you more than the book in his hand. It seemed your little interaction from the bookhouse was attention-grabbing enough to make him seek out your person with a bunch of questions and wonder.

You gulped, patting down your blue skirt before accompanying him. The way he rambles was too dangerous, it was drawing something within you to also do the same, and you feared you may let out something you shouldn't. But a fellow 'reader' is good company, and with the little interactions you had with the same age group with the same interest makes this moment something you can't pass.

"Carrier to the Yae Publishing House?" You nodded calculatedly, after confirming you've said just the right information. "Quite intriguing, especially with such young age to be working in line with the greatest press house in Teyvat." Ohhh, he's surely smart despite the first impression of goofiness.

You giggled as politely as you can remember you should upon the scarce teachings of your mother. "I've always liked literature so I couldn't uhm let the opportunity pass, even if it's insignificant like that." Good, good, piling up the lies. You're grateful you haven't made some contract of friendship and happen upon the wrath of your nation's God. Or Qixing.

"Surely, you must have been in the presence of some of the wordsmiths during your rendezvous! So tell me," there was a dangerous glint in his eyes and you knew exactly what he's gonna ask, "Have you met the legendary Bob Ong?"

Oh goodness, you felt him caress and pat your back as you tried your best to breathe after the sudden choking on nothing, he was so spot on that you were horrified even if you had an inkling of what he was gonna inquire. "I uhm I don't really know what I'm allowed to say." In the inside you were goddamn screaming.

"You don't have to tell me anything about him, really! It's his mystery that makes his character just the most intriguing." You gulped down hard, this time without choking out of nothing. "I don't really know much about who he is since he's, you know, unknown? No clues whatsoever, he could be anywhere right now, maybe you've talked to him already or no. Yeah?"

He held a convincing hum before taking in the cryptic answer, content, for now you assume. "Not many avid readers of the book can place a name to the unnamed author, but how blind they were to see the cryptic signature at the back of the cover. Truly a wonderous act." Xingqiu, you finally learned his name, had took you out to lunch for the trouble and enjoyment. It wasn't really necessary, but you figured it was probably to keep you with him longer to converse about the books more.

A lot of his... analysis actually coincide with the messages that you lodged between the lines. He understands your way of narration more than you do at times, and you were left wondering just how much he had read of the fourth volume despite only having it for a few days then. When evening once again struck, you had bid each other farewell in the promise of another time to hang.

"It's a literature of love and freedom- disguised as a martial arts novel." Was his parting analysis, and you were left to wonder, was that really what you had projected into your works?

Entry Log # 32:

In your young and hopeful mind, you'd sent your first ever manuscript to Yae Publishing House. It wasn't your first work but it was the one you worked hard on the most, with weeks of furbishing and reworks. Your mother, although not directly informed of your whole plan, had provided you with great feedback and generous suggestions. And soon you created the first manuscript of 'String of Pearls'.

With a generous note and what you hoped is enough mora to at least publish a book, your package was sent to Inazuma.

You waited for days, of which turned to weeks, and then to months. You thought by the end of it all, you had been swindled but as young as you still hoped for the best of its outcome.

And then one day, as you were sweeping the outside of your gates in preparation for your father's return from some business in the harbor, a lone man of Inazuman style found its way to your humble abode. He calls himself Mr. Nine, and in his arms cradled two similar looking books, with a familiar envelope.

That was when you had been given the opportunity to write for the greatest Publishing House under the guise of a pseudonym. The great Nine was astounded by your ripeness paired with your prowess in writing. You hid behind Bob Ong, a protection from being belittled as a young child and a woman, to prevent being traced by your father if ever.

Yet you remained as subtle still. Even if your name was not written on the covers themselves, within your heart you were still the writers of those books. You've placed anagrams and mysterious puzzles revealing your name but it was part of the intrigue of the story that they had not thought much about it.

One day, you lost your book when you had gone out to eat. It was the second copy, as you carried the first one in your room, yet it still held a special place in your heart.

Xingqiu was a master novelist too, as you'd expect from someone so enthusiastic on the art of literature too. You'd long since become friends and found out soon enough his true identity. The heir to the Feiyun Commerce Guild, master practitioner of the Guhua Clan Arts, soon to be novelist. He was in every aspect the better half between you two.

One day in his daily reading breaks where he would happen upon you, he had found his eyes wafting over your notebook that you always carry. It was designed to look like a hard bound book specially tailored to your tastes, but it was nothing but mere keepers of your notes and musings.

Your newest page had in it a brand new draft for a brand new story you wanted to flesh out before the success of Legend of the Lone Sword diminishes. Mr. Nine still praised you for the success of your first major publishing and had assured you that there's no need to immediately compensate with another work so early, but your mind was already so eager to work. Your friend had never seen you so- flamed and passionate as the paper caves to the intense pressure your pencil places on it.

