#rotten apple high

[mykatzone]

Art of my Species-Swap AU where Light and Misa are Shinigami and Ryuk and Rem are humans (also Gelus too because Rem needs her bestie). I have too many AUs and too little time...

More about the AU below (lots of rambling):

Basically it's an AU where Light is a Shinigami who's frustrated that he can't do much to help his own rotten realm so he gets extremely invested in fixing the human world. He starts killing off criminals but because he's killing far too many ppl far too fast this kinda upsets the Shinigami King to a point he bans Light from writing names for the time being unless it's absolutely necessary for him. Light is pissed off because finally he found meaning in his boring empty Shinigami life, but he realizes there's a loophole for him to continue killing people without directly doing it himself. Basically he drops his death note (I'm lying, let's be real he probably drops Sidoh's or something). He intended for Mikami to pick it up (a human he's been observing that seemed perfect for the role), but everything goes wrong and some random teenager picks it up instead. It's Ryuk! He's like a 17 year old high school delinquent or something here.

Ryuk doesn't care about Light's cause. At all. He's like "damn so Kira really was a god! Anyways Mario Kart time-". Light is boiling with rage over the entire situation because he is currently forbidden kill Ryuk unless it is absolutely necessary (aka only when Ryuk's natural lifespan is ending will Light be able to kill him and leave the human realm). And again, Ryuk doesn't even care about Kira! But, Light quickly figures out- Ryuk is bored and he likes being entertained. So Light basically convinces him to act as Kira (with Light planning/making all the decisions), promising him it'll be exciting and fun and worth it. Also Light soon finds out he can get Ryuk to do basically anything for him if Light gives him weed or something. (parallels to apples in canon yey!)

In any case, Misa, who is a Shinigami in this AU- finds out her beloved Light is in the human realm and will be there for the next couple of decades till his human dies. She's ecstatic! If she drops her own death note, he will have no choice but to spend time with her! And so she does exactly that. She gives it to Rem, because she's Ryuk's older sister in this AU. Rem is trying her damnest to stop her stupid annoying brother from getting into trouble. She despises Light for getting Ryuk into this situation (because guess what L is still a human in this AU and is trying to catch Kira), but also she's a lil bit grateful because Rem got to meet her lovely Shinigami who she's slowly falling in love with... She and her bestie Gelus are simping hard for Misa. Honestly L (being the same as he is in canon, aka a human) is a part of the monsterfuckers as well if Lawlight happens in this AU.

That's it, that's the AU. I gotta draw Light and Misa's Shinigami designs too but I'm kinda too sleepy to come up with cool monster designs atm.

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Overindulgent father Astarion who tells his children they’re allergic to any kind of jewellery that isn’t made of the highest grade Dwarven crafted gold. 

It’s not even because Astarion might have a certain aversion to silver, no, he just raises his children to have standards, thank you very much. 

And it doesn’t end with shiny things, oh no… 

The Ancunín brood is known to be dressed in perfectly woven cotton, silk and soft leather clothes, no matter the occasion.

They’re seen playing with expensive toys, reading artfully illustrated books that certainly belong behind thick glass, not in children’s sticky hands. 

There’s even talk that one of the children is not as naturally inclined to music as his parents claim him to be, surely his lyre must be enchanted—the instrument certainly looks extravagant enough! 

And then there’s always this air of effortless haughtiness surrounding the Ancunín children whenever their nannies and servants are parading them through town as if they were perfect little dolls; objects to show off the wealth their parents acquired in quite the mysterious ways. 

So, it’s no secret that Astarion and Tav are pampering their children—some might say they’re even spoiling them rotten. 

And maybe they are, especially Astarion.

But he doesn’t see why he should raise them any other way, nor does he want to.  

When it comes to his children, Astarion has his own standards, and as long as Tav agrees with him nothing really matters. 

Because, these people, they don’t know anything about the Ancuníns. 

They don’t know that it’s not unusual for Astarion to wash out dirt and mud and strawberry stains from comically small finery, leaving behind only the memories of a day spent playing in the garden, chasing after ducks, picking flowers, lazing in the sun…

That any holes and tears the children’s clothes might suffer are quickly mended, making them look as good as new in no time. 

Nor do they know that Astarion doesn’t mind fashioning a brand new dress to match that of a favourite doll, either. Or to embroider a pretty vest with the likeness of that stray cat the children seem to adore, although their father would rather they don’t touch the mangy animal. 

No, those people know nothing at all...

“Not tired!” Astarion’s youngest cries; the vehement denial of her father’s earlier accusation is cut short by a telltale yawn.

The room still smells of fragrant lavender oil and peaches even when the bath water has already grown tepid, just one or two degrees above what Astarion would consider too cold to be enjoyable. 

Amused, he raises an eyebrow at the protesting toddler before he lifts her out of the copper bathtub with little effort. 

By now, he knows every step of this game.

“Tut-tut, my dear child, what did mama and I say?” Astarion kneels, quickly wrapping a soft towel around the child to keep her warm. “We only tell lies outside of this house.”

Unfazed by her father’s gentle scolding, the girl crosses her arms that haven’t yet lost their puppy fat across her chest, reminding Astarion a little too much of a very displeased Tav. 

Suppressing a sigh, he leans back to consider the pouting child, wondering what could possibly be upsetting her this time—the list is growing longer by the day, after all. 

“What’s the matter, dear?” Astarion asks gently, hoping it’s something easily fixable as it’s growing rather late. 

“Want apple!”

Decades ago, Astarion might’ve rolled his eyes—he knows exactly which stupid apple the child wants, it’s been haunting him all day—but once he started to treat his children’s problems as if they were his own, his life has grown somewhat easier. 

“Why, let’s get an apple on our way to bed, then. Would that be alright, Your Highness?” 

The girl promptly nods her head, allowing Astarion to pat her hair dry before dressing her in a clean night dress. 

She rests her cheek against her father’s shoulder as he carries her first to the kitchen to grab a fragrant apple and a knife, then to her bedroom where they settle on the cosy window seat, just like they do every night.

Soft moonlight is pouring through the windows; the child giggles at the way the knife’s blade is catching the silver light as Astarion peels and cuts the apple into even pieces.

“Here you go,” he finally says, giving the slice of apple one last examining look before surrendering it to the impatient little hands reaching for it. “A sweet treat for my little sweet. Doesn’t it taste so much better when we don’t eat it off the floor, darling?” And when it’s not crawling with ants…

The appeased toddler nibbles at the juicy fruit as Astarion carefully combs through her still-damp curls. 

Her hair’s getting long, he notices, knowing that taking care of it will become more time-consuming each day. 

Once, Astarion would’ve thought this task tedious, brushing out hair that’s not his own, oiling and braiding it for no other reason than knowing his children enjoy him doing it. 

But that’s why he loves doing it in the first place, he supposes.

Astarion can tell by his toddler’s heartbeat that sleep is about to claim her. 

The half-eaten slice of apple is still clutched in her little fist as he cradles the child to his chest, slowly rising from the window seat to put her to bed. 

He’s just about to lay the child down that the fruit drops to the floor, his daughter’s tiny hand clutching at his shirt instead.

“Thank you, papa,” she mumbles, more asleep than awake.

Astarion pauses.

He breathes in the clean, yet unique scent of the little girl that is forever engraved in his brain, the same way he knows under which exact constellation she was born. When she took her first steps, what her first word was. Soon, he will have to memorise her favourite colour, and what she likes to eat when dirty apples won’t be that appealing anymore. 

By now, Astarion knows this game by heart, knows that with every year that passes, he has something new to learn about his children.

And sometimes he wonders what it’s like to grow up with clean bed sheets and full bellies. Sleep filled with naught but warmth and happy memories. Ever open doors and tears that are dried by tender kisses. Living in a house where mistakes and anger are welcomed, safe. 

He wonders what it’s like for his children to know that their father’s love comes without conditions. Not now and not ever. 

Sitting down on the bed, Astarion holds his youngest a little closer to his chest, unwilling to let go of her, yet. 

He’s often accused of spoiling his children when most people can only just grasp the very surface of his love for them, the bare minimum of what he feels for his one and only, precious family. 

These baseless accusations are as unimportant to Astarion as the people voicing them.

He’s raising his children to have standards, wants them to take their father’s love for granted, to accept nothing less but pure devotion.

It’s the only way Astarion knows how to love them, the only way that comes most naturally to him. 

Astarion looks down at his little girl, now fast asleep, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. 

After all these years—all these children—he’s still in awe watching them sleep in his arms as if no harm in the world could ever befall them.

And it won’t—not if Astarion can help it. 

“No, thank you, my heart,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against the crown of the toddler’s head. 

When it comes to his children, Astarion holds himself to the highest standard.

[builtbybrokenbells]

Rotten Apple | JTK

Karmic relationships indicate feeling or expressing a passionate response very early on in a relationship. Oftentimes, instant chemistry is mutually felt. Sometimes, the drain of that connection or addiction to a partner is described as exhausting rather than feeling calmly settled in a grounded partnership. (Elizabeth Keohan, LCSW-C, LICSW, LCSW)

Listen while reading: (the entire fic is based off this song so I highly suggest at least reading the lyrics before reading 😁)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 16k

Warnings: PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS BEFORE READING AS THIS STORY COULD BE POTENTIALLY HARMFUL/UPSETTING TO SOME READERS//SMUT 18+, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, fingering (f!receiving), oral (f!receiving), sir kink, choking, touch of orgasm denial, dom/sub, possessiveness, jealousy, degradation, name calling, praise, rough sex, toxic themes/relationships, heavy implications/explanations of cheating/infidelity, actual cheating/infidelity, chronic cheaters, gaslighting/manipulative phrases, fighting, arguing, crying, insulting, mentions of bad relationships/relationship trauma, mistresses/home wrecking, self hatred/self sabotage, remorse/regret, depression, anxiety, (lots) angst, (some) fluff, drinking, swearing, sorry if i miss any!

and im back 😙 please tread carefully with this one if any of the aforementioned warnings are personal to you. this definitely isn’t some people’s cup of tea! aside from that, enjoy, be kind, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes 🤍 (so sorry, very lightly edited. just wanted to get this posted so i can keep going with more stuff 😁) (also another side note, I do not condone cheating at all. was just an idea that sparked some creativity is all)

Innocence is over

Hey ah na na, over

Ignorance is spoken

Hey ah na na, spoken

Confidence is broken

Hey ah na na broken

Sustenance is stolen

Hey ah na na, stolen

Arrogance is potent

Hey ah na na, potent, yeah

“Y/N!” Your name screamed over the busy chatter of the crowd around you, catching your attention and turning your head.

House parties had always been so overrated, and since high school, it seemed the scene hadn’t changed a bit. Even in your late twenties, the spill of alcohol on the floor made your soles sticky and the haze in the air choked you as you breathed. The home you were in was familiar, but certainly not comfortable, and the memories that lived inside the walls were haunting as they flashed before your eyes. The crowd of people around you only made it harder to escape the stalemate remembering had put you in. Still, you pushed a smile on to your face, holding the hand in yours a little tighter as you marched forward toward the greeting.

So many questions flooded your mind as you closed in on the perpetrator of your punishment. You knew they would all be here; they invited you, after all. The text message exuding formalities and lacking substance was the whole reason you stepped foot in the door in the first place, and you knew without a doubt that they would be waiting to greet you soon as you showed.

Well, three of them, anyway.

You swallowed your pride, leading your company through the swarm of bodies. The weaving was tiresome, and you had only just begun navigating your way through an exhausting journey. It was too early to be tired, too soon to be so cynical, yet it was all you could do. Something about the story was too repetitive for you to believe the night would end any differently than you imagined when you received the invitation.

The questions continued to beat against your skull, twisting around the guitar riffs and raspy voices flowing through the speakers in the living room. It made for a violent pair, and your eyes began aching from the pressure behind them. Your body was telling you it was a bad idea, but you couldn’t listen. You had faith that the night would be different, that you would be different, stronger than you were before.

You could turn around, submit to your already guilty conscience and run out the door. You could pretend you never heard your name at all, and more importantly, pretend you never read the message in the first place. You responded too fast to a person who should have been long deleted from your contact list, but if you played the game well enough, you could climb out of the hole you already dug yourself in. You could come out on top of this, you could conquer the world that previously held you back from succeeding. All it took was turning around, leaving, walking away from him.

For some reason, your feet continued forward, neglecting every warning your psyche could give. They carried you far enough that you landed before the person you knew you should walk away from.

No, not the person.

Just the closest one to him.

“Hey, Josh.” His name felt like poison on your tongue, already seeping through the gaps of your teeth and searing holes into the flesh. You could feel the pain deep into your jaw, running down the back of your throat and circling around your neck. The sensation was lethal, but it was addicting. Something about the brothers made you a sucker for the pain. You hated the names now, but you hated yourself more for never having the willpower not to speak them.

“I’m glad you came! I didn’t really think you would message me back.” He confessed, leaping forward and extending his arms outward.

He wanted a hug, innocent and warm, a sure way to greet you with all of the love he still had for you.

To you, it was none of those things. Instead, it served as a reminder of your catastrophic failures and the life you once lived. A life that was painful, ugly and cruel, but still seemed shiny, like a dream you craved to see in your deepest sleep. The person that used to hug Josh Kiszka was not someone you wanted to be, but it was someone you could not escape, someone who only showed herself when she was around him. You could not be around Josh without being near him, too, and for that reason alone you had pinned Josh with his brothers crimes, too.

Still, your arms wrapped around his torso, pulling him closer and torturing yourself with the scent of his cologne. As his arms closed in around you, the anguish of the familiar touch nearly sent you to your knees.

It wasn’t the same, but it was the closest thing to what you truly wanted.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, I figured I’d stop by and say hi at least.” You replied, your head still swimming with uncertainty over the interaction. “I should probably be on my way soon, anyway. I can’t stay long.”

“Oh come on, stay a while! Don’t leave yet, you just got here!”

What game was he playing?

He knew the consequences of your presence in their lives, and he was lighting a match that would fuel an unstoppable fire.

“Maybe just for a little while.” You gave a soft smile, hiding your longing for the connection you had so long ago. His words were kind, more generous than they should be, but the weight of your past mistakes were heavy between you.

Maybe that was why you didn’t have the heart to turn him down. Subconsciously, you were stuck in some repetitive cycle of trying to right wrongs you were not fully responsible for.

“Who is this, anyway?” Josh turned to the man standing next to you, eyeing him carefully as he took in the sight before him. His gaze traveled from his face down to his arm, piecing it together once he saw your fingers still interlocked with his.

“This is Cole…” you said, slowly while Josh’s eyes moved back to meet your own. “My boyfriend.” You didn’t need to say the word. The implication was already painfully obvious, and all you did was rub salt in your open wounds.

Why did you bring him with you?

Why did you come at all?

“I see,” Josh grinned, but it was just as fake as your own cheeriness. You were both thinking the same thing, without a doubt for the future when the night came to an end. “It’s nice to meet you, Cole. I’m Josh.” He extended his hand for your new boyfriend to shake, the formality only slightly off putting as Josh’s eyes remained locked with yours.

‘Not tonight, Josh. Not this time.’ You tried to plead with him, silently telling him that tonight would be different than all the ones that came before. ‘It’s different now. You have to believe me.’

He did not, and you could not blame him. You did not even believe yourself.

By the end of the night, your relationship with the boy beside you would be no more. Jake Kiszka would see to that, and your undying desire for him would solidify it. It was a matter of time before you crossed his path, and not long after that would the incessant cycle resume exactly where it left off.

“Nice to meet you man.” Your boyfriend's voice was cheerful, and unlike yours, genuine. If only he knew the hurt he would endure, he would have left long before he ever experienced love at your hands.

No matter how hard you tried, it always ended the same way. No matter who it was, they were never able to compare to the boy who forever stole your heart.

“So how do you two know each other?” Cole asked, looking down at you now. You bit the tip of your tongue, standing stoic for a moment as you tried to come up with a quick lie. Without being too obvious, you tried to silently warn Josh to keep his mouth shut. You should have known better.

You have always known better.

“She’s never told you about Jake?” Josh laughed, finding the notion incredulous. He was too drunk to lie, but it wasn’t like he could ever do it sober. Your cheeks flushed and your eyes pointed towards the floor, feeling your heart jump to your throat and your head begin to ache. The poison of Jake’s name melted your tongue entirely, leaving you wordless and unable to defend yourself.

“Jake?” Your boyfriend asked, wearily speaking the name aloud as if it were a curse he was desperate to avoid. “Your uh… your ex?” He wanted clarification, or assurance that he was wrong, but it was something you could not give to him because he was right.

“Y-yeah.” You choked out, feeling your throat begin to close and air become scarce. “This is his brother.”

Innocence is over

Cole formed a tight-lipped smile, but did not let go of your hand. In an instant, he understood that attending the house party was not a mindless effort at a drunken date. He was not meeting your old friends, and he was not out to have a good time. Instead, the intent ran much deeper, and he was being used in a pissing contest for bragging rights to the ex he had always felt inferior to.

You wanted to assure him it wasn’t like that, but it was, and speaking would get you no further ahead of the game.

Why would Josh tell him? Why would he say it like that, as if Jake was the reason why you were there?

You closed your eyes, silencing your brain for a moment as you digested the truth.

Jake was the reason why you were there, and he was trying to spare Cole the heartbreak.

“He was barely an ex, Cole. You know that.” You spoke, bargaining with the distaste already forming in his heart.

Out of all of the dishonesty you had already dealt, that was the truth. An ex was not what you would classify Jake as, because you barely dated him. In fact, you hadn’t really dated him at all. You spent weeks secluded behind the walls of the very house you stood in now, nights wrapped up in him, tainting his sheets with the smell of your shampoo, but you were never his girlfriend.

You wanted to believe that if you had stayed just a little while longer, gave him a little bit more, maybe you would have been, but holding on to that belief was painful more than it ever served a comfort.

“Right,” he whispered, his hand still in yours. It felt wrong, just like it had the first time he ever held it. Cole never should have been in the middle of this, because he never should have been yours at all. You had no idea why you ever said yes to the title of girlfriend, because you never wanted it, and you had no idea why you invited him here tonight, especially knowing how it would end.

“Either way, it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to see Jake, I came to see you.” You said, pointing the finger at Josh to get yourself out of the spotlight. “You asked me, remember? What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t come to celebrate your new album?” You forced another smile, begging them both to believe that’s why you really showed up. Cole seemed to relax slightly at the sound of your words, but his chest still ached at the idea of being in Jake Kiszka’s house.

Was Josh encouraging you to fall back into old habits? Was Josh playing martyr for a cause that would only hurt everyone in the crossfire?

You could not believe he wanted to see you, because if he missed you so much, he would have shown up at your door. You would have went for coffee or shared dinner like you did so many times before, but instead he invited you to a party hosted by the one man you needed to stay away from.

“The worst.” He joked, playing along with your poor excuses. An awkward silence hung heavy between the the three of you. Nobody knew what to say, because no words could ever turn the conversation to a positive tone.

“Did you want a drink, baby?” Cole asked, looking over his shoulder to the liquor bottles on the kitchen table. You followed his gaze, eager for him to leave you alone so you could pry into Josh’s head.

“Yes, please.” You nodded, giving him a smile.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” He said, clearly looking for a way out of the tense situation.

“I’ll be right here.” You promised. He seemed reluctant to leave you, but after a shared glance and silent reassurance, he retreated to the kitchen.

As soon as he was out of earshot, you turned to Josh again, desperate for an answer.

“Why did you invite me, Josh?” You asked, your tone turning grievous in an instant. The sweetness you held seconds before disappeared without a trace.

“He wanted me to.” Josh admitted, giving a shrug of his shoulder. “I didn’t know you’d bring a date.” He continued, his words more accusatory than you liked.

“Is it a crime?”

“When you know the consequences, yeah.” He answered, truthful with his response. “Listen, I’m happy to see you, Y/N. Whatever the fuck happens between you and Jake is none of my business. You’re my friend, and I’m glad you came, but I do think that you should be mindful of him before anything happens.”

“I’m not here to see Jake, Josh. I came because you invited me, because we’re friends. Remember, before all of this shit happened?”

“How could I forget?” He chuckled, thinking back fondly on the memories. Josh had been your friend first, the whole reason you knew Jake at all, but after all of the pain, your friendship with him seemed to get lost in the mess. “As much as I’d like to believe that you’re here to see me, we both know it’s not true.” He paused, thinking carefully before he spoke again. “And as much as I don’t want your new guy to get hurt, it would be nice to see you and Jake catch up, especially after it ended the way it did.”

“I’ve got nothing to say to him, Josh.” You crossed your arms over your chest, accentuating the cleavage in your already skimpy dress. You had picked it with Jake in mind, even if you would never admit it.

“You have lots to say, mama. We all know that.”

With that, a body presented itself beside you again and a drink was being offered to you. You sent Josh a pointed stare, letting the action finish the conversation for good. Josh nodded, placing a hand on your shoulder and giving a gentle squeeze before walking away.

Cole noticed, and you couldn’t blame him for his questioning gaze, but it did irritate you beyond belief. He was treading in waters too dangerous to survive.

Instead of asking, he opted to keep quiet in fear of the answer he would receive.

Ignorance is spoken

“It’s really nice of you to support Josh like that, even after Jake fucked you over.” Cole said, sending a small smile your way. You took a moment to admire him, his beauty, and his bare-faced stupidity.

“We’ve been friends for a long time. It’s the least I could do.” You shrugged, brushing off his sweet sentiments.

Cole knew you were not there to support Josh, but he was forcing himself to believe it. It was easier for him to digest, thinking that your intentions were friendly and honest. When he focused on the alternative for too long, he thought he would be sick.

Before you could respond, you were pulled into a whirlwind of emotion as your eyes fixated on something within the crowd. In the distance, you saw a flash of familiar brown hair. The sight made your stomach turn and your palms turn clammy.

He wanted you to come.

Josh’s words repeated in your head, making it hard to think of anything else. Jake wanted you there. He asked for you. He knew you would never answer if he asked you himself, because you had never been keen on giving him what he wanted.

That was yours and Jake's biggest problem; you wanted too much from each other, and neither of you had ever been very generous. He wanted more than you could give, and you wanted what he could not provide.

Despite knowing that about yourselves, there was this incessant temptation in both of your minds, forcing you to believe that you were the best the other could ever get, even if it never worked out, and even if all it ever caused was pain.

The familiar head was not pointed in your direction, but you were certain it would be soon. The two of you had an awful attachment to one another, the bond extending into the realm of spirituality and likely even far beyond it. If you walked in a room, he knew, no matter how far away or how invested he was in something else. If you left, your absence hung heavy in the air and haunted him, even if he did not witness you leave. He was completely in tune with you, knowing your next move without you saying a word.

Even if you tried to ignore it, you knew you felt it just the same when it came to his presence and absence.

He was a habit you couldn’t kick, a guilty pleasure and an addiction far more lethal than one to substance. You would search for him in every room, cry out for him and him alone in the darkest nights, and long for his company after he disappeared from sight. His voice was like venom, seeping under your skin and tainting the blood supply the minute it reached your ears. His eyes, easy to get lost in and your definite demise.

He was not good for you, and he never would be, but you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting him. He was the most karmic relationship you’d ever engaged in, punishing you for wrongs you’d committed long before you met him. At the same time, he was making you engage in far more at his hand than you ever believed possible. You didn’t want to want him, but it was impossible to deny. The thought of not needing him was obsolete, because you never knew a moment of peace after he walked into your life.

You could not be with him, and you knew even in the future it would never be in your cards, either. For some reason, even while knowing he was actively ruining your life, you jumped at the chance to love him one more time. You destroyed every opportunity given to you in favor of his twisted agenda, and you did it without regret or second thought. New relationships blossomed after he walked away from you, and failed when he decided to walk your way again. You needed to stay away, to put a boundary in place, but you loved his sin too much to refute it.

You had slowly come to terms with the fact Jake Kiszka would be your kryptonite until you took your dying breath. He was inescapable, and even if you would never truly be his, he would always have a part of you.

No, he would always have all of you, but he would never be yours to keep.

And just like the world ensured it a million times before, the head turned, and the familiar brown eyes seemed to be staring into your soul once more.

You couldn’t run, because he would always find you. You couldn’t run to him, because the boy by your side would know the truth behind the situation you had been trying so hard to keep a handle on. You were stuck, glued to the floor and locked in position until he decided to walk your way.

He was in control, and always had been. Since the moment you met him, you were happy to leave your fate in his hands, blindly trusting a man who only ever did what he could to fuck you over.

You couldn’t see all of his face, but you knew how beautiful he looked despite the crowd standing in his way. You could picture it crystal clear, the pout of his lips and the heavy-lidded eyes filled with lust. You knew the wrinkled furrow of his brow better than anything else in the world, and the softness of his skin and how good it felt under your touch.

As he stared, only his eyes visible to you, you knew he was envisioning all the same things.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Cole asked, his voice concerned. His hand on your back was excruciating, the overwhelming feeling of wrongness growing by the second.

You wanted to tell him, to send him away before he met the same fate as everyone who came before him, yet you couldn’t bear the thought of confessing all of your secrets to him. Some small part of you even believed you could avoid it this time, even whilst you felt the gravitational pull all the way across the room and through the crowd. You wanted to be the good guy and spare him, and you wanted to be the best person and end the cycle, but you knew neither would happen.

There were two reasons why you could not do those things; one being that Jake Kiszka made you into the worst version of yourself, and two, he was walking towards you now with no intent to slow.

“I-I’m okay,” you tried to assure him, but your voice was shaky and your words were weak. It did not take a genius to understand why, and as his eyes moved to look in the same direction of yours, his stomach was sick with fear. He did not know Jake by looks, but he knew you, and he knew that your pompous reaction would not be caused by anything other than him.

“Y/N, let’s go.” Cole said, trying to get you out of the situation before it began, but you were already in his sight, and there was no shying away. The hunter settled on prey, and you could only hope that Jake had enough kindness left in his heart to spare you from the suffering he so often inflicted upon you.

“I-I can’t.” You shook your head, noticing his grip move to your arm. He was trying to force you away, almost as if he knew his fate before it began to unfold.

“The fuck you can’t.” He scoffed, nudging you in the opposite direction of the man approaching you. “Let’s go.” He said again, harsher than the last.

You should listen.

You should leave.

It was too late, anyway. Your choosing of Jake over anyone else was a disaster, but it was something no outward intervention could have possibly changed. It was your own personal law, and when it came to a competition between Jake and anyone else, the contender always lost.

He was in front of you again. Months of static silence and breaking hearts, months of longing and yearning for something you could not have, finally came to a bitter end. It had been so long since you were face to face with Jake that you almost managed to forget how intoxicating his aura was. Almost, being the key word, because deep down you knew you would never forget a thing about him.

“Long time no see, sweetheart.” His voice was like liquid gold, washing down over you and curing any ailment that plagued you. The pout of his lip had only become more irresistible, and his chocolate coloured irises locked you in for eternity. Even if you wanted to leave, you knew it to be impossible.

“Could have kept it that way.” You replied, your lips turning down into a slight frown. Your eyes, though, told a much different story that he was quite privy to. You were good at keeping the feelings between the two of you a secret to anyone looking in, but inside, you were dying for him to touch you. Just once, just for a second so you could ascend to heaven again. It was a feeling only he could give, and you had been deprived of it for a long time, constantly in search of the high since his absence began.

“Right,” he chuckled, remembering your snarky tone all too well. “That’s why you came to my house? To bitch at me for saying hi?” His words were evil, and so was his tone, but you nearly went weak in the knees hearing the domineering voice once again. His eyes held emotion different from the venom of his words, and you could feel how thrilled he was to see you again.

“It wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t bitching at you for something, Jacob.” You reminded, keeping your expression stony so he could not use anything to his advantage.

“Of course, angel. It’s what I love most about you.” He smirked, nodding in agreement. You noticed his eyes flicker to the man beside you, the one holding your arm so tightly in hopes he could pull you away. Jake bit back a bigger smile, knowing there was nothing strong enough in the world to pull you away from him.

His black dress shirt was held together by the bottom three buttons. A fitted suit jacket was settled neatly atop it, but it was not screaming anything overly fancy. The cheap necklaces around his neck dumbed down the expensive clothing, but you cursed how remarkably well it worked together. His dress pants hugged his hips, and the tanned skin of his chest held your attention. It was not the clothes that sent you mad, but the fact you had before studied the beautiful intricacies that lie beneath.

“Are you going to introduce me to your little friend?” He cocked his head to the side ever so slightly, raising his eyebrow in inquiry.

Little was a term he used only to assert his dominance. Cole stood heads taller, and his shoulders were much wider, but in the moment, Jake appeared much bigger than the man beside you. His ego was so large that it left no space in the room for anyone else, and his confidence made Cole pale in comparison to him.

“Boyfriend.” Cole corrected, his jaw clenched and his grip on you growing tighter by the minute. At that, Jake laughed out loud, unable to hold his feelings on the matter. Cole swallowed back the bitter taste it left in his mouth, but opted not to respond.

“Okay.” Jake nodded, looking back to you for clarification. “Your boyfriend.” He reworded his question, putting emphasis on the term and making it painfully apparent he had no interest in talking to Cole at all.

“This is Cole.” Was all you said, your nostrils flaring slightly at Jake’s egotistical expression. As much as you craved for him to touch you, you weren’t blind to his abhorrent tendency towards cockiness.

“You move on quick, sweetheart.” He noted, glancing back at the other man for a moment. You scowled at his willingness to shame you for dating another when he was the one who drove you to it in the first place. Before you could comment on his misplaced belief, a blonde haired woman appeared beside him, making the situation all the more tense. You forced a smile on your lips, watching closely as she clumsily grabbed his arm, claiming her territory without a trace of humility.

“Seems like you do, too.” You shot back, biting down on the tip of your tongue hard enough to draw blood. The metallic taste filled your senses, but the pain did nothing to deter the rise of anger in your chest.

She did not say a word, but she did not have to. She was the same to Jake as Cole was to you: a placeholder.

As much as you were a victim to Jake, he was just the same to you.

You moved on, found another to replace the hole he left in you when he walked away. He found her, hoping she would feel as good in his arms as you did, but she could never give him the same thing. She could try until the end of time, but both of you knew she could never come close.

“Was nice seeing you, Y/N. Don’t be a stranger.” His words were equal to a dismissal of the conversation, but his eyes spoke something completely different. He wasn’t done, and neither were you. He approached you with intent to start anew, and he would see through to it no matter who got caught in the crossfire.

He slung a lazy arm around her waist, giving you a subtle wink before pulling her off in the same direction they came.

You thought you were going to be sick, your entire body aching with the knowledge he was touching someone other than you. You wondered if you loving someone else plagued him with the same illness, or if he viewed it as a game. You constantly feared that he did not feel for you what you felt for him, but you’d always been too afraid to ask.

