#I do have quite a bit of wordcount written on the next chapter but I just can't figure out how to balance like.

[birchbow]

are you still going to be updating price of forgiveness in addition to this new fic or are you pausing it for a while?

TBH I haven't been able to work on any new writing at all in a hot second because work has been erratic and exhausting! KVvTEG is getting posted much more regularly and frequently because it's already written, but I'm still picking away at PoF as well as like, three other projects simultaneously.

Unfortunately, PoF chapters just are enormous and take a long-ass time to write, and I'm chewing irritably on the logistics of how to give like nine different combinations of characters a satisfying debrief/decompression in the space of one chapter without 1. feeling like I'm being repetitive or 2. short-changing any of the core characters/relationships.

tl;dr: PoF's not paused, the next chapter's going to take about as long as it would have anyway. But also that might be a while. QuQ

[glossdebut]

take a bite | MYG ★ 1

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SUMMARY: Your fledgling career as a music journalist is finally going in some kind of direction that must be on the path to success. Your coworkers like you enough to invite you out on Fridays, your boss is starting to think you’re competent enough to let you score a few bylines, and you're finally getting the hang of InDesign. All of your hard work, late nights, and complete lack of a social life are starting to pay off... Even if it all came at the expense of the longest relationship of your life. Fine. You've accepted the fact that romance isn't for you, under any circumstances. You won't risk your career for anybody. Not even Min Yoongi.

✧ TAGS: slow burn, eventual smut, eventual romance, producer yoongi, music journalist reader, neighbors to friends to lovers? you'll see, reader is bad at feelings, reader is post-break up

✧ WARNINGS: social drinking, mechanical bull-related injuries lol

✧ WORDCOUNT: 2.7k so far

✧ STATUS: complete

✧ AUTHOR'S NOTE: hi! i'm aqua and this is my first ever fic so please be nice!! i will be crossposting this work and all future works on my ao3 of the same name. i'm figuring out how this works as i go, so please be patient with me. tags are subject to change with every update. i won't have a posting schedule for this one, but i have the first few chapters pre-written, so expect an update sometime next week!

CH. 1: Lay Your Cards Down, Down, Down, Down

Although this is the furthest thing from your scene, you can’t help but think to yourself that you should invest in some cowboy boots. You could make them work, you’re sure of it.

Even if you know you would never pull the trigger on purchasing any, too far out of the comfort zone of your normal style, the thought is the only thing keeping you sane—that, and the sound of Cowboy Carter blasting through the speakers of the bar, a welcome reprieve from the drawling, boring country anthems you’d been suffering through for the past hour or so. 

You pride yourself on seeing the merit in all genres of music, you do. You were always the type of person who puffed up her chest when you told people ‘I listen to everything,’ uncaring of how pretentious it may sound. You mean it. It’s an asset in your line of work, and as far as you’re concerned, a little bit of pretentiousness is a small price to pay for the, quite frankly, baller route your fledgling career is heading in. 

But a Western bar? Not the kind of place you’d spend a precious Friday night willingly. Another hazard of the job.

After months of skillfully avoiding the weekly Friday nights out with the other rookie reporters at the magazine, you’d run out of excuses not to join them. If four years studying communications taught you anything, it was that connections are everything in the journalism business. Even more so where the music industry is concerned.

So here you are, at your fourth stop of your night of bar hopping with your extroverted and extremely drunk coworkers, nursing warm beer and observing from the least populated corner you managed to scout upon entry. All things considered, you had been a good sport at the three previous stops. You just draw the line at square dancing with the people you work with. College may have beaten your fear of impromptu phone calls and talking to strangers out of you, but your social battery can only take so much. 

Your phone battery, too, you think bitterly as you stare down at the low battery warning on your screen. Okay, so you’ll finish your shitty beer (because you’re not quite successful enough yet to afford wasting alcohol that you’re paying for) and then use your phone’s remaining juice to catch an Uber home. No biggie.

You’re in the middle of turning off your phone with full intent to work out the kinks of your exit strategy when you realize, with irritation, that your chosen corner is about to be invaded.

Your eyes land on a pair of black Jordans ( in a Western bar? your mind supplies, as if you have any room to judge in your Docs) and travel up, past torn black jeans and a black shirt, and just when you’re sensing a theme with this guy, your eyes reach a head of (regrettably, very nice) black hair and a pair of the darkest eyes you’ve ever seen. Anish Kapoor would wail at the sight of these eyes, you think.

As if sensing your apprehension, your corner-thief raises his free hand (the other clutching a plastic cup of his own) palm out, as if to say ‘I come in peace’ and stops in his tracks.

“I can find another spot,” corner-thief says, the low rumbling of his voice barely audible above Texas Hold ‘Em. “I’m just waiting for one of my friends to get bored or injured so I can leave.”

“Injured,” you repeat, despite your better judgment to take him up on his offer and let him be on his way. But your phone is dead and you’re a little bit drunk, bored, and even for an unwanted partner in social evasion, this guy is nicer to look at than the frat guys playing beer pong you’ve been observing for the better part of an hour.

Corner-thief grins a stupidly charming gummy smile, leaning just the slightest bit closer to be heard better but still keeping a respectful distance. As if he’s still wary that you’ll lunge at him if he encroaches on your space any further. Good man.

“There’s a mechanical bull upstairs,” he says, using his index finger on the hand holding his cup to point at the ceiling above you both.

Of course there is. With your luck, you’ll also have to peel someone off of the floor later after going head-to-head with the bull.

“Not your thing?” you guess, glancing pointedly at his Jordans, and he shakes his head, huffing through his nose in what you can only guess is a laugh.

“No, I wouldn’t say so.” 

He pauses, shifting from foot to foot for a moment before speaking again. “So, will you share your wall? I can look around again but this place is more packed than I would’ve pegged it for.”

You nod and he smiles again thankfully, taking the spot on the wall next to you. That should be it. Two strangers who don’t want to be here standing in companiable silence next to each other while they wait for their friends–or coworkers, in your case–to put them out of their misery and let them go home.

But… You consider your options, your phone taking its dying breath in your pocket, and you sigh, turning to him.

“Y/N,” you say, holding out your hand for him to shake. 

He takes it with his free hand, giving you an amused look. “Yoongi.”

“What’s that look for?”

He laughs again, a little bit more this time, and your heart does a stupid, funny thing. “I don’t think I’ve ever been greeted by a pretty girl in a bar with a handshake,” he says, causing you to flush and pull your hand away as if it’d been burned, your shoulders tensing as you take a sip of your beer. 

A western bar certainly isn’t your scene, but admittedly, neither are bars or clubs in general. You got all of that out of your system in college where everyone was awkward as fuck or too drunk to care that you were, and ever since you got your degree you have lived and breathed your work. Your social skills were never quite up to par, but you didn’t realize you were this fucking embarrassing.

“I came out with coworkers right after we got off, so I think I’m still kind of in work mode,” you lie, and as if sensing that you feel slightly made fun of, Yoongi shakes his head.

“I didn’t mean it as a bad thing, swear,” he says, tilting his head at you. Dark eyes considering you. “Honestly, I’m thankful you’re putting up with me at all. I don’t think I’d be so kind if the roles were reversed. I know firsthand how hard it is to find a spot to breathe in places like this.”

You feel your shoulder muscles relax just the slightest bit. “I thought about sending you away, but I couldn’t help it. My heart aches when I see an introvert in need of a hiding spot,” you attempt to joke. 

“At least I’m out with friends,” he says sympathetically. “I’ve done the coworker thing before. It’s a drag.”

“It’s weird ,” you correct. “I mean, I sit in meetings with these people. I avoid answering their emails all day. Why is it considered rude to not want to see them piss drunk?”

Yoongi hums in agreement, nodding his head. “What do you do, anyway?”

“I work for Look Here Magazine,” you reply, straightening up a bit in pride when Yoongi’s eyes flash with recognition, his body turning so his shoulder is against the wall now. You turn as well, facing him. “I write for the music section.”

“No shit? I’ve probably read your stuff, then,” Yoongi says, grinning. 

He’s cute. Hot. You can’t help but notice, no matter how hard you’re trying not to. The way that he seems to carry himself in particular, you think, might end up driving you crazy if you’re exposed to it for too long. Maybe you’ve been living under a rock, but you’ve never met a fellow wallflower that still exuded such confidence. He wears it insanely well.

“Look Here covers a lot of big artists,” you hear him continue. “I’m a little surprised you’re hugging the wall, honestly. This place is nothing compared to music industry parties.”

“Ah, I only started a few months ago,” you admit, looking down into your cup. “Not a lot of bylines yet. I haven’t made it into a room with an artist that big yet.”

“But you want to,” Yoongi guesses, and you nod, looking up to meet his eyes. He looks impressed, impressed by you , and that… does something to you. Huh. “Shit, that’s… That’s really cool.”

“Thanks,” you say. You can feel your cheeks heating up again, and you’re suddenly very eager to turn the attention away from yourself. “What about you? What do you do?”

“Ah,” Yoongi says, fixing his eyes to his cup just as you had a moment ago. “I’m a music producer, actually.”

You perk up at that. So that’s why he reads Look Here, why he seemed so interested when you told him what you do. 

“Anything I’ve heard?” you ask, leaning in like he’s about to tell you a secret. Networking never stops.

He watches as you lean, his mouth turning up at the corners in a smirk. “Probably.” 

You wait for more, but it doesn’t come. Shithead. So much for that.

“You’ve gotta give me more than that,” you say, and god, you can hear the pout in your own voice. Are you that drunk? Flirting for a lead in a story?

“I don’t,” Yoongi says simply, his smirk in full force now. Mean and annoying and hot. He hasn’t leaned away from you yet. “I want to know more about you, actually. Journalism is hard work. I’m surprised you have time to go out like this.”

“Like I said, I was forced.”

“Still. Spending time with your friends or family or partner or whatever must take priority when it comes to your free time.”

Why is he so interested? You scrunch your nose, trying to figure out what he could be fishing for here. You don’t make it a habit to divulge the details of your sad excuse for a personal life to strangers, but the alcohol has loosened your lips. Maybe you need to talk about it. It’s not like you’ll ever see him again, anyway.

“My family is back home. My best friend is this insanely talented playwright. She’s constantly traveling. I see her when she can get some time to fly out.” You take a quick sip of your drink, ignoring the pang in your chest. Sometimes it sneaks up on you, how lonely you are. “Other than her, it’s just me, really. The dating thing… Nobody really seems to get how demanding my job can be, and it always ends in hurt feelings.”

There’s a long pause, and you’re worried you’ve shared too much. You’re enjoying talking to Yoongi. You know it doesn’t matter, that you’ll likely never see him again, but it would really, really suck if his permanent mental image of you ends up being ‘lonely weird drunk girl,’ even if that’s what you are. You force yourself to look up at him. The look in his eyes makes your heart flip stupidly again.

“I get that,” he says, and his voice is soft, barely audible over the music filling the space. You’re reading his lips more than anything, honestly, and you don’t let yourself look at them for too long. He may be pretty—unbearably so, you’re realizing—but he’s a stranger. A mean, annoying, hot, pretty stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. Every guy says he gets it. This needs to stay what it is, you think. Momentary companionship between introverts who would rather die than square dance.

You don’t get much time to agonize over it. Whatever is going on between you and Yoongi is intercepted quickly by his phone buzzing in his pocket and his responding grimace when he pulls it out to check it.

“Namjoon fell off of the mechanical bull,” he says, like he’s completely unsurprised by that news. He downs the rest of his drink and pockets his phone again, pushing off of the wall. “I’ve gotta deal with that.”

You nod, pulling what you hope is a sympathetic face. “Good luck.”

His bottom lip catches between his teeth, and you hold your breath. He looks like he wants to say something, torn between rushing upstairs to save his friend and staying, just for a moment.

You think you know what he wants to say, think foolishly that maybe he wants to ask for your number, and you honestly don’t know if you’d give it to him if he did. You’re so used to saying no.

He runs his fingers through his hair, opens his mouth to speak, and then he looks down like his phone is buzzing again. When he looks back up, it seems like he’s thought better of it.

“Thanks for sharing your wall,” he settles on, smiling congenially. You smile back, and then he’s heading towards the stairs.

Good, you think. You know better. If he really gets it, he does too.

★ ★ ★

You’re dragged out to one more bar before you finally make it home, your interaction with Yoongi having knocked you off-kilter enough to agree to a few more drinks.

It does wonders for your social status at work, you’re sure, but by the time you’re dropped off you’re dizzy-drunk, fighting to stay upright in the elevator of your apartment building.

You’re fumbling and failing at getting your key into the lock of your front door, tongue poking out of the corner of your mouth in concentration, when a voice calling your name a few feet to your right almost makes you jump out of your skin.