So he leans on your shoulder slightly (glad you were still distracted) as he quietly reads the words that articulates on the paper. The more Xingqiu reads, the more he craves, just the same vigor he felt everytime he had read his favorite works when each chapter invigorates him to continue to the end.

"Such a great outline," the blunette breathes out as he leans his cheek at the crown of your head. You let out a cute squeak when you'd finally come to, and turned your head to face him- "I didn't know you were into romance, my liege. Tell me, just where do you get such inspirations?" Your nose softly collided against the smoothness of his cheek, your lips ghosting over the line that is his jaw.

You scrambled backwards to direction opposite of his, yet with his body weight leaning on you, his center of balance quickly shifted on your weight like a net being pulled against the sides of a boat. You both toppled over.

"My, my, I didn't expect such abrupt resistance from you," Xingqiu's arms caged you as it holds him up against the grassland on either side of you. There was a certain mischievous glint in the ocean that is his eyes, which only meant one thing. "No need to be shy," you closed your eyes shut as his face leans in closer to yours, fanning over the frame of your face as he lets out a warm yet teasing exhale, "I'm sure we've gone past our personal bubbles in this relationship." You felt his chest against yours and braced for the inevitable-

as he finally licked your nose(?).

What.

"X-XINGQIUUUUU!" And then a cry of pain after a particularly harmful blow.

Entry Log # 659:

Xingqiu had always been a man of great words despite his chicken scratch of a penmanship. Vivid tales of his manuscript that I'm sure the Publishing House would take great value for, his years of memorizing numerous works in his arsenal. He told me that if I were to one day publish the manuscript, he wants to get the first copy and the first to get it signed. However Xingqiu has one glaring weakness when it comes to the art of words. When I asked him what would be a good title for the manuscript I made, he simply said, "Tales of the Writer!" And he sent a goofy smile. I thought he was joking, and I asked again, this time of what his work would be named. He replied:

"Why, Legend of Sword, of course!" He really sucks at titles.

Entry Log # 660:

Upon returning home with my new work ready to be shipped off for mass publishing, I've finally confronted my father. I had with me the final volume of my first work and offered it to him as first a gift of reconciliation, and my father took it with a mirthful glint in his eyes. He said he has been looking for the last volume of the series he'd been wanting to complete. I... I didn't know father was a fan.

The climax of my entire double-life ended so peacefully and tragically meh. I was expecting a martial arts fight of honor that will go down in history, but instead I ended up signing my own book as my father gushed about how nicely I illustrated the martial arts teaching we had during our sessions. I did not sleep well that night.

October 9th was a day celebrated by others more than the young master Xingqiu. The pavilion was mixed in with people from different walks of life and of faces he doesn't necessarily recognize. He lingers by the open window that shows the grandeur balcony, beckoning him outside. Today was a scheduled new release for Wanwen Bookhouse, and he had heard several chatters from the citizens that a new series would be published hailing from Yae Publishing House once again.

And the virtuoso of literature cannot attend such important matter himself because of his own birthday. How irking, you weren't even there to help appease his grumbling, you should have been here by now upon his invitation.

Suddenly the master of invitations bellowed out a familiar name, as his job to announce the entrance of the invited guests to the banquet. When he looks up, you were already walking down the grand staircase in your creme and blue Hanfu garb, accompanied by a tall man of a different wear—

"(Y/N), M-Mr. Nine-!" He bowed politely to the man as you curtsied at his presence. You looked absolutely dashing yet the man towered your form easily. "It's my honor to finally meet you, sire."

"Happy birthday, Xingqiu, I've heard many great things about you," the blunette opened his hands to receive the book gifted by the man. It had a familiar cover and title to it, Legend of Sword, "Great things, in fact, that there would too be great things to discuss later on." The Inazuman graced him a smile and he almost teared up at the implications, if not for when the author suddenly nudged you forward from your demure state.

Tales of the Ghost Writer

"X-Xingqiu, happy birthday! This is uhm, I've always wanted to- I wanted to give you this myself, I know you'd miss the first batch of releases," an unfamiliar book sits on his palm now. A plume and sword adorning its cover but no title, he shifts his hand to open it to the first page, "You said you wanted its first copy be signed, and I thought it appropriate to be given now at such a special occasion."

There in fresh print and ink he'd finally been revealed the mysteries he had long been searching for.