“What a fucking douchebag.” Cole muttered, only loosening his grip on you after Jake was out of sight. As he let go, you raised your opposite hand to the same spot, rubbing the sore skin where his fingers rested moments before.

“He’s not that bad, Cole.” The defense slipped out without a second thought, and his misplaced confidence was shattered entirely. You looked up at his face, wide eyed and regretful of your words, but the damage was done and a fight was unavoidable.

Confidence is broken

“Not that bad?” He echoed, practically scoffing the words out.

“Yeah, Cole. Not that bad.” You repeated, rolling your eyes. “He’s full of himself, yeah, but when you get to know him, he’s actually got a pretty good heart.”

“Good enough heart to fuck someone else in your bed?” He questioned, remembering the tearful stories you had told after too much wine. Your expression dropped, your heart plummeting to your stomach as you were forced into a memory you were committed to forgetting. “Did you actually come here to see him?”

“Yeah, he’s an alright person, but a shitty fucking boyfriend.” You nodded, swallowing back the lump forming in your throat. “Which is why I’m dating you, and not him.” You clarified, averting your gaze to the ground. “No, I didn’t come here to fucking see him, Cole.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” He whispered, realizing his harsh words were not needed.

At the same time, they were. You were playing the victim to avoid being the bad guy. You hated being the bad guy, and when it came to Jake, you couldn’t seem to escape the title.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom.” You forced the words through your teeth, feeling the whirlwind of memories wash over you like acid rain. Your skin burned as they continued to flow, and you knew that you would die before you could ever outrun them.

“Babe, come on.” He pleaded, reaching out for your shoulder to hold you in place. You shook him off as soon as his fingers connected with your body, stepping away without a second thought.

Without any regret, you left him amidst the swarm of people in the house of your ex whom you knew you’d end up in bed with by the end of the night.

Even though the thought normally settled your upset stomach, not even the promise of sex with Jake could cure the sickness that washed over you. Remembering was the biggest curse of your entire relationship, and unfortunately for you, most of your relationship was remembering. You went without him more often than you were with him, and even the sweetest of memories were tainted with sins and sourness.

You navigated your way to the bathroom blind, your sight ridden with pictures of Jake shirtless in your bed, and worst of all, shirtless in bed with someone else.

If not for you knowing the house so well, you would have gotten lost in the endless sea of flashbacks.

From the very beginning, yours and Jake’s relationship was bound to fail. It began from lies and deceit, and it would carry on the same way until the next bitter end.

“And this is my twin brother, Jake, and his girlfriend, Suzanne.”

“You can call me Suz,” she flashed you a breathtaking smile, extending her arm towards you.

You barely registered her hand in your face, nor her friendly introduction, because you were too busy gawking at the blinding beauty of the long haired man beside her. You cleared your throat, swallowing hard and blinking twice to bring yourself back to reality. Even as you reached to shake her hand, you were unable to focus on her. As disrespectful as it was, even if it was her boyfriend, he was someone who was meant to be admired.

Plus, his wandering eyes and lustful gaze made it all the more easy to completely discredit the woman offering you her kindness.

Of course, it started that night. It started the minute his eyes locked with your own, like an unavoidable omen of the horror you would soon endure. The connection was instantaneous, and the desire followed not far behind. Although you didn’t sleep with Jake the first night you met him, you were no better than a mistress without ever taking your clothes off.

It started with lustful glances, then came the flirting in secrecy. Within days, he was going out of his way to catch you in the hallway or alone in a room to profess his affection for you. Weeks after that, the touching began, slowly but surely. It started with a lingering hand on your back, or hugs that never should have been initiated at all. Then, his hands drifted closer to your hips, and even worse, your ass. The hugs lasted far too long, and his lips treaded dangerously close to your skin.

You hated thinking about what you did to that poor woman, the tearful eyes as she berated the two of you as one. She was kind, she was beautiful, and she deserved better, but Jake Kiszka had always been too much to resist. Now, he was a habit you could not kick.

Over the years, the women became countless, and then men from your relationships, too. Everyone else saw that you could never keep a relationship, but it ran far deeper than that. You did exceptionally well at hiding your affections, and even better at hiding your betrayals. Jake and you never felt the desire to commit to one another, so instead you ruined other people while you committed to your relationship in every way other than officially. You did not intend to hurt so many people, and you never planned to betray others on behalf of each other, but it always seemed to happen no matter how hard you tried to stay away.

And then one day, the two of you had enough. You had lost too much humanity on your endless quest to be with each other, sacrificing too many people in the process. You decided to try, to be with each other in an honest and sincere way, just to make the world a little bit better for each other. You wanted to love each other openly, without anything or anyone standing in the way.

But, you didn’t want to be in a relationship.

Exclusivity was agreed upon, but labels were tossed in the garbage. The two of you convinced yourselves you were happy with the arrangement, and for a while, you truly were. At first, you kept it very quiet. You went on dates and stayed the night at each others houses, but only rarely. Most of the time, it was quick hookups whenever you had the opportunity to do so.

Then, things changed, and in his opinion, for the worst.

Both of you fell in love, completely and utterly, without question or care. Your apartment was forgotten after weeks of you staying in his bed. You shared meals together, sat outside on the porch and watched sunsets and sunrises, and said I love you in every action, but never aloud. Jake was indefinitely intertwined in your life in every way possible, and you were happy with it, until he said the dreaded ‘L’ word aloud.

It slipped out, carefully and quietly while you laid in his lap on the couch, watching reruns of your favourite shows. At first, you thought you misheard him, but the silence that hung in the air told you the truth about his words.

You loved him too, and you cursed yourself for not being able to say it back. You thought that it was too much too soon, despite living with love surrounding you constantly. It scared you, and you reacted with fear, even with your heart screaming at you to stop.

You didn’t say it back, because you neglected labels and thought it was not possible to be in love because of that. And, true, genuine love scared the absolute shit out of you.

It scared him too, but he seemed to harness more courage in that moment than you had in your entire life. Instead of applauding him for it, you effectively slapped him in the face.

For a few days, things carried on like normal, but you could notice the tension in the air. Every day, you could tell he waited to hear it, that he needed you to say it back, but it never came. After a while, he began to pull away, showing the old Jake that made you fall in lust with him in the first place. There were no more shared meals, and definitely no more sunset gazing. The television was off more often than it was on, and the blankets on the couch remained neatly folded on the back. The bed felt empty, even when both of you lied in it, because the distance between you two grew larger by the day.

But the sex?

It was better than it had ever been.

You wanted to tell him that you loved him too, but you were so paralyzed with fear that the word got stuck in your throat every time you tried to speak. Instead, you let him distance himself, knowing you’d already pushed him too far away. You continued to fall more in love with him, and he forced himself to fall out of love.

Then, you came home to him in bed, but he was not waiting for you. Instead of anticipating your arrival, so you could live as roommates rather than lovers, you found him wrapped up in another woman who gave him more than you could in the moment.

It was tearful, angry, and loud. Things were thrown, shattered on the floor, and your throat was raw from belittling the man you had only ever wanted to love.

You had finally gotten the karma you had rightfully deserved, and you finally understood the horrible pain you had inflicted on so many others.

The story finally ended the same way it started, but the two of you never recovered.

You moved out, but you were never able to rid yourself of Jake Kiszka. Intermittently, drunken and sad, you’d show up at each others doorstep and give in to your needs once more. He hated himself for hurting you, and you hated yourself for letting it get to that point. Blame was abundant, and regret plentiful, but one thing never changed; the fact that you two never fully fell out of love.

Too fearful of hurting each other the same way again, you fell back into old habits. You and Jake could never commit to each other, but could never stop loving one another enough to put an end to your toxic ways and commit to someone else. The second time around, it was much more difficult, and a lot messier. Your secret-keeping abilities had greatly decreased, and worst of all, everybody knew how you felt about each other.

When he left for his last tour, ready to release a new album and move forward in his career, you took it upon yourself to try and end the curse indefinitely. You blocked his number, removed him from your life in the most brutal ways possible, and you never spoke to him again. You vowed to start over, to be better, to love someone properly without the memory of Jake Kiszka tainting it before it could begin, and you did well.

For a while, at least. Until Josh sent you the damned message that landed you at his house that night.

With a boyfriend who you’d been with for long enough to take a bigger step, you crawled back to Jake like a dog who’d been lost without him. All it took was a single glance, and you knew Cole would meet the same fate of so many others, and you would meet the same fate that would inevitably ruin your life.

Your hands gripped the countertop of the bathroom tightly, holding yourself upright as the grief did all it could to break your bones. Your chest was heavy, your heart aching and your mind overrun with thoughts of a man you could never fully comprehend. He hurt you, and you hurt him, but never enough to put a stop to it for good. There was something deeper, something so incomprehensibly strong tying your souls together, even if you wanted to sever the bond. You could run to the ends of the earth, away from him and all of the mistrust and deceit the two of you had created, but you knew you would run so far that you would end up behind him, whispering in his ear as you pleaded to start anew.

You looked up at the mirror, trying to understand the woman staring back at you. She was a stranger, a shell of the woman who existed before meeting Jake. She was barren, cold, and tired. She wanted to love, but could not love anyone other than him, no matter how hard she tried. The bathroom door was cracked open ever so slightly, the glow of the hallway light illuminating your tired features, only worsening the sorrow you had for your former self.

As if on cue, the door creaked open by the push of a hand. The yellow glow of the lightbulbs were blocked by a body, casting a shadow over the already dim room. You did not need to look to know who it was; you could feel his presence without ever seeing his face, and it was just as beautiful as you remembered.

No matter how much you hated yourself for the relentless cruelty you inflicted and endured, it could never amount to the love you held for him in your heart.

“What are you doing up here, all by yourself?” The words were sickly sweet, settling in your spine and relieving you of all the tension that gathered over the course of the night. Without even looking at his face, you felt yourself stepping towards him, gravitating to the one thing that continually held you to the earth.

Jake closed the bathroom door behind him, locking the two of you inside together, looking at your sad expression with the utmost regret in his heart.

If only he could do it right, to take back all of the wrongs that got you to where you were, he would do it in a heartbeat, for you.

But you had always been better off as a dirty little secret, and he made a much better whore than he did a lover.

“Waiting for you to come and find me.” You quipped back, covering the sadness in your eyes with a soft smile. He stepped towards you, meeting you in the middle. He reached forward, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as he gazed down over your face.

“You look like a fucking whore.” He rasped, his voice quiet but not hateful. His eyes raked over your body, taking in your low cut dress revealing more of you than he’d seen in a long time. His hand dropped from your face entirely, instead reaching forward and anchoring itself on your hip.

You leaned closer, your painted lips barely hovering over his own. The warmth of his breath on your skin was enough to make you forget about your sadness, and any remorse for your actions fled the minute he touched you.

“You don’t like it?” You asked, pushing your bottom lip into a pout. It grazed his own, sending a rush of emotion straight through the both of you. In an instant, you were one again, two bodies combined into a single entity after being forced apart.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head ever so slightly at your dramatics. “You know better than that.” His other hand rose, settling on the back of your neck. The pressure of his hand on the base of your skull caused your head to tilt upwards towards his just a little more, just enough for him to see your eyes. “I love it.”

“Did you miss me, baby?” You asked, your mouth watering at the thought of tasting him alone. His cologne was suffocating, but it was so delicious that it helped you forget about the dying itself.

“Do I have to answer that?” He smirked, his body nearly completely pressed into your own. The space between you was non-existent, blatantly showcasing your lack of growth during your time apart.

Sustenance is stolen

“No, because I know you did.” Before the words even left your tongue, his lips were on yours in a heated reunion.

The sensation was euphoric, something you’d been searching for without ever realizing it. The whine that rattled your chest sent a shiver down his spine, only encouraging his bad behavior further. He drank in the sound like a man dying of thirst, desperate for a drop of anything you could give him. You were the only woman in the world who could do such things to him, and despite pledging to stay away, the two of you would always end up in each other's arms. Whether it be morally right, or morally wrong, his arms were where you were always meant to be.

In an instant, you were no longer the woman who came to the party with a boyfriend who treated her well. That title was ripped from you, stolen from his grasp in exchange for a single moment alone with the man who forever plagued your mind. Just like every man before, he stole you from him like a thief in the night, never satisfied unless he could make you his own again. He knew the love you gave was addicting, and anyone who received it was dependent upon it. He did not commit such thievery for any reason unjust, but because he remembered the effect of your affections so well. Without you, he thought he would die, and because of that, he was willing to sacrifice any other man’s life so he could survive off your love alone.

The taste of alcohol lingered on his tongue, making the moment all the more enticing. His touch was burning, but only ever pleasantly. Right and wrong did not exist; only he did, and you submitted to the knowledge that you lived solely to be his. You were not cut out to be a wife for a man who had his life together, and you were not meant to mother a child or start a family with a man who earned his keep honestly and loved sincerely. You were a mortal being who’s soul had been blackened with lust for an entity with more power than you could comprehend. You were born to play Jake’s twisted game, and over time, you had grown happy to be a part of it.

You were a whore, but only he knew how to pry that out of you. His words were laced with poison, his tongue made of opiate, his touch of ecstasy, and every action completed with intention to kill. You would not commit the crimes for another, because there was nobody else worth the effort.

“Taste just as sweet as I remember, Angel.” He withdrew a long breath, parting from you for just long enough to utter the praise.

“So good you couldn’t stay away.” You whispered, wishing he would kiss you again. It had been so long since you experienced such pleasure that you thought you might die without it.

“I can never stay away from you, sweetness.” He said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and in his defense, it was.

He backed you up against the countertop, locking you in place with his hips. As he leaned his top half towards you, you leaned backwards to allow him easier access. His lips landed on the side of your neck, his kiss gentle and nowhere near what you remembered of him.

For a second, you let yourself believe there was some kind of sentiment behind his action, like he still cared and wanted to appreciate having you again.

Then, you pushed the thought from your head. The worst thing you could do to yourself was imagine that Jake cared about you, even if it was true.

His mouth traveled downward, drifting over the column of your neck and brushing over your collarbone. His tongue trailed over the soft skin, reminding himself of all he missed out on while he was gone. He was a man gone mad, driven to insanity just from the taste of you on his tongue. As tempted as he was to leave a mark behind, to claim territory that had always rightfully been his, he knew he couldn’t. He did not want to make the fallout any worse than it needed to be.

Instead of showing his true feelings, he spoke it into existence as an insult, inadvertently begging for you to validate his feelings on the matter.

“What would your little boyfriend think of you now?” He muttered, his face buried in your chest as his mouth ghosted over every available inch of skin. The hum of his voice against your body made you weak in the knees, but his words plagued you with guilt. You were not the person to get off on infidelity; in fact, before you met Jake, you despised it. You were not sleeping with him for any twisted desires or hidden kinks, but because you loved him too desperately to walk away. You would take him any way you could have him, even if it was despicable.

“The same as your girlfriend would think about you.” You reminded him, assuring he knew you were not the only one at fault. Your tone was breathy, your heart thudding against your ribs as his hands scoured your thighs. His fingertips settling just below the hem of the skirt, begging to go further but waiting for your permission.

“As if I’d ask her to be my girlfriend.” He scoffed, revolted just at the thought of it. His hands trailed higher, in search of the seam of your underwear. He seemed to freeze in place, his fingers inspecting your hips underneath the cool fabric of your dress. Slowly, his head raised from your chest, looking up at your face with a wondrous twinkle in his eye. He could not find what he was looking for, because they did not exist. His hands felt only the softness of your skin, without barrier as he smirked up at your rosy cheeks. “For me, sweetheart?”

“It’s always for you, Jake.” You averted your eyes, an unfamiliar feeling burning in the pit of your stomach. You weren’t sure why you were so sheepish of the fact; both of you knew it all too well.

“You’re too good to me, angel.” He commended your efforts to please him only because they worked so well. He bunched the skirt of your dress in his hands, pushing it up past your hips to reveal your lack of underwear. The sight of you exposed in front of him was nearly too much for him to bear, but he persevered through the abundance of lust he felt for you in hopes of drawing the reunion out a little longer.

His fingers slipped between your legs, pushing them apart so he could continue his tyranny without interruption. You watched him closely, inspecting every move as if you needed it to survive. In some sick way, you did. You felt as though if you were deprived of his touch for too long, you would succumb to death and waste away to nothingness. His touch hovered above your heat, but he was unwilling to give you what you wanted so easily.

How foolish of you to believe that Jake would be kind, even after such a long absence.

“Please touch me, Jake. Waited so fucking long.” You whined, looking down at his hand between your thighs, taunting you with the power you knew he possessed.

“Oh no, sweetheart.” He shook his head, chucking at your neediness. “You don’t get to call the shots.” He said, his eyes flickering up to meet your own. “You left, remember? You blocked my number and went off and found someone else to take my place. You don’t get to complain about it after you finally decided to come back.”

Arrogance is potent

Oh, so he was mad. Good thing for him, you could play that game, too.

“Quit it with the fucking pity party, Jacob. We both know you’re not innocent, either.” From sweet to sour in a second, your entire demeanor changed in response to his ridiculous claims.

“You should see yourself.” He smirked, moving his hand a little closer to your aching cunt, but not close enough to touch you, yet. “Just as desperate as you were the last time I saw you, still so eager to be fucked while your boyfriend waits for you downstairs.” He spit the word as if it were a bitter taste on his tongue, easily telling you that the old game of cat and mouse had changed. He was going to fuck you, but he was angry that you had tried to move on despite him doing the exact same thing.

“Oh, you poor thing.” You seethed, feeling the rise of anger begin to take over your body, too.

Clearly, leaving silently had deprived you of the release you so desperately needed. There were too many loose ends, too much emotion hanging heavy on the both of you. You had waited nearly a year to get it all out, a year of suffering before you could even begin to release some of the pain you locked up so securely in your heart.

“Don’t tell me your feelings are hurt, Jacob.” You raised an eyebrow, condemning him for feeling any kind of sorrow over your new relationship.

“Over you? As if.” He sneered, the momentary sweetness from earlier fleeing him completely. Touching you again was euphoric, telling of all he still felt of you, and he didn’t mind letting you know he missed you. Unfortunately, it brought up a whole other whirlwind of emotions that were far less appealing.

“Still doing whatever you can to convince yourself you don’t care about me, hmm?” You snipped, taking the opportunity to slide your dress over your head, leaving you completely exposed before him. “We both know why you’re upset, Jake, and it’s not because you don’t care.”

His hands shot to your hips, lifting you on the counter and setting you down on the cool surface. Now that you were locked in, his own body ensuring you could not run, his hand was between your legs again and finally connected with your cunt.

“What is it then, if you think you fucking know everything?” His fingers sliding through your folds, gathering the wetness on his fingertips and circling around your clit made it hard to respond. The feeling was so grand, even if the action was small. It was something you’d been waiting for since he got on the plane that flew him away from you, severing the twisted ties that held you two together.

The most harrowing revelation came when you understood that it was even better than you remembered it to be.

“You’re j-jealous, Jacob. Just fucking say it.” You spat between waves of pleasure, looking down at his face with a distasteful look in your eye. He was silent for a moment, opting to watch his hand working at your cunt instead of responding to your accusations. Eventually, after an unusually long bout of silence from him, his eyes flickered back to your face.

Without him saying a word, you knew you hit the nail straight on the head.

“You think it was nice to see that you found someone to take my place after I was gone?” He whispered, his tone dangerously low. “That he’s been taking up space in your bed where I used to sleep?” He growled, the curl of his lip resembling him as more of a wild animal than a man who had been hurting on your behalf. He raised his other hand to your neck, the back of his fingers gently caressing the side of it as he let his words sink in. “Do you think I liked the way he was touching you, like he was protecting his territory? Like you haven’t always been mine?” The possessive claim caused you to clench around nothing, desperate for anything more than he was giving you.

His fingers closed around your neck, the grip loose but foreshadowing of all that was to come. His face was close to yours, so close that the tip of his nose brushed against your burning cheeks and his lips were ghosting over your own.

“Answer me.” He whispered, letting his middle finger slide down to your entrance, feeling his way through the arousal he was responsible for.

“No, sir.” You shook your head, almost finding yourself sympathetic for the pain he was masking with his cruel words.

“So why did you bring him here, sweetheart? To rub it in my face? To piss me off?” He asked, slipping his finger inside you and letting his thumb drift over your clit. He began a steady pace, clearly getting himself worked up as he made a point to berate you for your decisions. “Did you want me to get jealous so I would start a fight with him and show everyone how much I fucking care about you?”

“N-no, sir.” You whimpered, feeling the flutter of an orgasm begin to blossom in the pit of your stomach. The curl of his fingers was addicting, and with every pump of his hand he was hitting the sweet spot inside you only he knew how to find.

“Don’t lie to me, baby.” He said, his fingers tightening around your neck a little further. He wasn’t ready to take it all the way, because he wanted to hear the truth before anything else. “You’re a little attention whore, and you wanted me to tell everyone out there that you’re mine. That’s all you ever fucking wanted, right? To be mine, and for everyone to know it?” The conversation was taking a dark turn, but you were too needy to complain about it. You thought if you kept talking, telling him what he wanted to hear, he would give you what you needed.

You were too stupid to realize you were only digging yourself a deeper hole, and the one you were already in was much too steep to climb out of.

“Yes, Jake. I did. That’s all I wanted.” You nodded, hoping he could feel your sincerity. You were not lying, because it was all you ever wanted. To be his and his alone was what you craved, with no one standing between you and no more secrets.

“So instead of telling me that, what did you do?” He snarled, moving his fingers a little faster. The change in pace caused your whole body to quiver. Your skin felt like it was on fire, and your mind was consumed with him entirely. He wanted you to confess, to tell him you understood the mistakes you made and atone for your sins. He needed it more than he ever needed anything else in his entire life.

“I-I left,” you choked out, feeling his fingers tighten on your pulse-point. Your heartbeat was pounding in your ears, so powerful it was pulsing behind your eyes. “I was scared. I was too scared to say it, Jake.” You wheezed out, feeling your head begin to swirl from the pleasure and the lack of blood flow.

“Yeah, you fucking left. You were too scared to say it, so you left me to feel like an idiot for saying it first.” You were no longer speaking of the significant others you had left downstairs, nor your absence in the months prior. He was talking about that same dreaded instance that replayed in your mind every single day.

He was talking about it.

Aloud, he spoke the words, for the first time since the war began.

“M’so sorry, Jake.” You pleaded, feeling so strung out that the apology seemed misplaced. Recounting your mistakes did not seem fitting with his fingers inside of you and an orgasm threatening you. “I felt it too. I should have said it.”

“But you didn’t. You never fucking did, because you only ever cared about yourself.” Your eyes shot open, suddenly being pulled from the euphoria taking over your entire body. Your nostrils flared, your pupils blazing with a fire that only he knew how to ignite. He knew he struck a nerve, but it was exactly what he was intending to do.

“You fucked someone else in our bed.” You seethed, your words weak from his palm pressing against your trachea. Even in your rage, your hips moved down on his hand in search for more.

Just like always, sex was the most important thing to both of you.

“Instead of talking to me, you fucked someone else and tried to play the victim!” Your words were stronger now, fighting against his power with ease.

You were the only person in the world who ever had enough courage to challenge him.

“I guess we finally got what was coming to us, then.” He muttered, scowling at the thought of the pain you two caused each other, scowling at pain you’d caused so many others. “You still haven’t learned your lesson, because you’re back here begging for more, doing the same thing to him.”

“You don’t get to chastise me when you’re doing the same thing.” You spat, enraged at his self-righteous response.

“I never said I was any fucking better, sweetheart.” He reminded you, a small, sick smile toying at the corners of his lips. As angry as you were, and as much as your chest ached, you still knew you couldn’t walk away from him. You were destined to want Jake in the most despicable and destructive ways until the very end. The only comfort was that you knew he was destined for the same fate.

Without removing his hand from your throat, he moved forward and captured you in a kiss, sealing the evil you spewed within you forever. You pulled his bottom lip between your teeth, your need for him animalistic and unnatural even after his cruel treatment. The only reason it did not bother you was because you knew you deserved it.

As he kissed you, his hand continued working at your cunt, pushing you to the brink of an orgasm with great ease. You let out a moan into his mouth, giving him a taste of the pleasure he was granting you. He drew in a sharp breath, the sound settling deep somewhere in his soul and making home there for eternity.

He parted from you, but not because he wanted to. He would kiss you until his lips turned blue and his lungs collapsed, happy to die at your hands. He broke away because of need, and one that much much stronger than his urge to kiss you. His grip loosened around your neck and his hand dropped to your hip. He withdrew his fingers from you, causing you to let out a hiss of displeasure at the sudden loss of the orgasm he was so close to giving you.

Before you could get a complaint out, he dropped to his knees before you, gripping your hips and pulling you closer to the edge of the counter. He guided one leg over his shoulder, pressing his lips to the inside of your thigh as an apology for his sudden change in pace. At the knowledge of his next move, you were all but upset with his decision.

“Oh, fuck.” You groaned, your head falling backwards as his tongue connected with your clit. Your hand reached for his head, your fingers tangling in his hair as his tongue ran through your folds.

The sweetness of your arousal was something he’d missed so dearly, something he could never find from another. It was more addicting than any substance and it was the very reason he could get himself out of bed in the morning. Being with you in such an intimate manner was the only reason his heart continued to beat, and the only thing he continued living for. His tongue circled your clit, continuing his torment in a whole new way.

With just a single swirl of his tongue, you felt like screaming his name, just to tell the whole world how good he could make you feel. It was almost comical, how you searched far and wide for someone who could make you feel a shred of what he could, and nobody could even come close to him. Your whole body had been begging for him since you stepped foot into the familiar home, and now that you had him, it still wasn’t enough. You needed everything all at once, things he could not give to you and things you could never ask for. You needed Jake far beyond any other person, and far beyond what was possible from him.

You needed him to be more than a dirty secret, a betrayal of trust in a bathroom at a house party. You needed him to be yours, but you knew he would never be.

Your desperation was immeasurable, and your entire body was aching for the orgasm he previously denied you of. It was a terrible feeling to have, knowing that your life was completely in his hands. Whatever he decided to do with it, you would go along happily so long as it pleased him. It was a terrible thing to know you would never truly belong to yourself, even if Jake was long gone from the world.

He was living for your shallow breathing, surviving off of your choked moans. Pleasing you was his favorite thing to do, even if he hated you in the moment. There was something so gratifying about his name on your tongue, and something so beautiful about how easy it was to make you feel good. He tried his best to ignore the incessant thoughts in his head about another man touching you the same way, about someone else believing that you were theirs.

Both of you knew you were Jake’s, and he was undeniably yours. The facade you put on and the games you played with others were just that; the only thing either one of you knew to be real was the way you felt for each other. It was painful, harmful and frustrating for the two of you to constantly avoid the way your hearts felt for each other, but it was all you knew. It made more sense for the two of you to deny and lie about your feelings than it ever did to fess up.

He pulled away from you, catching his breath as he looked up at your face from between your legs. “Come on, angel. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel.” He hummed, moving his thumb over your clit so he did not lose the momentum.

“You want to hear it, baby?” You breathed, looking down at him through your lashes. “Did you miss it?”

“Dreamt of it every goddamn night.” He said as a matter of fact. You let out a whine at the sound of his words, pushed even closer to the edge at the knowledge he thought of you just as much as you thought of him.

You were in no position to deny him anything, because he was giving you the entire world. As he leaned forward, his mouth connecting with your core once again, you let a long slur of curses fall from your lips. The moan that followed could only be classified as pornographic, carrying through the door and echoing into the hallway for everyone to hear.

He was doing exactly as you wanted; he was making it so the entire house could hear how much you meant to him, even if it was not in the way you so badly wanted from him. Still, it was enough to keep you on his hook, and that was the very thing he wanted to ensure.

“God, feels so fucking good, Jake.” You gasped, feeling your abdomen tense with a particularly strong wave of pleasure. He hummed against you, speaking encouragement for the show you were putting on for him.

You knew if he continued on like such, it would not be long until you descended into an orgasm. He was waiting, just as desperate as you were to feel you let the pleasure take hold. He brought his fingers to your entrance, slipping his middle and index finger inside of you to add to the sensation. You inhaled a sharp breath, feeling the curl of his fingers hit the same spot he found so easily just moments before.

“Fuck,” you hissed, feeling yourself clench around his fingers as the knot in your belly threatened to snap. At the familiar sound, he took it upon himself to suction his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves, adding more pressure to the already otherworldly feeling. Your grip tightened in his hair and your entire body was rigid as it prepared to be pushed over the edge. “Oh god,” you cried, your throat raw from the primal sound that tore through you.

Had his mouth not been so intently focused on you, you knew how sweetly he would have talked you through it. No matter how vicious or volatile he spoke to you, he never missed out on the opportunity to coddle you as you came. It was his favorite thing in the entire world, an excuse to show you the softness his heart had for you when he usually felt like he needed to keep it hidden. He continued pumping his fingers and moving his tongue, guiding you through the high with expert precision. As he noticed you relax against him, he tapered off his movements before pulling away completely.

He rose to his feet, already tossing his belt on the floor before he was even upright. Your mind was still swirling with the lingering euphoria, your skin electrified and your heart pounding in your chest. You watched him, wordless as he unbuttoned his pants after he threw his shirt to the ground alongside his belt. He freed himself from his boxers, the sight of him nearly too much for you to handle. You missed him so dearly and needed him so badly.

He stepped forward, landing between your legs as he gazed down at you. His lust-blown pupils turned his eyes near black, and he was aching for relief just like you had been minutes before. “I want to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

“Say what?” You asked, your eyebrows knitted together in confusion. He gave you a soft smile, void of any malice for a moment. He wanted to admire you beneath him, so desperate to have him. He wanted to enjoy the beauty of your heart being his despite being promised to someone else.

“You were just as jealous as I was, angel.” He said, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you closer to the edge of the counter. You put all your trust in him, knowing that if he faltered, you might fall to the floor.

“So what?” You huffed, your cheeks turning red at his accusations. He smiled down at you, moving his hips forward ever so slightly. The tip of his cock rested against your entrance, already wet with your arousal.

“Do you really think I’d give her half of what I give you? That she means nearly as much to me as you do?” He questioned, his grip loosening slightly now that he had you in the position he wanted.

“No, baby.” You shook your head, wondering if tonight would be the night that things would change. “I know that.”

“You know she has nothing on you, beautiful.” His hand trailed up your side, the light touch tickling your skin as his fingers drifted over your stomach. “Nobody does.”

With that, his sweet sentiments had come to an end. He slammed his hips forward, the size of him coming as a surprise and filling you completely. A gasp left your lips as your tried to recover from the shock and adjust to him again, realizing that in the time spent away from him, nobody felt as fulfilling as he did.