You yell, clutching your chest, and when you turn to face the owner of the voice that almost made you lose the contents of your stomach on your doormat, you’re greeted by none other than corner-thief-mean-annoying-hot-pretty Yoongi himself, leaning against the door to the apartment two doors down.

“What the fuck,” you blurt out dumbly, and he laughs. At you! How dare he stand there, lean there, all hot and annoying and in your apartment building for some fucking reason and laugh at you.

“I was going to ask if you needed help,” he says, and oh, fuck. You were safe from just how deep his voice was under the thrum of the music at the bar, but in the quiet of your apartment building this late, you can hear it just fine. Feel it, even. Feel it in places you do not want to humor right now. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say you do.”

It’s obvious that Yoongi is faring much better than you are, although his night clearly didn’t end after the mechanical bull incident. Faster than you can react, he’s right in front of you, gently taking your key from your hands and turning it in the lock, like it’s easy.

“Gonna make it in okay?” he asks, looking down at you. You force your brain to make words.

“I’ll be okay,” you assure him, your tongue heavy in your mouth. “Are you stalking me?”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “I think we’re neighbors.”

“Oh.” Oh. Okay. That’s fine. Just because he’s your neighbor doesn’t mean you have to do something stupid, like see him ever again.

“Give me your number,” he says softly. Oh.

You blink at him, and he grins. Gummy smile. You feel like you’re going to vomit all over his Jordans.

“In case you ever can’t use your keys again,” he clarifies. “I told you, those music industry parties are killer.”

And really, you’re powerless to resist. You give him your number, using all of your remaining brain power to remember the order of the digits. Seemingly satisfied, Yoongi pockets his phone and steps back, heading back to his front door.

“Goodnight, neighbor,” he says, unlocking his door with ease. “Sleep on your side.”

You swallow thickly and nod, slipping inside your own apartment as quickly as you can manage. 

Once you’re in, you sink onto the floor, your back pressed against the door behind you. Your cat, perched on your coffee pot, stares at you in your drunk, flustered state, unimpressed. Offended, even, judging by the way she licks her paw.

You’re so fucked.

✧ shoot me a reply or an ask if you enjoyed this chapter! feedback is always appreciated <3 join my taglist if you want to be tagged in future chapters!

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[leo-interactive-fiction]

Happy (belated) fifth anniversary for Triaina Academy, Leo! I hope that you got to at least do a small celebration for five years of work sometime in June. In the spirit of Triaina being five, I wanted to ask you about the old demo, actually; is there a scene you left / are going to leave on the cutting room floor that you miss? Are there other plot points from it that you really liked? I'm curious about how you feel about it after so long. Regardless, I hope this finds you well!

Hey there! Damn, it really doesn't feel like it's been five years since I've began undertaking this project haha. The very first showing of Triaina Academy was in june, and was fairly sizable for its first posting, hovering around 70k-ish words leading up to the middle of the 2nd chapter and having introductions for everyone except S and F. During then, I had far more free time available to me, and worked on that version of the demo until it grew to around 250-300k words spanning nearly 5 chapters.

But I realized as I had progressed through writing that the quality of my early chapter writing wasn't consistent with the current standards I wanted to have now, and so much of that wordcount was scrapped, with only the skeletonized outline remaining of the old work. I returned to square one and rewrote the story in its entirety from the beginning, leading to the current state now, with the revised version hitting close to 220k words. In the back of my head I consider that, had I just continued writing without a revision, Triaina Academy would already be a finished product.

In many ways I regret that despite it being five years, it feels like there is nothing much for me to show for it. Even more so now that my work pushes me between mental stress and physical exhaustion, often giving me little time or motivation to pull up the writing on my computer. But I love what I've created. I love the joys it brings me as a creative, as well as hearing the joy it brings you all to read. So even if it seems like I fall away, I am still pressing on to continue, even if it's a tiny bit at a time, until it becomes something both I and readers can find joy in.

Now, speaking of the old demo, there's many scenes that have become nonexistent. I liked quite a few of them, and there are probably many overarching ideas that will return in different forms within the new context of the current demo. But there are also many that won't.

A few mentions of old scenes that probably won't be making a return, either because they've been replaced or they are no longer relevant:

During the very first date with raven, although the makeshift "home" returned, there was an additional scene where the MC discovers mutilated bodies in a closet space.

Before the festival scene seen in the demo now, the working equivalent of it in the old demo was an underground party held by students of the academy in an abandoned airport. The idea of this was cut out because within the story, I decided the world wasn't in a current state for airspace travel save for very specific exceptions. But during this scene, the party is interrupted by a body being discovered hanging from the overhead walkways of a hangar, paired with a bloody message.

There was a scene where you could order and allow V to shoot and kill a student. Originally I had thought to make this into a fail state where the MC and V were thrown in jail for a game over, but upon the revision this was taken out entirely, as I decided against abrupt, early endings.

Infamously, E was originally written as a step-sibling character in the old demo. I had thought on testing and developing the dynamic, since I didn't see very many games do it, and my game was pretty heavily inspired by various anime and manga related tropes and character styles. But eventually, I decided to shift them into a childhood friend/next door neighbor romance without adjusting their personality because I put a lot of effort into developing the entirety of their story arch, and I wanted them to appeal to a more general audience. Funnily enough, they are still labeled as their old role within the code, just because it has become too much work to change all of the variables haha

F's personal assistant, Fiore, didn't actually exist within the old demo. At least not in the same capacity. She was added because I realized F's personality didn't work well as an independent romantic driver, and they needed an additional external factor to push F into more romantic situations. Fiore RO DLC is an additional purchase of $9999.

In the old demo, MC's, and to a lesser extent everyone else's parents, played far less of an apparent role. I wanted to develop a story showing the previous generation compared to the current one, as in some ways there is a "passing of the torch" theme throughout the plot.

S and F were introduced far later in the old demo, to the point every other RO was given a full extra date scene before they joined the picture. One goal of my revision was being able to give these two an earlier introduction so they could all have their own date scene. In the old demo they were introduced in a scene where P and the MC had to switch rooms, allowing the MC to meet the last two members of Dorm Exul, as well as I think letting them read P's diary.

You used to be able to choose both M and P's gender independently, but with them becoming more structured as identical twins, M will always be the same gender you pick for P.

R used to be far more of a directly flirtatious character like M, but has since naturally shifted to the laid-back, bantering character they are now as I've continued writing them.

Similarly, V was written in a far more robotic tone with only short one-to-three-word responses, and although they are still fairly terse and unemotional, they've developed over time to have far more spoken dialogue and hints of emotional cracks.

There used to be a fail scene in M's romance if you refused to hit them the first time. Much like the other fail state, this was taken out and the decision between leaning into their masochistic tendencies or not became part of their path selection.

Many of the side characters within the story were not introduced, and so neither were their stories. Lewis and S's hostile relationship was not developed, Rex and Acer only had passing remarks, Treyla, Juno, Uno, and others who were nonexistent to the plot now hold some relevance to specific MC specializations, and instructors other than Rosaline and Hoft were given names and a larger part as progressors of MC specializations.

As far as the most favorite scene that I'll miss leaving on the cutting room for, hmm. It is most likely the school tournament arc that I had planned in the old demo. It was in the works and quite far in development at the time that I realized my writing had taken far steps away from the book's early development, both in quality and creative direction. The tournament was supposed to be a method to more actively showcase the combat capabilities of each character's powers, with several rounds and fight scenes already written. But within this new revised plot, I plan for the S.T.E.M. abilities to develop far slower and gradually with trackable leaps in power, not yet becoming combat capable at the time this tournament arc would've occurred. Still, the scene and idea I had in my head, and what I had already written, was quite fun! Although I probably won't be able to figure out a way for this exact scenario to happen now, eventually I would love to bring back the idea of a tournament, or arena type of setting, at some point in the story haha.

Thank you for listening to my ramblings. I didn't think the response would get this long haha. Triaina Academy has recieved so much more positive reception and love than I could have ever imagined when I first began working on it. In all honesty, I had figured that maybe I would be writing for a handful or so to see and think it was neat, and I'd be plucking away at it from time to time with no real thought to its success in mind. But it has instead risen to a stage far larger than I thought it could perform on, almost dauntingly so as I fear for disappointing so many, both with its quality, and the fact I can't dedicate as much into its development as people hope and ask for. Even still, I hope you can forgive me for not being able to rise to expectations, especially in regard to the pace of development, or the length of silence revolving it. The one thing I can promise, is that I still love this creation of mine, and all of you who have seen and may continue to see it flourish, and I do not plan to end its development unless I die a very painful, early death.

Thank you very much!

[thomase1]

Two broken make a whole; chapter 6

Series masterlist Main masterlist

Yup, back again.

Please be aware, this is the first smut i have ever written (yes its been in my drafts that long) and one can only do so much to save a catastrophe. :,) The foreplay is way too detailed for my taste, but somehow i just couldnt cut it. Lots of kissing omg, this rlly is kinda mid, sorry.

Warnings: Smut, masturbation, fingering, ¿loss of virginity?, probably some corruption, awkwardness, fluff, worried reader, tender Loki, big time jump

Wordcount:~4.300 of pure filth and brainless fluff (oops)

Or in other words: that escalated quickly

Its now been a little over 6 months the gods have been living here. While you enjoy Thor being here and notice Loki settle in as well, one thing becomes clearer with each passing day.

Loki is your kryptonite. You have never felt such a strong attraction to anybody. His constant flirting and teasing do not make it any easier.

Its like hes been pestering you on purpose after that unfortunate mission months ago. Everywhere you went, he just casually appeared or was already there. Hell, even the helipad wasnt safe.

And the cocky demeanour and ambiguous statements really have been takeing down your walls one brick at a time. Its quite embaressing how quickly one god can wreck the walls youve built up for as long as you can remember.

So now youre here, late at nigh, lying in bed after an eventful, tiring, day. But of course, you couldnt sleep.

You didn't mean to, but you thought of Loki. You've never had relations with somebody before, at least not that you remember of, which is problematic at your age and with your stress level.

Maybe thats why your body is reacting so ferociously to Loki. The thought of him is makeing you all tingly, you cant help but sigh in pent up sexual frustration.

You are engrossed in finding relief and relaxation, which doesn't always work for you. Actually never, yeah, you've never managed to climax before. Or maybe you just expected more of a feeling? You are not quite sure. But it defently isnt satisfying your need.

You concentrate on your movements, in your imagination you see Loki in front of you. You've seen him shirtless a few times, which worsened your interest even further. Damn why must he be a hot villain too.

Well, he is an ally now, yes, but he is still Loki Laufeyson.

You keep concentrating, attempting to avoid thining of him, trying to picture hot actors or just anybody but him.

Suddenly your dark room brightens with a green shimmer.

Loki appears and you quickly hide under your covers.

"I know you're awake Y/N," the intruder says. You don't answer and pretend to be asleep.

"I heard your rapid breathing as I passed your door. I know what I'm interrupting." he teases in a singsong voice.

Damn how embarrassing, your breath catches in your throat.

"Oh, don't be embarrassed. Unless you were thinking about me Y/N, of course that would be a rather peculiar situation, huh?" he purrs provocatively, his voice getting even closers.

He can read minds, you know that, but you didn't think he could do it without even seeing the person.

"Oh, so you're not even denying it. Interesting. There's quite a bit I can do that you don't know about, kitten.", he continues.

Goosebumps form all over you, leaving you to shiver under the covers. He's right next to your bed.

"So Y/N, are you in need of assistance?", you can hear the smirk in his voice.

You try to think of nothing which is near impossible when consciously trying. Especially in the middle of getting yourself off.

"I heard your thoughts before, about you finding it hard to get a high. I just want to help you."

"How long were you listenig you little shit?!", you snap, throwing the blanket off your face huffing.

"Long enough to know how desperate you are."

"Cant you just leave and forget about this, please?", you mumble ashamed.

"But where is the fun in that? Come on now, its a win for both of us. Promise I wont tell.", he sits down at the edge of your bed.

Should you just accept? As soon as that thought crosses your mind, you get nervous. Cheeks burning, hands sweaty and heart racing.

"Do you fancy me that much, getting nervous like this?", he asks grinning.

You dont know if you should punch him or fuck him right now. He is so infuriating.

"I dont fancy you! Its just my hormones going crazy ok? Dont flatter yourself!", you hiss. Why must he torture you like this?

"Yea sure it is.", he says sarcastically.

You dont respond.

"Oh come on Y/N, do you really think you can finally reach your high this time? Just take it as a favor."

He sounds so sincere all of a sudden, what the hell? Well, god of mischief and lies, aint he?

"A favor? Dont act like you dont just want an easy girl for a night, but i am anything but easy.", you scoff bitterly. If there is one thing your job taught you, its to be suspicious of everything and everyone.