Against the translucent paper it was written and signed,

Tales of The Ghost Writer

Bob Ong, (Y/N)

@creation-magician @your-local-venti-simp @boxofteenageideas @indigodreamtime47

[burndownyourparade]

Dabi x Reader - Crossed My Heart

This literally had zero direction. It’s my first reader insert piece and it has nothing to do with the Olivia Rodrigo song, the lyric was mainly used as a loose prompt inspiration. It’s also been a long as heck time since I’ve sat down and really written anything so oof. But, I do plan on writing some more drabbles here and there. I’ve got Dabi/Touya brain rot bad. So expect a lot of him.

You used me as an alibi. I crossed my heart as you crossed the line.

pairing: dabi x reader (gender not specified)

length: 2k words

genre: angst, fluff if you squint real hard

warnings: mentions of death, the burning at sekoto peak. nothing detailed.

You’d been there. You had watched him go up in flames. The beautiful bright blue dancing across your eyes and you knew you’d never see him again. He’d be lost to you forever, but you promised.

And you were willing to do anything for him. Even if it meant breaking your own heart. 

So when you’d sit up at Sekoto Peak every year after his disappearancedeath you’d curse his name. Curse him for leaving you behind, for not coming back to you. Not even a single sign of if he was okay.. If he was still out there. 

When you’d seen this new villain on the news, just a few years ago, you had an inkling. A thought that maybe it had been him. He talked big about getting back at his father. Dishing back out everything he’d had to endure as a child. And at age 15 when you encouraged him, you never thought it would come to this. 

So today, when you sat up at Sekoto Peak, ten years after the incident, the spiteful, “Fuck you, Touya.” That left your lips didn’t go unheard. 

In all honesty he’d planned on coming clean. He had planned on coming back to you. After all, you were the only person who really meant anything to him. But then he got way too involved with Stain’s cause and the league, there was no way he was going to risk putting you in any danger. If that meant having to write you off, then so be it. 

Eventually you’d find out that Dabi was Touya, eventually you’d know that he was still alive after all these years. No more doubt would cloud your mind, but he had a feeling you’d come to hate him for waiting so goddamn long. 

It was when he’d heard his name, the anger dripping from your sweet voice that had him moving his feet towards you. He wasn’t planning to reveal himself, but he needed to at least try redeeming himself before even thinking of continuing his plan to bring down Endeavor. None of it would have meant anything if he couldn’t come back to you. If he wasn’t going to be able to run away with you like the two of you had planned.

“You have to promise you won’t tell anyone about this.” Touya held your hands in his, begging you. He was tired and run down. Bandages wrapped around his arms from his most recent burns. He didn’t know how he was going to do it. But he was going to fake his death. He was going to run away. 

You stared at him, wide eyed and reluctantly nodded your head to his plea. “Will I see you again?” The fear was evident in your voice and if that quiver didn’t give you away, then the way that your hands shook in his would. The tears in your eyes blurred your vision, but you could still see him. You could see his messy white hair fall into his bright blue eyes. You could see the bruise that was forming under the left eye, no doubt a result of training. And you wondered if this was his only solution. If this was really the only way that he’d be able to outrun this.

He could practically feel the pain reverberating off of you, it bounced off of him too. He didn’t want to leave you. But he had no other choice. He was trapped and all he wanted was to make something of himself. To prove to his father and everyone around him that he wasn’t worthless, he wasn’t a lost cause. He could do it, too. He was powerful just like Shoto. 

Touya was torn, he knew that this hurt you… Leaving you hurt him too, even if you couldn’t see it. Even if he was acting selfishly. “Of course.” He nodded, snow white hair moving wildly with the frantic nodding of his head. “I’ll come back for you and we’ll run away.” He promised, you could see the makings of a plan in his head. The way that his eyes moved when he was deep in thought, “We can start a life together. Build a house and adopt all the cats and dogs you want!” His hands moved to your shoulders, shaking you lightly with excitement before pulling you into him. His arms wrapping around you tightly.

He never cried in front of you, but today was different. He didn’t know when he’d see you after today, but he did know he refused to break his promise to you. A single tear slipped down his cheek.

“I love you, Touya.” You murmured into his shirt, breathing him in. If this was the last time in a while, then you were going to make the most of it. You tilted your head, looking up at him. Sadness washing over you and feeling your own tears begin to slip. You leaned up on your toes, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth and felt the way his lips turned upwards in a soft smile. An almost dreamy looking flashing across his face. 

“I love you too, (y/n)... I’ll come back for you, I swear.” His hands shifted again, this time to cup your cheeks and bring your lips to his. This kiss was soft and sweet, not unlike ones you’ve shared before but there was a sense of urgency to this one. Almost like he had been trying to convey every single thing he felt for you in this brief moment. He didn’t want to pull away, but when he did he felt your hands tighten around the fabric of his shirt. Just barely hearing your whisper begging him not to go, but he shook his head, gently moving your hands to take a step back from you.