To him, no one could compare, either.

“That’s it, gorgeous.” He muttered, clearly strung out from the pleasure too. In just a moment, he was back where he was all of those months ago, in love with you and desperate to hear you say it back. “God, you feel so fucking good.”

His praise was exhilarating, and his love was blissful. As he began a slow pace with his hips, the grief was almost overwhelming the pleasure. You wondered why it couldn’t feel this good with him all of the time, and you dreaded him walking away after the night came to an end.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours for a moment, likely mourning the same fate that the two of you so often fell into. Loving you was all he wanted to do, but he was so afraid of falling again that he convinced himself he wasn’t already long past in love.

His tongue danced over yours, the taste of his sin too much to bear as your chest began to ache. You wanted to remain strong, to carry on with the one thing that the two of you were good at, but it felt so different than it did all the times that came before. The emotion you had neglected to acknowledge was finally pushing to the surface, angry about being ignored.

It wasn’t the right time, but you feared the right time may never come. You had to stop being afraid, to find the courage he once had and utilize it.

You could feel it too, even in his cruel words and his harsh insults. The love was there, lingering in every touch and screamed in every kiss. You could not allow yourself to remain in the same incessant cycle of pain, but you could not will yourself away from him. There was only one way to change your ways, but it was the hardest thing you had ever done. Loving someone so completely, no matter the circumstance, was terrifying. Saying it aloud only made it all the more real.

He pulled away, breaking the kiss and in turn, breaking you from your internal brooding. He looked down over your face, his hips still rocking against yours. The pleasure in the pit of your stomach had nothing on the yearning of your heart, and he could see it in your eyes. He had to look away, to hide his heart from you so you could not break it again. He feared the longer he stared, the closer he was to confessing the same thing all over again.

In a moment of desperation, he withdrew from you entirely, letting his hands settle back on your hips. Before you could complain, he pulled you from the countertop entirely, landing you on your feet in front of him. He had to change the pace, to harness that same carnal desire and rank it more important than how he felt for you emotionally.

Without a word, he spun you around, forcing your top half down towards the counter. The cold surface was a shock to your system, especially after growing comfortable with the warmth of his body against you. He pulled your hips back towards him, positioning himself at your entrance again.

“I think I’m being far too nice to you, sweetheart.” He muttered, reaching up and grabbing a fistful of his hair. “If I remember correctly, you only like to be fucked like a whore.”

This time, when the insult slipped past his lips, it did not feel good nor did it prompt any wave of arousal. It hurt, and it hurt achingly bad.

Still, knowing you were not strong enough to utter the proclamation of love, you went along with it despite the ache in your chest.

“Yes, sir.” You hummed. Despite the sadness of the change of position, you were still excited at the idea of fucking him. If you could not love him, you knew it was the next best thing.

Slowly, he pushed inside of you, knotting your hair around his fist as he pulled your head off the counter. He leaned down, his lips hovering just over your ear as he continued at the agonizingly slow pace.

“Just like this, sweetheart?” He asked, making sure that when his hips connected with yours he added a little extra force. “Does that feel good?”

“Feels so good, baby.” You whined, the intimacy of the moment sending a shiver down your spine. His breath was hot on your neck, his voice barely above a whisper but loud and clear to you. As you answered, he let his teeth sink into your earlobe, the light pressure prompting a flutter in your stomach. Your walls clenched around him, pulling him in further and locking him there indefinitely.

Despite the pace being slow, the power behind his hips was what mattered, and with every re-entry, he added just a little more force than the last. As his cock brushed against cervix, your knees went weak and your stomach twisted into a knot. You had no idea how he could make you feel so good, but you knew you never wanted him to stop.

“He can’t fuck you like this, sweetheart.” He whispered, his lips still hovering above your ear. “He can’t make you feel this good.” He continued, his hand on your hip tightening with every word. He was mindful, careful not to leave any bruises despite his desire to. “Can he, angel?”

“F-fuck no, Jake.” You shook your head, feeling him press a kiss to the sweet spot just below your ear.

“Right, baby.” He hummed his approval, his words muffled due to his lips on your skin. “Nobody can make you feel as good as I do because you’re mine. Do you fucking understand me?”

“God, yes.” You nodded against his hold, desperate to agree with him on that fact. No matter what, you were undeniably his.

“Did you think of me when he was fucking you, angel?” He asked, his tone growing stronger by the second. He was pissing himself off the longer he thought about it, but he was willing to make that sacrifice in order to chastise you for your decisions. “Did you wonder when I would come home, when I’d come back to take care of you?

“I did, baby.” You whimpered, feeling the effects of his presence finally begin to take hold. You were strung out on pleasure, at your end already despite him being far from done with you. You were tired, but your body would not accept the fact. You thought if he stopped, you might die from the withdrawal from him. “I thought about it every fucking day.” You confessed. “I needed you, because nobody else knows how to do it right.”

“Exactly, sweetheart.” He hummed an agreement, happy to hear it from you. “You knew I’d never leave you behind. You knew I couldn’t fucking stay away.” Even if he wanted to, he never could. The confession was heavy, despite the fact already being known to you both. “God, what do you do to me?” He growled, the slam of his hips rocking your thighs forward into the countertop. Another groan tore through your chest, vibrating your entire body as he continued to fuck into you.

“Jake,” you warned, feeling your legs begin to wobble and your mind start to haze.

“I know, baby.” He crooned, placing another sloppy kiss to the exposed portion of your neck. “Being such a good girl for me. Just hold on a little longer.” At that, you let out another whine, loud and impatient, clearly unhappy about his plea to wait. In response, he roughly pulled your head to the side by your hair, craning it upwards a little further so he could press his lips to yours.

The kiss was enough to satiate your undying need for him, but the taste of his lips made the sensation in your stomach grow tenfold. The only difference was, now you could not warn him about the climax creeping up on you.

Luckily for you, he did not need to be warned about anything. He knew you better than anyone or anything, and he could feel how close you were just from your body alone.

“Oh, angel, you make it so fucking hard to say no to you.” He let out a long sigh, breaking the kiss as he let his hips rest against the curve of your ass. He had to slow down or he feared he might let go, too.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” You gave him a weak smile, your eyes heavy as you looked back over your shoulder at him.

“With you? Always good, even if it should be bad.” He chuckled, placing a kiss to your shoulder blade before he straightened up again.

His hand remained in your hair as he took a deep breath, calming himself down before beginning again. The feeling of him moving inside you again after the short break was intense, amplified by a million. Although he believed stopping might allow the two of you more time, as soon as his hips reached the same speed as before, you were both just as close to the end. He couldn’t deny you the orgasm again, and he could not hold himself back. After so long without you, he needed it more than he needed food to survive.

“Can you cum for me, baby?” He asked, pushing your head down into the counter. Your cheek was squished against the surface, and his hips were moving with such strength that it made your head spin. There was no question that you could reach the climax, because you had been doing nothing but trying to hold back.

Instead of responding, your eyes closed and the burning in your stomach reached a whole new level. You had never gone so long without him, and now you had no tolerance for the pleasure that came with his company. A choked moan filled the air, letting him know that you were doing exactly what he asked of you.

His hand on your hip tightened as he pushed you further down on the counter. “That’s my girl.” He muttered, looking down at your face as you descended into pleasure. Your legs trembled and your lungs burned, but you were on top of the world. You felt better than you ever had, and likely better than you ever would. It had nothing to do with the sex, nor the stimulation of him inside you, but rather just the thought of being his.

You managed to sing his name through the mess of moans and curses, the sound heavenly to his ears. He waited so long to hear you say it like that again, and it sent him over the edge just the same as you. As you reached the high together, the world felt right again, like coming home after an inexplicably long and tiresome day. He spilled his release inside of you, feeling you relax against him as he slowed his thrusts. He leaned down, pulling your head to the side with much more caution than last time, and kissed you with all the love he could muster in his whole body.

You stayed like that for an abnormal amount of time, neither of you keen on the idea of parting from one another. Eventually, he broke the kiss, looking down over your face with adoration in his eyes. He did his best to snap himself out of it, knowing he shouldn’t be feeling such things about you, but unable to stop. He straightened up again, making sure to admire the entire scene of you below him, too fucked out to form a single thought. Then, his eyes traveled to the mirror, catching a glimpse of your position from a whole new perspective. He swallowed hard, his jaw tensed as he let out a shaky breath.

“How am I supposed to let him take you home tonight after seeing you like this, sweetness?” He asked, looking at your reflection in the mirror. When he realized your head was pushed too close to the countertop for you to see too, he used his grip on your hair to pull you upwards.

Staring back at you was a mess of the woman you walked into the bathroom as. Your cheeks were streaked with mascara, your skin red and blotchy and your hair a mess. Beside your reflection, you could see him watching you, studying you. His eyes were fixated on your face, taking in every detail you were noticing. To him, you were not a mess; you were the most beautiful thing to ever grace the earth. The mess just made it all the better, especially knowing he was the one who caused it.

‘I don’t want to go home with him, Jake. I want to stay here with you.’ You thought it, but did not dare say it aloud. The flash of sadness in your eye was apparent to him, for he had the same one in his.

What I see is unreal

I've written my own part

Eat of the apple, so young

I'm crawling back to start

If you did not speak now, you never would. Could you remain the same forever, or did you need to change to survive? You did not know what to do, or how to feel. If you said it, would it even mean anything, or would it be a waste of breath? He did not want to hear the words a year later; he needed it way back when the two of you were curled up together on the couch, when he used every last ounce of courage to say it first. He didn’t need to hear it now. He didn’t need you fucking up his life again. He didn’t need you.

But if he did not need you, why did he abandon his date in search of you, in search of what you used to be?

There was no more anger between you. Your eyes locked together in the mirror, housing a silent battle of uncertainty as you watched each other's every move. If you spoke the truth, the world would change indefinitely, but you did not know if it would be for better or for worse.

Oh, what did it fucking matter anymore?

You had to say it, to know that you exhausted every option to keep the man your heart sang hymns about. You could deal with the consequences later, because right now, you both needed to hear it.

“What’s wrong, beautiful?” He asked, knowing there was some kind of war being waged in your head. He was afraid, not of what you wanted to tell him, but because he thought you wanted to end the constant debacle between you.

You could deal with the aftermath later, but you were done being sad. He waited so long, just the same as you, and you had to say it.

I repent tomorrow

Hey ah na na tomorrow

I suspend my sorrow

“I don’t want to go home with him, Jake.” Your voice was strong despite your worry the words would not make it past your lips.

“Then don’t.” He could not help the spark of hope that ignited in his chest. He rested inside of you, terrified to move as he awaited what you would say next.

“You mean it?” Say it, or forever hold your peace, coward.

“You know there’s always a place for you in my bed.” He was unsure if he was taking your confession in the way you meant it, but by god he hoped that was what you meant. Your eyes caught his again, holding him captive with your stare. There was not enough courage in the world for you to say it, but you could not hide it any longer.

“I love you too, Jake.” You said, your tone strong and your intent true. Nearly a year later, you finally said it.

The world was still. The commotion outside of the doorway stopped, and your relentless thoughts wasted away to nothing. For a moment, you even believed your heart ceased to beat.

“I love you, Jake. I should have said it a long time ago, but I’m saying it now, and it has to count for something.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” he said, statue-like as he stood behind you. For a moment, you thought you might die from the pure grief that encased your heart. You waited too long. It was too late. “I’m sorry I hurt you, and I should have said that a long time ago.”

Neither of you moved, and neither of you knew what to do next.

You got what you thought he could never give, and he heard what he feared you might never say.

Was it over? Was that it? Did you end the curse that had plagued you since the very beginning? Had you repented enough for the rottenness of your actions?

Could you really have him with no secrets and no more lies? Could you love him without restraint, without any pain?

“Let me love you, Y/N. Let me do it right this time.”

“Okay.” You nodded, your eyes never leaving his face. “Please, Jake. The world hasn’t felt right since that night, until now. I want to try again, and I don’t want to be a terrible person anymore.”

Carefully, he withdrew from you, trying to limit the mess as he helped you up off the counter. He turned you to face him, bringing his hand to your cheek to swipe away a tear that escaped your eye.

“I have been waiting a lifetime to hear you say that, sweetheart. I would be a fucking idiot if I gave it up twice.” You lifted your head, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“I’m sorry it took so long. I’m sorry I was so stupid.” You said, reaching out and wrapping your arms around him.

The hug was simple, but to the two of you, it was everything.

“I was stupid, Y/N.” he said, burying his head in your hair. He took a deep breath, finally feeling the tension in his body fade away into nothing. The smell of your shampoo, and more specifically, the way his pillows used to smell when he was sleeping next to you, was his favorite thing in the whole world, and he’d been deprived of it for far too long. “I don’t want to be stupid anymore. I just want you.”

“I was always yours, Jake.” You whispered, closing your eyes as you rested your cheek on his bare chest. “From the minute I met you, until my very last day on earth.” He did not need to reply for you to know he was yours, too.

Finally, after writing your own wretched tale, you had grown enough to rewrite it and atone for all of the mistakes you made before.

Finally, you could love him without having to worry about anything else, without pain, and without suffering.

Finally, he was yours, and only yours, like it always should have been from the very beginning.

[poweredinpeace]

Rev. 22:15 Outside are the dogs, the sorcerers, the sexually immoral, the murderers, the idolaters, and everyone who loves and practices

falsehood.

What is accomplished when the worlds best athletes sexual perversion are more important than the privilege of being honor as one in millions to compete on such a high level?

It proves the exact opposite that perversion is touted as excellent and excellent and discipline are evil!

Such perversion has poison every institutions of excellent like rotten apples among the good creating a dishonorable putrefied stinking mess of confusion and dismay of inhuman conduct.

Isaiah 56:10 His watchmen are blind, they are all without knowledge; they are all mute dogs, they can't bark; dreaming, lying down, loving to slumber.

[sipsteainanxiety]

rotten to the core || bkg k.

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader

word count: 4k

mentions: no pronouns i blv, pro hero bkg, aged-up chars (24+), meet cute(?), slight fear of heights, bkg being a dick but what else is new, ur kinda used as a scapegoat for him, part of the meet fruit collab hosted by @willowser !! check out the other fics posted!! & ty to my friends who helped me brainstorm a title LOL (kissa u will!)

🍎 in which you get stuck in an apple tree... and have to get help from a certain pro-hero to get down 🍎

In hindsight, maybe you shouldn’t have taken your walk today. 

It was just—perfect weather, though. The first wink of sunshine that’d blessed the earth after a week of non stop rain. The air was cool and crisp with the gentle grip of Autumn, vibrant leaves colored in all shades of tangerine, burnt red, and daffodil yellow lining the trees and roads. You had to get out and stretch your legs after wallowing miserably at your window, confined to your little apartment for what felt like forever. 

Your skin basked happily in the soft caress of the sun as you walked down a bricked path through one of the parks in your neighborhood. It was a delight to venture through since it was nice and tranquil—able to leave you to your thoughts as you watched the way light filtered happily through the canopies above you. Occasionally you’d see another pedestrian walking in the distance, but they hardly ever bothered you. 

A sigh left your lips as you stretched your arm out and glanced at the watch on your wrist. You never brought your phone with you when you went on these little outings. You didn’t really need it, after all, and all the notifications you’d get would only serve as a distraction when you were supposed to be clearing your mind and enjoying the bumbling outside environment for once in your technology-infused life. 

It was just after three in the afternoon. Nice. You stuffed your hands into the pockets of your jacket and continued on. Maybe you could stop by one of the café’s on your block for a warm drink later. A motivating thought. 

As the path took you past a small, open field, you noticed a group of children loitering around one of the trees lining its perimeter. They were loud as they chattered and argued with each other, pointing up at the tree’s branches and making attempts to climb it to no avail. You’d fully intended to walk by, sparing them not much more than a curious glance, but one of the kids had spotted you and started loudly shouting and waving his arms. 

“Hey! You!” he called across the field, and you paused for a moment and looked around before pointing at yourself in confusion. Was he talking to you? “Yeah! C’mere!” Apparently he was. 

You slowly made your way over, wondering what the kid could possibly want with you. His friends all turned to look at you curiously as you approached. A few lingered at the base of the tree they’d been attempting to climb. Suddenly, you had a little audience and you weren’t quite sure what to do. 

“...Yes?” you eventually asked to break the silence. “What’s up?” 

“You’re tall,” the kid pointed out bluntly. You blinked down at him owlishly. To him maybe you were, but you weren’t going to say anything. “Can you get those apples for us?” He pointed up at the tree—your gaze following—and you realized they’d been attempting to pick the small, honey-crisp fruit that was way out of the reach of their tiny limbs. 

There was only one problem. “I can’t reach those either. They’re too high up,” you told him with a frown.  

He made a face at you, but before he could say anything, one of his friends piped up. “You can climb, can’t you? Please! We’re trying to fill this basket.” A weaved basket was held out in their arms, a few apples already rolling around in it. They all looked up at you in anticipation—nearly half a dozen little faces with hope glistening in their eyes. 

You hesitated. This was not what you had expected to be doing on your little walk.  “I dunno—” 

“Please! Pretty please!” You were almost immediately interrupted as they all started begging you at once, a chorus echoing in your eyes. A few small hands reached out to tug at the bottom of your jacket. You were frozen, the weight of their tiny expectations weighing heavily on your shoulders. “Please! With a cherry on top?” 

“Okay! Okay,” you acquiesced as you side-stepped towards the tree, your hands raised up as though in surrender. They were persistent, and you doubted they’d give up even if you’d said no. They all immediately started cheering as you trudged your way over to the apple tree, a grumble under your breath. This was fine. You would get them their apples and then continue on your path. Maybe you’ll get a drink and a pastry at that café later, you thought to yourself. 

You stopped at the base of the tree and eyed the trunk for a second. A quick glance behind you showed that the kids had followed you, surrounding your figure in a half circle as they eagerly waited. You didn’t know why they thought you would be able to climb the tree to get the fruit when they’d obviously been failing at it before, but you supposed that was them placing you—an adult—on a more capable pedestal than them—little kids. You sighed again and started the arduous task of climbing your way up to the first thick branch you could see. 

The tree’s bark was rough under the soft skin of your palms. Your feet braced themselves against the trunk as you used the strength of your legs to push yourself up. Your hands gripped onto the branch and you pulled yourself on top of it carefully, ensuring that it could hold your weight. It could. This branch—and the ones surrounding it—was bare of any apples, unfortunately, so you’d have to go higher. You huffed slightly as you stood on the branch—knees bent to help with your balance—and climbed your way to the next sturdy branch using the smaller ones around you.

It took you longer than you’d like to admit, but eventually you plopped yourself down on a higher branch and wiped the sweat from your forehead. You could hear the kids yelling encouragingly at you from below, telling you to Go higher! The good apples are higher! You rolled your eyes and looked around. They could make do with what you could get now.

It was kind of nice sitting in a tree. The leaves around you were mostly green, though you could see many of them starting to dip into a yellow color with the Autumn weather. There were a few ripe apples on a branch to your right that you could easily reach without having to move too much. You picked them easily and looked down so you could find the kid holding the weaved basket. 

“Catch!” you called as you dropped the apples one by one. There was a flurry of motion from all the kids as they scrambled to move the basket up to catch the fruit before it could hit the ground. They sounded delighted and a small smile lingered on your lips as you watched them. 

“More! More!” they chanted once you’d tossed down all the apples you could reach around you. Guess you really did need to go higher, then. Unfortunate. 

Up and up and up you went, adhering to the whims of the children who watched you safely from the grassy ground. You picked more apples and dropped them carefully to the earth. Until finally, finally, their basket was full to the brim. 

“Thanks stranger!” the original kid who’d caught your attention called up, his friends already rushing away as they giggled and laughed. He waved up at you, a bright smile on his face, and you thought to yourself that maybe helping them out had been worth it. “You’re the best!” And with that he ran off, hollering at his friends to wait for him. 

You watched him go, then sighed wearily. At least you’d gotten some sort of workout in. Already your arms were starting to ache from hoisting yourself up the tree. You stretched them out, then moved so you could start to lower yourself to the hand holder branch below you. 

The moment your foot placed weight on it, however, it let out a sharp snap! 

Something in your gut dropped. You yelped and scrambled back on top of the branch you’d been sitting on, your foot having met nothing but air. Your heart pounded a steady beat in your ears as you sat solidly on the branch and looked down. The branch had broken and the next one for you to put your weight on was too far away. Shit. You swallowed heavily and found yourself looking at the ground. It seemed… awfully far away. And now that you were staring—realizing just how high up in the tree you were—you noticed there was this odd feeling in your stomach that only got stronger the longer you looked. Your jaw tensed and you forced yourself to bring your gaze to the tree trunk in front of you as you slowly moved to straddle the branch. A better position in case you… fell. 

You took a moment to just calm yourself down. Damn it. Were you really stuck in a fucking apple tree? You chanced another look down and felt a bit lightheaded once more at the height. You guessed you were. You never should’ve taken that goddamn walk. You breathed in deeply, then exhaled it all in a loud sigh. No, no way you were going to be stuck here for who-knows-how-long. You needed to get it together and just climb down. Like a normal person. 

You peeked around you, looking for any other branches you could use to climb down. But there were none—none that were within reach, that is, or that could hold your weight long enough for you to get to the next sturdy branch. Fuck, had that one branch really been the only one? Just your luck. Climbing up a tree was one thing, but climbing down? It was terrifying. 

Maybe you could call someone for help? But no, you realized with a curse, that wouldn’t work. You didn’t have your fucking phone. You slapped a hand against your face in agony and mentally shook your fist at your past self. Well, you never would’ve expected something like this to happen, so maybe you should cut past-you some slack. Still, you think this is a sign to start bringing your phone with you on your walks, technology-cleansing be damned. 

You slumped forward and resigned yourself to being stuck until you could call out to a passerby for help. There was bound to be someone walking the paths through the park—even though it was a rather… lonely place. It was only the afternoon, though. You could wait. 

…

You were going to die up here.

Forget the café, you grumbled to yourself as you wearily held your head in your hands. An hour had gone by with no one in sight and you were slowly losing hope with each minute that ticked by. You were going to need a strong ass drink after this. 

You sighed and reached above you to pick one of the honey-crisp apples innocently hanging from a branch. At least you wouldn’t go hungry while waiting. You glared down at the apple, its skin gleaming slightly with the golden sunlight that winked at you from the West. This is all your fault, you thought unhappily. You huffed and bit into the apple, the juicy sweetness of its flesh flooding your mouth and dribbling down your chin. You hoped those kids were enjoying their basket of apples. 

Actually, it tasted rather good. Crisp and honeyed—fitting for its name. You reached up to grab another apple and stuffed it into the pocket of your jacket. Might as well take one home. At least you’d gain something out of this venture. 

A movement caught your eye. You looked up from the apple in your hand and immediately spotted someone making their way down the path you’d been on not so long ago. It was a kid, from what you could see, holding a ball in her hand that she bounced occasionally. Your heart seemed to soar in hope. You swallowed the bite of the apple down so quickly that you nearly choked and raspily called out to her as loudly as you could. “Hey! Kid with the ball!” Your voice almost seemed to echo across the little field. 

She paused and looked around curiously. You tried again. “Over here! By the trees!”

Once she’d turned in your general direction, you waved your hands and—after realizing she wasn’t looking up—shook the nearest branch to you so that the leaves would flutter around with a rustle. It worked. She slowly approached, clutching onto her ball, until she was standing at the base of the apple tree and looking right up at you. “...Whatcha doin’ up there, stranger?” 

“I got stuck,” you confessed to her, the hand not holding onto your half-eaten apple gripping tightly onto the branch you were sitting on. You dared to feel just the brief twinges of relief. “Listen to me. Can you go get help? Any help, really. The fire department, a hero, a construction man with a ladder. I can’t get down and I’ve been up here for hours.” 

The kid cocked her head at you and blinked, her weight shifting onto one leg like she was waiting impatiently at a bus stop. “And what’s in it for me if I do?” 

What the— Were all kids like this? You tried not to let exasperation bleed into your voice. “Don’t you wanna be a hero or something? Please help me.” You were not above begging. 

“I wanna be a doctor,” she told you smartly instead. Good, great. Could she hurry up and go already? You were starting to lose feeling in your legs. 

Your teeth gritted together, but you let the frustration building up inside you fade away. She was just a kid; she didn’t truly know about your circumstances, though you’d practically spilled everything to her just a second ago. You licked at your lips and heaved a sigh. “Doctors are heroes too, you know,” you told her. She only looked expectantly up at you and you grumbled a little before reaching out to pick another apple. “Okay, fine. Catch.” 

You dropped the apple down. She caught it in a small hand and looked closely at it for what felt like a long time. She held up a finger. “One more.” 

This kid was really testing your patience. You rolled your eyes and grabbed another apple to drop down. She caught it again, and after a small nod to herself, started walking away. “Be back soon.” 

Oh thank god. You felt like crying from sheer relief. You watched her disappear down the path and slumped forward, bringing your apple up to your mouth so you could take another bite. And now to wait some more. You tried swinging your legs around a bit to regain some feeling back in them. Hopefully she wouldn’t leave you out to dry. You grumbled to yourself as you finished off your apple and chucked the core as far as you could out into the field—an oddly satisfying action. It’ll decompose eventually. 

You didn't know how much time passed as you waited for the kid to bring help. It was all a blur, honestly, broken up occasionally by you checking the watch on your wrist and not really processing the time on it. But eventually, as you found yourself boredly counting the number of fully green leaves on a branch to your left, you heard someone call up to you in a gruff voice. 

“Hey! You the dumbass who got stuck in a tree?”  

You looked down and made eye contact with what appeared to be a pro-hero. He had ruffled ash-blond hair that stuck up around the black mask over his eyes. Arms crossed over his chest as he glared up at you with glinting carmine eyes that reminded you of the apples surrounding you. A quick glance to the park’s path showed the kid with her ball, waving a hand at you before she disappeared out of your line of sight. 

Aw hell, you thought as you recognized the hero’s costume of orange, black, and green. She’d brought fucking Dynamight—a hero known for his short temper. What were the chances of something like that happening? He must’ve been on patrol in the area. 

“...What's it to ya?” you grumbled down at him, wishing you could conflagrate on the spot to avoid this embarrassing encounter. Just suck it up, you told yourself. You needed to get home, and the only way you were going to do that was by letting this hero get you down. Man, you’d really hit an all new low, hadn’t you?

“Right.” He scowled up at you and you wondered why he looked so angry. Maybe that was his default face. “I’ll jus’ leave, then, since ya don’t need my help—” 

“Wait no! Nonono!” you called out only just a little bit desperately as he made a move as though to turn around. “I’ve been stuck here for hours, man! If I don’t get down I think I might die.” 

Dynamight rolled his eyes and uncrossed his thick arms as he looked back up at you critically. “Yeah, yeah. Gimme a sec’.” 

You watched as he seemed to grumble to himself for a moment, then positioned his arms with his palms pointing towards the ground and tensed his legs. You blinked at him. Was he going to—

‘BOOOOM’

You yelped and nearly toppled right off your branch at the sudden explosion that erupted below you like a miniature volcano. Dynamight shot up into the air, a plume of smoke in his wake, and grabbed onto a branch that could support his weight. Then he set off another smaller explosion to propel himself up further, jumping from branch to branch until he finally landed next to you. Or rather, behind you, with the way you were sitting on your own branch. 

You twisted your head back to look at him. He hardly seemed out of breath, and you were a bit impressed at his parkour skills. “Uh. Hi.” 

“Shut it,” he groused. Without even a warning, he grabbed you around your torso. You yelped as he tucked you close to his body—the warmth that radiated from him that was a comfort in the chilly Autumn air, not that you’d admit that out loud—and promptly leapt off the branch. You had to swallow down a scream, your hands holding onto the singular arm wrapped tightly around your body for dear life as he used his other one to set off an explosion to offset his fall. 

You both landed on the ground with a gentle thump and he immediately let go of you so you could stumble forward. Sweet Earth, how I’ve missed you so. Your heart raced in your chest—from the jump or from his unrelenting grip, you would never know—your hands moving to brush your windswept hair away from your face. What the hell, he really didn’t hesitate. Could’ve grabbed you a bit gentler, though, you frowned as you rubbed your chest. You were probably going to bruise later.

You turned around to face him, fixing your rumpled clothes in the meanwhile. He was much taller than you now that you were both on the ground, all muscle and attitude as he glared at you like you’d just spat in his dinner. You paused. “...I was gonna say thanks, but you look like you wanna kill me.” 

“Don’t get stuck in a fuckin’ tree, then,” he snapped. You recoiled slightly at his words, then frowned up at him in offense. 

“Excuse me?” You placed your hands on your hips, incredulous with his behavior. “Like I had wanted to get stuck up there in the first place! For hours, might I add!” 

His jaw tensed like he was going to retort, but he scoffed instead and turned around to start storming over to the bricked path. “Whatever.” You gaped at his back and jogged after him. He was going in the same direction as you anyways, might as well figure out why he was being such a dick. Weren’t heroes supposed to be, you know, nice?

Though, you supposed you were dealing with Dynamight, after all. You’re not sure if he had a single nice bone in his body. 

“No! Not ‘Whatever’,” you mimicked his gruff voice as best as you could once you’d caught up to him and kept pace with his long strides. The thick soles of his boots stomped against the ground with each of his steps. He shot you an annoyed look out of the corner of his eyes, but didn’t say anything. “Who pissed in your bed? Huh?” 

You could practically hear his teeth gritting together before he responded. “Nunya business.”

Maybe it wasn’t, but it really didn’t excuse him treating you like this. “No, tell me why you’re being such an asshole right now. Aren’t heroes supposed to be not-assholes?” 

He turned his head to give you a withering glare with carmine eyes that appeared nearly aflame in the sun’s golden light. It almost made you regret pressing in the first place, but you had at least some self-respect, and you weren’t going to let this guy walk all over you like this. 

“‘M a fuckin’ hero, yeah,” he eventually hissed. “Supposed to be fightin’ villains ‘nd not dealing with dumbass extras who’ve gotten stuck in trees.” 

You huffed at his response. Okay, maybe—just maybe—you could see why he was so aggravated. Didn’t let him off the hook, though. “Okay, first of all, ouch. Second of all, you’re a hero because you’re supposed to help people.” He opened his mouth to snap back at you, but you were too quick and cut across him. “Whatever. Look. I’m sorry you didn’t expect to be spending your afternoon helping me out of a tree. I didn’t expect to spend it stuck up there either. I appreciate the help, for what it’s worth. You saved me from a very uncomfortable night.” Even if he was being the biggest dickhead on the planet right now. Maybe he had a rough day, who knew. You decided to be the bigger person about this whole… situation.