He sighs, "No, I dont think of you as easy. I admit I havent engaged in sexual activities for quite some time either, but what of it? It would stay between us, we would both profit from it."

He really sounds thruthful and his tone is kind of... tender? And for a moment the though of just accepting the offer crosses your mind again. It sounds simple enough, but you just dont know if you can trust him.

"Listen, I am entirely truthful right now. What would I gain by bragging about having sex with you? I am no school boy seeking validation Y/N. I believe here on Midgard you say, 'A gentleman doesnt tell.'."

"Will you please stay out of my thoughts?!"

"I can do that.", he smirks.

It actually makes sense though, he isnt friends with the others, why would he tell them? "Ok Loki, just promise me again, this stays between the two of us.", you awkwardly reach out your hand to him, attempting to seal the deal by a handshake.

He, however, grabs your hand and places a gentle kiss on your knuckles, "I promise. I know the past has not been kind to you either, I wish no harm to you.".

This gesture throws you off completely, you are not used to such tender affection. Your worry about trusting him eases a bit, a smile crosses your lips.

But now when you think about it, what if only he gets a profit out of it? When you cant get it yourself, what makes him so sure he will? You already expect a response from the god, but it seems he is keeping his word.

"On another note, what makes you so sure you can even help me with my *you gulp* struggle?", you ask with shaky voice.

He gives a deep chuckle, "Because I've gained some experiece in over a thousand years of living. So, shall we start?".

"Uhh, yea I guess.", as those words leave your lips, he gently sinks his lips onto yours.

You are surprised for a second, but return the kiss after a few moments. Its been some time since you kissed or made out, but you get into it pretty quickly. He leans forwart to you, one hand on your cheek. The kiss is deep with passion, his tongue asking permission to explore. You grant him entrance and he begins his route of discovery.

You grab the back of his neck, pulling him down so he is closer to you. He nibbles at your bottom lip and you cant keep a gasp from escaping you. Your tongues start to dance with each other, fighting for dominance. As you break apart for air her stops for a moment.

You hear him takeing off his shoes and crawl into your bed, now hovering over you. You cant help but giggle, seeing his determined expression lit by only the little light to your right.

You expect a cocky comment but instead your lips meet again. The kiss now just as determined as Lokis expression. It sends a warm feeling through your stomach, down to your core.

You lay your hands on his shoulders, traveling down his firm muscular arms. His hands start to wander too, from your back, over your ribs down to your waist where they stay with a firm grip.

You suck at his bottom lip and he takes a surprised breath. You smile into the kiss which leads him to lay his hands on your bare bottom and give it a hard squeeze. You let out a small yelp of surprise. He gives you a low chuckle and trails his lips off yours, down your cheek to your ear.

His hand moving up to steady himself again, the other one stroking a strand of hair from the path of his lips, he kisses behind your ear and starts nibbling at your earlobe, feeling his warm breath. You are overwhelmed with these new sensations.

Your hands travel to his chest, down his sturdy stomach, sixpack apparent to the touch. Then you wander further to the hem of his shirt, under it and up his torso again. His skin is soft. As he is assaulting your neck, he stops, "Like what youre feeling?", voice full with pride.

"Not bad, I must admit.", you giggle to which he only smirks and takes off his shirt.

Instantly your eyes wander down his bare chest and stomach. Wow. Pure eyecandy. He goes back to kissing your ear, but now the other one. The way he lets you feel him up so extensively while only gently kissing you, it feels like he wants to show you he is no threat to you. Maybe you are just imagining that, but it does make you more comfortable with the god.

As he does just that, you feel around his sides to his broad back and shoulders. And for the first time, a man above you with strong muscles does not make you panic. No, its hot. It feels strangely safe. He starts to trail down your neck, pulling down your shirt collar to reach your collarbone. You let out a tiny moan, you didnt know you were so sensitive in that spot.

You can feel your middle getting, shamefully, damp.

Lokis hand reaches the bottom of your shirt, starting to pull it up a bit. You grab his hands, stopping his movement. "What is it?", he asks hoarsly.

You swallow, "I- I was just getting a bit nervous, sorry.", you say shy.

You have quite a lot of insecurities lurking under the fabric of your shirt, accompanied by many scars, ugly reminders of past battles. While you feel more comfortable with him not harming you, letting him see all of you is still terrifying.

"Dont apologize, I'm glad you told me about it but I am without my shirt too, its only fair!", he grins.

"But then I'm completely naked!", you protest. Honestly, you are just afraid he is going to say sometehing hurtful.

"I do apologize for breaking my word but I was curious. Come on dear, I am sure you look beautiful. You can trust me.", he says so sweet, you think honey may start to drip from his lips. You blush at the sweet remark.

"Ok, just dont tell me if I prove you wrong.", you say, removing your hands from his.

"Oh nonsense my dear, even I wouldnt stoop so low. Especially when it isnt true, you are stunning.", Loki says waiting for you to trust him it seems.

You smile softly at his words, cupping his face and kissing him, leaving him gasping for air. He deepens the kiss again as you feel him slowly pulling your shirt back up.

Bare before him, you can feel his eyes before you even see them and your heart begins to race. You feel so exposed and vulnerable under his gaze, starting to move your arm to cover yourself. "Gorgeous. Ravishing, as I told you darling.", he coos.

He starts feeling up your stomach, to your ribs, settling on your breasts. Your stomach explodes with butterflies as relief washes over you.

As you start feeling around his wall of torso again he starts kissing your collar bones and boobs. You play with his hair, you always wanted to, it just looks so nice and it is as soft as it looks, smelling like lilac and mint.

You start to fondle with his scalp and can feel his shoulders relaxing. He definitely likes that. He showers your whole body with kisses and is slowly moving south, his long hair tickling you down his path. You keep massaging his head as you grip his shoulder with your free hand.

To say it pretty clearly, you are horny as fuck right now.

He is trailing down your hip, slowly moving your covers away as he is kissing down your thigh, takeing his sweet time which is, quite frankly, driving you insane. In the best way possible. As he kisses more and more to the middle of your thighs, you cant help but grip his hair firmly and letting out a small moan.

You feel your sex getting hot and twitchy. His hands are moving towars your middle and you feel a finger sliding over your lips. "So wet for me kitten, you want me to make you feel good now?", he purrs from between your thighs.

You feel his breath fanning agains your skin giving you goosebumps all over. "Yes, oh god yes.", you plead, urgency obvious.

"Say please.", he taunts, finger still stracing up and down.

"Please Loki. Please.", you plead with even more urgency.

And then finally he does; tongue caressing your most sensitive spot, hands pushing your legs apart. Your grasping at his hair harder again as you cant hold back a moan. It feels incredible. You claw into the sheets but keep your other hand in his hair, frankly, you have no control over it right now.

You let out a breath of surprise as he sinks a finger into you and starts moving it, makeing you whine in pleasure. He reaches a spot which feels so good, its unlike anything you felt before. And you think he knows that you feel good, keeping his movement exactly on that sweet spot of yours. Its sending waves of pleasure up my stomach. You move your hips feeling so good, arching your back off the bed as he takes a second finger.

"You taste exquisite.", he purrs as he gets some air into him.

Just as you think of an answer to that, he starts again. He sucks at your bundle of nerves, pushing you to arch your back again. Your whole body feels hot with lust.

You just wish you could touch him too right now, this feels a bit selfish letting him pamper you like this while he gets next to nothing. Arent you surpossed to give him something in return? And then he stops all of a sudden which you comment with a sad face. "Stop overthinking dear, just enjoy it. I will take care of you first, I'll have my fun soon enough.", he assures you, obviously having listened to your thoughts again.

He shifts and kisses you gently. You can taste yourself which somehow turns you on even more. He starts moving his fingers, thumb now rubbing your clit. The kiss gets heated as you lay your arms around his neck, pulling him close. He moves his fingers faster and faster as you claw at his back out of pure arousal.

He sits up, moves his lips from yours and uses his second hand to stroke your clit now. You let out a moan, you think you are nearing a climax.

He moves faster and faster as you cant hold back little croaked mewls. He watches your face like his life depends on it, feeling Lokis clothed cock press into your thigh which turns you on even more.

You swear you are so near an orgasm, you no longer hold control over your body, hips pressing into your helpers hands looking for further friction. Your crys of arousal growing more and more, Loki starts cooing sweet encouragements at you.

"Thats it dear. Dont hold back."

"Come on kitten, come undone for me."

"Dont resist it. Let it all out darling."

Those sinful words spoken so sweetly tumble you over the edge. "Oh g-od, Loki, I think I'm gonna com-e", you say with a sharp cry.

"Thats it Darling, come for me. Give into it.", he supports.

Just like that you reach your high. You claw at the sheets, head jolting back as your body arches into his hand. "There it is. Beautiful.", you hear Loki from a distance.

You feel your whole body shiver. While still in the process of climaxing, Loki keeps moving his fingers inside of you. Your hips are moving on their own, rubbing against his hand. You feel your body quake as you hold onto him and he pulls you closer into a sloppy kiss.

Just as you relax and lean back, body done twitching, he pulls his fingers out of you. You lay down catching your breath and he lays down next to you. He snakes his arm under your back, pulling you into his chest. His hand hovers over you back, softly raking against it.

"Held my word, didnt I?", he whispers into your ear sending shivers down your spine again.

"You certenly did.", you mumble into his chest on which you are drawing circles with your fingertips.

He lays a hand on your cheek and lets it stay there. You close your eyes and enjoying a kind of relaxation and peace youve never felt before.

"Would you like us to go further today?", he asks while stroking your head.

"You know what, yes, I trust you.", you say turning to him with a smile.

He shifts so he can meet your lips. Its not a passionate kiss, it feels more... loving? No, that can't be it. You cant describe it but it makes your heart flutter for a moment.

"I just remembered, I dont have a condom and I dont have one in my room either.", he says, surpising you of beeing so responsible in his excitement.

Said excitement beeing very noticable, urgendly pressing into your side. The question of how he even knows about eartly forms of contraception is a question for another time, you think to yourself.

"Oh, its alright, I'm on the pill.", you say, which surprises him apparently.

"Why are you on the pill when you dont have a partner?", he asks suspicious.

"Ive gotten it because of my acne and symptoms of my period.", you explain kind of hurt he is so suspicious of you.

"Very well then.", he says and gets up.

You sit up too, blanket clutched over your chest. "You think its gonna hurt?", you ask the question every girl has.

"What do you mean? I wont hurt you dear.", he says dubfounded.

"Oh, so you didnt hear that part. Well-", you stop, so embarassed you wish to vanish from earth.

"Are you trying to tell me you actually never slept with someone?", he asks soft but also curious.

"It just never- got to that. At least not to my knowledge, if you remeber the mystery about my name.", you mumble bashful.

"Right, sorry darling, that is fine.", he says softly, "I dont think it will hurt, at least not badly since you already had the pleasure.".

You smile dumbly, your mind racing back to other, filthier, thoughts. Hot breath makeing your mind foggy as tongues collide once again. He pulls you closer, so close you feel his cock nudge up at your stomach. You wander down to his waistband, wanting to feel him.

He smirks and snaps his fingers, suddenly naked in front of your very eyes. Well, you cant exactly see but defently feel his excitement. Your hands basically wander on their own, touching his hips and sliding to his sex, leaving him gasping as you stroke him once.

He lays his head on your shoulder and lets his fingers meet you most sensitive spot again, giving him a appreciative moan. You keep your fingers around his throbbing cock, pleasing him as you like. He lets out a tiny moan which makes you quite proud of yourself.

You sink your head back into your shoulders, enjoying his skilled touch. You quicken your movement, makeing him stop for a second to catch himself, it appears like. That may be because you are not stopping with the teasing. You enjoy seeing him off his high horse. His tense face is a nice sight as well. "Y/N- should we takes this further now?", he groans.

"What do you think we are working towards?", you taunt with a giggle.

He looks into your eyes a little more seriously, "I am asking your consent, kitten-".

You only mouth an "oh". You stop your motions, makeing him relax against you slightly.

"Am I right to take that as a yes?"

You nod, biting your lip.

"Oh my sweet, you dont even know how crazy you drive me. I will make you write in extacy.", he whispers against your shoulder, pressing himself against you. You barely hold back an audible gasp, instead sinking your hands down his back, "And you dont even know what kinds of sensations you bring me.".

"Oh I think I do." He slides down your sloulder, feeling him spreading sloppy kisses all over your cleavage, you grip his hair thightly as he moves his hips to meet yours. You feel him throbbing against your wetness.

"Ready darling?", he asks attentively, lightly pressing against you.

"I think so.", you say anxiously.

He leans forwart and gives you a chaste kiss, swallowing your lips as he sinks into you slowly. The kiss breaks from the vulgar sounds now echoing off the walls. You grimace a bit because it does feel a bit weird, but after a few seconds you get used to the feeling. He stays still for you to adjust, his jaw flexing in concentration.