“Please don’t watch…” Touya asked, giving you a gentle shove away from him. “Once you see my flames run… Run and tell someone about the fire and then go home. I’ll see you again soon, I promise.”

You bit your lip and nodded your head, running a safe distance away into the trees. Waiting to watch his flames burn around him. You stuck around a little longer than he’d asked you to, only to make sure that he was safe… That he was still okay. But you couldn’t make out anything other than the heat and Touya’s screams. 

At fifteen your heart shouldn’t have shattered that hard.

He didn’t know how you’d react to this. Hell, he didn’t even know what he was doing. Dabi had never planned on this. He was merely moving on pure emotion now. On things he thought he had forgotten, but when it came to you he was always weak. The only reason his resolve had even broken in the first place was because of how angry you sounded. The villain hated the thought of him becoming nothing to you. Ironic, when he was practically nothing to everyone else.

You stood in the same place where you both had parted ten years ago and he was quietly standing just a few feet behind you. He was uncertain of if he should reach out to you or just turn and run, was this even a good idea? But his feet wouldn’t stop and then his mouth started moving and before he knew it, he was speaking. 

“This Touya guy must have really fucked up, huh?” He cringed, ten years and this was the first thing he was saying to you? Ideally, in his head, whatever he’d dreamt up in his spare time was grandiose plans of sweeping you off your feet. He’d be done with the league, ready to pack up and start brand new. He’d have taken down Endeavor’s credibility and shattered Enji’s entire world. Yeah, that son of his who wasn’t going to amount to anything? He was something now. He was his greatest nightmare and deepest failure. And the consequences of his actions were coming back to bite him in the ass. Then, he’d be there for you. In the night he’d have found you, confessed his deepest feelings and that nothing had changed. Then you’d run away like he promised.

Your fists clenched at your sides, you recognized that voice, of course you did. How wouldn’t you when his promise haunted your dreams every night? His voice was a little deeper, raspier, richer. And for a moment, you hesitated in turning to face him, but when you did you couldn’t stop the way that your heart picked up pace. It was him, in the flesh, Touya was here. But he wasn’t Touya anymore… Not on the outside.

“Yeah, he’s a fucking asshole.” You played along with him. Both of you knew this was just a game, testing the waters to see if anything had really changed. “Promised he’d come back for me, but never showed up.” There was a smile on your face now, a sad one and Dabi felt his heart clench in his chest when he saw it. “Waited ten years for him.” You pressed, watching his reactions.

He deflated, he didn’t have an excuse. He could have come to you sooner and he knew that his whole keeping you safe excuse was bullshit. Dabi was just afraid. He was afraid of what you’d think when you saw him again. Dabi wasn’t Touya. He didn’t look like the boy you’d fallen in love with before. Smooth, pale skin was now rough and charred, the white hair with tufts of red now dyed black and coarse from the years of mistreatment. “I’m sorry.” Was all he could say.

“You could have come to me.” Your voice was soft and he knew that you were hurt. “Why didn’t you come back for me?” The way that your voice cracked made his heart break. He prided himself on being hard, on not allowing himself to feel petty emotions anymore, but unbeknownst to his comrades; you’d always be the only exception.

He was honest with you, “I was afraid.” And it was the first time in ten years that he’d been vulnerable, he was almost ready to run off with you. Dabi was ready to give up on his revenge plot against Endeavor, he just wanted to run away with you. To be just (y/n) and Touya.

“Of what?” You asked, nearly breathless and unbelieving. There was nothing he had to worry about. It didn’t matter who he was now or what he was doing. He would always be Touya to you. A boy who suffered more than he should have. The boy that you were ready to drop everything and run off with. The only boy you had ever loved and would ever love.

“I’m not the same.” He looked at you, uncertain. He still hadn’t gotten any closer to you and his hands twitched with anticipation. It had been so long since he’s held you. Dabi wanted to close the distance, to pull you into him and feel whole again.

“You’re still you.” You countered, shaking your head. You weren’t about to give the villain any room for excuses. He was still him and that’s all he’d ever be to you. You knew that he knew that. 

“I’m sorry.” He repeated, this time Dabi took a step closer to you. Carefully watching your movements, gauging on if he could move any closer. When there wasn’t any move on your part to shift away from him he took another step. And another.. Another, another, until he was wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you into him. His lips gently touch the crown of your head, inhaling your scent. “Run away with me.”

You returned his touch almost immediately, arms wrapping around his thin middle. Melting into him and letting out a sob of relief, you were home again. “I thought you’d never ask.”