Dynamight stared at you for what felt like a long, long time. It made you realize that you’d both stopped by one of the entrances of the park, just outside of it along the desolate sidewalk. You shoved your hands in your jacket pockets as you waited for him to say something—anything, really—and almost startled when you felt the cool skin of the honey-crisp apple you’d picked come into contact with your fingers. You wrapped them around it. 

Eventually, he closed his eyes and let out a deep, deep sigh. Tension that you hadn’t realized was present along his shoulders seemed to melt away as they slumped slightly down. He sniffed and jutted his head out to the side slightly, sunlight painting smooth planes across his face and turning his hair into a pale blond in a way that was honestly pretty gorgeous. You’d take that admission to your grave. 

“...Yeah.” And then he added a mumbled “Sorry” under his breath that you figured was the best you were going to get at the moment. He didn’t seem like someone who apologized often, from what you knew about him. “Rough day.” 

“I figured,” you said lightly. Then, you brought your hand out of your jacket and grabbed his own gloved one to place the apple you had within his palm. You patted it gently. “Here. As a thank you.” Then, after just a quick moment of hesitation, you added, “Hope all goes well for you.” 

And with a small nod at him, you turned around and started to make your way back home, hands in your pockets and an eagerness to your steps at the prospect of getting to rest after what felt like a very long day. 

Dynamight stood there, at the entrance of the park, and looked down at the small apple within his hand after he stared at your retreating back for a few moments. His lips twitched for a slight second and he turned to head down the street in the opposite direction as you, his hand bringing the apple up to his mouth so he could bite into it with a crisp, sweet crunch.

[melvisik]

Ok, we all know the Metatron needed Aziraphale and Crowley separated. It's a scene that’s launched a thousand metas and speculations like the Coffee Theory and Aziraphale Lied. So now, here's a slew of what are undoubtedly reiterations: There’s the distinct impression that Mr. ‘To-speak-to-me-is-to-speak-to-the-Almighty’ Metatron has gotten a little too big for his britches. Various reasons could account for this - maybe he thinks it's impossible for him to do wrong because he’s literally on the side of the angels. Or he’s been doing this so long hearing radio silence, he’s gotten into the mindset that the Almighty has somehow chosen to disappear, like that sense of all-importance when your boss has been gone for an infinitely long time and you’re left calling the shots. There’s also a tiny probability that Metatron has ‘vaulting ambition’… In any case, the Metatron is not shy about pushing the agenda, using anything from bribery to authoritarianism to accomplish it. He’s downright dismissive of Michael, Uriel, and Saraqael and condescending towards Muriel, people he knows he’s already got well under his thumb. With Aziraphale however, he changes tactics- bringing him coffee, the illusion of a hefty promotion, and throwing in Crowley’s reinstatement as the clincher. There’s been so many beautiful posts and analyses illustrating Metatron’s deviousness, describing his actions as exceedingly exploitive. There’s a high probability that he manipulates Aziraphale not out of the belief he'll be an asset, but the fact that Aziraphale and Crowley together is a liability. The music over that dark side-eye carries a foreboding implication:

The Metatron does not care for Crowley.

Many proposals have been offered as to why this is, such as the theory that it was the Metatron who cast Crowley from Heaven for asking too many questions. Or perhaps the Metatron doesn’t necessarily see Crowley as a singular threat, but his influence on Aziraphale is another matter? Or it might be their influence on each other that his heckles raised. We've all seen it - where Crowley was ready to bolt when his mistake was caught and Armageddon seemed inevitable, Aziraphale remained steadfast in his determination to stop the War. But when Aziraphale gets it into his head that following a cause blindly is the best thing to do, Crowley snaps him out of it. They accomplish their goals together. Looking back over it, the predominant thing Aziraphale and Crowley did to help stop Armageddon was give Adam the pep talk he needed to defeat Satan. Before then, the Metatron believed he had just another good little angel in Aziraphale, a featherbrained minion who did as he was told. But then Aziraphale was gradually tempted by a demon, not necessarily into doing wrong, but into disobedience. Perhaps that is what Crowley represents to the Metatron, and the Metatron needs to be rid of it. The mix up was an honest mistake, Arthur Young being at the right/wrong place at the right/wrong time. But, of course, who was the other party involved in that mistake? Who first got it into his head that Armageddon should be stopped? Who held time to give our heroes a moment of reprieve for that pep talk? What if all the angels suddenly decided they didn’t want to obey anymore, like Aziraphale did? What if they follow his example? What if they don’t want to fight? The Metatron's got to nip that rotten apple in the bud…

Heavens, we can't have that now, can we? "The point is not to avoid the war, the point is to win it." Well, that old chestnut didn't exactly work on Aziraphale, did it? The Metatron can’t order Aziraphale about anymore as if Aziraphale were a diligent foot-soldier. Both Aziraphale and Crowley have indeed gone native, adopting the most human thing of all: free will. Now, from a rudimentary understanding, neither angels nor demons can technically force a being with free will into doing anything. But they can persuade them one way or the other. Metatron knows this, and by god, he is good at it. Dozens of posts explain just exactly how he does this reaching right into Aziraphale's heart and fears. And in true angelic fashion, never does he even bother to acknowledge that Aziraphale " ...[doesn't] want to go to Heaven," or advise Aziraphale to consider what Crowley would want when presented with the opportunity to restore his ‘divinity.’ It's almost a parallel with Sitis - does she want to give birth seven more times? It doesn’t matter. “God” wants Job to be rewarded for loyalty, and Sitis was a conduit for that reward.

Another parallel between the story of Job and Aziraphale is an upstanding individual who staunchly wants to follow the Almighty's path, but he has a companion who’s more on the independent-thinking side - when something they care about is threatened, they acknowledge Heaven’s cruel treatment. The distinction here, however, is Job had the chance to speak to the Almighty themselves, not just the ‘mouthpiece,' and he had a decent pair of guardians looking out for him. Crowley and Aziraphale did the right thing by him and his family in keeping the children safe, while the other angels (and most definitely the Metatron) were content to let them die. It’s like neither angels nor demons (barring two… well, four now) have any concept of emotional connection. But the Metatron does understand connection, and for him it's a magnificent tool. He deliberately uses it against that once good little foot-soldier who’s gone AWOL. Not once does he try and convince Aziraphale that he’s strayed, but he maneuvers him into thinking that he and Crowley going back to Heaven is his own choice. Aziraphale likes doing the righteous thing, actually having an impressive work ethic when it's something he believes in, and what could be better than working as top boss in the Head Office of the Good Place? Aziraphale might see himself not only being the source of 'doing good,' but the one who can do the best thing there is and make changes for the better in Heaven itself. As discussed many times, the Heaven Aziraphale thinks he could create is the epitome of goodness, and, most of all, it can be a safe space for Crowley and him to be together. Aziraphale already assumes that this is what Crowley would want, and that Crowley’s retains ‘unhappiness’ as a Fallen due to no longer being an angel. The Metatron knows otherwise; not one person in the fandom believes he didn’t already know the outcome- that Crowley would say no. Again, there are so many brilliant posts highlighting why the Metatron had no intention of Crowley becoming an angel again. There’s the question if he even can. In fact, can the Metatron or any angel decide if an angel will Fall or a demon…er, Rise? That might present an alternative reason as to why Gabriel was demoted instead slated to Fall, because Metatron technically doesn’t have that kind of authority. In any case, it’s a ‘bluff’ that Aziraphale falls for hook, line, and sinker, and this time not even Crowley is able to convince him to stay. Now Aziraphale is driven by a cause he believes in, and perhaps he assumes that once he can prove to Crowley that he can change things in Heaven for the better, Crowley just might change his mind. By the same token, Crowley also might be holding onto that little shred of hope that Aziraphale will eventually come to his senses. It isn’t the first time the Head Offices have had them separated after all, and for all we know it’s not like it’s suddenly forbidden for them to talk to each other (though it probably won't be encouraged either). The Metatron, however, perhaps intends for the very opposite – to have Heaven change Aziraphale, which can only be possible without Crowley. Not that Aziraphale matters to the Metatron in the Great Scheme of Things (beyond his stubbornness being a force of nature), but at least he won't be fighting against the so-called Great Plan.

Then there’s the theories on the Metatron's motivations for this - for example, he could be concerned with how powerful Aziraphale and Crowley are together. And whether or not this popular theory proves to be true (though it carries a ton of weight), he can’t risk an interfering tag team preventing Armageddon again anyway; the Second Coming is approaching, and the Metatron is trying to be ahead of the curve this time. Gabe and Beez? Probably aren’t his top concern since they just want to run away from it all, not exactly the most active threat to the Great Plan. In fact, maybe the Metatron took into consideration the small chance that Aziraphale might just take Crowley up on the suggestion of going off together (prompted by the Archangel job offer in the first place), and the problem would be solved regardless.   It's also likely that the Metaron expects Aziraphale can be pressured or swayed back on board. With Aziraphale implementing that kind of determination on the side of Heaven again, maybe this time Crowley will retaliate or even abandon Earth altogether out of anger or heartbreak. Either way, the Great Plan will go forward. It's a win-win in the Metatron's mind. Game. Set. Match.

Edited for clarification.

[tiyoin]

hm

cult of pomefiore au:

vil is the god

rook is the head priest

and you and epel are devoted followers 😌🙏

it’s rook’s job to keep everyone’s moral high, tell stories of their beloved good, and to pick out the sacrifices!!

you and epel get chosen but oh no! epel wasn’t really chosen :/ he’s actually bait!! for you!! so you don’t feel alone when you’re going to get killed off

why does vil, the god of beauty, success, and tragedy need sacrifices? to put it in lamines terms; pretty sacrifices make his skin glow and hair silky 😋

night raven college, a public university where the best of the best go. which includes looks.

thinking about how there’s 7 secret societies / cults ran by the dorm leaders for their respective ‘interest’.

but in today’s episode we’ll be talking about the cult of pomefiore!!

you and epel meet at college, he slowly indoctrinates you into the cult by introducing you to little mementos he uses to ‘pray for good luck’ in exams- which usually always work!!

eek!!! epel targeting pretty girls / handsome men so vil can get his share while simultaneously knocking out the competition- it’s a win-win all around!!

all the hot people get to mingle and they rook themselves with their prided good looks and tall, tall bodies…

you’re a bit… different though. you’re always hovering around epel…

go!! forlick with chad or mindy!! they seem to like you! but no matter how much he encourages you, ignores you, or just plan up ditches you; YOU DINT GET THE FUCKING HINT

sometimes you do, but you’re always subconsciously hovering around him. yapping about how you only feel comfortable around him- IS IT CAUSE HES A- oh it’s not? you like his personality?

…epel bring this up to rook, his college upper class-man who insists on meeting you!

très bien! you’re everything rook hoped to be!! a socially anxious pretty girl who clings to whoever shows them an ounce of kindness!! though he gives you credit about being wary of him, most people are, but you’re still kind to him nonetheless.

that’s very important to rook.

if you turn out to be as rotten as the lot then he’ll have no choice but to😋

but rejoice!! you’re the chosen one! albeit you’re heart is broken and wounded from past experiences, your soul’s true nature always seems to pop through at randomly given moments.

rook has to give epel a pat on the back for finding the diamond in the rough before the other dorms.

though when vil gets a look at you from afar, just to size up his next sacrifice rook provided, he stops. yes you’re a very pretty girl, but there’s so much potential in you! you can’t be sacrificed yet!

it looks eating an apple that half way rotten, he needs to glow you up before he consumes you.

so try not to fight it, or do, it’ll just make them want you sacrificed more. but if you catch on and some how manage to weave your way into their intricate lives, then congrats!

you’ve been promoted! 😋 you’re now an elite employee! a fellow baiter

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

gojo always seems to be off in a world of his own.

a little detached, you think. awkwardly long limbs constantly on the move, eyes stuck in a direction no one else can follow, a trajectory you don’t think even he knows. one blink and he's gone, just like that. too far ahead, too far above, even on the occasions he slows down and lets you catch up.

flimsy, maybe. like he’ll get carried away by the breeze when spring rolls around. like he’d turn into seafoam if you reached out and touched him.

satoru gojo is an anomaly, a blurry cluster of stars. or maybe more like a planet, big and blue, spinning around its own orbit, out of reach for every single star in the sky. 

high and mighty, cocky and cool. silly and bright. but there's a softness to him when he's alone, you’ve come to learn; something that almost seems fragile, under the light of the moon, when the dark sky casts a shadow to obscure the contours of his face and no one’s around to notice if his smile isn't as big as it should be.

no one except for you, anyhow.

(you wonder if your presence is really that inconsequential to him.)

the beach is entirely empty, save for you and gojo. and summer’s ending, burning into little cinders, sputtering out before your very eyes.

tokyo is just beginning to dip its toes into autumn, the frost and chill, the hiss of the biting wind. the rusting of leaves, contaminated by a muddy hue, turned orange and brown and red beneath your heavy feet; littering the murky, empty streets of the rainy towns you cross. smelling of rotten apples and cinnamon, old books and burning wood.

it’s dark out. painted a thick gray, the sky is blanketed by heavy clouds, the entire world hidden behind that coating of wool. not a single sliver of starlight slips through, but there's a comfort to it, that feeling of being cocooned — safe and warm. a feeling cruelly stripped away by the nipping of the wind at your bare skin, but you digress.

everything smells of saltwater. a little like rotten fish. every breath you exhale turns into a flurry of vapour, mingling with the breezy seasalt of the open air; scattering away into the thin layer of mist all around you, until you can’t tell which is which. 

and a sense of foreboding sinks into your veins.

(you look out at the jagged rocks piercing the surface of the sea, and dully wonder how they’d feel piercing your skin.)

something shivers, to your right. a flicker of movement, a barely audible chatter of teeth. and then, a white puff of vapour.

”man, it’s cold.”

gojo looks displeased. 

only vaguely, a little crease between his eyebrows as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his puffy baseball jacket. moving his feet a little, to warm up, snowy tufts of white hair tousled by the ocean breeze. his shoes are muddied by the wet sand, but he doesn't seem to mind.  

a soft scoff leaves your lips, mostly harmless. maybe just a little smug. ”told you,” you click your tongue. 

gojo whines. his sunglasses are starting to fog up, you notice. ”it’s still summer!” he pouts. ”i thought the sea would be nice and breezy!”

an unimpressed look smooths over your features. gracing him with a raise of your brow, you don’t fully manage to bite back the soft smile that follows. don’t even really attempt to.

it’s been a long day. evidently not long enough for gojo, seeing as he dragged you down here — even though he knew it meant missing the train you were supposed to board after successfully finishing your mission. he just had to get a closer look at the sea. just for a moment or two. 

and he was insistent, persuasive. awfully whiny. assuring you that he’d be quick, that you wouldn’t miss the next one. 

(what made you agree was simply the thought of spending some more time with him. not like you could ever tell him that, though.)

so there you stand. two juveniles, shivering and shifting from foot to foot, on the brink of nightfall, the edge of summertime. watching the sea stretch out into infinity, across the gap between this world and the next. a murky blue. easy on the eyes.

the noise of the sea fills your ears; waves crashing into sand, the whistling of the wind, seagulls crying out in the distance. and faraway, the chatter of a rattling train. a cacophony of sounds, buzzing and crackling, melting together. scattered across the beach are countless tiny white seashells, and the occasional green glimmer of drift glass — mermaids’ tears, shed for lost sailors, or so you’ve heard.

you wonder if the mermaids ever shed tears for lost sorcerers. probably not.

a shiver runs through your body, down to your cold hands, the tips of your fingers. reddish and itching for warmth. you tuck them into your pockets with a breathless exhale, still shaking a little. 

in truth, you and gojo aren’t very close. you’d like to call him a friend, but it's kind of hard; when he's so enamored with suguru, so animated around shoko. with you, he always seems kind of —

stiff? 

or maybe more like bored.

he doesn't laugh as loudly, doesn’t act as cocky. doesn't flaunt his knowledge on sorcery, and isn't as clingy as he is with the other two.

(you've never liked people touching you. it's not hard for others to discern, with how you flinch away when they get close.

still, you can't help but feel a little jealous when you see him tugging suguru and shoko around.)

deep within your chest, like a stunted seaweed, sprouts a tiny pang of disappointment. it’d be nice if you could grow closer, you think. just a little would be fine. 

”i like the sea.”

you turn your head.

gojo looks a little lost in thought. gaze trained on that expanding ocean before you, those splotches of blue and gray, the waves that bruise the edge of the sand. forlorn, maybe.

a hum buzzes in your dry throat. ”do you?”

”mm.” little white breaths slip from his lips. you wonder if they’d taste as salty as the air. ”’ts nice.”

a silence stretches out before you. delicate, like a sheet of glass. gojo picks at a piece of lint on his sleeve, and you shift from foot to foot. then he closes his eyes — a flutter of his dewy eyelashes.

”kinda makes you feel like everything’s about to end, huh?”

you look at him, but don’t see anything. a single glimpse of his closed eyes is all you gain from the glance you cast his way, but it’s not enough. not enough blue to fall into, no expression to savour. he looks the same as always.

but you’ve never heard his voice sound like this before.

”… end?”

and with that, they flicker open. there it is, you think. that vibrant blue. only to be obscured once more, when he turns to you fully, a smile playing at his glossy lips. ”don’t think so?”

a second passes. you look forward.

what you see is as follows: waves upon waves upon waves. the same blue and gray, as far as the eye can see. a sea big enough to drown each and every one of your worries. 

something comes over you. a sensation of loneliness, something close to longing. a feeling of being rather lost. searching for something. your heart feels heavy, an anchor sunk to the bottom of your gut. little fish nipping at your ribcage.

your eyes trail over those jagged rocks, again. the mermaids’ tears, that all-consuming sea, right in front of you. like it could open its maw and devour the world.

you think of the lost sailors.

(one jump and it’s all over.)

a breath. salty on your tongue. ”… i guess i get it,” you whisper. a soft murmur, mingling with the mist. 

silence.

out of the corner of your eye, you see gojo shift. one moment he’s looking at you, the next he’s staring at the sea. in tandem, the two of you, stuck within that shade of blue. and you think he looks a little mesmerized, like he’s seeing something not even he can fully comprehend.

(maybe he just hasn’t had many chances to go to the beach before. something to do with being a clan kid, maybe?)

but then he clears his throat, hands moving to brush some sand off his puffy jacket and jeans. turning on his heel, hair ruffled by the breeze. he tries to sound chipper, but there’s something else there. you don’t know what it is, but…

”anyway,” he chirps. ”let’s go. we can still make it to the next train if we hurry.”

you look at him. his retreating figure, a head of white hair, surrounded by mist. a little like an apparition. then you turn towards the sea.

”… nah, that’s fine.”

a pause.

gojo stills, just about to take the first step forward. but you stay rooted in place; unmoving, staring at the blue before you, a deep longing reflected in your eyes. 

”let’s stay a little longer,” you hum, unsure of where the words came from. but you know you aren’t ready for the moment to end, just yet. that you aren’t quite ready for summer to pass.

…

all he does is stare, for a second or two. attempting to find some humour in your voice, you assume, any signs that you might just be joking. but he doesn’t find it. uncharacterstically silent, gojo stays frozen in place. 

then he puffs out a breath — amused. 

”you wanna freeze to death?” he grins, and you can hear it in his voice. you turn to face him, almost smiling. a little cheeky.

”you’ll warm me up, no?”

the words fall from your lips before you can think to reel them in. meant to sound a little snarky, you think, something akin to a chuckle — but instead come out sounding a little too much like an honest request. 

the tips of your ears feel a little warm, suddenly.

a sense of surprise smooths over the contours of gojo’s face, and his grin falters. you can’t see his eyes, can’t tell if they widen or not, but his lips part, and you note that they look soft. 

and it’s back. that grin. toothy, boyish. his cheeks are rosy, from the chill of the air, or so you assume. then he’s taking a couple strides forward, broaching the distance between you.

he throws an arm over your shoulder. a heavy weight against you, grounding, causing you to stumble. friendly, tugging you close. into his orbit.

(no infinity, you note. you can feel his body heat seeping through the fabric.)

it's nice. he's tall, and he's warm. cozy, protecting you from the bitter cold, like your own personal furnace. no wonder suguru never catches any colds, with someone like this draped over him all the time.

gojo speaks. there’s a sweetness to his voice, a mellow kind of contentment; bubbling up like seafoam, spilling from his glossy lips. you can feel his warm breath on your skin.

”well, duh.”

when your gaze falls on him, he's already looking at you. leaning closer, sunglasses slipping a little further down the bridge of his nose — enough to expose the blue of his eyes, the tiny splotches of white scattered across his aquamarine iris. like a cracked marble. or a summer sea.

he’s speaking again, and you almost don't hear it. distracted by those cracked marbles, the strawberry red of his cheeks, the warmth shared between you. the pitter patter of your heartbeat, like waves crashing against the sand. mesmerized. not daring to look away.

almost like you’d cease to exist, were he to close his eyes. like your existence hinges entirely on the blue of those irises.

(and maybe it does.)

he nods towards the sea, and grins. a mischievous glint in his eyes. ”wanna take a dip?” he asks, and you can’t tell if he’s joking or not. it makes you laugh, either way.

”do you want to freeze to death?” you raise a brow, exhaling amusedly. subtly angling your body closer to his, hoping he won’t notice.

gojo honest to god giggles, at that, and you fear your knees might give out beneath your weight. fuck, has he always had dimples? why are you only noticing them now? 

”hehe. i just think it'd be fun!” he chirps, still draped over you like an overgrown cat, and you almost find yourself saying yes. just to keep the summer from ending, keep him from being swept away by the breeze.

but summer is ending. slipping away, second by second, like two juveniles drowned by an ocean wave. never to be found. and in comes autumn, the smell of rotting apples, the crunch of sand beneath your feet; an arm over your shoulder, an intake of breath. the taste of nice, crispy air on your tongue. 

a chuckle flows from your lips. all you see before you is blue, a murky shade, a vibrant hue. you think you could drown in it. you’re not sure you’d mind.

”maybe next time,” you whisper.

gojo’s eyes widen. ever so slightly, barely enough to even notice, until they bloom — with a kind of bubbly excitement. unconcealed giddiness. there’s something awfully precious about it, like a child buying cotton candy at their first fair. it makes you want to tuck him into your pocket. keep him safe.

you like him, unfortunately. inevitably. you think you may even like him a lot, a little more than you should. a little more than he could reciprocate. 

satoru gojo. high and mighty, cocky and cool. silly and bright. a seaborne boy with his very own orbit, born to carry the weight of the world, spinning so close that you can almost delude yourself into thinking he feels the same. 

almost.

(gojo glances at your lips. he wonders if they’d taste as salty as the air.)

[bakuhatsufallinlove]

U.A. High School Field Trip Around Japan: Day 1 Translations

To celebrate My Hero Academia reaching one hundred million copies worldwide, Shonen Jump is releasing special illustrations in the newspapers of Japan's 47 prefectures, calling it "U.A. High School Field Trip Around Japan." It's being rolled out daily across one-week.

The schedule is:

April 4th, Day 1: Hokkaidō & Tōhōku regions

April 5th, Day 2: Kantō region

April 6th, Day 3: Chūbu region

April 7th, Day 4: Kansai region

April 8th, Day 5: Chūgoku & Shikoku regions

April 9th, Day 6: Kyūshū & Okinawa regions

April 10th, Day 7: Nationwide release

You can see the illustrations on their website here, where they are released digitally the day after their newspaper release, so Day 1 and Day 2 are available right now.

The illustrations depict charming scenes between Class 1-A about something related to each prefecture's culture or history, so I thought it would be really fun to translate them and share a little bit about Japan.

Here we go!

Note: As I mentioned, the illustrations are available on the official site, but they are all rather small, which makes them hard to read, so in this post I have included photographs from fans which I used for my translations. Every photo was available publicly on twitter and I have credited the posters, but please be respectful and don't draw undue attention to these fans. If anyone contacts me wishing for their photo to be removed, I will do so.

Hokkaidō Region

Hokkaidō

Photo credit: twitter user URix0307

Iida: "Heroes! Be ambitious!!' Aizawa: "I'm leaving you behind."

Iida is standing in front of the statue of William S. Clark at Hitsujigaoka Observation Hill, a scenic spot in Sapporo. Clark worked with the Japanese government to found Sapporo Agricultural College (now Hokkaidō University) in 1876; he is a very famous figure in the history of the region. The statue is inscribed with a quote attributed to him as he left Japan: "Boys, be ambitious!"

Tōhōku Region

Aomori

Photo credit: twitter user redaotkrsn

Dark Shadow: "Fumikage!! I GOT ONE!!" Tokoyami: "The allure of forbidden fruit which tastes so sweet..." Dark Shadow: "One simply cannot resist!" Asui: "Tokoyami-chan sure likes apples, huh?"

Agriculture is huge in Aomori, and specifically they are famous for their apples, contributing about 60% of Japan's entire apple production. Raw apples, jams, juices, desserts, etc., they are everywhere in Aomori, and fyi, they are all absolutely delicious. The sweetest, richest, freshest apples I've ever had in my life were the ones I had here! Dark Shadow is right, one simply cannot resist!!!

Iwate

Photo credit: twitter user bakkk_17

Todoroki: "I can have as many bowls as I want, right?" Endeavor: "SHOUTOOOOO!!!" Kouda: "Todoroki-kun!! Your dad said he wants to eat with you, too!!" Todoroki: "Check, please."

Todoroki is eating wanko soba, a specialty from Iwate where it's basically an all-you-can-eat. The soba is served in many small bowls, and you slurp them up and immediately get served more. The verb he uses, ikeru, is one people also use for "holding your liquor well," which I personally found hilarious. "Oh yeah, I can hold my noodles."

Miyagi

Photo credit: twitter user Abino_Haru_Maki

Ashido: "Teacher, what's wrong? You keep lollygagging about!" Aizawa: "Kittykittykitty..." Shouji: "Anybody suspicious around? Nothing has come up in my search for enemies." Iida: "We're leaving you behind, teacher."

Miyagi is famous for being home to Tashirojima, the so-called "Cat Island" where cats outnumber people. Iida gets revenge!!

Akita

Photo credit: twitter user kado0730

Hagakure: "Namahage faces are so scary!!" Kaminari: "Looks just like Bakugou, don't it." Bakugou: "THERE'S NO RESEMBLANCE AT ALL, I'LL SEND YOU FLYING!!" Sero: "He's a rotten kid who looks just like a Namahage!"

Namahage are frightening folkloric figures from Akita's New Year's festival. Men wear big demon masks and straw coats and wield a (fake) weapon; they march through the streets or knock on doors to scold misbehaving children, asking if there are any "warui ko," (naughty/rotten/bad kids), which is what Sero calls Bakugou.

Yamagata

Photo credit: twitter user ha_n_a_0

Yaoyorozu: "Oh, tranquility! Penetrating the very rock, a cicada’s voice." Kaminari: "Jirou! How about you put your earphones on that rock?" Jirou: "Are you stupid?"

Yaoyorozu is reciting a famous poem by Basho Matsuo written when he visited the Buddhist temple, Risshaku-ji (also called Yamadera, meaning "mountain temple"). This translation is by Helen Craig McCullough. Risshaku-ji, a National Historic site, is home to a number of beautiful buildings and statues built into the mountainside; temple history claims a lineage back to the 9th century. The trail up to the temple consists of 1,015 steps; I visited in winter, which made it quite the precarious climb!

Fukushima

Photo credit: twitter user kingyo0927

Kirishima: "This right here is what I should be aiming for!!" Aoyama: "A fateful encounter~!" Bakugou: "When I said 'just being able to keep standing through anything makes you crazy strong,' this ain't what I meant!!"

Kirishima is looking at rows of okiagari koboshi, which are traditional papier-mâché dolls popular in Fukushima's western Aizu region. They are weighted so that no matter what you do to them, they pop right back up to standing!

That's all for Day 1! I'm still translating Day 2 and collecting Day 3's as they roll in, so please look forward to those. :D

[trashmouth-richie]

pt 1: flicker

summary: Hawkins Annual Halloween Festival is in town, and this year you and your friends were lucky enough to work the event. But when some of your co-workers are missing, and a trail of blood leads to the woods behind the festival. Your friends work together to find out what’s going on. A killer is on the loose but who could it be? Or is it the town’s spooky secret of what really happened at Hawkins Lab?

[tickets] [flyer] [clipboard]

pt 2: A SCREAM AND A SLICE

summary: the day is finally here and our joyful crew arrives to get their assignments for the work day.

tw: 18+ only goodbye minors, billy hargrove smut, billy hargrove being a disgusting human being, mentions of drinking and drugs, character death x 3, hallucinations, drunk behavior, etc childhood background stories.

The air is cool and crisp, fluttering an ombré of red and orange leaves all over the carnival. Staff was to arrive no later than 8 o’clock, sporting burnt orange Hawkins Haunted Carnival shirts with red hems on the neck and arms. “STAFF” printed on the back in black bold letters. 

Robin's hair and makeup looked exactly like it did last night, a little smudgy and unkept, the style suiting her personality and image to a T. She was holding onto Steve’s arm while picking gum from the bottom of her dirty converse. 

“Fuck I hate kids,” she grumbled, wiping the last bit of the pink wad of bubble gum on the grass. 

Argyle, Nancy, and Jonathan stood and watched. Nancy with her hair in a perfect pulled back ponytail showcasing her bone structure and light makeup, was wide eyed and bushy tailed, making up for the lack of enthusiasm everyone else brought with them this morning. 

Argyle’s long pin straight hair is braided down his back, and he looks almost half asleep, or maybe he was just high, but more than likely that was just him in general. 

You yawned loud behind your hand for the second time since racing into the parking lot, Eddie poked you in the ribs and shook his head, he had wanted to stop at the gas station for some badly brewed coffee this morning upon finding out that your apartment was lacking any sort of caffeine, but you were already going to be late and Mr. Creel’s speech last weekend about not being on time, would scare anyone straight. 

That is unless you were Billy Hargrove. 

Billy rolled in a full thirty minutes past the time all staff were expected to be dressed and ready to go. A cigarette hung lazily from his mouth and the hickies on his neck were splotchy and fading yellow on the edges. He was clutching a can of beer upon walking over to the group, finishing the contents and tossing it behind his shoulder. 

His chin nodded to Eddie in that douchey dude type of greeting. One he reciprocated with flared nostrils and tense shoulders. 

Billy and Eddie used to be as thick as thieves, running like hellions through the trailer park, with you trailing behind them, trying to keep Eddie out of trouble. They had disturbed any little sort of peace that the tenants ever found there. They tormented the occupants of Forest Hills by egging their houses or lighting bags of dog shit ablaze on their steps.