That jaw... Oh lord that jaw.

"It doesnt hurt. I dont know if thats good or bad.", you whisper against his lips.

The question you had for years starts to resurface. Scenes that picture your own personal horror movie start to plague your imagination.

"Dont overthink it too much sweetheart, just enjoy the moment.", he soothes.

You exhale, calming your mind down from the scary szenarios almost takeing over. You are here, you are safe, nothing you dont want will happen.

"Are you alright?", he watches you and cups your cheek. He looks concerned. You lean into his touch, finding comfort in his caring demeanour.

"I think I am.", you whisper, looking at him, his eyes.

"Is it ok if we continue then? Excuse my blunt choice of words but it is rather difficult to withhold me fucking you into this matress right now.", he says calm, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Insatiable bastard. You shut him up with a kiss, figuring that counts as an answer. He smirks and starts lightly thrusting his hips. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

Gradually, his speed increases and now, every time he reaches that one spot deep within you, you get pushed up the mattrass a bit more. By now you are pressed against the headboard. "Where do you think your going?", he asks, gripping your hips and yanking you down to him again with one firm pull, "I'm not done with you yet.".

You whine as he pounds into you ruthlessly, bis tip barely off that spot before he crashes into it again. Your toes curl and your fingers grip a fist full of his hair as he cups the back of your head, pressing you into his chest.

The room is filled with the sounds of sex.

You feel yourself nearing a climax, heatwaves coursing through your body. "I- think I'm... cl- close-", you croak hoarsly.

"Me too darling.", he growls.

You pull him down by grabbing his neck, wanting more of him. You press yourself into him as much as you can, earning a low groan as reward.

"Come for me Y/N! Say my name as you come for me!", he commands, thumb harshky stroking your clit.

You scratch at his back...nearing... nearing... "I'm gonna co-", you whimper.

Your back arches and your body errupts into a shudder as every muscle of your body goes rigid. Only croaked crys of pleasure are able to leave your throat.

"S-ay my name Y/N, gods let me h-ear yo-u-", he groans, about to climax too.

"Lok-i, oh g-od, fuck.", you let out with a cry as him still trusting into you prolongues your high. With a low, beast like, growl he thrust into you hard one last time, feeling him spill into you.

He pulls out and falls next to you. The thick smell of sweat in the air is somehow really comforting to you. You nestle against his chest and he sneaks an arm around you. You come down from what you just did together, his quickened heartbeat just under your ear.

About to fall asleep on him, he suddenly moves and sits up. "What are you doing?", you ask, kind of sad the cuddles ended so soon.

"I saw you were falling asleep so I figured I'd leave now and let you rest.", he explains softly.

You hate to admit it, but something inside you doesnt want to be alone right now.

"Could you maybe stay? If not an inconvenience of course.", you ask shy.

"Of course dear.", he says with an understanding nod, smiling warmly. Loki slips back into bed, taking you into his arms once more. You pull the covers over you two and soon drift off to sleep.

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[sebastianswallows]

It's not like any other love | S.S. | Part 2

— PAIRING: soft!dark!Sebastian Sallow x F!MC

— SYNOPSIS: Sebastian is obsessive, lonely, and touch-starved. So when he’s sitting with his new friend in the Courtyard and she picks up a cat to pet it, he gets even more needy and longs for a bit of that gentleness and affection from her. Also, she reminds him a bit of his sister and he doesn’t know how to feel about it (possessive, he feels possessive).

— WARNINGS: angst, jealousy, requited unrequited love, pining, touch-starved Seb having a lot of lustful and confused thoughts which will (spoilers) eventually lead to using Imperio

— WORDCOUNT: 2.4k

— A/N: A sequel to this. So yeah, this is now a multichapter thing. I spent most of today writing, and it was more fun than I’ve had in a while. I have a bit more written down but I’ll save it for the next chapter. I hope you enjoy it, my dears! 😘

After exploring the Scriptorium, the three of them made their way out, and on Ominis’ insistence never spoke of it again — at least, not when he was around. With his soft serpentine steps, it was easy for him to sneak up on Sebastian and their friend when they weren’t looking, but through whispers and passed notes the two agreed they had to meet somewhere and talk.

Sebastian still had Slytherin’s spellbook and read it alone in a few frantic sessions late at night, scribbling notes and passages and making quite a mess of ink on his sleeves and trousers. He kept it with him all the time, afraid of who would find it, but didn’t dare to take it out when he was anywhere in public. He spent long hours in the library, using his notes to cross-reference the spellbook with other tomes on the region's history and dark magic. The mention of a relic that could heal curses was particularly intriguing — and that part about needing a sacrifice was just another detail for later.

The late nights weren’t doing Sebastian any favours. He was regularly late for breakfast and usually found Ominis already there, talking to their new 5th-year friend — who lit up when she saw him, while Ominis gave his most reserved of smiles.

“Ready for Herbology, Sebastian?” she asked in a chipper tone, but her brows were raised in questioning and her eyes, sharp and observant, lingered on his hair that was more tousled than usual, his tie that was crookedly done, his collar askew, before settling quite boldly on the dark circles beneath his eyes.

Ominis sipped his hot chocolate while he listened. He had no reason to suspect anything was strange about Sebastian these last few days, but he suspected nonetheless.

“I suppose,” said Sebastian as he quickly filled his plate with toast and sausages. The roughness of his voice probably gave him away to Ominis as well. “But if it’s another session of screaming mandrakes, I might just dig a hole for myself.”

“I’m sure it’s a paradox for the professors,” Ominis began, directing a crooked smile his way, “how someone who spends so much time in the library is such a middling student.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he smirked, winking at their friend. “I’m everyone’s favourite student. They all want to spend time with me.”

“That’s called Detention, Sebastian.”

They only had some twenty minutes left to go before classes began, and Sebastian wasn’t even halfway through with breakfast when his two friends got up to leave. Moving quickly, he placed his hand over the girl’s, his eyes quietly pleading for her to stay a little longer.

“We’ll see you later,” said Ominis.

“Actually, I think I’ll stay a little longer too,” the girl said as she sat down again.

Ominis took in a quiet breath. “Alright,” he said, back straight and wand at the ready to guide him out. “Mind that you won’t be late for class.”

“We won’t,” she giggled. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Ominis gave her a sideways smile and left.

She let her hand stay under Sebastian’s warm ink-stained fingers while he explained that he was ready to make a breakthrough with the book and had to speak to her about it. She hadn’t read much of it yet, but she knew enough from the Scriptorium to maybe help. Even if she couldn’t, he wanted her to be there with him.

“What about Ominis?” she asked.

“He wouldn’t understand,” Sebastian said, managing to sound dismissive but being, beneath everything, quite sad. They were best friends, each other’s oldest friends not counting Anne, and the purest, most innocent parts of Sebastian wanted to share everything with Ominis, even when he was jealous, even when he was resentful of him, or frustrated.

“Alright, we can go somewhere after Charms at 11 o’clock. We should have more time to talk before lunch.”

“Deal,” said Sebastian. “Anywhere you’d like.”

She liked the Clock Tower Courtyard. It was a place dear to him as well with the duelling club being so close, a place that marked a special chapter of their friendship. They went there together after class, walking in silence while the tension between them grew with the things they left unsaid.

They sat on the edges of the fountain, where the trickle of the water and blasts of duellists coming from behind muffled their quiet conversation. Sebastian rested along its length with his back against one of the pillars, arm slung over his left bended knee, the other leg left dangling. Beside him, the girl sat with her legs swinging together, ankles crossed. She leaned back on her hands and dipped her fingers to play with the water now and then.

“So what are these Inferi, exactly?” she asked distractedly after he was done telling her about the relic he’d read about.

“Corpses brought back to life with dark magic,” he shrugged. “They’re a type of Undead.”

“Can you kill them?” she asked, straight to the point. A girl after his own heart.

“Yes,” he said. “With fire. They’re invulnerable to most other types of spells.”

“So, Confringo,” she grinned, turning to look at him.

“It’s not my favourite for nothing,” Sebastian smirked.

Her attention was soon drawn away again by a cat prowling gently through the courtyard, a tiger-stripped one with dark grey fur. It made its way toward the two of them, drawn in by her swinging legs.

“And this relic can control them?” asked the girl as she leaned down and picked the cat up.

“So said this student of Slytherin’s… Who,” he continued, leaning in to whisper even softer, “I suspect might have been Merlin.”

“You think so?” she asked, looking once again at him, lips parted in wonder.

Sebastian hugged his knee to his chest as he moved closer to her. “It is well known that Merlin was his student, and lived around that time, and from the notes, it seems the two of them had the same make of wand.”

“Many wizards have the same type of wands…”

“Yes, but how many would old Slytherin trust with an expedition like this? And with such a rare and dangerous relic?”

The girl hummed as she settled the cat over her lap. It purred and circled and nuzzled her hand before flopping on its side.

“In any case, that spellbook is a precious historical item,” she said. “We’ll probably have to give it to the professors at some point.”

“Maybe,” said Sebastian, leaning back again. “But not before I’m through with it.”

“Don’t kill yourself over it, though,” she said, turning a pleading look toward him. “It won’t do your sister any good if you —”

“You’re starting to sound like Ominis,” he sighed.

“Because we’re both worried about you,” she said, and held his doubtful gaze until he relented and looked away.

They were quiet after that, the space between them filled with the lightest trickle of the fountain and the purring of the cat. Sebastian looked up to find it sprawled over on its back and curled like a croissant, eyes closed as the girl pet its little forehead. Cupped in her other hand, she held its paws and ran her thumb over the small black beans.

Her fingers were long and nimble, and she took her time running the tips slowly through the fur, over the short dark lashes of its eyes — closed shut, serene, very content with the treatment — and then along its short broad nose, the puffy cheeks, the long white whiskers… In a storm of purrs, the cat opened its eyes and looked blearily up into hers, the green and slitted and upside-down gaze disappearing with each long blink before peeking out again.

The girl’s touch was so gentle, and her smile so warm, so happy, even after Severin had been demanding and difficult and stubborn with her all afternoon… But she never seemed upset with him.

On the contrary, she was there for him, with him, in turns understanding and consoling him depending on what he needed most. Sebastian was a bit contrite about his behaviour as of late, from cursing her and making her scream and cry, to having to hide their meetings from Ominis, and he dearly wished that circumstances had been different. That they had met sooner, that Anne had never been cursed, that he didn’t have to risk his friendship with Ominis — or with her, for that matter. And most of all, right now, he wished that she would pet him like that, that she would hold his messy head in her lap and curl his hair around her little fingers, brushing the worries off his brow, and look at him so lovingly.

“Have you seen her lately?” she quietly asked.

Sebastian looked up to find her waiting for his reply.

“Who?”

“Anne.”

“Oh,” he said, hand curling into a fist over his knee. “Not really. Uncle Solomon hasn’t been too welcoming.” An absurdity, in his opinion — as if Uncle Solomon got to decide what happened with their family. “I can’t wait to be freed from his stupendous guardianship,” he spat, “Anne and I both… If she survives that long.”

Sebastian looked down and shook his head, trying to chase out of it the dark thoughts that always circled when he thought of Anne these days, and then he felt a hand clasp his own. He looked up to find his friend cupping her palm over his knuckles, smiling in that encouraging way she did when she didn’t really believe in him but tried to support him anyway. She looked so much like Anne for that brief moment, with her drawn and tired face and hopeful eyes.

As they added to their adventures together over the past weeks, she’d started to remind him more and more of Anne each day. At first, there was just something about her that seemed familiar to him, but gradually it dawned on Sebastian why he felt as if he knew her more intimately than he did. The twinkle in her eye at every fight out in the wild, the frail body holding such fierce powers, the open lust for risky spells.

Her support, her trust, her willingness to walk down the same dark path as him, hand in hand…

Her eyes, her lips, even her voice at times…

Perhaps it’s just that he misses Anne so much that he conjures her up in the only female presence that has any consistency around him and Ominis. He wonders absently if Ominis does the same… He and Anne were, and still are, very close. Had he too noticed any similarities between the two girls? Did it ever colour his feelings for her? Would he even admit it… Probably not.

Sebastian takes her hand in his, smiles back as brightly as he can, and tries to convey with a look what he doesn’t dare to say.

The spell between the two of them is broken when the cat jumps off her lap, no doubt upset that the girl’s affections stopped. It rolled up and stretched its front paws, claws coming out, then hopped off of her knees.

“Oh no,” she said, “come back!”

“Wait,” laughed Sebastian, “I want to try something.”

Before she could ask what he had in mind, he picked his wand up and cast Levioso on the running feline, then a quick Accio, and in a rumple of fur, the cat was pulled through the air toward them. Interesting, he thought, the spell works on hair as well.

“Sebastian!” he chastised, but couldn’t keep from laughing. “How could you?”

“What?” he chuckled, waving the cat closer to them until it landed on her lap again. “I didn’t hurt it.”

“Still, that’s mean,” she said, petting it to smooth the fur that was affected by the spell.

“Why is it alright to cast it on trolls but not cats?”

“You can’t even compare the two. Cats are gentle and beautiful,” she said as she continued her caresses.

“Yes,” he softly said, looking at her with undisguised longing, “I guess that counts for something.”

“Poor thing,” she cooed, searching the creature behind the ears, “he pulled you all the way here. Like dragging you by the tail.”

“Oh don’t worry about it. I’m sure a lot of students do that,” he laughed.

“Yes, I’m sure they do,” she grinned.

“You know, there’s a safer way to get an animal to come to you, now that I think about it.”

The girl looked up at him with the slip of a knowing smile on her face. “I’m sure there are a lot of ways,” she said. “Which do you mean? Conjuring toys or treats?”

“Don’t think you can summon treats,” he said, hooking his leg off the edge of the fountain to come sit side by side with her. “It’s another of the unforgivables,” he whispered. “Mentioned in the student’s notes.”

“You would not!” she gasped. “What sort of spell is it?”

“That’s the thing, it’s harmless!”

“Then why is it an unforgiv—”

“Because it places the victim completely under the caster’s control,” he said, looking into her eyes and searching for any hints of fear or hesitation.

She bit her lip as she looked back at him, gaze travelling down to his fleshy mouth and back up to his warm brown eyes. “What is it called?”

“Imperio.”

The girl was quiet as she thought about it, her hand never ceasing its absentminded caress of the creature on her lap.

“I still wouldn’t use it on a cat,” she laughed airily. “But it would be —”

“Useful against enemies,” and others, he thought.

Sebastian leaned toward her the slightest bit required to reach the cat as well, and pet it gently on the head. Immediately, it started purring at his touch, and he couldn’t help but smile at the small peaceful moment. The cat luxuriated in the pampering of the two of them, curling its tail around her wrist, claws flexing out of paw pads, and against the back of his hand, Sebastian could feel the girl’s knees rubbing against each other beneath her skirt.

“So, would you like to learn it?” he asked in a breathy whisper.

And that’s how they decided to skip lunch and visit the Undercroft again.

[not-poignant]

how do you have the time to write all this stuff /and/ play video games etc etc at the same time? Is it just that you write insanely fast after all these years? I have a lot of hobbies, writing being one of them, and i have such a hard time juggling them lol.

Hi anon,

So, real talk -> The reality is I don't have the time to write and play video games at the same time most of the time.

I haven't written anything since the 17th. I haven't started the next Palmarosa chapter. I'm on day 8 of not having opened a new document and writing anything.

I've edited a whole two chapters (which I suspect I have to go over again) and I've responded to some comments and asks, and that's it. No writing, no growing wordcount, I've been stagnating / not doing anything due to burnout since the 17th (I know the date because I have a giant whiteboard of completed chapters next to me).

Honestly, most of the time I don't actually have the time to read, play video games, watch television, or movies. I am too busy writing/editing/sleeping. With Toby in the mix, the small amount of media I was consuming has vanished.

Sometimes I can play certain video games while writing - these are usually low stakes video games I can endlessly put on pause and then play for five minutes at a time, like Dorfromantik and Garden Galaxy. Any kind of idler video game, like Havendock is also good for this.

Anon, you can't have a lot of hobbies and actually keep up with them and write the way I do, and therapist/s wouldn't recommend you drop all of your hobbies to write the way I do anyway. Trust me.

I had two things I wanted to start learning this year, and I haven't started learning them yet. I don't have the capacity. I had a therapist gently point out to me that if I was always at 100 in terms of output, how can I have any energy leftover for self-work and processing? The answer is: I don't. (That's actually why I've spent a week playing video games, and if anything it's just reminded me that my capacity is still at 100 and this is going to take a bit of concerted decompression).

Most of the time it's not normally quite this overwhelming. Toby has just maxed me out because he's a high energy dog who is also a puppy with Separation Anxiety, and there's no quick or easy fix for that. But most of the time it's still very intense. The list of shows I really want to watch, and books I really want to read, is very long. But I often don't have time to indulge in those things because I'm too busy writing.

A lot of the time I don't actually have the time to reread my own fics anymore, outside of editing.

This year was meant to kind of tackle that more decisively but you know then we got a puppy so... not so much.

But yeah anon, there is no 'how do you do this and do this' - you don't do one of those things, or you do it very haphazardly, in small amounts.

I do write very fast (my wordcount is 120-150wpm), but I don't edit fast (I'd tender that editing fast for most people is a bit of an oxymoron), I don't answer asks fast (some of the longer ones take me an hour to compose), etc. And even then, writing fast is not the same as the time it takes to think out the chapter, to figure out what's happening, letting it percolate etc. A lot of my life is also just resting. I lose about 2-5 hours of every afternoon to sleep or rest for example, where nothing productive happens. And I think one of the reasons I read so many manwha atm is that they're so easy to read comparatively, and so quick, and that's the only way I can really consume stories these days.

[wyrmst]

Something Borrowed (Part Ten)

M Gargoyle x M Reader

PREVIOUS || STORY TAG || NEXT

Wordcount: 5127

Content Warnings: Discussion of a Breakup

The horrors have been numerous and persistent for me lately, so this part took its sweet time getting written. Not much else to say about this chapter, other than I’m very excited to write the next one!!

It seems that things are determined to go sideways today. 

“Sorry to drop all of this on ya so early, but I knew you’d be awake.” Your sister’s voice comes through the speaker of your device.

You are indeed awake. You haven’t been sleeping well lately, despite it feeling like what you do the most these days- no idea why that would be- so you were already up and slowly trudging through your morning routine. But now you’re distracted with the call, going through making yourself a desperately needed cup of coffee mostly by feel in your dimly lit apartment kitchen.

“It’s okay- So, how exactly did this happen?”

“She took a wee tumble down the stairs. Got up in the middle of the night to get water, fell ass over kettle.”

“Oh, spirits. But you said it wasn’t serious, right?”

“Eh. Fractured her wrist, or so the doctor says. Right, Ma?” You hear a bit of noise in the background that sounds remarkably like your mother being quietly muttering in a displeased manner. “She’ll be right as rain soon enough. But she’s going to be in the cast for a tick.”

“Do I need to book a flight?”

“Hmm. You know we love to see ya- but nah. It's really not all that dire. Think she's tired of all the fuss by now, really.” She explains, before immediately switching into compulsory older sibling teasing. “Plus won't your new fella miss you? Unless you want to bring him along to meet what he's got to look forward to joining up with.”

“Haha… Yeah, you’re right. I suppose you’ll just have to wait…” You haven’t told them he’s not exactly your fella at the moment. What would you even say?

After a bit more conversation, Emer puts your mother on, and you speak to her for a short while. It assuages your worry a little, but not nearly enough to take the edge off. Though she's adamant you don't let her little mishap scare you into making sudden travel plans, you can't help but let it add to your raising worries.

Maybe… you should go home?

You hang up your device and look down at the brewed coffee that’s just started to drip through the filter. In your absent minded state, you’ve managed to put the exact mug you’ve been avoiding into the machine.

But there it is, the pink and white curves of ceramic reminding you of everything you're trying to push out of your mind.

You let out a long, frustrated sigh, pausing to stare vacantly at the mug.

Maybe putting an ocean between you and here will help you forget what you could have right now instead, if you weren't cursed.

You have all day to sit on it, you suppose, and can make a decision later. But you do have a business to run in the meantime, so you return to the process of adding your usual milk and sugar. 

It doesn’t help the bitter taste at all today.

Things don’t really go much better for you the longer the day progresses. 

“This is too sweet,” The older woman across the counter says, brandishing the mostly eaten cupcake in its paper lining. “I want a refund.”

“Well, it's a cupcake, m’am. It is mostly sugar…” You don’t even have the energy to muster your usual level of pleasantness. You barely keep from grimacing as you ring up the refund, just to get this person out of your hair.

Your customers are usually not this problematic, but you’re beginning to think that no one is having a good day today. You can deal with grumpy or picky people, but usually they’re not quite so many of them in a concentrated blast. Every little interaction is finding its way under your skin, and that’s not even taking into account how hard it is to concentrate and get any meaningful progress done.

Though, this is a task you’ve been pointedly avoiding that you’ll have to start sooner or later, today.

You’ve got to finish putting together Devin and Trevor’s cake- if you want it to be solid enough to put flowers in before delivery tomorrow night, which is rapidly approaching the longer you dawdle.

As in, nearly can be measured in hours instead of days soon.

It was different when it was just… anonymous cake layers you were cutting out and leveling. That could’ve been for anyone’s cake! But the more personality that goes into it, the more the subtle, nagging grief makes it difficult to work on.

You sigh and glob a stabilizing dollop of the vanilla buttercream- Trevor's choice- onto the base with your offset spatula.

It’s not as if you’re jealous that your ex is getting married at this point. You’re far past the stage of wanting him back by now. It just… all seems so unfair. Hopeless. He was able to wound you so deeply when he left- and just when you thought you had healed and moved on, carved out some new happiness for yourself- that got taken away, too.

Why should he get to be happy when you’re on the short end of the stick again?

You center a cake layer, then slather some more buttercream, spreading it out to make a glue for the next layer to adhere onto.

You’ll just have to think about it as Devin’s cake. It’s for your friend. That’s how you’ll get through this. You’ll do a good job, for your friend. Even if she’s marrying your ex, she should still get the best cake you can make for her, like you’d do for any other client.

Another layer of cake. A layer of elven berry compote that you made fresh yesterday- also Trevor’s choice, naturally. Another layer of cake. Then, repeat it all again.

As much as you try to rationalize that to yourself as you work through applying the crumb coat, you can’t help but realize you’ve been white-knuckling the spatula handle by time you’ve finished applying the buttercream.

Eventually, you have all of the crumb coated tiers ready on cake boards, to be given another coat and assembled after they’ve firmed up for a bit.

You mercifully shut the disassembled cake in the cooler, relieved that you don’t have to look at it for another few hours. Though, you have to hand it to yourself, even when your life is falling apart, you can make a bang-up gorgeous cake.

The demands of your business don’t stop just because you’re having a bad day and have other things to do, unfortunately. You’re not sure what portal to Hell has opened nearby, but it seems like all of the most awful customers have all decided to come to your shop today to take out their anger on you.

“No, we don’t do tiered pies here. I don’t even know if you’d be able to do that without making a mes- Well, okay. Have a nice day-” You say, though the person on the other end of the line has already hung up on you.

You turn to face the customer waiting at the counter, but before you can even greet them, they interrupt you with a snapping of their fingers.

“Where’s our waiter? I put our order into the kiosk twenty minutes ago and no one has even been by to so much as pour our water!”

“Oh, well, you can eat-in here, that’s what the seating is for, but we’re not a full service-”

“Ugh, fine! Just get me my order already, then.” The customer barks and you have to bite your tongue to restrain yourself from snapping back.

By time you reach another lull in activity and get back to work on Devin’s cake, your jaw and shoulders are fully tensed.

Since it’s slow, you take out the gumpaste. You have another tray of roses to sculpt so they can dry on time to place them tomorrow, so you might as well knock it out sooner than later.

Maybe none of this would be getting to you so much, but the full weight of the wedding being tomorrow is bearing down on you. The one saving grace is that Kirby will be there to distract you- at least you won’t be alone. You’ll deliver the cake, you’ll get through the ceremony, you’ll stay for a brief yet socially acceptable amount of time at the reception, and then you’ll go home and this whole excruciating ordeal will be over.

You just have to finish this cake and get through tonight first.

Only a few more hours until close. 

You can do this.

You make it another hour, rolling thinned pieces of sugary paste into delicate petals, before the bell door rings, and the person you see walk through the door gives you pause.

It’s not Carlyle, as you’ve been hoping it was every single time you hear the shop bell jingle since the last time you saw him. But it certainly looks like him, in everything but personal styling, and of course, the shape of the quartzose horns protruding from his brow.

Today it seems he’s left his body glitter at home, however. He’s dressed in relatively casual clothing; a hoodie (midriff still intact), untied slim joggers, immaculately clean sneakers. The difference is so staggering you might not have even recognized him as the same person, compared to his last visit, if he didn’t have Carlyle’s face; which you can now see clearly underneath his loose brown curls, this time not covered by the shadow of his hood.

“Hey.”

He gives you a tilt of his chin in acknowledgement and smiles an uncannily similar, fanged smile to the one you’ve grown accustomed to seeing. It’s a stab of pain, how sorely you miss it right now, and seeing it again, but just different enough to not be it.