But the boys were left to their vices much like their parents were. Neil and Al knew each other from high school, oftentimes spending nights at the Hargroves kitchen table laughing after many beers about the cars they’d stolen and the broads they shared. Hands around their chests like parentheses to emphasize the breast size of one in particular. 

Billy’s apple didn’t fall far from Neil’s tree, a ladies man but rotten to the core.  However when it came to Eddie and Al, it was almost as if Eddie’s apple was from a different tree entirely, rough on the edges and a little banged up, but the inside was sugary sweet, much tastier than the sour bite Billy’s had to offer. 

You never forgave the blue eyed boy for pushing you off your bike, a scar still etched into your knees, or for chasing you around with a snake he caught by Coolwater Creek. 

Eddie wiped your tears when you cried to him about how mean Billy was. His own brown eyes welling seeing you so upset. He convinced him to leave you alone. And since that day, you were the driving wedge between them at 8 years old and you stayed there up until last year, when the tie that bound them together was ripped apart.

“You’re late Billy-boy,” Mr. Creel sneered, the pierce of his blue eyes shining like heated crystals, “do you not own a watch?”

“Just got in,” Billy said with a yawn, his muscular arms stretching over his head and showcasing his abs when his shirt rode up. 

“I guess I wasn’t aware you had another job.” 

“Oh I’m not paid for this type of manual labor, I do it for free.” He glances over at you and shoots you a wink. And the shiver that shook through you was anything but pleasant. 

Steve rolls his eyes, pulling Nancy into his front and resting his chin on the top of her head. 

Eddie shifts to the side of you that billy is closest too and blocks his view. He made your skin crawl like it was infested with bugs. 

You didn’t like him anymore than he liked you, Heather Holloway was one of the sweetest girls you’d ever met, and to this day you couldn’t figure out why she fell in his traps. He didn’t care about her, only used her to keep his bed warm when he was out doing God knows what with God knows who. His dick was dirtier than a pile of laundry, and he was out of detergent. 

“Let’s not make this a habit, we have a festival to run, and you,” Mr. Creel says, thumbing through a clipboard, “… are on Corn Maze Duty until sun down, then you’re driving the Haunted Hayride like we discussed last week.” 

“Munson, you and Pebbles? Is that a real name?,”

“no,” you say with a laugh, nudging Eddie in the ribs, he was the only one called who still called you that after your moms had decided to dress you both as Pebbles & Bam Bam for Halloween one year, for Eddie, the name stuck, “it's a nickname from when we were— 

“Don’t care.” 

 “You two are on rides, Hairyten—

“It’s Harrington,” Steve interjects but Mr. Creel doesn’t stop.

“.. will take over for you at sundown and then your ‘band’ takes the stage.” 

Billy scoffs around a lit cigarette and Eddie puts a hand on your shoulder to stop you from reaching around him to slap the mustache off his face. 

“Girl Wheeler and R-guy-el are on games… Buckley, you and Hairytoes will be working the ice cream stand, Byers you’re in charge of taking promotional photos. Please make sure the children are smiling. I don’t need any snot nosed little brats blubbering while getting their face painted like a clown, it will drive down sales.” 

Jonathan nods with wide eyes, checking his bag with fumbling fingers making sure he had extra lenses and plenty of film. 

Nancy stands at attention, flipping through her binder full of the game rules, she had been studying it all week, not wanting to give Mr. Creel any sort of assumption that she wasn’t taking her position seriously. 

“Relax Nance,” Steve purred, a little louder than a whisper, “you’re gonna kick ass at this.” 

You didn’t know Steve Harrington was capable of being supportive of another person until Nancy came along. When they first started going out Eddie and you took bets on whether or not it would last. Nancy wasn’t anything like the other trashy girls at your school throwing themselves at King Steve any and every chance they got. 

She was reserved and shy. Pretty in a classy way, minimal makeup needed on her cherub features. And Steve fell hook line and simp er for her. He lost friends, lost his title at school but he didn’t care. He felt unstoppable with Nancy on his arm. 

It made you wish you had a love like theirs, minus the breaking up part, you had dated before but nothing that would last. 

You remember spending a very drunk night with Eddie once on the roof of his trailer, begging him to tell you who he thought was the hottest girl in school. Going through every grade, every single girl from the mathletes to the athletes, the teased hair of Tina down to the short bob of Barb, but he wouldn’t budge. 

“Come on, Eddie .. that was every girl in the school besides Shit teeth O’Donnell.” you laughed and rolled into his chest, spilling beer onto his shirt, your chin sitting on his sternum as he looked at you with a serious stare.

“Not every girl.” 

“Yeah huh,” you poked at his ribs and his armpits only for him to overpower you completely and pin you down, the ends of his hair tickling your cheeks had you squealing. 

“Say uncle or I’m gonna make you piss yourself.” 

“You wouldn’t dare!” 

The dark glint of mischief in his eye wasn’t lost on you,

“D’ you know me at all?” 

The night ended with your jeans and underwear in Eddie’s washing machine, his boxers on your waist after you took a shower and used all of his conditioner. A $3.00 payback for him actually tickling you until you peed yourself, you were just happy Wayne wasn’t home when you waddled through the Munson trailer with wet pants and a hyena laughing Eddie behind you. 

Diversion was his best game, because he never answer your question. 

“Remember.” Mr Creel said pointing to you and Eddie, “two minute rides if there isn’t a line, one minute rides sounds perfectly fine, three minutes and they’ll puke on the floor, 4 minutes and you’re at Satan’s door.” 

He recited the creepy poem without blinking, simply looking from your face and back to Eddie’s, a grim smile on his Curt lips. When he was through he turned on his heel and walked away, snapping at Heather and Chrissy to get to the face painting station. 

“Well that wasn’t weird at all.” Eddie said, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised into his frizzy bangs, clearing his throat. 

“Yeah no shit,” Steve grimaced, “such a weird mother fucker.”

Nancy shut her binder and spoke to you, “sorry about last night— I think I’m just a little stressed.” 

“No worries, Nance, Eddie ended up staying at my place and we smoked a bit and went to sleep.”

“Don’t forget about that weird shit with the streetlights,” Eddie chimed in. 

“Streetlights?” Jonathan asked you, “what about ‘em?” 

“Nah man it’s cool,” Eddie chirped in, lighting a cigarette and offering it to Jonathan, “Pebs and I smoked a little too much, thought we saw some weird shit, that’s all.” 

“Well, my lights went out last night, went outside to check it out and the whole street was dark.” 

Maybe you weren’t high as fuck lastnight on Rick’s Redrum. What if there was actually something strange going on. 

“Did they turn red and explode?” you ask him, trying not to seem too alarmed that someone else who wasn’t high and on the complete opposite side of town experienced the weird lights. 

He picks a scab on his arm between blunt fingernails, uninterested in the conversation, “no idea, just noticed they were burnt out..didn’t see anything else, but hey, I’ll see you guys later okay, I forgot my wallet.” 

With that he turns and leaves, holding his satchel close to his body so the expensive camera attachments don’t break. 

Steve and Nancy kiss each other goodbye and Argyle steps forward to Steve batting his eyelashes, “what about me handsome?” He laughs before Steve can smile awkwardly and walks beside Nancy, asking about her new Reeboks. 

“Six months since we played truth or dare at Munson’s and that guy won’t let it go,” Steve says, shaking his head, “see ya later, don’t have too much fun,” with that he grabs Robin’s elbow and directs her towards the Scoops Ahoy stand. 

Eddie laughs at the memory of a peachy cheeked Steve leaning in to press his lips to Argyle’s. A dare that had Nancy in tears, and had you comforting her for an entire week. 

It was the same night that you had drunk almost an entire handle of vodka and woke up naked in Eddie’s bed, next to Jonathan. 

To this day you don’t remember what happened. 

You left in a hurry when you woke and realized the sleeping body next to you was not only naked but belonged to Jonathan Byers, and you didn’t have any panties on. 

Grabbing your clothes and shoving your feet into your shoes, you stepped over Argyle’s cocooned form in the hallway— using the bathroom rug as a blanket. 

Tiptoeing over the squeaky parts of the linoleum floor you made a glance to the living room and saw that Eddie was sawing logs in Wayne’s recliner. 

You felt dirty, full of shame and guilt as you looked at him forlornly, not able to nail down why you had felt that way. Eddie and you were friends, nothing more than that. 

The door shut behind you in a quiet creak and you sped home as fast as you could, bleary eyed and confused. 

Thankfully, Jonathan wasn’t upset when you told him the next day that you didn’t remember what had happened, and he was relieved, chuckling with a hand on the back of his neck, because he hadn’t remembered that night either. 

You vowed to never tell a soul about that night, and you waited for Eddie to ask you about it, to make some crack about him finding your panties in his room, but he never spoke a word of it. 

You stifle a nervous laugh, “yeah that night was crazy.” 

“yeah no shit, Wayne’s still mad that I ruined his cowboy boots.” 

You smack his chest with the keys, laughing at the memory of his white ass and wild hair running down the dirt road, wearing only Wayne’s boots and his cowboy hat to cover his dignity, the first dare of the night, “c’mon, Munson, I’ll race ya.” 

-

The day flew by, people came from all around to shove their asses into the metal seats of the rides you and Eddie were in charge of. 

Kids of all ages ate melty ice cream and got their faces painted into princesses, witches, pumpkins and spooky ghouls and goblins. 

Eddie’s little gaggle of DnD buddies from high school ran through the carnival like they owned the place. Hootin’ and hollerin’ making themselves look like a bunch of assholes, and you wondered if he sometimes missed that part of being in school. 

Steve and Robin were fending off Erica Sinclair and her many attempts at getting free samples, but realizing if they did give her what she wanted, they’d run out of ice cream and have to close up earlier than expected. Erica Sinclair would later leave the carnival with a sugar high and a stomach ache. 

Argyle gave away the giant stuffed bear on the first ring toss game, earning him a psychotic look from Creel and whiny kids all day not having anything to look forward to when they won, but nothing a few coupons to Surfer Boy Pizza wouldn’t fix when the parents got involved. Nancy was almost in tears at the way Argyle didn’t follow the rules and his dude-like approach to the day's events. 

—

Robin was in a mood, her normal chaotic rambling mouth self was eerily quiet today. An abnormality for the freckled face girl. And Steve was doing what any normal best friend would; hounding her on what the hell was going on. 

“Drop it pretty boy, I mean it I am fine!” She tossed the ice cream scoop back into the carton container and slammed the freezer door, huffing and lighting a cigarette. 

He saw the way her demeanor changed when Vickie showed up to the carnival with her boyfriend. The same boyfriend who Vickie had promised Robin that she had dumped months beforehand. 

Steve watched as Robin’s eyes flashed with hurt and anger as Vickie sauntered up to the Scoops Ahoy booth, no look of guilt or shame anywhere on her porcelain features, she acted completely oblivious to Robin’s behavior, like she had never even met her before. 

“She’s a bitch Robin,” Steve jabbed, hooking a thumb over his shoulder and wiggling his keys,  "I'll go run her over with my car right now if that’d make you feel better.” 

She had to admit, watching the light leave Vickie’s eyes might make her feel better. The crushing of her bones would play like a symphony in her head. She wanted her to hurt just as much as she was right now. 

“Nah,” Robin says shaking her head, “not worth it, let’s just get day drunk instead, or better yet,” she pushed her ass onto the counter, and swung her hips out to the opening, her long legs hitting the dirt and crunching beneath her converse, “is Argyle still working games with Nance?” 

—

“That’s what I’m sayin’ man, fuckin’ aliens and shit,” Argyle says with blood shot eyes, “this town, it’s crawlin with em, you’re not one of them are you, Byers?” 

Argyle was on one of his many pot induced tangents about aliens and monsters. It was hard to tell if he was just high or if he truly believed in multi dimensional beings that walked the same paths we did but were hidden from us by the government. 

“I think,” Jonathan says, adjusting his camera around his neck and holding it to eye level, “that you spend too much time with Munson,” he angled the camera just right and snapped the shutter button. Capturing candids of kids throwing softballs at steel milk jugs set into a triangle.  

Argyle wipes his upper lip and throws a braided lengthy lock behind his shoulder, “and how do you know Eddie is wrong? M-Maybe Dungeons & Dragons is real. And the dice is like, the days we have left,” his eyes widen further as he licks at his lips absentmindedly, rambling on, “Eddie’s putting us all into little situations, so he’s like a- a god or a master! Like figurines and shit…”

Jonathan tries his best to drown out Argyle’s stoned ‘epiphanies’ knowing all too well the rabbit hole he’d fall down and wouldn't be able to see the light of day until the lasting effects of purple palm tree delight subsided. 

Argyle’s eyes go wide, “…yeah I hope I got a long sword or something, I’ll definitely need it.” 

“DnD isn’t real,” Jonathan huffs in annoyance, “it’s a fantasy game, one designed to make you think outside of normal everyday life, at least that’s what Will says.” 

“Will the Wise,” Robin calls from behind them, her long fingers tangled in her hair, trying to put her short cut into two little ponytails, “isn’t that what they call him?” 

Jonathan nods, “yeah, yeah it is.” A smile of appreciation on his face, “how’s ice cream going? I saw Vickie… sorry.”

“Love that kid, and yeah that’s why I’m here, need to forget,” she says leaning against the softball toss, the toe of sneaker catching the knee of Argyle’s colorful pants, her forefinger and thumb up to her lips, “you carrying today or do I actually have to pay Munson?” 

“Nah little birdy, I’m all out,” Argyle says with eyelids half closed, “but I heard Rick’s runnin’ some new shit, kinda psychedelic like.” 

—

By six in the afternoon, Eddie was crabby and ready for Steve to take over. His hair was sweaty and a bandana was tied around his head. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, showing off his muscles and the tattoos on his arms. 

“Take it easy with this shit, ‘m serious,” Eddie says passing Robin the joint and pocketing the cash, “we saw some weird shit last night after smoking, just go to the woods or somethin where no one will see you.” 

Robins fingers clasp the paper of the joint and hold it into a loose fist, she bows and salutes Eddie, “Aye aye cap’n, I promise, I’ll be good.” 

He watched her leave and shook his head. He didn’t know the entire ins and outs of Robin’s relationship with Vickie, but he knew enough that Robin was hurt more than she was happy, and he felt bad for her. 

At least Robin was brave enough to be her true self. Eddie couldn’t even tell the girl he had a crush on for years that he liked her. 

“These kids are fucking assholes,” he said to you when you brought him a lemonade and bummed him a smoke, “yeah I’m talking to you Mayfield, shouldn’t even be on this ride with two broken arms but what the hell do I know?” 

The redhead flipped him a double bird and yelled out, fucker! as her basket on the Zipper spun faster and faster. 

“Were we like this sophomore year?” Eddie asks you around a puff of smoke. 

“Oh absolutely not,” you said matter of factly, “we were worse.” A smile breaks from your lips and Eddie returns it, only his crinkled out your favorite dimple. 

“Fuck man,” he exhaled, hitting a random button on the ride, and raising his eyebrows when it beeped back at him and shook the baskets loudly, “this whole town still thinks I did that shit to Higgin’s dog.” 

It wasn’t a secret what had happened. And as much as everyone swore it was Eddie who did that heinous crime, he was with you that night, stealing cartons of cigarettes from the gas station while the attendant was busy trying to get your number and look down your shirt. 

You knew Eddie was innocent but the town wasn’t convinced, even Wayne questioned him for a while about it. But Eddie wouldn’t squeal on you, knowing that you were just as guilty as he was, and he wouldn’t tarnish your squeaky clean reputation. Not even to save himself. 

“We know the truth, and that’s what matters,” you breathe, stealing the cigarette from his hands and placing it into your mouth. 

Eddie shakes his head, “yeah I know, just wish we knew who did do it.” 

“Ri runno Raggy,” you said using your best Scooby Doo impression, “rits a rystery.” 

Eddie chuckles and shows you his dimples again, a pretty blush painted on his cheeks, “you can always get me to laugh, even when I’m pissed the fuck off at some little shits.” 

He plucks the rest of the cigarette from your lips and takes the last drag between his thumb and forefinger before flicking it off into the dirt. 

He brushes an eyelash from your cheek with his knuckle, and he holds it there for a bit, unconsciously licks at his lips,  “That’s why you’re my favorite,” he admits for the one hundredth time, but it still felt good to hear. Still made your stomach somersault and the glittery butterflies flutter. 

Before you can say anything the kids on Eddie’s ride start screaming to get off, having been spinning upside down for over the time limit. Satan’s door according to Creel. 

“Shit,” he mutters before turning the ride down, the heat on your cheeks and the burn from his finger still there. 

—

“c’mon I know you wanna,” the clink of his flask unscrewing followed by the chugging slurp from his throat burned her ears, but not more than the red pock marks on her forearm from his cigarette ashes.

She didn’t want to lose him, she knew how lucky she was that he tolerated her and kept her around. After all he only fucked the other girls to piss off their boyfriends. But she meant something to him. Right? 

“Are you sure no one will see us?” She was used to the thrill of being with Billy, mistaking the fight or flight feeling for adoration, the crazed look in his eye for lust. 

He was everything all the other guys in Hawkins were not. A legendary bad boy. All leather jackets and tight jeans, the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen, a fast car that smelled of musky cologne, cigarettes and sex on Friday nights. 

He had shown her things only seen in movies, hickied her up in spots that only he would see, and fucked her in places that would make Satan himself jealous. 

Heather Holloway was completely wrapped up in everything Billy Hargrove brought to the table, only to be leaving starved for more. 

“Who fuckin’ cares,” he grunts, lighting a cigarette and blowing it towards the orange painted sky, “ain’t nothin’ they haven’t seen before.” 

She obeyed like she always did, a simple okay Billy and she was on her knees in the soft upturned soil, nothing but a single row of pale yellowing corn stalks behind her, rustling against the breeze and knocking against one another in a broken violin screech. 

She adjusts her dark curls away from her face, and waits with an eager mouth for what he has to offer. The teeth of his zipper purr as he undoes his pants, holding a thick meaty cock up to her pretty lipgloss smile. 

He’s putty in her hands, rocking his hips up to shove himself further into her mouth, and he groans when he falls into her wet throat. 

Fuck Heather, that’s it. 

He doesn’t hear the scraping of the corn leaves on a quiet shoulder, or the way the dirt crumbles underneath footsteps. He’s high above it, drunk on the feel of his dick in Heather's mouth, and the slight graze of her teeth against his shaft. 

The blade is dull, taking much effort to slice through the muscles of Billy’s back and angling upwards beneath his ribs into his lungs.

Billy gags and gurgles on his own blood, noises that could be easily mistaken for pleasure. The knife is unsheathed and slid across Billy’s throat in a fluid motion spilling claret colored blood down the front of his shirt, he’s dead before he hits the ground. 

Heather is frozen with fear, she lets out a scream that’s stopped cold by the blade puncturing her temple, her lifeless body falling to the soft ground with a thud. 

The blade is wiped clean. Any blood splatters are left on the mask and hidden in the tree line, their lifeless bodies are stuffed further into the corn maze, vacant expressions on their cold faces. 

—

“… Jesus Christ.” 

“Beautiful isn’t it?” 

Standing 10 feet tall and brandishing slick, gray translucent skin, the flower head shaped monster screeched at the sight and smell of blood pumping, racing.

“Exactly how he described, I can't believe the tunnel leads here.” 

“The tunnels are all over Hawkins, he designed it, just like they said he would. Now c’mon, sun is about to set and I need help figuring out this code, son-of-a-bitch wrote it like a damn puzzle.”

—

Eddie wasn’t kidding, the strain was powerful. Robin was walking in a dream land of brownie covered ground and licorice grass. She was seeing things;  beautiful, ominous, things she wouldn’t be able to describe. 

And she knew she was high when she heard a high pitch scream from the corn field on her right— damn this shit was good. 

Her face was sticky and so were her hands, the sky spun above her as she laid flat on the cake bed ground, watching the tangerine soda sky as it shifted above her like a kaleidoscope. 

But no matter how many times she blinked her eyes, one piece of the dream never blurred away. A figure standing straight in the air below a tree branch. 

Upon further eye squinting, Robin realized she recognized it to be someone she knew very well. 

She had seen those eyes before. She had felt those hands on her skin. And the gold ring on the delicate middle finger looked way too familiar to just be a coincidence. 

But there wasn’t any way that this could be real, just a prop for a good gag right, or the everlasting effect of the funny smelling joint from Eddie. 

Because why was Vickie standing stone still..? With a large knotted necklace around her pretty neck, covered in red paint, and why wasn’t she moving? 

♡ thank you for reading, please consider a rb, or dropping a comment below, I would love to hear from you and your thoughts on this chapter.

♡ currently receiving messages in my askbox on who you think the killer is

part 3: THE ROCKSTAR AND THE REDLIGHTS

♡tag list: @dashingdeb16 @emxxblog @mopeymopeymouse @pretendthisnameisclever @mommybaby-witch @eddies-acousticguitar @tlclick73 @figmentofquinn @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @whenshelanded @micheledawn1975 @3rd-conchord * @leelei1980 @mopeymopeymouse @browneyes8288 @emilyslutface @mmunson86 @josephquinnsfreckles @eddiesxangel @elegantkoalapaper * @str4ngergirlw0rld * @corrodedcoffincumslut @nailbatanddungeon @katethetank @munsons-mayhem28 * @mandyjo8719 @joannamuns9n @littlebookworm86 @hunnybuns-world @littlegingerbat

[vampiricgf]

ALMOST HEAVEN \ PROLOGUE

› astarion x f!reader

› summary : with wedding plans in place, the day of the ceremony is quickly upon you. But does this have the ability to be a happy union?

› word count : 1k+

› warnings : arranged marriage, angst, he's mean

notes : arranged marriage angst!! lil short thing to kick it off but chapter one is already finished so I'll be posting it shortly ^⁠_⁠^

series masterlist | chapter one

It was a marriage of convenience.

That's what you told yourself, to keep the expectations grounded in your head. As a nobleman's child you knew it was more likely that your match would not, in fact, be found by you but would be selected by your affluent family for the singular purpose of furthering whatever aims or intrigue was most lucrative.

What you hadn't expected was him.

A High Elf, a most unusual candidate for such an arrangement given how elves are often even more serious about love and sacred bonds than humans are. But then again, it isn't uncommon for them to enter into serious relationships with humans given that the lifespan difference means the relationship lasts for about the same amount of time as it would take to master whatever interest caught their fancy.

It was nothing but a side path on the grand road of their lives.

And he was paving a grand road indeed.

Magistrate Ancunín had impressed your father, and had given himself an in with the most prominent of the partiar families.

Caldwell, and it's fortune built on the vast orchards to the south of the Gate. One may think, mistakenly, that an orchard family would be similar in temperament to druids. That was the placid facade the people of the Gate were familiar with, simply content to munch on Caldwell apples and pears.

In truth your father was more akin to a war ship than a man. Your family’s vast wealth had been accrued from underhanded dealings that allowed for a near total takeover of the lumber industry in both the city and surrounding area. It also helped your father had laid plans to poach some of the best minds behind timber treatment, leading to a proprietary process that forced most others out of business.

People like the Magistrate, however, were not so easily fooled. The interior of every patriar family was rotten through and through, black as pitch and stretching their slimy fingers across the city.

If ever they paid attention the fruit might just blacken in their hands, turned to nought but ash.

And for your part you were no naive fool. You knew about the rumors of corruption that swirled around him, but then again who among the upper echelon wasn't tainted by such whispers?

It was hardly a scandal even if it were true.

Still, as hard as you tried to keep your expectations realistic, the constant disappointment surrounding your wedding plans stung deeply. Of course he'd want little to nothing to do with the process, your family tittering and fluttering about making sure it would be a show of wealth and power - and you, a centerpiece of it clad in a dress that looked more like some puff pastry with a painted on, garishly made up expression of faux happiness.

You hadn't seen Astarion since the announcement had been made more than five months ago.

That wasn’t wholly unusual, given the arrangement, but you could only admit to yourself in secrecy how disappointing it was to have only your family and hired help to coordinate what should have been a joyous day. For an ordinary, plain couple it may have even been a joint effort.

Truly you worried for many weeks over how he felt about being tied to a woman he didn’t love for the rest of your life, at least.

Your mother had told you again and again that excitement was shared all around, abundant between your family and your soon-to-be groom. But there were no relieved sighs or elated smiles to be had from you.

The words were empty.

All you had been told concretely was that Astarion had consented to the match, and agreed to the date barring any complications or unseen circumstances.

In contrast the the made face and complicated hairstyle you sported there was a dour look upon your face.

“I wish we could have spoken before today, but his estate kept replying that he was unavailable.” You say to no one in particular, frowning down at your hands.

“Theres no need to worry about such things,” your mother said, not even sparing you a glance as she fussed over some discarded pile of tulle. “You’re both as ready as you can be. And remember, this is a fortuitous union. Do try to behave yourself.”

Annoyance cracked through the anxiety in your gut. Of course, behave yourself because you’re someone else’s problem now. Don’t make us look like blathering idiots.

An impossibility, you snort to yourself as your rise from the ornate vanity.

With a stomach full of knots you silently eye the older woman straightening your gown and fluttering about like some nervous hen. Had she always looked so… exhausted? Thick greying hair bundled back in a severe updo, jewelry, always tasteful, delicately adorned the thin skin of her hands and wrists. Her expression as serious as her hairstyle, one you don’t ever remember her breaking often.

If he could love you, would he still when you more closely resembled the women in front of you now?

~

Those knots had turned into complete rigging by the time even, heavy footsteps carried you through the crowd of revelers.

They may as well have been dolls made up of paper, barely seen even in your peripherals as you looked at him.

Standing at the far end, a vast distance distorted by nerves, was his figure in stark relief against the almost dreamy atmosphere. A purposeful mess of ivory hair, curls that fell in a purposefully effortless manner and barely brushed the tips of his ears. Tasteful jacket embroidered with a pattern of golden thread, every bit the image of a man marrying into prominence. Belonging to prominence already.

His features were enough to have your heartbeat immediately thrumming hard and fast in your chest, enough to make you momentarily question whether someone could lose consciousness if such a rhythm maintained itself for too long. You couldn’t help but wonder what he thought of you.

An organic couple would perhaps have feelings of overwhelm rise up upon seeing each other in a similar way, fond memories and beautiful shared moments. Nothing like that existed between you two. The only prior memories you held were of sitting like a demure piece of decoration in the parlor as you two exchanged perhaps a full sentence before he discussed details in private with your father.

He hadn’t shown much interest in you then, and it seemed to be the case now.

Despite the congenial smile adorning his face as he took your hand his eyes were distant. Far away and full of other things, even a hint of impatience that you didn’t care to explore further, rather you kicked yourself internally for expecting some sort of rapturous happiness. Ridiculous.

He remained impassive as the priest of Lathander began droning on, and it became clearer with every passing second that being here with you was hardly magnanimous for him. That realization seized something in your chest, a wild thought of stopping the wedding frantically pulling at the edges of your mind.

That isn’t something you could do though, no matter how wildly you wanted to - years of training and upbringing overrode the urge.

Do try to behave yourself.

The vows were hollow from both your lips, flowered words that, if they were said by any other couple perhaps they might have been moving, but from your lips they fell flat like overripe fruit to the ground, spotted with swirling shades of bruised plum and the too soft grayish shade of decay. Forlorn and quickly forgotten to rot.

The kiss was equally impassive and far away, despite being such an intimate act it was utterly substanceless. His warm lips met yours for only a brief second before pulling away,

It felt more like a kiss of death. The final seal on the entire circus. It was all real, all concrete now.

The ring on your finger felt as heavy as an ingot strapped to your hand as your smile stretched wide, feeling garish and insincere as your hands found one anothers.

“Ms. Caldwell, its an honor to dip my fingers in your familial purse.” The whisper as he wore a faux smile was cut through with a disgusting amount of smugness. It made you bristle.

“Perhaps we should've been selling tickets for the performance.” You say frigidly, making sure to keep the smile stretched across your own lips as you grasped his hand.

You could tell he struggled for a moment to contain a laugh before whispering again.

“You are refreshingly pragmatic, you know. Perhaps this isn’t the worst union in the world.”

Perhaps.

It devastated you all the same, feeling like some puffed up clown in the middle of the renewed revelry.

[judasgot-it]

Headcannons: What kind of lover are they? (Sigma, Mushitaro)

Continuing this series a little cause these characters get NO love and they're among my favs.

SIGMA

He's the type of guy to spoil his lover rotten since he really dreams of a TV style romance. It's borderline silly sometimes, but his person would be someone who would be as cool as he is - possibly cooler. No amount of money can buy the easy style and fashion that him and his lover have.

He'd be the BEST omg

Type of guy to send his lover money and be like "buy yourself something nice" and it's like 2k

This man spoils but he also has the mindset of looking rich and being rich cause he doesn't wanna be poor

He smells better than handmade leather

He probably expects his lover to look good enough to walk around the casino though so he does have high expectations - he's a career guy. Also he cares about that place a lot (before you know....)

Although he's the type to be like "you don't want me...I've killed people" stfu bro you're favorite food is cookies

He's like a killer Teddy bear compared to the rest of the BSD cast tbh

He'd be a sweetheart but he needs praise and 100% if he has a lover they're in on all of his life drama too

You probably know more about him than he does himself lol

Will try to protect you from anyone he knows is weird and a killer - dazai, fyodor, nikolai, even the hunting dogs (he has serious beef)

Honestly he'd be a great BF but you'd need to carry a gun on you 24/7 or something so sigma feels better with him not around

He is probably needs security the most out of anyone

MUSHITARO

Certified loser, this guy really just wants people he can depend on and won't betray him considering his past. He'd never cheat, he just wants to enjoy the day to day with his lover even if he seems like a sour apple all the time.

He's a fucking loser (no offense, just a fact. The washing machine manual did it for me) so this guy is guaranteed not to cheat tbh

Like. He has 2 friends if you count ranpo and poe and maybe anyone associated with the detective agency. And none of them are touching his weird astrology obsessed ass (I love him)

This guy would date someone and is loyal be default, plus if he opened up then like. Bro idk how he's moving on from that

Marriage. Point blank. He wouldn't move on from a breakup at all

Also as depressed as he is ik he'd probably enjoy day to day life instead of focusing on the long term anymore. You can't be assured of the future, so he'd always go get whatever sweet treat you want

Honestly he'd be an amazing bf tho like this man APPRECIATES the people in his life

If you're in. You're IN

He'd be chill about it like. Probably would do a whole lot of stuff like sight seeing and all of that. Maybe he'd be sour about it, but he'd enjoy being forced outside of his shell

Inside he's a sweetheart and would think about his lover a LOT

Probably gets them their favorite snacks on his day to day

Cries during sex tho he can't help it

[xxcherrycherixx]

fuck it, we always talk about the apple hate but we never talk about the blondie hate-

that is my bbgirl my best friend, she's my pal. she's my home boy, my rotten soldier. shes my sweet cheese, my good time boy

and ppl always be bashing her for being "annoying and sticking her nose into shit" like bestie im sorry she's not another copy of literally all the other princesses- like yall want her to be holly? who is like forgettable af but hey shes not "annoying" (sorry holly enjoyers, but i legit forget about her existence so much)

she's such a fun character! her entire shit is be gay do crimes hun, she breaks into houses on the regular and just vibes there, she has like 4 restraining orders against her- she picks locks so good that people regularly just go to her when they need to sneak into places

she looks at girls with this face!