“Uh. Hi, Marcus?” You say in a stilted manner, not really sure how to proceed. “You are… looking less gilded today than last time.”

“Hahahah, yeah. I didn’t have work last night, dude. No hangover!”

“Hah. Right…”

“But good to see you again, man! …I was wonderin-”

“Listen, if you’re here to deliver a message or something, I really can’t do this right now.” You cut him off, begging more than anything at this point to not have another thing go wrong or a twist of the knife today. You scrub at your face with your forearm to keep your hands sanitary, the deep pit of frustration starting to bubble out of you unintentionally. “And he knows to not-”

“Hey, no man, listen! It’s nothing like that.” He pats his curls down, the same way that his brother occasionally does with his locs when he’s smoothing out a misunderstanding. “He’d be PISSED if I knew he was here, hahah. He told me never to come here on my own after last time!”

“Well, maybe you should follow his instruction on that matter.” You say dryly and continue to roll the soft substance in silent judgement. “He usually knows what he’s talking about.”

Marcus seems to take this as a bad sign, his face twisting into a look of exasperation.

“Fine! Gimme a dozen cupcakes then. Fuck, make it any flavor, dude, I don’t even care.” He starts rifling through his pants pockets, finally pulling out his wallet, and then a card that he puts on the counter. It’s got his name printed on it, rather than Carlyle’s, so you suppose he’s gotten it replaced since the last time. “You’ve gotta talk to me if I’m a customer ‘n shit, right?”

“You know I do have the right to refuse service to you…?”

“Yeah man, but I don’t think you’re gonna! You’re too nice, from what I’ve heard.” Marcus says with the sort of shit-eating grin on his face that absolutely makes you want to refuse service to him, but with a vengeance.

“Well if you’re not here on your brother’s behalf…” You sigh in your own matching exasperated look and set down your gumpaste project to start boxing a dozen cupcakes. “Why are you here, then?”

“I’m gonna be totally honest with you, dude. He didn’t send me, but it is about him. I’m like, super worried about him.”

“Oh…” You can’t help yourself, you have to ask. “Is he alright…?” 

“Hell no! He’s all fucked up, man! The other night, I left at 8pm and he was still in the same spot at 11am when I got back in. Same book, same fit, same stale cup of coffee. He had sat still in the same place reading whatever nerd shit he was reading for so long that he deadass went half solid.” 

You can’t find the words to respond to that. The guilt gnaws at you like you gnaw at your bottom lip, but in a strange way, you feel validated that he’s still as messed up about things as you are.

“Look, whatever he did, it can’t be that bad, right? It’s Lyle!! He like, never fucks up like that.” He leans over the counter, talking with his hands in another show of familiar, yet foreign-in-this-context expression. He taps his chest with the fingertips of a spread hand for emphasis. “And I would know, ‘cuz I’M the family fuck up here. So, maybe you could like, just forgive him and junk? Make up or whatever?”

“It’s not…” You take a second to steady your breath. You’ve been trying to suppress these feelings for weeks, and now they’re getting dragged up so suddenly. “It’s not something he did. It’s… outside circumstances…”

You hesitate for a brief moment before you pick out the last of the random assortment; an orange and mixed spice flavor you found yourself trying out.

“That’s it? There’s no gettin’ around it, huh?”

“No. I'm sorry. It's complicated. I just can't.” You say with weakened conviction as you tape the box up, and then hoping to persuade yourself once again, add; “It’s better this way.”

“Right-” Marcus straightens up and rocks back and forth on his feet, his sneakers squeaking slightly against the tile with the motion. “Sorry if pushing was out of line, dude.”

“Don't worry about it- honestly, I'm sort of glad you showed up.” You smile, bittersweet. “It’s good that he has someone looking out for him.”

“Yeah.” Marcus smiles a conflicted smile back, then takes his cupcakes to go. “See you ‘round, dude.”

You find yourself having a silent argument with yourself as you finish the rest of the roses.

There’s the guilt, of course. Are you a bad person if you know that this separation is hurting you both, and yet you’re continuing to enforce it? Maybe you should have just let Marcus convince you to reach out?

Seeing someone with such familiar features has only made your heart ache that much more for what you’re missing.

Perhaps it’s for the best that you don’t have any customers in the shop at the moment, because they’d be able to clearly see you sneering at empty air and grumbling to yourself.

By the time you finish the last petal on the last rose of the tray, you’re no closer to having resolved your internal disagreement.

You put the roses away, and pull out your fully set, crumb-coated cake. Now just to put the final layer of frosting on, and then you’ll be done for the night.

As you set the tray down on the counter, your voci starts ringing in your pocket. You remove your gloves and answer the call, seeing that it’s Kirby. They’ve been checking in on you a lot more often lately, like you’re a sickly pet needing constant supervision. They're not entirely wrong.

You greet them as you put them on speaker. Then you wash up, and reglove as their voice comes through on the other end.

“So! How is your day going so far?”

“Oh, you know. Typical weekend customers. Ma broke her wrist.” You say flatly, smoothing out the buttercream on the top of the lowest cake tier with a spin of the stand with well-practiced motions.

“Oh no! That’s terrible! Is she okay??”

 “She’s fine, but it’s still stressful that I can’t be there to help out.”

Once you’re finished getting a perfectly even, level surface on the lowest tier, you begin the process again on a slightly smaller scale on the next largest cake tier.

“Mmm. Yeah, it must be, being so far away.”

“And Carlyle’s brother came into the shop earlier.” You continue, now lathing more buttercream onto the sides.

“Whaaaat??? No!! Glitter Boy?! Oh my SPIRITS you’ve gotta tell me all the details right now!”

“There’s not a lot to say, really. Told me Carlyle’s not taking it well either, and now I feel like a villain.”

“You’re not a villain,” Kirby sighs. “Sometimes things are just. Y’know. Messy.”

You continue to make your way through doing the final coat on the cake tiers, each one going progressively faster as they diminish in size.

“Oh, and how could I forget- I’m making a cake for my ex’s wedding that social pressure is forcing me to attend. So you know. The usual.”

“Hahah- Ooh, bummer. Well, when you put it like that, it does sound like, toooootally miserable! You’re having a pretty horrible day, and I’m… definitely not about to make it worse, hahah!!”

“Oh no.” You hiss through gritted teeth. “Something’s wrong, then?”

They laugh nervously, a little giggle-whimper that you can’t possibly be irritated with.

You’re silent as you begin to fill a piping bag with buttercream, waiting for Kirby to divulge their information.

“I MAY have some bad news.”

“Oh. Lovely. Just grand! More bad news is exactly what I need at this current moment.” You say, dripping with sarcasm.

“I know!!! Believe me, I know! But I wanted to tell you as soon as I found out.” Kirby sighs. “I just got out of a meeting with my boss and they’re sending me out of town on a case. I have to get on a red eye in a few hours.”

“But… the wedding is tomorrow…”

“Yeah, that would be the problem! But I can’t exactly tell my boss to fuck off and still have a job, y’know??? Soooooo. We are in. damage. control. mode!”

“It’s okay.” You say, it not really being okay at all, but not wanting to lash out at your friend who’s only ever tried to help you in any given situation. You’re simply too stunned to even start to panic.

“Nope! It’s ABSOLUTELY not! But I’ll be there in like, an hour!! I’ll bring dinner and we can totally figure out a plan B, okay? Or I guess plan C or D by now- But bestie, I don’t care if I have to HIRE an escort to take you to that wedding, you’re not going alone! Especially not because of stupid work interference!!”

“Hah- A-Alright.” You laugh weakly and speak through a sharp intake of air, but manage to not sound like you’re about to burst into tears, even though you desperately want to. “See you soon.”

The call ends, but you continue working, despite the rapidly expanding pit of terror in your gut and the sting at the back of your eyes.

This news, surprisingly, does not help your ability to finish this cake.

You keep going, but not without roadblocks. Your eyes screw closed in frustration and pain. Your teeth grit. Your hand clenches around the bag, nearly squeezing the frosting out of the back end of it.

As a small mercy, closing time finally comes and you turn off the light, though you leave the door unlocked, given you’re expecting Kirby sometime in the next hour or so.

You need to move on to piping some of the finer details- But you can't even think about piping an even line right now, not with the way your hand is trembling.

Still, you persist, pushing the bag back taut and re-twisting the open end. 

“Stop. Shaking.” You hiss out loud at yourself, your body refusing to obey even your own verbal instructions.

You just need to get this cake done. Is that so much to ask?

Kirby is coming over and you’ll find a solution for the wedding. You won’t have to go to your ex's wedding alone. It will be fine.

The tremor in your hand nearly causes you to stab through the layer you’re working on with the piping tip, so you take a moment to straighten up your posture and try to loosen your locking muscles. You take a few calming breaths, then go back in and manage to finish the last few filigree details on the tier you're working on.

Your hand is already shaking again. You ignore it. You’ll get through this. You have to.

But every time you regain focus, the thought of Carlyle as a miserable and inert statue keeps creeping back unbidden into your mind.

It’s all too much. Too much. Too much.

The lights above you flicker. A buzz of energy ripples through the room.

The pressure on your chest is unbearable now. Blood rushes in your ears. 

You can’t deal with this anymore.

You can’t even think-!

POP-

In an instant, something cold and cloying splatters across the side of your face and the bridge of your nose, the front of your shirt, your clenched hands and outstretched forearms.

You bring a hand to your face in shock, blindly testing the sudden change in texture.

Your fingertips come away coated in sticky, sugary goop, and bits of shredded vanilla sponge cake.

And where the cake tiers were sitting on the counter, there’s a conspicuous absence of a cake, only the sparse large chunk of shrapnel- a bloodless crime scene, the mostly empty, frosting smeared cakeboards evoking the essence of a chalk body outline.

Well. You’ll be damned.

The cake exploded.

Hoarse, incredulous laughter escapes your throat- first in disbelief, then in bitter resignation. No other reaction really seems to suit this situation more.

Because your life is a joke. A bad joke.

Your laughs thin out, turning into choked sobs. You sink down until you’re sitting on your cold shop floor with your back against a cabinet, and bring the lower clean edge of the apron up to cry into.

Eventually, the unrestrained weeping quiets into silent tears Time has passed, as evidenced by the sky beginning to darken outside. 

“Heeeeellooooo~! I’m heee-” You hear a familiar voice call out and then equally familiar hoof falls on the tile. There’s a rapid change in their tone, making a 180° turn into hushed concern. “Oh. Well fuck, that doesn’t look good-” 

After a few moments, Kirby rounds the counter, an inquisitive look on their face.

You can’t even muster the embarrassment to be seen like this, too tired and emotionally drained and just simply done with it all.

You expect a look of pity or maybe some awkward fussing, but instead, Kirby simply gives you a knowing smile.

“What a mess!!” Kirby shakes their head, curls tumbling as they assess the damage. “You’re not hurt, are you, honey?”

You shake your head weakly, rubbing at your eye with your inner wrist.

“Good! Well then, let’s get this all cleaned up!” They chirp and reach out their hand, palm up.

After the moment it takes to recognize the gesture, you take their hand. Kirby’s grip is surprisingly strong for being such a petite faun, and they easily manage to help you to your feet.

“You don’t have to-” 

“Well I’m NOT going to let you sit here and cry covered in frosting all night.” Kirby laughs, beginning to roll up the sleeves of their work shirt. “So. Yes I do~”

“...Thank you.” You sniffle.

“Don’t mention it!!” They laugh. “You go get cleaned up and I’ll start tackling this absolute disaster zone!”

You trudge upstairs and debate on the benefits of a full shower before deciding that it’s worth it, even if ten more cakes explode. You’re uncomfortably sticky down your neck and arms. 

Maybe you can wash this day away, while you’re at it…

Before long you’re redressed and coming back downstairs- if not feeling completely refreshed, you at least now have it in you to face the (suddenly much longer) list of tasks ahead. Kirby has gotten most of the cake into a trash bag, and is wiping down the counter.

“There, you look much better! Now, come tell me what was happening when this happened, will you?”

You join them, grabbing a sanitizer rag and beginning to help wipe down the closest surface. You describe as best you can exactly what you were doing, feeling, and thinking about when the cake exploded, just as you’ve explained to them about the previous incidents that you weren’t physically present for.

“Hmm.” Kirby hums quizzically. “Well, the good news is I’ve got a potential solution for the wedding dilemma.”

“Oh?” You’d be lying if you said that the promise of a stressor being removed didn’t sound divine.

“Actually, I’ve already convinced Rosario to go with you, if you want, while I was on the way over. Did you know that she’s surprisingly easy to bribe?!” Kirby giggles. “But to be honest- I didn’t even need to bribe her!! She agreed before I offered anything in return. Apparently wedding cake and an open bar is enough reason for her to turn up, or so she said. But I think it’s because she likes you.”