THAT IS HEART EYES MOTHERFUCKER NO ONE ELSE WAS LOOKING AT CUPID LIKE THAT, ONLY THE COUPLES BE LOOKING AT EACH OTHER LIKE THAT THIS BITCH GAY GAY AND THEN THE WAY SHE SNAPS OUT OF IT AND JUST KEEPS STARING FOR A GOOD WHILE LIKE "oh shit well that's something i didn't know about myself-"

queen shit.

she wants to fit in so bad!!! she wants friends!!! she is my sad little meow meow!! she wants to become a reporter probably because her momma would tell her about how she use to work on the school newspaper!! And her momma would be so proud of her if she became a big time reporter!!🥺

she is so desperate to fit in, she's so ashamed that shes not real royalty like all her friends are that she feels she has to lie about it, and in blondie branches out where she tells a slightly more accurate version of her family and apple calls it a just right royal story, she's so happy and she looks so sweet!! she needs some validation babes!!!

she just wants friends!! the way she lies about her lineage is always to try to get the other royals to like her, she thinks she has to be like them for them to want to be her friends!! there's a hierarchy in ever after high that gets more detail in the books, royalty gets treated like celebrities with specialty seating and other perks. blondie is like every child who grew up in a fancy school when your family didn't have much, you see your friends constantly going on about their big house with a pool or the new shoes that cost more than your entire wardrobe and you start to feel alienated from the group. once more she needs some validation!!! help my girlie out!!!!

and the way she breaks into the bears homes, she believes they're her friends. so to her its fine to come over and ask momma if she has anything to eat, and the bears themselves don't really tell her to her face that shes not welcome. it seems baby bears outburst is the first time the bears have openly reacted negatively to her presence and blondie just thinks it was something to do with the other girls.

onto our big boy: BLONDIE IS SO FUCKING DISABLED CODED.

she cant understand social cues and is a perfectionist, her special interest is her show, she is picky when it comes to food preferring her safe food of porridge. this girl is a dead ringer for a bitch on the spectrum (this is coming from a bitch on many specrtrums including the autistic one) the thing is what i hate most is that when people hate on blondie, they're hating her for her neurodivergent traits. they might not realize it but that's completely what it is. "she's nosy and rude" she doesn't understand that what she is doing is rude, she cant tell when she crosses a line, i have done shit like that so many times like saying things i see as true and upsetting the other person and not realizing why.

she also has very strong signs of adhd with how much and how fast she talks and her lack of focus as shown in just sweet, just sweet shows these traits so perfectly, it was the episode that truly made it clear that this girl isn't neurotypical at all. i feel people call her annoying because of this, she talks so much and pair that with her autistic traits and she becomes unlikable for so many, but she's such a sweet girl underneath, there's a reason people still willingly hang out with her and that's because despite the fact she has these traits that come off as negative. she's still a kind girl happy to help her friends, she refuses to out ashlynns and hunters relationship because she can recognize that would be mean to her friends, she accepts helping raven out despite the fact her and the rebel haven't always been on the best terms, she invites poppy to the blue moon forest fest and is implied to help holly with picking locked doors enough for holly to consider her a close friend.

blondie is not your typical perfect character like so many of the cast is, but that's a good thing because if she was then she would just be another background character to forget about. she has her own personality and she has her own interests, she is one of the most neurodivergent coded characters in the series.

did i mention this girl has to be a woman enjoyer? because i swear she has to be- at some point she has to realize that maybe her extreme pickiness when it comes to boys is less about that individual not being just right but instead boys as a whole not being just right for her. do i need to show the heart eyes picture again?

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I think the relationship between Trey and Vil is pretty interesting (but again, as someone who really really likes Vil, each and every of his relationships is interesting to me). Vil himself said Riddle's lucky to have Trey and that Trey is a "exceptional second-in-command" (Vil labwear), and Vil repeatedly noted Trey's thoughtfulness (Vil union/jacket birthday), though sometimes Vil meant it to be criticism (main story 5-22 and Trey apprentice chef, both of which Vil commented that Trey's tendency to spoil others rotten will bring more harm than good for his underclassmen). So yes, they don't appear to be very close (and maybe they aren't), and Vil might appear to be mean to Trey (his words and actions are not helping lol), but I think Trey is one of few students in NRC where Vil actually enjoys having a chat with, considering Trey is one of the few that allow Vil to feel satisfied with his needs to constantly lecturing others and proving that he knows best by smiling and nodding along (Leona can outsmart Vil, Rook can out-talk Vil, Epel gets too defensive etc.) As for Trey, I don't think I know him enough to gauge his opinions about Vil. I'd love to hear what you think too!

I'll be honest, I don't usually think a lot about Trey or Vil (because they're both characters I don't personally enjoy) 🤔 but I love it when new TWST content comes out that makes me go back and reevaluate the characters. It makes them feel really dynamic and helps to recontextualize what I knew of them before. When I think of Vil and Trey's relationship, I think, "they're friendly acquaintances that give off the impression of a stern mom and a doting dad" (not necessarily in a romantic way, that's just the dynamic their relationship reminds me of). Individually, they're both competent people, but they have very different "parenting styles". However, it's never to the point where it becomes hateful. You can tell they disagree on some points, but they're also able to just have a civil conversation about it (ie "be the adults in the room"), letting their strengths play off of each other well. One thing that's very apparent about Vil is that he has high standards for not just himself, but for everyone. Because of this, he has a very critical eye when it comes to things like evaluating the quality of products, as well as others' character. He's not so easily tricked by expert liars like Jade (who came close to earning the Ghost Bride's heart, had it not been for Floyd's interference, even though she would later detect Azul's fakeness; Vil automatically knew something was sus in Jade's dorm uniform vignettes when the eel showed upon Pomefiore's doorstep claiming to want to transfer). What's more, Vil can take one look at someone and determine what their strengths and weaknesses are, and where their potential lies. That's why he picked Epel to be his "poison apple", because he knew that Epel had the capacity to be cute if he learned to embrace his femininity, which would help them stand a chance against RSA. Likewise, Vil can also see these in Trey, no matter how often Trey claims that he's normal or nothing special, or that he's just doing what anyone else would do. See, that's the thing with Trey. He comes off as so humble and approachable that Vil knows it's sometimes detrimental, whether that's to Trey himself or to others. It makes people too reliant on Trey's kindness instead of them learning to be independent (a sentiment which Vil frowns on), and Trey has a habit of perpetuating it because of how "considerate" and "thoughtful" (as Vil puts it) he is. It's a double-edged sword. But in spite of these traits, Vil also recognizes that Trey is skilled at what he does: smoothing things over (because let's be honest, Riddle can suck at that) and leading where others cannot (some will be more likely to listen to Trey because of how "nice" he is to them). I find it really fascinating how Trey talks himself down (in an act of humility), but most everyone else has nothing but high praise for him. It's typically the younger students who see Trey as some older brother figure who will always be there to help them when they need it... but it's the older students--and especially those with discerning eyes--that realize that Trey actually has greater strengths than just that. Both Vil AND Rook, who are some of THE most perceptive characters in the cast, have explicitly commented on Trey's leadership abilities (the latter being during the second Beans Day event; I wrote this post discussing Rook and Trey's relationship if you're interested in reading that! ^^). And you know what else is wild???? If you think about it, Trey is also just as perceptive, and I believe this plays well in his dynamic with Vil. There are many instances when Trey notices details that no one else does, like the fact that Cater dislikes sweets or that Rook does not like to share personal details.

The difference between Trey and Vil is that they use their perceptiveness in different ways; Vil is much more direct with his assessments, he does not hesitate to hit you in the face with what he has scoped out (call it "tough love"). He tends to criticize and point out flaws, and how people could be better. Think about how readily Vil chastised Deuce when Deuce tried to stand up for Epel in book 5; Vil immediately told him he has no right to complain when he has so much more work to do, even Potato #1 (Ace), who started around the same time as Deuce, has made significant progress while Deuce has lagged behind. Vil has no mercy, he is stone cold killer. Some people can't take getting their pride hurt or having their weaknesses told to them, and that's why Vil is often branded as "mean". Trey is the opposite; he often takes note of things but doesn't always make a point to bring it up unless there's a reason for it. His blows are much softer and more considerate because he doesn’t want to attract attention to himself by further aggravating the issue. He does not like having the spotlight on him (something which he brings up multiple times). As an example, when Trey tells us that Cater doesn't like sweets, he says it in a sort of casual manner rather than a pointed one, and his words are phrased such that it's only a guess rather than accusing him of something. Other times, Trey uses the information he has to avoid or to resolve conflicts. For example, when Sebek and Deuce are pressing Rook for information about his family, Trey diverts their attention to take the heat off of Rook. The huntsman realizes that Trey did it on purpose because Trey knew he was feeling uncomfortable with the circumstances. Trey even apologizes to Rook afterwards, asking if he shouldn't have done that. Vil is confrontational (most likely because he sees it as an avenue to push others to grow), whereas Trey is non-confrontational and happy to keep people comfortable with what they already know. If Vil's strategy is to attract bees with venom, then Trey's strategy is to attract bees with honey. On Trey's end, it's actually pretty difficult to gauge how he feels about his classmates because he often doesn't outright state his thoughts on specific people. One thing that crops up time and time again is that Trey typically performs well to make his dorm look good (because, according to him, it would just cause trouble if he messed something up). This says to me that Trey puts the needs or the expectations of others over his own, and this kind of thinking also carries over to how he expresses himself. He tends to make generalized statements like, "yeah, X can be like that", "they can be so energetic", or, "wow, that's impressive". I think this also applies to what he thinks of Vil; Trey has said in other instances that he finds the feats his classmates are capable of totally ridiculous. I'd imagine that he feels similarly about Vil, like he's some star that's way out of Trey's understanding. At the same time, Vil the A list celebrity is also just another classmate, so Trey treats him as such. I don't think I can really recall a time when Trey expressed not liking someone, because really he's the type of guy that tries to get along with everyone. It's not that he necessarily likes everyone, but that he maintains a decent enough relationship so as to avoid issues. As long as he doesn't start anything, no one starts anything with him. That's one of his major boons: Trey's mildness actually makes it so that he doesn't have any real enemies. People either accept his existence and leave him alone, or they give him some level of respect since he's consistently known as a "nice guy" on campus. That's part of why he is so effective as a leader in his own right, and others can recognize that. Vil is also an effective leader, but arguably how he approaches others and handles conflicts has made him more foes than friends (like... how often does he nitpick Epel's looks or manners, and then extend that behavior to people in other dorms?).

Back on the topic of Trey and Vil as a duo, I think it's because of their similarities (the ability to "read" others) and their differences (their very approaches with the information they have on others) that help flesh out their relationship. Vil is equally tough on himself as he is on others (perhaps even more tough on himself), and sometimes that leads to the problem where he denies himself very normal joys or he obsesses over very little details. Trey is exactly the type of person Vil needs to hear from every now and again--just a "normal" dude without those impossible standards. I think this is exemplified in Vil's Labwear vignettes. In those, he is worried about his figure because of a callous comment Rook made. Vil happens to run into Trey in the hallway, and during their conversation Trey picks up on Vil's irritation and invites him over to Heartslabyul for tea. While they're having drinks together, Trey asks about why Vil is upset, and that begins this whole talk about how Vil's upset with Rook's careless phrasing. Trey is able to toss in some of his own experiences dealing with Rook, thereby empathizing with (relating to) Vil rather than simply sympathizing with (feeling bad for) him. I noticed Trey also has less dialogue than Vil; he's giving Vil the space to vent, and pretty much all of Trey's responses are very non-judgmental, non-inflammatory ones. Towards the tail-end of the conversation, Vil actually starts shifting the topic from his annoyance with Rook to Trey's modesty. It's through this that Trey is able to seize the chance to pitch the cake (the so-called "stress relief") he was hoping to offload to Pomefiore this whole time to Vil. Trey got what he wanted in the end while also soothing Vil's troubles, because he treated Vil like an equal rather than a queen on a pedestal. He's okay with soaking up Vil's venom and acting as the verbal punching bag since Trey can just meet it with a level head and understanding. That, in turn, makes Vil feel heard and seen without being judged (which would just make Vil more critical of himself). It's not that Trey just smiles and nods along to let people get anger out of their systems, it's that he actually listens and tells them what they need to hear, but not in an overly sycophantic or condescending way. He knows what to do and say, and how to respond to get on people’s good side. (If that isn't a mastermind move, then I don't know what is 😂 Trey's a lot craftier than people give him credit for! His unassuming nature and lack of open blackheartedness just makes it harder to spot.)

What makes Vil and Trey’s relationship work is that they seem to have a mutual respect for one another, and an understanding of what the other is “truly” like. Vil knows Trey is more talented than he lets on, and Trey can give Vil that outlet he needs to speak on his real emotions. That’s why gives me such strong “parental figures” energy as well 😂

[starseungs]

➳ written on paper. lmh

pairing: (skz) lee minho x fem!reader

As the daughter of the previous Snow White, your story requires an evil witch to take the antagonist’s spot—someone who would help lead you towards your happily ever after. That was where Minho’s role comes in.

genre/s: fantasy au, storybook/fairytales next generation au, forbidden lovers(ish), angst, fluff, drama in general, a dash of humor, son of the evil queen minho x daughter of snow white reader, kinda ever after high au but with a twist

warning/s: mentions of death (no actual dying), themes of bullying & discrimination (story roles), mentions of cheating (its not minho dw), political(?) corruption & deception, swearing, crying... lots, hyunjin is kinda an asshole for a while im so sorry

wc: 16.6k

note: tysm for the people who took interest in the teaser! i hope this makes the wait worth it <3 also this is my first time writing a fic this long, so feedback would be greatly appreciated^^

Legacy Day.

A momentous event where the students of Storybook High pledge to all of the magical world to follow in the same footsteps as their fairytale parents. In this school, the students range from the offspring of protagonists to mere side characters—the sons and daughters of antagonists are here too.

You see, when children of this magical world turn eleven, they are sent to study at Storybook High to learn more about the realm and the stories that led to its establishment. One is expected to complete the full nine-year curriculum and sign the Book of Legends on the first day of eighth grade, sealing their fate forever. This day is called "Legacy Day."

The process of signing one’s fate has been followed for many years. Some were less willing than the others, of course—but at the end of the day, no one had ever dared not to sign. This was greatly influenced by the saying that if you don’t, then your story will disappear along with you. As one would have already guessed, that belief sparked a heated debate about whether it was true or not. After all, there were a lot of fairytale children that despised their so-called "fate".

And that leads us exactly to our current event.

Silence wraps the massive hall as all eyes are fixated on one person standing on top of the tall stage. Tension hung heavily in the air, a result created by seeing who was facing them all. You couldn’t help but gulp in anticipation, finding your hands clasped while your eyes were glued on Minho—who was nervously staring at the book in front of him. 

Minho was what they could classify as your partner. Not in a romantic way (you suppose), but more so with your stories. As the daughter of the previous Snow White, your story requires an evil witch to take the antagonist’s spot—someone who would help lead you towards your happily ever after. 

That was where Minho’s role comes in.

"I am Minho, son of the Evil Queen. And," he takes a shaky breath. "I pledge..."

Everyone watching is on the tips of their toes. Minho was most well known as the person who hated their fate more than anyone else. He was practically the face of the "rebellious teens," as the others called them, who claimed they would write their own stories instead. Being the son of the Evil Queen—the same person who poisoned your very own mother and got herself locked up inside the mirror prison, his story calls for him to do the same to you. 

Surprisingly, Minho was far from what you would’ve expected as the next Evil King.

From the moment you got your acceptance letter, your parents had already warned you to never befriend Minho. They said that he’d be mean, despicable, a rotten apple, and basically evil as a whole. "Mind your own business in the dorm room, sweetheart," you remember your mother telling you as she smoothed out your dress in the carriage. "Your roommate will be the enemy. I know it sounds scary, but it’s only natural. Both of your fates are tied together. However, do not worry, my love. It’ll be over as soon as possible," she comforted you.

Well, it turns out your parents were very wrong.

Minho was nothing short of sweet and caring. Sure, he was a bit cold at times, but his frosty exterior did not speak for him the same way his heart did at all. He was fun, playful, and easy to get along with. You found yourself forming a friendly dynamic with him sooner than you expected.

"I pledge," Minho visibly gritted his teeth to force out the words he feared for the longest time. Eyes shifting, he looked at you—wordlessly pleading for you to help him escape. But, having nothing much you could do, you could only give him a small smile of encouragement. He had to do this. 

There was no other choice. 

Feeling defeated, he took the quill and stopped below the page. This was it—he’s expected to sign any second now, you thought bitterly. Even if one despised their fate, it was the only way to live in this world. The harsh truth that all of you had to endure.

Yet just when you were about to relax, Minho’s eyes suddenly changed from hesitant to determined. Your eyes automatically widened in horror. As his friend and roommate for the seven years you’ve been at this school, that look was something you knew very well. 

He can’t be thinking of—no way!

"No," he spat out strongly. The crowd collectively gasps at his words. "I’m not signing this bullshit."

In one quick motion, the book was slammed shut. 

The sound of distressed reactions took over the hall as the magic mirrors showcasing the event shattered one by one. Fear quickly spread amongst the mass of people, the emotion emphasized by the now dimming lighting. Your body froze in shock and disbelief at what Minho had just done. This—this can’t be happening, right? 

Your eyes closed instinctively as you shook silently beneath the stage. You two can’t just disappear like this! What on earth was Minho thinking? Sure, you had already signed your story, but without Minho, would it even still exist? Both of your fates are broken now—if there even is one by the end of this.

You hoped the disappearing process would be painless because you really weren’t ready to experience suffering for something you didn’t ask for in the first place. A few seconds passed by as you waited for the inevitable. 

But it never came.

Instead, you found yourself feeling nothing that was out of the ordinary. As you slowly raise your head to look at the situation, your eyes catch sight of Minho’s disapproving ones. In the short minute that you had that small breakdown, he had already stepped off the stage and was now proceeding to head away from the hall. 

The look he gave you made your eyes burn in hot fury. 

Is he serious? Why is he even disappointed? Can he really blame you for getting scared when he’s the one who put both of your lives in danger? You signed the book—you even signed it for him! All in an effort to make sure that both of your stories won’t vanish into thin air.

So what made him betray you like that?

Your clicking heels echoed loudly throughout the hallway as you walked briskly to follow his speedy figure. "Minho!" you called out to him, tone filled with frustration. Luckily, that seemed to halt his steps.

Finally catching up, you stopped just a few meters behind his back. The air was cold and lightly frosted over your warm skin. The once lively corridor was now bleak and seemed very unwelcoming. There was an unspoken hostility felt between you and Minho, as the two of you stood there for a moment—not saying anything. Something you had already expected.

What can you even say after all that?

Minho sighs in exasperation before turning around and facing you. His eyes were glassy with unshed tears, refusing to venture to his face, which was carved with torment. You tried to reach your hand out to touch him, but he swatted your hand away gently. "...What do you want?"

You found your mind blanking for a moment after finally getting a better look at him. Minho looked ethereal at that moment, even through the show of his obvious pain. The moonlight suited him, you thought. It framed his whole being in its sparkling glow. 

Nevertheless, it wasn't long until you remembered why you were in front of him in the first place.

"...Why?" you rasped out. All the previous events and emotions begin to flood back, overwhelming you beyond belief. "Why would you do that!?" you shrieked at him. Minho clenched his jaw at your words. 

"You... you could've disappeared! I could've disappeared! What were you thinking—"

"But we didn't!" he yelled back. Your words immediately clumped up and stuck in your throat, unable to get out. "We didn't disappear! So I'm asking you now Y/N, what do you want?" Minho seethed.

What did you want? What else could you possibly want? All you wished for was to live properly and survive. But to achieve that in this world, he had to—

"Sign the book," you pleaded desperately. And even through the hurt gaze he set on you, you continued to try and reason with him.

"Please just sign the book. I'll do anything you want. You want to change your destiny, right? We can make it work! Do you perhaps want a throne? I'll give you mine willingly. You don't have to be thrown into the mirror prison," your voice was becoming shakier by the second from the intensity of the situation. "See? It's not really that hard, Minho! You could still change the events even if you signed the book. I know you're scared to live a life you don’t want, but—"

"When will you understand that it's not about me!?" he cried out.

The sheer amount of emotion in Minho's voice takes you by surprise. It was raw, and undoubtedly broken. His words pierced your heart sharply, and you inwardly winced as you felt the imaginary arrows sink deeper. Through the ache, you forced out a reply, "...Pardon?"

Minho hastily wiped the few tears that managed to escape, and said, "I don’t want a throne, and I'm not scared of going to that prison. In fact, with what they're expecting me to do, I really do deserve it! Just—just like my mother..." 

He's... not? Then why go through all this trouble for a rebellion? He even appears to be willing to poison you—

"But I'm different from her. I don't want to hurt you," he added weakly, "Ever. I could never bring myself to do it, Y/N. And I knew if I signed that damned book, fate would somehow find a way for me to fulfill the story, even against my wishes. And... I can't have that."

"But what about the story now? If it disappears, we—"

"Oh please, Y/N. What are we doing right now, huh? Talking! We didn't disappear like all the legends used to say."

"But we still could!" you stubbornly retorted.

Minho huffed and rolled his eyes, "So what? I'd rather that happen than my story."

The frigid tension that formed between the two of you engulfed the whole space. At this point, you were sure that if someone were to walk in on the two of you, there was a good chance they would end up coughing ice.

"You don't mean that," you warned, glaring at him. "I know well that you aren't implying that you'd rather die than... live?" The words you uttered weighed heavy on your tongue.

He simply shrugged casually in response, "Why not? I have nothing to look forward to in my supposed future anyway. Unlike your kind who get all the happy endings, we're just here to make you guys look good—what? Don't look at me like that. You know damn well it's true," he scoffed venomously. "A lot of us don't even like our stories, but look at how we're forced to do it for you to live happily ever after."

His words set fire inside of you once again. How dare he assume you had it easy too? Maybe on paper it did—you could admit that. You were a protagonist and a royal, after all, destined to have a happy ending and live a lavish life. But you knew that if you closely examined the cards you'd been dealt with, it was far from the ideal storybook ending people made it out to be. You couldn't help but laugh at the irony.

"Do you really think I like my story too?" You questioned him with a wry chuckle. "Do you really think I want to be poisoned? Then get rescued by a prince who, mind you, doesn't even love me! And then say I have to marry him too? It's bad enough Hyunjin openly displays to the public that he doesn't have an ounce of care about my well-being, but he's even shoving it into my face that he already likes someone else! Tell me who in the world wants to be a second choice, let alone be cheated on?"

"Then you shouldn't have signed it." 

His blunt words hit you like a truck. Finally feeling the crash of all the events that happened, you broke out into tears. The moonlight you praised him in earlier now serves as a humiliating reminder of what’s to come. Minho stares at your sobbing face one last time before walking away. 

And all you could think about was how he could be right.

The bustling crowd of the school cafeteria is loud as always—but this time, there was a glaringly obvious tense atmosphere that followed everyone. You couldn’t help but sigh at the troublesome situation. 

It's been a tough week for you in terms of your social life. The number of pitiful looks you've received, as well as "You can get through this," greetings from your fellow peers who played as protagonists, was astounding. On a normal day before, they would never have spared you a single glance unless they needed something. But now, you’ve practically become the center of their conversations.

And even at the very moment, you’ve got all their attention. One would think their stares were due to you wearing something obnoxious—but you were literally just trying to eat. You roll your eyes in annoyance. 

So much for a good lunch.

"Maybe if you weren’t in such a critical situation right now, then they wouldn’t be eyeing you like a display," Seungmin commented from across the table. You threw some grains of rice towards him.

"Or, I don’t know, they could mind their own business?"

"As if that would ever happen," the son of the Queen of Hearts muttered. "They’d rather watch the world explode than pass on drama."

In a way, he was right. Storybook High was not just any normal school—it was also the center of gossip throughout the entire realm. As you were the next generation of citizens, the spotlight currently shines brightly on your generation.

Felix chuckled. "It’s funny to see how different the two sides view you." The reminder of the current unity status of the student body from the next Hansel (his mother is actually Gretel, but Felix’s cousin was a girl, so they agreed to switch) immediately sucked all the remaining life from your body. "The Royals pity you, while the Rebels are curious about where you stand."

The Royals and the Rebels.

Division between the student population had been at an all-time high ever since that little stunt Minho pulled on Legacy Day. What was once a peaceful crowd quickly developed into a dangerous war zone. Granted, the people’s divisions already existed even before the school was founded. The most obvious one was being sorted into "Protagonists," "Antagonists," and "Side Characters." But it looks like with the current rise in rebellion of teens who aren’t satisfied with their fates, a new division has arisen. 

And it worsened with Minho’s refusal to sign his story.

You see, after the both of you left the hall to have your little "chat"—many of those who wanted to write a new destiny for themselves also refused to sign. These people, including Minho himself, are now classified as "Rebels." This placed them on the bad side of the (now called) "Royals", who wanted to follow their predetermined happily ever afters. 

Not everyone opposing the Rebels is actually royalty, but the majority of them are. This was what earned the group's generalized title as "Royals." Although, some of the non-royalty protagonists took advantage of the opportunity to act like one. One of them is Yeri, Goldilocks' daughter—

"Hey Y/N!" You hear a familiar voice call out. Well, speak of the devil. Yeri happily rushes over to your current table, an action Hyunjin clearly did not appreciate. Oh, did you mention you were eating lunch with him? No? Good. He’s not that special anyway.

Deciding to be a decent person, you turned around and greeted the girl, "A pleasant day to you too, Yeri. What can I help you with?" Seungmin and Felix quickly followed up with their pleasantries, while Hyunjin only grunted as his greeting. If this jackass—

"Oh, yes certainly," she chirps joyfully. You kind of envy her personality. For being the next Snow White, you were nowhere near being as positive as your mother. You lightly smiled at Yeri for her to continue, "Well, you see, I’m writing a new scoop for my blog about Legacy Day! Could you be a dear and tell me what you think of what happened?"

Your smile vanishes in a flash.

Is this a joke? Why are they asking you, of all people? It’s either she’s completely clueless or this is a sick way of putting you down. The nerve of them to attempt to humiliate you like this.

Felix tries to intervene, seeing your reaction. "Yeri, actually—"

A sudden mocking laugh rang through your ears, successfully cutting Felix off. "Please, Yeri. You can interview me instead. Let’s leave little Snow White alone, yeah? She’s already dealing with so much!" 

Seungmin didn’t even try to hide his distaste for the new face that entered the scene—a contrast to Hyunjin, who finally cracked a smile for the first time since he sat at the table. 

Of course he would. The voice belonged to the one and only Mina. The daughter of the Swan Princess, now the Swan Queen. 

Just great. What does she want now? You never knew what her problem was. She has always had a personal vendetta against you and is hellbent on making your life as miserable as possible. Not very successful, but bothersome nonetheless. 

Right—she’s also the one dating Hyunjin. The awfully paired Prince Charming to your Snow White.

Your friends used to say that she was just jealous of you. And while there was a good percentage for that to be true, you personally think she’s just a shitty person in general. Her not-so-best reputation among the student body certainly backed that up. Her and Hyunjin suit each other, you thought to yourself. 

"I’m so sorry, Y/N! I swear I didn’t mean to offend you," Yeri quickly apologized. Your head was slowly starting to hurt from all this dramatic nonsense. And unfortunately for you, Hyunjin finally decides to speak up, "Mina is right. Y/N must be having such a hard time, especially knowing her story might not happen anymore."

What the fuck. Is he for real?

Apparently he is, because he chose to leave your group at the table and walk away with the other two girls. Oh—would you look at that. Totally expected of him. You groaned as you rested your head on the lunch table. 

"Why does he even decide to hang around us?" Seungmin scowled at Hyunjin’s retreating figure. "It’s not as if he likes any of us."

You poked at your tray with a spoon, "His parents probably forced him to because of me. Who knows, maybe they’re scary."

Hyunjin was… not necessarily a bad person. In the eyes of other people, he really wasn’t. He had a good reputation amongst your peers (a stark contrast to his girlfriend), and was often called the "ideal prince." Yet, for some reason you can’t understand, he was nothing less than a pain for you and your friends. 

"Until now, I don’t get his issue. You haven’t been treating him half as bad as he does to you," Felix sips on his juice. "Is the idea of kissing you in a casket that nightmare inducing for him? You’re literally the one dying, Y/N."

From the very start, you knew Hyunjin did not like that he was the assigned prince to you. He never explained why though, and you always thought it was because, ironically, he likes apples. You’re honestly surprised he even signed his story! For the longest time, you believed he was going to end up siding with the Rebels.

Well, to be fair, he is still a prince destined for a happy ending—no matter the partner assigned to him. Maybe he also couldn’t give up the luxury. Or like you, believed that he would disappear too. All valid reasons in your book.

Speaking of Rebels, you lifted your head to look at Minho’s direction. You’ve noticed him sitting near the window since lunch started, and the sight of him alone made your heart ache with worry. From what you’ve seen, people have been avoiding him like the plague ever since the Legacy Day incident happened. Aside from when he was with his friends, all others who refused to sign their stories, Minho was seen on his own for the most part.

You were well aware that a lot of Royals had been badmouthing him intensely too. The complete opposite to the pity treatment you’ve been receiving, even though you knew they could care less. And to be honest, it’d be better if they actually acted that way instead.

"Jeez, look over there," Felix whispered. "A Royal table and a Rebel table are arguing."

How amusing. It looks like you really owe Minho an apology. He was right about most of the Royals. One of the only exceptions would probably be your friends and Jisung. He was genuinely worried enough to tell you that he was willing to be your prince instead, if Hyunjin (his best friend, by the way. How that happened, you would never know.) was ever planning on flaking out. You politely declined him, though. Your stories would clash too much. After all, he was the main protagonist of his own story too—being the son of the Frog Prince and all. The poor guy also had a massive hopeless crush on Pinocchio’s daughter.

Back to Minho, the two of you haven’t spoken for the past week. The dorm room both of you shared became too quiet, not a single word being uttered throughout the hours it was occupied. And whenever you did try to talk to him, he would simply ignore you, even leaving the room if it wasn't yet past curfew.

Maybe you should try it now?

"Hey," you tried to get your two friends’ attention, "Should I talk to Minho?"

Seungmin peeled his eyes away from the fight that was occurring a few tables away. "Go for it? You’ve been all mopey and sad for the past week. It’s about time you and him made up." Felix agreed with a short nod.

"Alright, wish me luck."

Deciding to test the waters, you stood up from your seat. The nerves are starting to form, and the words you wanted to say are lost in the sea of your thoughts once again. Taking a deep breath, you told yourself you could do it.

It was just Minho, after all. You two are close friends, right? Even though you’re supposed to be enemies in front of everyone else, of course. Talking to him shouldn’t be this hard. It’s all in your head, Y/N. You can do it.

Now—okay, maybe not.

As soon as you finally get the courage to move, you spot his friends approaching him. It looks like you lost your chance again. He would surely use his friends as an excuse to avoid you. Running your hand through your hair, you backed out of your plan right away and sat down.

Felix snorted, "Too late, huh?"

You’ll just have to talk to him soon.

Minho was not in class.

Normally, this fact wouldn’t bother you too much—but it was currently culinary class. His favorite class out of them all. 

Other students knew of this fact too. And while they used to think it was because he was secretly determined to successfully poison you in the future, you knew that it was just because he genuinely liked cooking. So the mere fact that he wasn’t anywhere to be seen at that moment concerned you greatly.

Chan, your cooking partner for this session, took notice of your fidgety actions. "Are you okay?" he asked. "You look really anxious. Is it perhaps because of me?" His question surprised you. 

What? Why would you be—oh. Chan was someone who sided with the rebels. He was good friends with Minho too, the two of them sharing the same sentiment of not wanting to be antagonists in anyone’s lives. You knew being told to be the next Big Bad Wolf hadn't been an easy task for him. And because you're technically a royal, he might be thinking you despise his guts as well.

"Oh, not at all! I’m so sorry... I’m just concerned about Minho," he hums at your answer. Taking out the chopping board, he replies, "Is it because he’s not here? Yeah, I could totally relate to your thought process. Shocked the heck out of me too, actually."

You nod aggressively, "Exactly! He never skips culinary class. There was this one time when he was having such a bad headache, yet still insisted on attending this class for that day."

In general, it was quite unlikely for Minho to skip any classes at all. He was someone who valued education and was very vocal about it. That, and something about not wanting to act like his mother when she was still in school. Minho was determined to be a model student, proving to others that he was nowhere near evil.

"Yeah, it sounds like him alright," Chan says, laughing. "Who knows? Maybe he’s just really tired today." You think carefully about his words.

It was a reasonable guess, but Minho? Too tired to cook? Unheard of! Unless he’s really sick and can’t attend the class because of the health protocols. He seemed okay this morning, though? Sure, you can’t really tell since the both of you haven’t interacted in a while (you should really try talking to him again, it’s been 3 days since the cafeteria attempt), and you only had this class together for this year—

Wait a minute. 

You only shared culinary class with him this year? He—he couldn’t have avoided this class because it was the only class you two had together, right? He wouldn’t go as far as skipping his favorite class just to avoid you?

News flash, Y/N. He totally could. And that’s most likely what happened.

You huffed at the pettiness of the idea. If he doesn’t want you to convince him to sign the book that badly, then you won’t! Like it’d even matter at this point. Too much damage has already been done. 

The look on your face must’ve been clear as day, because you hear Chan sigh from beside you. You flushed in embarrassment. While chopping the carrot, Chan decides to break the silence. "You think he’s avoiding you, huh?" he said, as you gave him a short nod. "Did he tell you that?"

"No, not really," you awkwardly responded. "We—we haven’t been talking."

Chan starts aggressively chopping, "Minho, that idiot. I told him to talk to you!" You stopped steering the soup you two were working on. The volume of his sigh worsened. You couldn’t help but snicker at his obvious stress.

"That guy really," he said, finishing up. "Don’t worry, Y/N. He’ll come around soon. He just needs more time to think."

Time to think... He had a point. Maybe you needed time to think too. 

For the past few days, you’ve been really preoccupied with the relationship between you and Minho, along with the growing suspicion that the Royals were starting to outcast you (their pity phase must be over now). Because of that, you haven’t had the luxury of really thinking about everything. From the events that happened on Legacy Day to figuring out what you actually believed in—there was still a lot to unpack. 

But before you could completely immerse yourself in your mind, panicked squeals diverted your attention to the cooking booth right beside Chan and yours—where two of your classmates were rummaging around in an attempt to stop the boiling pot from spilling over. 

"Uh, hey Chan, can you help?" Changbin, the Mad Hatter’s son, awkwardly calls out. Right beside him was a malfunctioning Jeongin, seemingly under more stress than the former. Chan’s eyes widened, "What did you even do?"

"It was Jeongin’s idea!" Changbin whined to your partner. The mentioned guy protests, "It was clearly a joke! I didn’t think you would actually do it!"

Ah—the son of the Cheshire Cat causes mischief once again.

Groaning, Chan turns to look at you. "Sorry Y/N, can you handle the soup first? I’ll just help them real quick," you give him a thumbs up, "Thanks. Just put the ones I chopped in the pot, then stir until cooked." You did exactly as you were told. While waiting for the soup to cook, you decided to take the opportunity and start what you should’ve done earlier. 

First of all, Legacy Day.

At first, you were terrified that Minho had finalized his stance that he wouldn’t follow his story. All your life, you were led to believe that following one’s destiny was the only way to continue living. You never questioned it as a result—it was quite straightforward anyway. Signing the Book of Legends was a life or death situation. And as a young child, disappearing so early in life was not the most appealing concept.

But that belief was shattered on Legacy Day, along with the magic mirrors that surrounded the hall. You and Minho didn’t fade away. Heck, even Hyunjin didn’t fade away, and he was supposed to be tied to both of your stories too! 

So what does that mean to you?

Simple. Your life was a lie. 

The whole "follow the destiny given to you" was full of crap, and you can’t believe you let yourself be trapped in that mindset for too long. In the first place, you never even wanted to be the next Snow White. No matter how many times your parents made the concept sound appealing, you just never understood the reason why you had to be poisoned and then saved by a prince. With a kiss too? Magic existed here, yes, but was that really enough to get rid of literal poison?

Plus, if the kiss needed to be from true love, then you were damned from the start—there was no way Hyunjin would end up loving you enough for that to work. And you’d really rather not touch his plump lips. If you did, Mina just might stab you in your casket, successfully killing you for a second time in a row.

It’d be "Snow White: Bad Ending" for that one.

If you really thought about it, the only other reason you signed the book was for Minho. Aside from your own life, you cared a lot about his too. Minho was your best friend, your partner, and an overall important person to you. If him living meant you had to throw away your freedom, then so be it. You won’t let Minho vanish from this world wrongfully.

You loved him too much for that.

Love. Certainly, a strong word. You still don’t know what kind of love you held for the son of the Evil Queen exactly, but you knew you did love him. Did he feel the same too? You hoped so. If his words from Legacy Day spoke any truth, then he did care about you a lot. What he did contradicted your survival plan for the both of you, but from his point of view, it was also his way of protecting you and him. 

So then, where do you stand?

It’s—it’s hard to decide at the moment. On one hand, you had the life you were conditioned to have growing up, and on the other hand, it was where you could be free. Saying it was comfort versus your dream would be an understatement. And while you wanted to dream as much as the Rebels did, that life hasn’t been proven to be very stable yet in your eyes.

Maybe you could just wait a bit more to choose. You wanted to talk to Minho first and see what he had to say. But so far—you think you might be on the verge of regretting ever signing your fate.

"Uh... Y/N," Chan said, tapping your shoulder and jolting you out of your thoughts. "The soup might be cooked already."

You gasped, "Oh, right! My bad, Chan." He waved away your apology, "Nah, it’s all good. Just turn the fire off and I’ll plate the soup." He started placing the bowls down.

Glancing over at Changbin and Jeongin’s side, you just now realized they were gone. "What did they go?" you ask. Chan grimaced at his friends’ situation. "Got called by the teacher. They’re probably getting scolded outside." You cringed.

"That’s… unfortunate."

Culinary class ended not long after.

The regret of having signed the book was getting stronger, alright.

Walking down the school corridors, the difference between the Royals and the Rebels suddenly seems more evident to your observing eyes. It was the hour right after the last classes ended, meaning everyone would be gathered in the halls. Students were all leaving classrooms, organizing their lockers, and conversing with friends—something you couldn’t do because Seungmin had choir practice, while Felix was off to the library.

In all your eighteen years of living, never once have you felt as painfully uncomfortable as at this very moment. It was like someone had pulled the blindfold that you had been forced to wear all the way back to when you were still a kid. 

So what was this jarring difference between the two sides, you asked?

The Royals were unapologetically shitting on the Rebels while the latter minded their own business. How surprising, right? And even with people hovering over their backs for the most part, they were still the ones with wide smiles and exciting chatter—meanwhile the opposite side that was too busy pampering themselves, still found the time and need to sneer at any Rebel who passed by. You winced at their actions, genuinely ashamed.

God forbid that you had acted like they did before. Even though you knew you weren’t half as bad as them because of befriending Minho, there was still a big chance you had those moments unconsciously. And you hated that thought. It’s absolutely detestable! Downright vile! The Rebels just wanted their chances of living happily ever after too. What was so wrong with that?

It was at that moment that you realized that the influence ran deep. That there was some sort of ‘worthy’ and ‘not worthy’ mindset that plagued the protagonists’ side of the division—even through the peace that you thought the school had before. As someone who was also exposed to that lifestyle since you were born, you could see where they were coming from, but at the same time, you were highly repulsed by the thought. The list of things you wanted to tell Minho grew longer by the second you stayed in this hallway.

You sped away from the scene, deciding to head to the school balconies. You figured studying with a good view would keep your thoughts at bay for a while. If you spent another minute in the midst of all that, you would probably end up choosing to resign your crown at the next possible moment. And you didn’t want to do something too life-changing impulsively. Turning the corner to reach your destination, the sudden sight caught you off guard. 

It was Hyunjin and Mina. Making out in broad daylight, without shame.

They were hidden by the pillars that stood as support for the entryway of the balconies. But you could still see them very clearly from where you stood. You doubt they could see you, though. Whether it was because you were well hidden, or they were too engrossed in sucking each other's faces—you really didn’t want to know. 

Admittedly, there was a part of you that wanted to earn Hyunjin’s affection. He was to be your husband, after all. It was only natural to want a marriage with love, or at the very least, respect. But out of everything, you could never blame Hyunjin for liking someone else. You even supported him, even if his girlfriend was someone who you could never stand to be in the same room with. Anyone should be able to love who they want to, as well as marry who they want to, responsibly. Not some nonsense book about those who came before you—

Holy shit. Your life is so fucked.

You were the one being told who to love and marry by that book. The one whose life is to be lived and told through a script. The situation you were trapped in had never been clearer than at this very moment, and it crashed on you like that one little pig’s pile of bricks.

Silent tears flowed out of your eyes as you thought of the future. Happily ever after, your ass. You're going to be married to an asshole who can’t even respect you as a prospective wife who’s in the same boat as him, and would rather choose someone else over you! Not to mention, he has to bring you back from the dead first—what if he takes the chance and just leaves you to rot? Where's the happy ending in that?

Through a watery vision, you noticed your sight suddenly dimming as you felt a hand softly wrap around your eyes, blocking your view of the couple. The sudden force caused your back to collide against a strong chest. A sudden action, but you didn’t scream. Because you recognized that scent right away.

"You big baby. If you hate it that much, why’d you sign the book?"

It’s Minho.

God, you missed his voice. It feels like it’s been forever. Feeling the relief of having him close again on top of your devastation for the future, you felt yourself starting to cry harder. He sighed at your tears, deciding to drag you away from the balconies.

"Seriously, Y/N. You have to stop pining after him. It’s not even worth it," he snarkily comments. While messily wiping your tears, you let out a small laugh. "I’m not." You both came to a stop in the middle of an empty corridor.

Finally, he turns to face you. Rolling his eyes playfully, he started wiping the remaining tears from your face. "You are such a big baby," he says, to which you slap his chest lightly, "I’m not!" 

He squished your cheeks in response to your protest. "Look at you, saying the same thing over and over again like a child," he cooed. Slapping his chest more strongly, he coughed out a wail of complaint.

"What? So you're finally deciding to talk to me now?" You glared at him. Those words seemed to get through to Minho, because he started rubbing the nape of his neck awkwardly. 

Diverting eye contact, he replies, "Yeah, about that—I’m really sorry." 

You looked at him, not convinced in the slightest. "Did Chan talk to you?" you asked. The guy did say he told Minho to talk to you. Maybe Minho finally took his advice after another round of suggestions.

It turns out the answer to your question looked like a no, because he seemed genuinely confused at what you said. "... No? Why?" 

Shaking your head, you waved him off. But Minho, being Minho, decided to dig deeper into the topic. "Did you two talk about me? What did you say?" he pressed further. Glaring at him, you pushed past him and started walking down the corridor. He trailed you like a lost puppy.

"Y/N, come on," he says, grabbing your waist and pulling you both to a halt. The gesture left you absolutely speechless. "What’d you say about me, hm?" he whispered in your ear. 

Feeling steam rushing out of your ears, you immediately pulled away. He laughs at your flustered face. "Why would you—what?" You started rambling more random words, "Minho!"

"Yes, that’s me," he jested. After seeing the amusement on his face, you quickly composed yourself. What is up with him today? Sure, he was normally playful, but not like this! You don’t think this Minho was good for your heart—if the way it was racing indicated anything severe.

Minho crossed his arms, frowning a bit. "Why are you so secretive about it? Did you both talk shit about me?" he raised an eyebrow in suspicion. You shook your head to deny his claim, "Not at all. We just talked about why you weren’t in culinary class earlier." His shoulders seemed to sag in relief.

It's not like you’d ever talk bad about him in the first place.

"Ah that," he started, "I was called to the principal’s office." The revelation has you startled. Why was he called in there? Are they expelling him? No way! They can’t do that! That’s absurd—

At your alarmed reaction, he immediately grabbed your shoulders and assured you, "Hey, hey. It’s not anything bad, I promise, okay?" He waited until you were able to compile your thoughts. You gazed into his eyes to see if he was telling the truth. And just as he said, his pretty eyes held no lies.

"Then... why were you called then?" you asked. He visibly cringed at the question. Upon seeing his response, you quickly connected the dots and trapped him in a tight hug. Minho was not someone who made a big deal of most things that happened, so earning this kind of reaction from him could mean one thing: "Did—did they make you talk to her?" 

His head dipping into the crook of your neck weakly was enough to tell you that your assumption had been correct. The school had pulled out the mirror that the Evil Queen was imprisoned in and made him talk to her. This now showed the school’s stance on the issue to you.

They were not taking Minho’s rebellion positively in the slightest. 

Pulling him closer, you comforted him in the same way you’ve done multiple times before. As one would have deduced from seeing this side of Minho, he and his mother did not have a good relationship. She was the face of evil, someone who was truly rotten to the core. Minho wanted to be nothing like her. And he damn made sure of that. Unlike her, Minho was determined to live as a good citizen of the magical world. That alone made him stronger than most of the heroes you knew.

He started shifting in your embrace. You instantly knew he was about to say something. "Y/N, can you answer me seriously?" he asked softly. Nodding, you kept holding him. "Why did you actually sign the book?"

You paused for a moment, thinking about your true answer seriously. The two of you had to have this talk sooner or later. It was the main source of your conflict, the reason for all the days spent avoiding each other. Not addressing it would just be pushing aside the topic until it explodes again. So you prepared yourself for what's to come.

"I didn’t want to lose you."

Your honest words infuriated Minho, "So you’re willing to live a life you don’t want just so I won’t disappear!?" He pulled away from your embrace. You could only look at him with blank eyes. What could you even say to that? Correcting him would not do anything.

Because he was completely right.

"Why are you mad? You’re also the one who refused to sign the book because you would rather die than hurt me," you pointed out the hypocrisy behind his words. "You were so willing to sacrifice yourself so that I could live safely. So why can’t I do that too?"

"Y/N, that’s not the same—"

"I told you we could have still made it work even if we both signed the book. You know that too." 

"You know I can’t—"

"Why?" you whimpered, feeling the dam of your tears starting to break once again. This was way too many mood swings in a day for your liking. You don’t think you could take any more crying after this. "Just like you’re afraid of fate tying you to end up hurting me, I’m scared of it taking you away from me too! So tell me, what exactly is the difference, Minho?"

This got him to think for a second, the gears in his head turning and twisting to make sense of what you had just uttered. And when he finally reached a conclusion, his eyes widened in shock. It looks like you have both finally reached common ground. 

It was his turn to hug you tightly now, frantically apologizing for the way he acted. "You're such an idiot," you muttered into his chest. He simply agreed with you. "I’m sorry too."

"I know. I already forgive you."

"And I’m sorry for Legacy Day. The thought that you could disappear at any moment and I’d never see you again blinded me. I wasn’t even thinking twice about what I was saying at the moment. I—I also didn’t want to go," you sniffled. "It’s just that I really believed that we had to sign to—" 

"You don’t have to explain. It’s okay, I understand now." Minho shushed you. "I was in the wrong too. Emotions just got to the best of me, so I lashed out. I’ve had time to think though, and you just gave me another realization earlier too."

The both of you simply wanted the best for the other in the only way you knew how. Unfortunately, your methods were completely different. But that doesn’t change the fact that all you both wished for was each other's safety, and this was just one big misunderstanding.

"Are we okay now?" You asked hopefully.

"Yeah."

And that was all you needed to hear.

The same night Minho was called to the principal’s office, your parents contacted you through your mirror phone—demanding that you convince Minho to change his mind. You were so tired from the flurry of emotions you went through for the day that you merely responded that you would, not even meaning what you said.

That seemed to please them, though, since they immediately said goodbyes with their usual overly affectionate tone—which, after your big realization, sounded a lot more artificial than you remembered. 

Great. Now you’re even questioning your own parents’ love. 

Your exhausted groan simply received a raised eyebrow from Minho, who was minding his own business at his side of the room. "Looks like you’ll be back to convincing me to be your Evil King again?" he snickered in the background. 

Flopping (not-so-gracefully) on your bed, you let out a whine of annoyance. "No, but I don’t want to deal with them right now."

Minho hums in agreement, "I don’t blame you. Seeing as you cried two times in the span of 30 minutes earlier," his joking tone was not lost on you, however, so you just laughed the comment off.

"Fuck you, really."

He lets out an exaggerated gasp. After directing an eye roll towards him, you stood up to enter the bathroom. "Since when did you curse?" he inquires excitedly, like a kid asking if they could buy something. You reached for the toothpaste, "I actually curse a lot in my mind. I just don’t use it out loud because they told me that it was unbecoming of a princess to do so." He couldn’t see you, but you were making that air quote gesture.

"Use it more around me, it sounds nice."

"It's foul words, Minho," you said, voice muffled by the toothpaste foam, "And I doubt it actually sounds nice." 

When silence was all you got back, you scoffed in annoyance. He was so petty at times. You took a bit more time in the bathroom, doing what was needed for your night routine. Minho hasn’t made a noise for a while now, so you let yourself think he’s knocked out cold. After rinsing your mouth one last time, you get ready to leave the bathroom.

You really should’ve seen what was coming.

"Boo," Minho says, suddenly appearing right beside you. You quickly suppressed the urge to scream in consideration of the rooms right beside yours. Irritated, you yell, "What the hell!" 

Unbeknownst to you, that was his plan all along. 

"Another swear!" Oh, of course he would. You wanted to be mad, but found your anger dissipating instead. The sparkle in his eyes, hearing you curse once again, was too adorable for you to stand.

Minho spent the rest of the night teaching you more swear words. It was unnecessary, but you let him do it. You have been waiting to talk to him for days now—and you surely won’t let this go to waste.

The next couple of days were an absolute nightmare, though. Good things come with a price, you guess. This had to be the world’s way of making you pay back the luck you spent in trying to reconcile with Minho.

Mina has been constantly going after you again, with a passion to humiliate your whole being. Other Royals have been pulling you aside to ask for updates on Minho’s decision to sign the book, to which you only politely smiled at them and left. Oh, if you could only sneer back at them like they’d been doing to him. But with the little restraint you had left, you remembered that most of the student body didn’t actually know you and Minho were good friends (it was Minho’s idea back in second grade—something about you not getting targeted).

And above all that, you had your parents spamming your mirror phone every hour of the day to remind you about the task they gave you. No matter how many times you told them that Minho would not be changing his mind, they kept on insisting.

"No one would say no to you, Y/N! You’re the next Snow White!" your mother states, as if that would change anything at all. Your eye felt the need to twitch as her reminder. "He won’t. Plus, you’re the one who told me not to befriend him. Now you expect him to go along with what I say?" you reasoned.

"This isn’t a yes or no situation, darling. He has to do it."

No he doesn’t.

"Enough, mom. It won’t happen," you tried to keep your tone as respectful as possible. "I have a class soon; let’s talk some other time."

"Applebun—" you hung up the phone.

Gripping the device tightly, you let your locker close with a bang. Multiple eyes turn in your direction. You gave them an apologetic gesture. Shoot—if you don’t control your emotions soon, it’s going to affect you in class. 

"Oh? Did little Snow White just have a tantrum? How disappointing that I missed it," Mina’s shrill voice rang through the halls. Her heels are loudly clicking against the floor, cutting you from your thoughts. She really never misses a beat, huh? It was annoying, but you had to praise her for her consistency.

Pasting on a practiced grin, you faced her. "Good day to you too, Mina. Looks like Hyunjin isn’t with you right now," you commented. "Did he finally get tired of you?"

You fought the urge to snicker as soon as you saw the effect this had on her. With a huff, she replies, "He has something to do right now but will meet me for lunch. Right, did he not tell you? We’re eating lunch together from now on. He doesn’t really want to be seen with you anymore." Oh, a decent insult!

Deciding to keep the retort to yourself, you just shrugged it off nonchalantly. "Good for both of you. Have fun!" you cheerfully responded, before walking past her.

"Wha—you!"

Y/N-1, Mina-0. You mentally counted.

Turning the corner, you spot Minho leaning against the wall, back hunched from silently wheezing. "Seriously," you exhaled, "Why are you suddenly everywhere now?" After finishing his quick laughing fit, he turned to look at you.

"She deserved it," he commented. You stared at him, unamused. "Of course you would think that." You felt a few gazes directed at the two of you. 

Right, this might be an odd sight for them.

If you think about it, what's the point of hiding now? Minho won’t sign his fate, so yours might have been changed. So, does that mean you can be friends in public now too? Should you test it out?

"Y/N, are you alright?" Minho worried.

You eyed your surroundings carefully. This could end up badly if you don’t do it correctly. There was a big chance either that Minho’s reputation could worsen, or the Royals would decide to hate you—ah fuck it. 

They can go cry about it if they want.

Grabbing his hand, you started leading the both of you down the halls. He looked at you in shock, "Wait, what are you doing?" The Royals, who saw your exchange, left their mouths open like a gaping fish. On the other hand, you noticed the Rebels' eyes light up with interest. Minho also spotted this, but before he could say anything else, you dragged him away faster.

"Don’t mind them. Let’s just head to class. It’s culinary."

And while you felt significantly lighter at that moment from the burden of hiding your relationship with Minho being off your shoulders, the consequences followed up soon after. 

By the time the moon said its greetings, your parents had already heard of what happened. Whoever snitched worked fast. But at least you now have the opportunity to tell them the truth about you and Minho.

Your parents’ lectures engulfed the whole room while Minho sat beside you for emotional support. "What are you doing, making friends with the enemy? Do you have any ounce of shame!?" Your father’s booming voice was heard.

Maybe you really don’t have any shame. You were so grateful that they even chose to voice call instead of a video chat—if your parents saw Minho holding your hand beside you whilst glaring at the window in an attempt to still leave respect for them, they would have freaked past no return.

"I knew the school shouldn’t have placed both of you together in one room. Nothing good was ever going to come out of that situation," your mother ranted. Is she really saying that now? She was the one who told you it was natural to be dormmates with Minho back then. Then again, it wasn’t the first time she changed her mind when the result didn't benefit her. 

After a short pause, she spoke up again, "What? So you’re not answering now? Oh, honey! That guy is such a bad influence. How did we let this happen?"

Could they not? They talk as if they’ve already met him!

Feeling Minho give your hand a squeeze, you got the courage to speak up. "...You don’t know him. He’s nothing like his mother, so stop saying that," your unsteady voice spoke. Answering back to your parents was never an easy thing for you to do. "Minho’s a great—uh, friend. He helped me realize that there was so much more than just trapping yourself in a predetermined future. I actually—I don’t even want to be Snow White..."

Your parents were silenced by what you had just said. "What do you mean you don’t want to be Snow White? Why not? Your life is already set for you! You’ll marry Hyunjin too—"

"Hyunjin already has a girlfriend. I’m not sure how you two never knew that, but he doesn’t even like me! Like, at all! Good for you that your pairing worked out well, but I’ve tried for years to get him to respect me even as a friend—but it never happened, and probably never will," you desperately explain.

"At this point, I’d rather marry Minho!"

The person mentioned visibly stiffened up beside you, the hand holding yours tightening. You felt your face flush in embarrassment. In the heat of the moment, you blurted out your thoughts carelessly. You hoped this wouldn’t cause a rift in your relationship with him again, because you’re not too sure if you can handle another week of Minho ignoring you.

But you meant what you said. 

That’s right. You would rather marry Minho than some ‘ideal prince’ who can’t even treat you like a decent person.

In fact, married life with Minho doesn’t sound bad at all! If anything, you were actually willing to do it if he agreed. It was something you had considered before—a few years back, when you had a massive crush on him. Perhaps the crush never even went away like you had thought. You might have just gotten used to him to the point that what you felt evolved from just a crush to comfort and trust. Who could blame you, really? He’s kind, fun, knows you well, can cook, and is even handsome. He could easily be one of the top Prince Charmings in this school if given the chance.

"I know you just want the best for me—or even if you don't, I can’t find myself caring anymore. But basically, what I think is best for me is not marrying Hyunjin, or being Snow White," you spoke. "I’m already eighteen. Can I please have the chance to choose for myself? Minho won’t sign the Book of Legends either way, so my story might not even turn out the same."

"Choose your own destiny? You already have a good one—" 

"Honey," your mother interjects, "It's a scary world out there. There will be lots of people who want to hurt you!"

You sigh, "Yes, Mom, I know. And I’ll figure something out along the way. But can’t you stop to think that maybe those same people didn’t have any other choice because they were bound to the fate they signed? They deserved the right to choose who they truly wanted to be too."

There was the sound of shifting from the other line. You knew your parents would be hard to convince, but it was worth a shot. This was for the better. It would be great if they managed to spread awareness to the older generation as well.

"Your father and I will think about it," you hear your mother cough. Hope sparked inside you. "Thank you, Mom."

"Sure, sweetie. Talk to you soon."

The line falls flat after that.

Exhausted from the mental gymnastics you had to perform, you immediately melt into Minho’s shoulder. When he doesn’t say anything, you finally realize that he hasn’t moved an inch since you said you’d rather marry him than your assigned prince. "Minho?" you nudged.

He finally snaps out of the trance he trapped himself in, but chooses to stare at you silently. You tilt your head in confusion and ask, "Are you alright?"

"... Marriage?" he squeaked out. 

Oh. Does he not like the idea of marrying you?

You sulked. Sure, you weren’t exactly what they called wife material. Growing up as royalty meant you had other people to do things for you. However, you also prided yourself on being a quick learner. If Minho wants someone that knows how to do house chores, then you are more than willing to learn!

He must have noticed your mood going down, because he started panicking. "No—I, uh, didn’t mean it... like that," he reasoned, "I was just caught off guard! People don’t really look at me and think that I’d make a good husband, y’know?"

You slapped his arm harshly. He complained almost instantly at the pain.

"You absolute liar! You’d rival Hyunjin’s rank easily if you were classified as a Prince Charming," you huffed in protest. He turns red at the compliment. Feeling accomplished but wanting to mess with him more, you decided to add: "Don’t sign up for Prince classes though."

Offended, he retorts, "Why not? You just told me I’d be a good prince!"

"I want you to be my prince only," you replied in a casual tone.

Minho’s face burned even brighter.

There was definitely a difference in the way the Royals treated you the next day. Word travels fast, but their attitudes switch up faster. It wasn’t like you really cared. Most of them chose to avoid you completely, while some were very vocal about their newfound hatred towards you. 

And as you predicted, Mina was the ringleader of the latter group.

"How interesting, isn’t it, Y/N? Snow White and the Evil King, together?" She approached you at your locker, "Do you have a death wish or something? Or maybe your standards have just fallen so low?"

You didn’t want to waste your words on her, so you preoccupied yourself with fixing your textbooks. It’s no use anyway. Anything you say will just go in one ear and out the other when it comes to her. However, that reaction didn’t seem to satisfy her enough because she poked at you further.

"So we’re right then? Ah, but I must say, you two make such a great couple! Two poor souls who lost their stories. How tragic," you clenched your teeth to avoid accidentally laying a hand on her, because that would just cause unnecessary drama. "You’re still lucky to be alive. I wonder how long it’s going to take before life gives up on both of you—either way, it looks like fate already did."

You slammed your locker closed, making a startling noise. Mina jumped at your actions before quickly composing herself to appear more confident. You’ve had enough of her antics.

"Did anyone ever tell you how annoying your voice is? No? Oh, well. Can you just do us all a favor and shut up? You never even say anything important, so just save your breath for something that’s actually worth it."

"I’m sorry?"

"Not forgiven. But it’s about time you apologized," you sassed. 

Mina’s face flushed with anger. Threateningly raising her arm, she aimed to hit you. "You’re nothing now, Y/N. So learn your place—" you shut your eyes instinctively, waiting for the impact. 

As much as you wanted to fight back physically, you were currently at a major disadvantage with the school now that you’ve exposed your friendship with Minho. They’ve most likely classified you as a threat now too. It was better to take the slap and leave Mina with the bigger accountability to deal with.

You waited for it, but the slap never came.

"Mina, you are so pathetic. Do you know that?" A voice you knew very well spoke. "Have some shame and look at your actions, will you. Is all of it worth it?" You opened your eyes.

"Get your hands off my girl, Minho," Hyunjin arrived growling while trying to get in between the two. Minho released the grip he had on Mina’s arm. Scoffing, he responded, "Now you’re here too? Tell us, won't you, Hyunjin? How long will you keep defending her actions? She’s going to end up severely hurting someone if this continues." Hyunjin started shifting uncomfortably. 