“That’s… very kind of her.” She wouldn’t be the worst companion for the event- you’ve grown quite fond of her presence in your shop, prickly attitude and all.

“Yeah! She’ll easily make your ex just as uncomfortable as I was planning to, all on her own merit, hehe!! BUUUUUT, I think you know what I’m about to say-”

“Don’t…”

“You should call him!” Kirby says in the most obnoxiously sing-song sweet tone they can, and you wince hard.

“I can’t-”

“But you can~!!”

“But I don’t think I should-”

“Well, maybe you should think again, sweetie!! You absoluuuuutely should! Because if this-” Kirby motions to the partially cleaned up buttercream splatter still coating the vicinity. “Isn’t proof enough that it’s not a him problem, I don’t know what would be!!”

You drag a palm across your face, overwhelmed, and heave a sigh.

“At the end of the day it’s your choice! I can’t make you call him. But you miss him, and he misses you! I know this for a fact! And SPIRITS is he being SO insufferable about it!! And so are you!!!! And it’s just a BIT silly to keep drawing this out like this.”

“But… I don’t want him to get hurt…”

“Listen. We know there’s something attached to you- Rosario’s exorcism attempt confirmed that much. But there’s no like, actual indication that any of that is related to what’s happening with the curse. It’s just not how this kind of magic works. We’re almost certain we’re dealing with two unconnected, non-standard issues complicating each other at this point- some sort of spirit attached to you, and some sort of ley-based magical compulsion in play- but we don’t know the source of where either of those things are coming from. Yet.”

“Right.” You say, pausing your cleaning work to take in the new information.

“Though, someone has some very promising ideas about the later being some sort of messed up geas, and Rosario seems like she has a hunch on what is in the shop.”

“But… it just feels like it’s getting worse. Not that I don’t appreciate your efforts, of course…”

“I know it feels that way. But I am good at my job! And I’ve been keeping track of the numbers this whole time, y’know?? I’ve got the DATA. Do you know what I’ve noticed the most as a trend over the time I've been working your case?”

You simply shake your head to give them time to build dramatic tension before they continue.

“The cakes explode more when you’re upset!! Like, a whole, whole lot more! And quite frankly at this point, in my professional opinion, you being separated from him is making it WORSE!!”

“...You really think it’d be okay to ask him-” To go back to how it was before, to be with me again; you want to say, but end up continuing instead; “to come with me to the wedding?”

You have the feeling Kirby understands what you wanted to say, anyway, based on their pleased expression, like they’re finally getting the message through to you.

“You’re my friend!! And as your friend, I am HEREBY giving you the permission that you’re not giving yourself! I wouldn’t be suggesting this to you if I didn’t think it was safe.” Kirby squarely lays their hands on you on the shoulders, though they need to reach up slightly to do it. “If anything, having him there might keep you from getting bent out of shape at your ex and blowing up the second cake, like, at the actual wedding.”

“That would be horrible.” You rasp and find yourself genuinely smiling for the first time all day, trying to blink back the sting of more tears threatening to spill, though this time more out of a sense of appreciation than despair.

“It. Would. Be. HILARIOUS.” Kirby says with a mischievous grin, patting your shoulders with each word for emphasis. “And if it were to happen, I would hope you were recording it. Y’know, for data collection purposes, hehehe!! But it would also be, let’s say: bad for business.”

You manage to finish getting things looking clean, as if nothing bad had happened at all, Kirby has called their ride to the airport.

“Now, I have to go or I’m going to miss my flight and my boss will probably-actually-literally murder me.” 

“And I have a cake to remake.” You quietly lament. “If you want, I can get on the plane and you can make the cake…”

Kirby lets out a string of giggles, picking their carry-on bag off the seat at the counter they stashed it on..

“Hahah- No thanks!! But- Call him.” Kirby repeats as they give you a squeezing hug goodbye. “Or Rosario, if you must. But don’t make yourself go alone. And keep me updated!! All of the juicy wedding gossip, please. I’m definitely going to be bored out of my mind otherwise, hehe!!”

Then they release you from their grip to head out the door with one last wave and a jingle of the shop bell. 

You, on the other hand, let out a long, withering sigh and pull out another set of white cake layers from the cooler.

…It’s going to be a long night.

>> ✨ MASTERLIST

[chlorinewriter]

Good and bad news on the Mishanks Holy Heathens fic for priest Mihawk & heathen Shanks. The good news is that I've more than tripled my wordcount from last time I posted about it and things are still going pretty strong. It's been fun!

The bad news is that I realized I can't have my cake and eat it, too. Not with this fic. I wanted a one-shot that was sexy and tense and still emotionally gut-wrenching but also put Mihawk and Shanks in a different beginning relationship than the original show/manga/etc and the format was just not working for that. Turns out jamming three in-depth flashbacks into a fight scene is sorta disruptive, lol. So! A short chaptered fic it shall be. I'm thinking 4 or 5 chapters. I have waaaay more of the back end written than the front, so it'll be a bit before I have the first chapter out. That said, another snippet before I post the first chapter sometime in the next week. You could say the Mihawk and Shanks first meeting does not quite go spectacularly:

Shanks accepts the roll of paper from Mihawk’s hand, eyebrow jumping and other hand remaining on his sword’s hilt. “What’s this?” he asks, already slipping the meticulously tied ribbon from the paper and unfurling it.

“An official writ,” Mihawk replies, and though he is standing easily, Yoru still on his back, the Redeemer is watchful. His faith is imbued through his body, hardening skin and muscles, and the limited foresight it grants him hovers at the edges of his awareness. There are too many possibilities right now for any one to stick out. That doesn't really matter. There will only be two that come to fruition.

At some point in time this heathen is going to start running, or he's going to fight. They always do. He’s almost surprised the man hadn’t taken off when he’d seen the distinctive black and red robes Mihawk is wearing.

Probably a fight, then.

Lips moving soundlessly as he scans the paper, nonetheless Shanks appears to have no other trouble reading the writ and Mihawk is mildly surprised. Many of the godless he’s been sent after couldn’t even read their own condemnations. With the long scars over his one eye, a salt and sweat stained white shirt, and a weathered blue cloak far from immaculate, Shanks looks like he should be part of that group of grimy illiterates, but... He carries himself differently.

Occasionally the infidel pauses, and slowly his eyebrows drop into a furrow. After a few moments, Shanks looks up. And there is no dread in his face when he says, “I’m being denounced by the Holy First?”

“It is a Writ of Denouncement, yes.” Though the information is on the paper, there’s something searching in the other man’s gaze that makes Mihawk restless, and he adds, “You are called to the Holy See for judgement.”

“And you’re gonna accompany me there?” Shanks smiles, and from someone else it would have been mirthless. Not so with him. The grin actually seems amused, even warm. Mihawk inclines his head stiffly, his instincts warring with the discomfiting charisma of the other man as Shanks continues. “And I’ll – what? Be given a fair and just trial in the eyes of your Lord?”

“Your guilt is decided,” Mihawk retorts sharply, and it is not as easy to deliver the script as it usually is in the face of that grin. “Our Lord,” extra emphasis on our, as if Mihawk has anything to prove, “knows your wicked heart. What remains is your punishment.”

“Ah. Right. My wicked heart.” Shanks checks the paper, looks back up. “So what is the punishment, for, ah...” He reads off the list, ironic in his studiousness. “Consorting with demons, misleading the populace, decrying the Church, accosting Church officials, challenging Church doctrine, encouraging heretical tenets, displaying heretical uses of faith, waylaying shipments meant for Church officials, throwing spoiled produce at–”

“It is not for me to decide,” Mihawk interrupts. He forgot how long the list was. It also had not occurred to him when he read it in the Holy See that there were no murders or similarly violent offenses on the list. Though he seems to remember the priest who had been splattered with the fruit claiming it had been done with the enthusiasm of a most pernicious assault. That had caused quite a stir in the cathedral, a few years ago.

He doesn’t think he’s been called to track down – and execute upon resistance – a heretic such as this before. Not that it matters. It doesn’t. Such are the orders of the Lord.

Mihawk banishes the thoughts creeping unformed in the corners of his mind, reaches back to grip Yoru with deliberate and blatant threat.  

“I will see you before the Holy First. One way or another.”

Shanks’ hand tightens around the writ, crumpling the paper, and though there is still no fear in his direct gaze, he takes a few steps back. Mihawk's faith-imbued eyes can see something bright beginning to coalesce in the pirate's chest, and with a jarring mix of butcher-knife interest and muted disappointment Mihawk realizes this is going exactly where he knew it would.

Somehow, for just a moment, he'd thought...

“I don’t want to fight you, Redeemer Mihawk,” Shanks says quietly.

Yoru makes a shivery, beautiful peal as he pulls it from its sheathe, and the familiar sound loosens the tightness in Mihawk's chest. “Wise,” he replies, arching the sword one–handed over his head in a movement as natural as it is graceful. “Fighting any Redeemer is ill-advised.”

The blade ends up pointed unwaveringly at the heathen, but Shanks is not looking at Yoru. He still has that searching expression on his face, demanding and expectant as his eyes catch at Mihawk’s. “Not the Redeemers. I just don’t want to fight you."

[bacchanal-if]

This Week in Development

Just chipping away at chapter 2. Next week, I most likely will not have the time to work.

Current Wordcount: 24,073 in twine (not including what I have written in my editing app)

Coding:

Just when I think I'm done, it pulls me back in 😅 I've simplified the pronoun system code for both the MC/Francis and the ROs, which makes it much easier for me while writing. Honestly, I don't know why I didn't have it set up this way before.

Writing (Contains Spoilers):

I have most of the meeting with Tamsin/Thomas written but not complete, including the backstory of their nickname Tamcat/Tomcat. It's a bit daunting, as this is first introduction to a RO, and so I've been holding off on completing it until I am ready to tackle it head-on.

The first hobby interlude is what I've been mainly focused on, particularly Spirit Study. There is still a lot to be written, but I'm quite proud of the basic structures I have for most of them, with many variations within each hobby except Spirit Study, depending on personality and choices. I'm particularly excited about the singing hobby, as I found a song collection called Wit and Mirth, or Pills to Purge Melancholy written between 1719 and 1720, and what the MC sings from it largely depends on how they feel about the betrothal. Of course, the others have similar variations, but I personally found the research on song lyrics quite fun. There may be somewhat of a gap between how much happens in some hobbies vs others in this first interlude, but it is my hope to give each hobby an even amount of attention across the entire story, with each one having their own special moments. So if your chosen hobby does not seem to get a lot of screen-time now, just wait until later to reap the benefits!

Another conversation with Francis, after you meet T and work on your hobby, is partially written.

Just for fun, I have already written some options for what to wear when meeting Edith and Edward for the first time. I'm incredibly nervous about writing this meeting, if I'm being honest, and so I haven't touched it at all yet. I think E intimidates me!

Misc:

I started putting the RO portraits in, beginning with Tamsin and Thomas, whose portrait you see when you meet them, and will also be unlocked in the sidebar.

To-Do:

Glossary in the sidebar.

Portraits in the sidebar.

Adding the customization of where the MC falls on the romance spectrum to the first chapter.

Using said customization to alter the text when describing how you feel about Tamsin/Thomas in chapter 1.

[d-nessi]

CHAPTER 1| *JUST A GIRL IN A BAR*

A/N: Welp here we go. my first ever written Fanfic.

I hope my english is ok. Criticism is welcome :) (Im human so...)

there´s just a slice of fluff and there will be more chapters. I promise next one is full of lovydovy fluffedyfluff (what the...) Proofread?...ugh Yes and no. like I said is something wrong just tell me ;P I used HE/HIM cause in germany I dont even know if we have other pronounces for genderfluid people.

HOPE U GUYS LIKE IT <3333 have fun

Pairing: Bella Ramsey x FemReader

wordcount: 1,4k!

Just a girl in a bar

Sitting at the bartable, drinking one drink after another wasnt a good idea. Thats what I thought.

But it turns out it was the best thing that could ever happen to me. I dont really drink alcohol, honestly I never had but after losing my job in germany I would like try a new start here in England. Nottingham England and its freakn` raining the whole time. Matches with my mood I thought.

Today was my first day at work and hell it was rough. The reason Im sitting here with the Gin in my hand, at least we fit together. "one Gin please", a sweet and innocent voice suddenly filled the room. I look to my left when I just take a sip and almost spit it on HIM realizing WHO is sitting next to me. Bella doesnt even realize my behavior thank god and I try to stay as cool as I could cause right?…its just Bella...Bella freaking Ramsey!

I have to admit he looks quite frustrated when he downs his drink. Voices in the backround starting getting louder which gets more and more annoying. "Ramsey! BELLA RAMSEY! your the one in Game of Thrones!? and in the last of us!" High voices almost screamed at Bella. "yes thats me", obviously not in the mood he looks at the girlygroup right behind him.