He should know better than to let this continue. Mina isn’t a notorious bully, but she should learn to be more responsible for her actions. Sooner or later, her attitude might be her greatest downfall. Mina glared hotly at Minho, absolutely livid. 

In the midst of the two’s humiliation, you noticed a crowd around the four of you. You were glad to know that they have nothing else to do than eavesdrop on any kind of drama. But before you could speak out to the impromptu audience, a blinding flash suddenly stole all the attention. You spotted Yeri standing in the front of the group, shaking with wide eyes while holding her mirror phone up.

Did she just take a photo?

Quickly realizing the situation, Hyunjin dragged a still fuming Mina away. Minho noticed this and yelled, "Get back here!" You quickly pull him back before he ends up chasing after them. "What—Y/N!"

"Leave it."

"What do you mean leave it—no? They’ve crossed so many lines," he seethed in anger. Seeing the crowd still present, you decide to escape as well. "We’ll deal with it some other time. But first, let’s get out of here."

You found yourself dragging Minho down the hall again like yesterday. Only this time, he was burning with fury. It wasn’t always that you got to witness him being this mad. Normally, he calms down faster than he becomes agitated. You were embarrassed to admit that you found Minho's rage attractive.

The two of you entered the lawns of the school garden, where you decided to stop and let him cool down. Minho was still huffing in quiet anger at the two schoolmates you encountered earlier.

"Stop frowning," you said, pinching his cheeks. Minho growls, not appreciating the gesture. It looks like he’s still in a bad mood. Not wanting to make it worse, you slowly let go of him.

Turns out he did not like that, though, because he quickly catches one of your hands and presses it back to the side of his face. "Why did you not fight back? You handled her so well before." The gesture made your heart swell.

"If my parents are now aware that we’re not actually on bad terms, then the school must be too," you sighed, "Adding the fact that I’ve already told them I don’t want to follow my story, if things escalated to the point where we had to be called in earlier, they’re definitely going to side with Mina."

"Is this about me again? You signed the book; it was me who didn’t—"

"I regret it."

Minho spluttered at your words, "Wait, what?" You avoided his surprised eyes. This was something you hadn’t told him yet. Well, anyone yet—you only came to the conclusion last night while talking to your parents.

"I know you said you didn’t want to be Snow White, but you never said you regretted signing," he says. You hugged your arms, "I never said I really wanted to either. It was just something I thought was a necessity. But now that it’s been proven the whole sign or die thing was a big hoax, I wish I hadn’t."

You looked at Minho, greatly troubled. "Honestly? I’m scared. I know I’ve been saying that since you won’t sign anyway, my story won’t happen the way it was supposed to—but just like everything else, we don’t know if that’s even true too," you bit your lip in distress, "What if fate just replaces your role with another person? Did I really trap myself in a scripted future?"

All the flaws in your previous plan started to surface without mercy. It could work in another timeline, one where Minho had signed the book. But seeing that he hasn’t, what happens to you now? Would the legacy just adjust and take Minho out of it completely? Is that what they actually meant by your story disappearing?

Will you somehow end up forgetting Minho?

The mere thought of that alone terrorizes you. A life without Minho would be meaningless by your standards. He was the person who brought color to your monochrome life of royalty and bettered you as a person. Forgetting him would be equivalent to going back to that way of living.

"Y/N," Minho called out softly. The sea of your thoughts were raging with all sorts of negativity, making his heart ache for you. "Like you said, we’ll find a way even if you sealed your fate, okay? I’ll be here with you every step of the way."

"But what if—"

"None of that," he said firmly. "I’m not leaving you alone, whether you like it or not."

You exhaled, trying to calm yourself. He’s right. The two of you can still be together if you really want to. Fate can just suck it up and deal with it. 

Fuck being Snow White anyways.

"I hate apples," you grumbled. Minho laughs at your remark, knowing exactly what you meant. "I know. So you don’t have to be Snow White around me," he cups your face gently.

"Just be my Y/N."

"What do you mean the Book of Legends was stolen!?" A loud yell full of disbelief was heard throughout the entire cafeteria. The whole area went dead silent faster than the prideful hare. You stopped scooping up your food midway, watching as Seungmin and Felix both look at each other with wide eyes.

What?

"Changbin, seriously!" Jeongin’s mortified voice echoed in the quiet room. The students were all frozen in their respective spots, trying to process the information that had just dropped on them. What was supposed to be a normal lunch suddenly transformed into a time of anxiety.

"... Are you for real?" Someone asked the two troublemakers. "This isn’t another prank, right? Cause that’s not a good thing to joke about," they said icily.

The Book of Legends is missing? What madman would have the courage to do such a risky thing? That book is the center of this world—a relic if one must say. To harm it would most likely result in a mass extinction of people!

A crash was heard a few meters from where you sat. Someone had fainted and knocked the whole table over. Multiple people were trying to help the unconscious student out of the mess.

"I—uh, well..." Jeongin started. All eyes were on the guy as he stood there, fidgeting nervously. Deciding to get it over with, he cleared his throat and continued, "I was passing by the Principal’s office and overheard it..."

Cue chaos.

Murmurs of panic covered the whole cafeteria. Everyone was worried about what could possibly happen if the book was ever in the wrong hands. 

It was a powerful object that could change lives in an instant. Fate and legacy are strong concepts in this world, after all. They're literally the foundation of your society.

"Is this really happening?" Felix said, looking very queasy. Seungmin scooted away from him instantly. "Control yourself, Felix. You don’t want to puke right now."

"Who could have done it?" You thought out loud, "And why? There’s nothing to gain from taking the book, right? Unless you’re a psychopath who wants to destroy the world."

Seungmin looks at you appalled. "Why are you thinking about mass murder?" 

"I don’t know! There’s literally no other reason to steal the book! It’s not as if you can erase the signatures of those who... signed…" A realization hit the three of you.

Felix gasped in shock. "Is that even possible?" He questioned. Seungmin considered the idea. "There’s magic here, Felix. Technically, anything is possible."

"But the worst thing is that it might not even stop there," he added. "There may be a loophole in which you can sign another person’s story and make it yours." The idea concerned you heavily.

Could that actually happen? So then what would happen to the ones who got their original story stolen? Wait, if this is allowed, then that would make the entire concept of having a story assigned at birth useless—you could literally just pick one to sign at Legacy Day!

There must be more to this than you originally thought. And it wasn’t looking too good. "It’s not lining up," you muttered. 

"What isn’t?"

"The Book of Legends," you lowered your voice, "I’ve never thought of it like that before, but you might be onto something Seungmin."

Felix gave you a confused look. "Like he said, it really is technically possible for someone to follow another story than theirs. If that’s a thing, then why have an assigned destiny for each one of us in the first place?" You pointed it out to them.

The two were startled by the revelation. You were right. There would be absolutely no need for an assigned fate if anyone could just choose what they wanted—heck, the Book of Legends might not even be needed at all. 

The right to choose what future they wanted for themselves has been the main thing the Rebels fought for, and knowing the school was against it (basing off the actions they took against Minho), the same place the Book of Legends was kept and handled, what could this mean for the truth?

The pressing question now is: what exactly is the Book of Legends, and why are we told to follow only those stories that are in the book?

"This is making me doubt everything," Seungmin mumbles. You gulped as you looked at the still fear-stricken cafeteria.

"You should."

Later that night, you found yourself unable to sleep due to the plaguing thoughts from events that unfolded earlier. There had to be an explanation for all this, you thought. 

The white ceiling on your side of the room looked very interesting to you at that moment. It was also very useful, seeing as you could make an imaginary conspiracy board on it. You don’t know what time it was currently, but you found yourself unable to care.

A messy rustling of sheets was heard over on Minho’s side of the room. You decided to look over in mere curiosity. Like you, he was also comfortably tucked in bed, staring at the ceiling. It looks like both of you can’t sleep.

"A lot on your mind?" He starts the conversation. You nod against your plush pillows. "Thinking about lunch earlier this day..." Minho hummed at your answer.

"Care to share?"

"I don’t know… I’m not too sure about it yet. Jumping to conclusions wouldn’t do me any good," you sighed, exhausted from thinking. You wanted to avoid spreading something that was untrue—and to do that, there were a lot of things you still had to consider carefully. There were sounds of movement coming from Minho’s location. "Do you want to take a breather? You might drown in those thoughts again."

You sat up, glancing over at him. There he was, pulling a warm hoodie over his head. "Where are you going?" 

"We. Where are we going," he walks over and throws another hoodie at you. It smelled nice. The scent was from the same soap he used to wash his clothes. You caught yourself smiling unconsciously. Pulling you up from your bed, he grins at you.

"We’re going out."

And that's how you found yourself sliding down a sturdy rope from your dorm balcony to the ground below.

Curfew had already commenced a couple hours ago, which only really hit you once you saw the unfiltered darkness of the night. You could clearly hear the crickets loudly chirping around you—something you didn’t get to hear that often because of the soundproofing spell cast on the school’s walls.

"I can’t believe I’m doing this," you squealed joyfully, enjoying the feeling of thrill. In your peripheral vision, you saw the tips of Minho’s own lips twitch upwards. 

Light footsteps from the two of you permeated the area as he led you towards the entrance of the forest near the dorm building. "Is this the first time you’ve snuck out?" He asks at a low volume, trying to avoid the threat of getting caught.

"Yes," you reply. "I've never had the chance to do it before. Have you?"

He chuckles at you. "Plenty. I’m surprised you haven’t noticed how I sneak out at night sometimes." You blinked at his confession. Racking your brain for any memories of Minho mysteriously disappearing in the cold hours of the night, you came up with nothing. "No?"

"It's probably because you're already asleep when I leave," he says as he leads you two down a narrow path. The area you were heading to must be surrounded by trees, somewhere deep in the small forest. "Why have you never invited me?" You approached him with your complaint.

"Again, you were literally dead asleep."

"Just wake me up. I’ll catch up with a nap after getting poisoned," you joked. Minho clicks his tongue at the reminder. "Not happening. Ever." 

Seeing his face twist grumpily, you poked at his side. Minho pushes your hand away, feeling ticklish. 

After another minute of walking, you finally reached a large clearing. Minho stepped aside to give you a good view, as if proudly presenting the location. You gasp, amazed at the sight before you.

It was a big lake, something you never thought of the school having before. 

The scenery was beautifully surrounded by large bushy trees, forming a wall-like barrier around the body of water. That must be why it wasn’t easily seen from the outside. You noticed that the trees had a blue-ish glow, a result of the moonlight bouncing off the lake’s water. It helped give off a peaceful ambience, one where you could feel your worries dissolving in the chilly night. 

You look around in wonder. "I didn’t know they had a lake here!" Minho heads over closer towards the lake’s shore to sit. You sped up when he called you over.

"I found this back in third grade," he explains while picking up a rock near him. "It wasn’t on the school map, so I was surprised to see it too."

The water was certainly not lacking in appeal either. It was so crystal clear that you could see all the different kinds of rocks littered underneath it. As you looked further, you realized the lake was quite deep in the middle because you couldn’t see its floor anymore.

"This place is very therapeutic, huh?" 

Minho examined the rocks he was holding and responded, "Yeah. I come here to relax whenever I’m really stressed." He stood up and threw one of the rocks towards the water. You both watched as it skipped a few times before sinking. "I actually went here after the Legacy Day event."

Right. That must’ve been after your fight.

You let a comfortable silence take over your conversation, simply enjoying the company of one another. In the span of a few weeks, a lot has happened to the two of you. From misunderstandings that led to a fight, to making up and thinking about the future—you could say that those events really helped your change as a person, even in a short amount of time. 

But there was another thing that bothered you at the present.

"What do you think about what happened to the book?" You asked Minho. He continued skipping rocks. "You mean the Book of Legends?"

"Yeah."

"Shocking," he chuckled. "I never thought someone would ever have the balls to do such a stupid thing." 

Stupid was one way to say it. The Book of Legends was a highly secured item that only a select few people had access to. For someone to get past security, they had to be really stealthy to the point where you couldn’t notice them—that or not be classified as a threat.

"Why do you think they did it?"

Minho shrugs. "Maybe as a prank. I mean, what else can you really do with that book anyway?" He turned around to face you and asked, "Why?"

Should you tell him? It’s not even a confirmed theory, and there was a chance that you couldn’t actually erase the signatures, let alone steal another person’s story. However, Minho was someone who knew magic very well and could be a useful source of information.

"Me, Seungmin, and Felix were talking about it at lunch and thought that maybe there was a way to remove a signature from a signed story, or steal it as your own?" Minho dropped the remaining rocks.

"Wait, are you serious?"

You bit your lip. "It’s not yet confirmed, but Seungmin said it could be possible. We have magic and all that. As a magic user though, do you think it's possible?"

He thinks about it carefully. Magic was a complicated subject to dive into because it has so many layers. And because of that, Seungmin was correct that anything could be done technically with the help of magic.

"It... might be a thing," Minho considers. "It’s quite a possibility. This is really bad though, because it would mean the book being stolen could potentially cause major damage to our world." With his insight, the situation becomes so much more frightening to think about the outcome. 

Is that what the person who stole the book planned to do?

"That book is causing so many problems," he sighs tiredly. You had to agree with him. The Book of Legends has literally been the source of most of your problems, especially knowing that the way your world works is because of the stories within it.

Minho sat back down beside you. "I wish that thing just never existed," you muttered under your breath. He stares at you, amazed at what he had just heard.

"Your way of thinking has really changed."

"How could I not?" You said, feeling agitated. "There’s a ton of stuff that doesn’t make sense in the beliefs I had before. I’m kind of ashamed that I’ve only noticed it recently."

Minho pinches your cheek. "It’s never too late," he teased. "At least you’re willing to admit your shortcomings. I like that about you."

"Don’t fall for me too much," you joked. When he didn't retort, you glanced at him. However, instead of the annoyed reaction you expected, he was giving you a soft look.

"What if I already did?"

Your brain immediately short-circuited. Wait, he does? Does Minho actually like you? This isn’t a dream, right? Maybe you fell asleep earlier, and this was just your brain playing tricks on you—

"It’s real, Y/N," he pulls you out of your doubts. "Don’t be pressured to give me an answer. It’s fine if you just see me as a friend." You catch the tips of his ears turning red.

Oh God, you think you’re going to pass out.

This was Minho. Your partner in crime, Minho. The ideal man of your dreams, Minho. Once upon a time, you had a massive crush on him, Minho. And here he was telling you he liked you? Like, romantically? What can you even say to that? 

If only your parents could see you two now. You’d love to rub it in their faces that he turned out to be so much better than Hyunjin.

At your extended silence, Minho looked away. He looks really embarrassed, so you decided to end his suffering.

"I did also have a crush on you a few years back," you admitted shyly. He snaps his head towards you. "A few years back? What about now?" He asked.

You shrugged, trying to mess with him. "I don’t know," you replied. He dramatically wilts at your words. At his endearing reaction, you couldn’t help but break the act. "But I’m willing to try."

His soul comes back to him at the snap of a finger. "Really? Are you for sure?" He giddily looks for your confirmation. When you nodded at him with a smile, he almost jumped from joy. "I could literally kiss you right now," he announces, feeling breathless.

"Do it."

You didn’t have to tell him twice. It was like living fifteen-year-old you’s greatest dream, except this time, you were actually going to kiss Minho. The peaceful vibe of the area turned romantic as the two of you got closer. But just when you were about to close the gap, a movement in the woods caught your eye.

"Jisung?"

"Are you really saying someone else’s name while you’re about to kiss me?" Minho says, dumbfounded. You hastily waved your hands in denial. "No! I mean that it’s literally Jisung!" You pointed behind him.

Once Minho turned towards the direction you told him, the two of you saw Jisung, frozen in his tracks. You looked at him, confused. "What are you doing here?"

"I, uhm... What are you doing here too?" He squeaks out, sounding frightened.

Jisung was trembling like someone had just caught him in the act of doing something illegal. Something you didn’t understand because he’s literally the one who caught you and Minho almost kissing. 

"Are you—" The words you were about to say dried up completely after your eyes traveled down to the object he was currently clutching with his whole strength. Hold on.

Is that the Book of Legends?

You choked on air. "Did—were you the one—" Your eyes stayed fixed on the supposedly missing book. Jisung panics and quickly hides it behind his back, as if that would erase both yours and Minho’s memory of ever seeing it on his hands. Minho abruptly stood up.

"Jisung, what have you done?" He stepped forward, scaring the poor guy even more. "Do you even know how big of a deal this is?"

Then, the unexpected happens.

"And what if I do!?" Jisung snaps.

You were taken aback. This was a side of him you’ve never seen before. Well, the two of you aren’t exactly close friends, but you’ve always seen Jisung as having a cheerful personality. The case of him getting angry, let alone annoyed, seems so foreign to you. Minho's eyes narrowed at him. 

"...Please tell us you aren't planning something bad," he slowly said, attempting to approach Jisung. But the latter takes a few steps back. 

"This book is a curse!" Jisung reasons, pointing at the book. He looks at it with such hatred that you never thought would be possible to come from him. "Don't you see it? Everyone is getting torn apart just because of this damned book! The school is a mess, my friends are all fighting, and the person I like won’t even give us a chance, all because of this—this thing!"

It was as clear as the lake's water that Jisung was hurting. You could see the unshed tears piling up in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He was determined to get his point across: the book had to be disposed of. And he was the martyr; volunteering to do it himself.

"Jisung, just think for a moment—"

"How easy for you to say, Minho!" He scoffed in disdain. "You haven’t signed yet. You’re still free to do everything you want without anything tying you down—"

"And that almost cost me my life!" Minho reminds him. "If the saying was true, I wouldn’t even be here talking to you right now, Jisung."

You decided to speak too, "Jisung, please. We don’t know the extent of the importance that book holds. It could literally end up destroying the world in the worst case scenario."

He looks at you in disbelief, not believing his own ears at what you had said.

"Why are you even defending it? I know you don’t like your story either, Y/N. If we just get rid of it, then we can be free," Jisung appeals, trying to get you on his side. You shook your head. He was a bit too far gone. "Jisung, we could literally die."

"I know, okay!?" He wails. "But I’ve gotten this far already. This isn’t something I can just undo!" Jisung falls roughly to the floor, greatly distressed.

His desperation was evident in his sobs. The more you thought about it, the more it made sense. Jisung was Hyunjin’s best friend, as well as his roommate—but Jisung was also close to Changbin and Jeongin. The whole Rebel and Royals thing must have been devastating for him. He was also one of the people who signed the book before Minho’s outburst back on Legacy Day. Something you knew he only did because there was no other choice, just like what happened to you. Jisung also had the ability to turn into a frog at will, a trait that evolved for the line of the Frog Prince. He must’ve snuck through security as one to reach the chamber they placed the book in. How he got through the magic barriers, though, was beyond you. But that didn’t matter at the moment.

Minho walks over and grabs Jisung’s shoulder, lightly squeezing it. "You can still return it... We won’t tell on you as long as you don’t get caught," Minho turns to you. "Just promise us you’ll return it, okay?" You nod your head in agreement. Jisung manages a confirmation through his sniffles.

"Let’s head back. You can return it early in the morning, Jisung."

A loud bang abruptly woke you and Minho up. Feeling distraught, you sat up to find the source of the disturbance. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but what you saw was not what you expected at all.

"Did you seriously sleep in one bed?" Hyunjin asks, looking at the two of you. "And you called me and Mina bad."

What the hell was he doing here?

Like reading your mind, Minho pulls you back towards his chest. "What the hell are you doing here?" He sleepily glares at the intruder.

Hyunjin rolled his eyes at Minho’s reaction. Instead of finally leaving, he shuts the door he flew open and sits on your sofa. You and Minho watched as he made himself comfortable, completely ignoring both of you in your current intimate position. Hyunjin stares back, unamused.

"So I can’t be comfy too? Have some hospitality, geez."

You pinched your nose bridge before asking, "So? What’s your business here?" Hyunjin had a visible lightbulb moment. Is he serious—

"I have news!" He announces. "About the Book of Legends."

You light up. "Oh! Did Jisung manage to return it—" Minho clasped a hand over your mouth to shut you up. Fuck, you forgot that Hyunjin might not be aware. You both eyed him awkwardly, looking for a way to cover up your mistake. Hyunjin snorts at the comical scene.

"Don’t worry, I already know. I helped him return it earlier."

You let out a relieved sigh. "Thank God. I thought Jisung was toast now." Hyunjin grabbed a sofa pillow to hug. Is he planning to stay here or what? "Do you have anything else to say—"

"It’s fake."

Minho, who finally came out of his sleepy spell, gave Hyunjin a confused look. "What’s fake?" The former pursed his lips, obviously conflicted about what he was about to say.

"The Book of Legends is fake."

Did Jisung steal a dummy? Wait, does this mean he got caught? You are now alarmed at the possible indication. "Is Jisung okay?"

To your relief, Hyunjin confirmed that the other prince was indeed safe. You don’t know what you would do if he was ever found out to be the one who attempted to steal the Book of Legends. That was a crime worth getting expelled and imprisoned for, even worse than Minho disrupting this year’s Legacy Day event.

"How’d you find out it was fake?" Minho asked.

"We were passing by the principal’s office after returning the book to the chamber. The door was slightly open, and we heard him ordering another to this person over the phone. At first we thought it was for a dummy until the actual one was back, but it turns out the book wasn’t even this all-powerful relic! It’s literally just an enchanted book to make those fancy visuals—"

"Hold on, you mean the whole concept of the Book of Legends is fake? Not just the one Jisung stole?" You yelled at the unexpected revelation. "Then what the fuck is the Book of Legends for then?"

Hyunjin looked shocked. "You curse?"

"Answer me!"

He raised his hand up when you attempted to launch at him. Minho quickly held you back. "Calm down, woman. And you ask me why I don’t want to marry you." Minho gave him a pointed look. 

"Let’s not go there right now."

"No need to get all possessive on me, loverboy. I have no plans to take her away." Hyunjin tells Minho. The latter only snarls sourly. "You better not."

"Hello? Are we just going to brush off that the Book of Legends isn’t true?"

Hyunjin retorts, "It’s real. Just not in the way we believed it was. It’s literally just a book filled with stories enchanted with magic to make it look fancy." You stared daggers at him. 

"Get Jisung. You’re so useless."

He whined. "It’s not my fault! I don’t know much else other than that either! Jisung went straight to Yeri to see if she could post the news. We’re hoping to get the issue investigated professionally."

"How are you so sure they aren’t in on this too? Maybe we’ve been living under the control of the officials for so long!" Minho stroked your hair, in an attempt to calm you down. "Isn't that the point of a government?" shrugs Hyunjin.

You threw a pillow at him.

"Can you not!?" He shrieked. Minho groaned at the chaotic scene. "Thank you for the news, Hyunjin, but this could really wait until lunch or something," he locked you in place so that you wouldn’t attack the poor guy any more, "Unless you have anything else you want to say?"

Hyunjin went silent. He placed the pillow back to rest on the sofa, and sat properly. Clearing his throat, he finally spoke.

"I wanted to say sorry to Y/N," he admits. "There isn’t an explanation I can give you for why I treated you the way I did other than I was immature and hated the idea of not being able to choose who I married—which is a bad excuse because it’s not like you liked that either. Compared to the two of us, you treated me much better than I did to you, even if we were in the same boat." You blinked.

"I’m working on myself, and Mina is too. So I hope you can forgive us someday. You don’t have to like us, though. We'd understand that much."

Well, this was unexpected. Hyunjin and Mina weren’t total bullies, but they still had a hand in the multiple times you were hurt. It would be hard to forget, but you think you could manage to forgive them in the near future at the very least. If they were willing to change, that was enough for you.

"I’ll think about it," you replied to him. The simple positive response was enough to make him smile. "Thanks."

Hyunjin stood up and headed towards the door. "I’ll leave you two lovebirds now. School starts in two hours, by the way. Might as well get ready; there’s bound to be lots of people in the cafeteria soon," he bids, closing the door not long after.

You lay back down, covering yourself with the blanket. Minho laughs and joins you.

"Thirty more minutes."

A day after the shocking truth of the Book of Legends came out on Yeri’s blog, an investigation was launched into the case. And just a mere two days after that, Jisung and Hyunjin’s finding was confirmed—which appalled the whole realm.

It turns out, there was so much more to the fake Book of Legends. Storybook High’s current principal comes from a long line of people who were all high-ranking officials in this world. It was also from this family that the concept of stories was traced back to: the Grimm Family. After careful investigation, they found out that one of their first ancestors responsible for the stories was a very ambitious writer, who wished for his works to come to life. With the help of his older brother, who was a strong magic user, he learned magic with his goals in mind. And with the magic he had gained, he made the legitimate Book of Legends. 

It was a book containing all of his stories, with different parts dedicated to all of the characters. But there was a curse embedded into the book; if one signed a character’s story, they would end up living the same life as them. 

Satisfied with his work, the Grimm ancestor went around towns, trying to find people to trick into signing the pages under the guise that it meant they liked the story. As one could have probably guessed by now, you were the generations that came after those victims.

That didn’t mean your Book of Legends had the same curse, though.

Apparently, the original book has long since disappeared, only really affecting the first generation of those who signed it. The Grimm ancestor did not live long enough to make another one for his victims’ offspring, though, and in an effort to save their father’s work, his children vowed to continue the stories no matter what—which was still the Grimm Family’s main goal in the current time.

The truth wasn’t uncovered earlier because the Grimm Family quickly took over the world’s power positions and buried the information—making it only accessible to those in on the plan. Following this, they also found out that the current Grimm governing the school had a brother who they locked up in prison wrongfully because he opposed their family’s plans.

What a ride.

"This is so messed up," Chan gasped from across the table, setting down his mirror phone that had the news displayed. "I knew it was sketchy, but not this sketchy!" Felix agrees with him, reaching over Seungmin’s tray to grab his brownie.

Yours and Minho’s friend group (plus Hyunjin and Jisung, who were connected to Changbin) were currently seated at one table, eating their respective lunches. The full result of the investigation just came out earlier this morning, and many were still processing the bomb that just dropped.

"It’s great to know we’ve been living a lie all along," Jeongin chirps sarcastically. Jisung smiled at the group. "But at least now they've abolished it, right? We’re all free now!"

Oh, that was another thing that happened. After the arrest of the remaining Grimm Family members that were involved with the scheme, the new officials completely tore the "follow your story" concept apart and encouraged everyone to write their own destinies. As a result, many of those who heavily sided with the Royals division apologized for their actions and were now working to improve themselves.

"Took them long enough," Minho said, placing an apple on your tray. You pinched his arm. "Ouch!" Seungmin had the audacity to look disgusted. 

"Can you two flirt somewhere else?" 

"Fine," Minho said, standing up and dragging you along. Gagging noises were heard from the table as the two of you left. You laughed, very amused at their reactions. When Minho stops the both of you in an empty corridor, you joked, "Why do we always end up in a hallway?"

He chuckles at your comment. "Who knows," he stepped closer, "But I know I haven’t gotten that kiss yet." You rolled your eyes at his suggestion. "I can’t believe we ended up together. We're literally supposed to be enemies," you said as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

Minho snickers. "That’s only written on paper anyway," he leans forward.

"Paper can easily be torn."

taglist 🏷️ : @h0neydewmoon @ni-sh @xazucaradictax @autumn-lv @hyuka-luvbot @openlylazybookreader @aunty-tiger-potato @mafegarcia @peachesandcream-9 @strwbrryblues @skzpdf @sidekidzz

[anya-anya002]

𝑶𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒆 (ⅈ)

PastTeacher! Alex Turner x PastStudent! Reader

Summary: You decide to return to your high school, just to look around when you find a familiar friend…still there.

(So I basically got stuck mid story and feedback would be lovely 🧍🏿)

The frigid air kept your cheeks tingly as you walked towards the familiar block. Your heart thumped loudly; you crossed the street you’ve traveled thousands of times before.. Who was still there? Did they even remember you? Were you even that memorable?

Suddenly, you stopped; the big brick building was only an alley away, thinking it all over. You just leaned against the wall of a café for a second. The air-nippy crab apples lay on the sidewalk rotten, half-eaten by insects as their trees stood bare. Windows of nearby houses now closed, no longer friendly to the cold air, and your heart still thumped. What would you do if all your teachers had quit? What would you do if he left? And that's what got you to keep walking.

Your boots clacking against the sidewalk replaced the maddening banging within you. Everything was just how you left it: the uneven pavement, the traffic cone that sat since freshman year still lay broken and scuffed, the reflective tape now gone.

'The Marligian High School for Integral Art,' such a pretentious name, you still cringed, realizing this was your school. You climbed up the stairs and, with a deep inhale, entered.

At the front desk sat the same security guard, except gray and wrinkled. While he drank his coffee idly, you approached.

"Uh, hi," you smiled awkwardly, mind zipped with all possibilities as you watched him look up at you with wide eyes.

"Y/N! Look at you!" he smiled.

The two of you conversed while discussing your reason for being there: just visiting some old teachers and getting a bit of a look at the place while you're here. The security guard smiled, writing out a visitor pass.

"You remember how you were always ringin' that doorbell?" he joked; your cheeks tingled again as you smiled brightly and giggled in embarrassment.

"Stop! Y'know traffic here's ass, and I took the bus with Fredickson, Doogan, and Harrison kids...being early was a mission," you quipped, your smile growing ever so vast, scratching the back of your neck. He chuckled and shook his head.

"You still talking to Sofie?"

"No sir,"

He nodded in response, handed the pass to you, and sent you on your way, at least without worrying about being late like you used to be. Yet, something from here still gnawed at you.

"Uh," you stopped, turning back to the security guard.

"Is Mr. Turner still here?" you asked, hope sprinkled throughout your words. You saw him think about it momentarily. Your cheeks hurt from trying not to smile so hard.

"He's teaching 4th block... The bell ends in like a couple of minutes," he said. Your smile dropped slightly.

"Well, I'll just hang with Mrs. Theroux-" you said, turning the corner, down the long hall towards the music rooms, pass in hand. Pass the walls lined with paintings, the artwork was drawn by students; this time, it was still lives of the city, and the kids today were damn good compared to your friends. You moved closer to even one of the paintings of the train line, and damn, the sunset looked so real. The shades of orange, blue, and purple were blended so well that another smile snuck onto your face. The more you stare at the painting, the more you remember your adolescence, the more you remember him.

Examine the art a bit more, the bell rang. The monotonous, robotic 'beeeep' of it gave you flashbacks of running through those same halls to get anywhere. You shuffled quickly back around to Mr. Turner's room, heart revving up once more.

Your relationship with Mr. Turner was...confusing. You'd heard of him before when you were a freshman; you assumed he was an "arts" teacher with a name like that, but alas, he was just an English teacher with a 'cool' accent.