Each of the 4 women starts to talk at once and forget about Bella, who doesn`t seem to want to talk to such annoying people.

It starts to pissing me of only because clearly they have no manners when it comes to a single humanbeing.

"OK ENOUGH you disturbing chicks now take a leave!", I stand up and move to them. They all look upset but just leaving the bar.

"another gin for the person to my left", I wink to the barkeeper and he gives him another shot. "you alright bella?",

I ask not knowing if he is ok calling him by his firstname. "yeah I think so", are the only words.

"I guess you have to endure often with people like that?" I ask and empty my gin showing the keeper that he should fill up again.

"somtimes, not that often", he smiles at me looking thankful.

I talked a lot more with Bella and it`s weird that it seems like we are just frinds. Shows that even people that are known in public just normal humanbeing.

He stands up and smiles at me. "Y/N it was a pleasure to drink with you". i smile back "me too Bella" He leaves the bar and so do I a little later.

Next day and Im sitting here again. Same spot, same chair and no...a coke in my hand sipping regretful on it. "I will never ever drink alcohol again!" my head seems to explode even after only 2 shots of gin. Im not made to drink that Devils juice.

"one coke please", again that beautiful voice of him. "so today Im not the only one that regrets yesterdays evening" I smile at Bella. YES its Bella again and I cant believe I almost laught about the fact he also just drinks a coke. "dont blame me Im not used to drink alcohol", he looks a bit pale but seems happier than yesterday. "same for me", I say and we drink together from our glasses full coke.

"hows your day today and also I cant remember your name", he looks a little embarrassed. "never mind, Y/N. Except for a hangover I feel pretty good. its so nice to meet you again here" I smile maybe a bit to bright.

"yeah me too", he drinks and we talk about my past, how I lost my job in Germany and moved to England.

I dont know but when I look at him theres this weird feeling in my stomac. It makes me a little nervous especially when I look at Bella.

Time passes to fast and I really dont want him to leave but he takes his jacket and smiles at me. "your often here from now on?" a simple question I have to ask. "well maybe but I have to leave England in 2 weeks cause of the new season of the last of us show" he looks wistful. "oh....ok....wow season two. sounds pretty awesome. I didnt tell you I really love the show", I empty my coke.

"thank you", he blushes a little. damn there it is…the same feeling like befor. oh oh….please dont tell me that I have a crush on that REALLY REALLY untouchable person in front of me. I have to do something! "so.....", I start befor he goes. "do you want to show me your hometown next days? if you still have some time? I think you know best how to go" There was a hesitation but not in a bad way I think. " yeah...why not", a sweet smile, so sweet I could melt, was on his face. "you wanna exchange numbers with me?" I grab my mobile. "sure", he tells me the number and our paths seperate for now. Is this real? Am I not dreaming? Are we talking about that THE Bella Ramsey exchanged numbers with me? like we are close frinds? I cant wait to text her when we will meet for the city stroll trough Nottingham.

________________________________________

Y/N: 9:22am

Hey Bella :)

you wanna meet up with me in city? maybe at 2pm?

Bells: 9:28am

hey yeah that`s fine for me. We can meet at Old Market Square

Y/N: 9:30am

ok sounds good. cu

________________________________________

at Old Market Square

"BOOOH" I stealth from behind and got almost punched in my face while Bella squeaks loudly.

"wooow what in the holy world are you doing!? I was about beating your ass up" he looks angry but soon it turns into a smile.

"sorry" give him a cute look, him blushing and turn arround. "ok so…..that`s your hometown? Can I admit that it looks so incredible historic?"

He smiles and we walk trough different places in the city talking about Bellas past. I was truely flastert by his voice that sounds so sinnful and like heaven at the same time.

I don't think Bella knows how I feel even I don't know what's going on inside of me. The only thing I know is that I want to be closer to him…

maybe too close. So close that it could might ruin our relationship we build in that short time.

"less than 2 weeks until you have to fly to America. are you excited already? It's going to be a lot of work, I'm sure you can do it. And then I want to watch the whole second season".

I just try to encourage him but it seems that he is sad about every word I say.

"yeah…I'll be gone a hell of a long time. I don't even know if I'll be able to fly home for Christmas. the second season is a much bigger project".

He looks up to the sky while we are walking through the Aboretum. Just looking at him makes me sad and I regret bringin up the subject.

"hey you want Icecream?" I ask out of the blue.

"yeah why not" Bella smiles but looks uncertain. The rest of the day was rather quiet with an underlying sad mood. Like if she doesn't want to leave England or is there another reason? I would so like to know what she thinks. should I ask? no, not that the mood suffers even more.

"you want to go on a walk with skipper and me tomorrow?" he looks at me as if nothing happened befor.

"uh…your adopted dog? yeah of course I would", I take a deep breath. "fine than see you tomorrow morning at 6:30am? when the sun rises?", he ask.

"sounds great" I said, hesitating for a moment but finally just hugging Bella. A thousand butterflies flying through my stomach. As if every single one gives me an electric shock. I smiled at him as I broke the hug and wished I could hug him a little longer.

I can`t breath u guys....waaaaay too excited right now *hides from the stones that are thrown*

For more Chapters, stories and more just look at my Masterlist ♡

[valkblue]

5, 18, 21, 23

Hi, Anon! Thank you for asking these 🥰

5. What’s a fic idea you’ve had that you will never write?

Ahah, there is a funny coffee AU versions of Full Diagnostic that lives in my head 😂 It's somewhat scary how different it is.

18. What’s one of your favorite lines you’ve written in a fic?

There would be quite a few, actually. But for various reasons, this one from Journey into Night stands out, maybe: "Then, she’d be one step deeper below shit level…"

21. Have you ever deleted an entire scene after spending hours laboring over it? If so, why?

I don't think so! And if I did, I don't remember. It seems a little drastic to me and I usually keep the bits I'm not happy with or have heavily edited in an "ARCHIVE" file. Especially if I worked a long time on it. Also, the app I now work with allows me to see past versions of my text with and extensive color code if toggled so I'd say, it makes no difference if I wanted to scrap it 😂

23. How do you choose where to end a chapter (if you have multi-chapter works)?

Good question! It depends really. Sometimes, the chapter is action-packed and finishing it on a cliffhanger is the obvious choice, or you want to give your reader (and the characters) a lighter note on which to catch their breath so I end it on a joke of some sort. Same recipe for angsty or scary moments. I depends on how much you want your reader to turn the page right to the next bit of the story, or if you want to let them go to sleep 😁 And concerning the wordcount, well… I try to keep my chapter at a reasonable length. That part is the hardest to me 😅

[recurring-polynya]

Writing/Art Update 10.24.2023

Well, it's been three weeks since I said I could stop working on Ductwork if I wanted to, and I'm still working on it. (At least I was, as of yesterday. I haven't done any writing yet today and who knows what tomorrow will bring?)

I didn't have quite as many words for this week as I would have liked, but my big goal for this week was to finish Chapter 2, and I did. The wordcount on my document increased quite a bit, but there were two big scenes that were already written and just got copied over (although one of them required some pretty major rewrites, which took up a bunch of time and energy without increasing the wordcount much). In any case, my "clean version" document is now at 17,860 (+5421) with an estimated 2,563 of new words for this week.

Chapter 3 feels a little daunting right now. The first two chapters featured a bunch of flashbacks to Renji getting his arm broken and now that story has been (mostly) told, and the next two chapters transition to having a bunch of flashbacks to the time Rukia got gored by a boar. (This fanfic is really a ride. I am the first one to admit that I jumped the shark three fanfics and I can't believe I am still going). Anyway, it's tricky, because I'm trying to retain themes without being repetitive, and also they need to tie into what's going on in "real time" and also, basically just that I have not planned it out yet, and I do not want to plan it out because my brain hates planning things. I actually have some of the flashbacks written, but I was honestly just freeballing at the time, so I'm not even sure if they're useful at all. So, anyway, I would like to be writing, but I have this planning activity in the way and I very much hate it.

I also got a little bummed because I kinda feel like I am not making any progress on this, despite how long I have been working on. I mean. It's only 2 chapters/18k. That's so little. It's not really, though, there's an entire other document. It's hard to count, because a lot of scenes are in both of them. I did bother to do some accounting, and I actually have more like 37k altogether, which is...more like something, I suppose.

I actually am not really sure how long it's gonna end up. The first two chapters are about 8-9k each, and I think Ch 3 and 4 will follow. The fanfic kind of takes a big transition after that, bisected by the surgery itself. I've sort of been imagining that the post-surgery part will be 1.5-2x the length of the pre-surgery (so, 6-8 chapters), but what I am going to do with all that space? This is the sort of thinking that leads to 100k fanfic. I will try to come up with things to fill the space and then I will have too much stuff. That's just how it is, I guess. Wouldn't it be nice if this could just be, like, 60k, and I could be almost done?

That's enough of my prattling for this week, I think. In other news, I finished the Rukia-and-Renji-have-sex-in-a-cave-in-Hueco-Mundo smut, and you can read it now. Much like the last one, it is, uh, not proving to be particularly popular. I'm not gonna let it stop me. The only way to get the smut you want in the world is to write it yourself, tho, and thanks to the handful of other people who appreciate my vision.

[autumnalwalker]

Witch's Testament: The Fighter

Author's Note: Had a bit of the core imagery for this one come to me in the shower one night and then the next evening I just had to write it all down in one marathon session that kept me up until 3am. A large part of the inspiration for this one was a meme, but in the 3am fugue state I'm writing this post in, I'm happy with how it came out. Sort of a "What if an Amazon distribution warehouse merged with an early 1900s coal mining town/company store situation and also a cult compound?" After having barely written anything for the past few months, this felt good, if exhausting. Wordcount: 4,449 The Witches' Testaments Masterpost: Link Content Warning: Indoctrination. Body horror in the form of outside forces taking over cybernetic implants/augmentations. Protests/riots/etc. Some violence. Brief allusion to sex. Union busting. Rounding people up and dragging away political dissidents, never to be seen again. Ambiguous possible character death.

There’s an old joke about a man who wrote a book on how to defeat fascism with the power of love.  The first chapter consists of a single sentence stating that the first step of his journey was realizing that he could not defeat fascism with the power of love.  The title of the second chapter is “The Power Of Incredible Violence.”

…

No, I suppose you wouldn’t have, now would you?  Doesn’t quite hit the same in this day and age.

No, and such a shame.  It always got a good laugh back then.

Right you are.

…

In that case, let me paint you a picture.

A boy lives in a Warehouse, not in the warehouse proper where all the goods are, but in the dormitory of the Warehouse campus along with all the other children his age, and after lights out he hides the glow of his tablet under the covers and types away for hours until the time when he knows he’ll get just enough sleep to function the next day.  

He was born in the Warehouse, not amongst the narrow spaces between the endless stacks of the warehouse floor, but in one of the Warehouse campus infirmary’s cramped beds.  He was, however, conceived there.  The circumstances of his birth are shared by most of his peers.  And by his parents.   Not by his grandparents though.  Nobody’s grandparents were born in the Warehouse.

The boy’s grandparents even lived outside the Warehouse for a time, until the Company that owned the Warehouse made them an offer.

“Come, live here with us,” the Company said. “You’ll have so much more free time if you don’t have to travel back and forth every day.  And it’s so much cheaper than anywhere else.  Don’t you know that the world’s getting hotter?  Soon people who can’t afford a place to live will burn up.”

And so the boy’s grandparents took the Company’s offer and moved into the Warehouse, where there was just enough provided that they wouldn’t need to leave to relax and entertain themselves after a long day’s work.

And now the boy goes to school in the Warehouse (a better deal for his parents’ money than any outside school!) and learns from the ebooks his parents purchased from the Company (with employee discount!).  He learns about how greedy and selfish people polluted the world outside until it got too hot to bear.  He learns how the sky he’s never seen except through a grimy skylight used to be blue instead of a sickly yellow.  He learns how generous the Company is for giving everyone in the Warehouse a place to stay, good pay, and purpose through gainful employment.

For a long time, this all seemed reasonable to the boy.  It’s almost always too hot inside the Warehouse, so outside without air conditioning must be even worse.  The pictures on some of the items he sorts into delivery packages after school show blue skies, so someone outside must have ruined it at some point.  The Company doesn’t replace his parents and all the other workers in the warehouse stacks with drones that could do their jobs better, so the Company must be paying, housing, feeding, schooling, entertaining, and caring for everyone out of charity.  After all, the Company already has the drones in place, just waiting to be turned on and set to work at any time, and why wouldn’t they be kept inactive if not out of love for the employees?  No, the only drones the Company keeps turned on are the delivery drones to save the employees from ever needing to go into the awful heat outside to share their bounty with the world, and the security drones to keep them safe from bad people outside and employees that turn bad.  

And why else would the Company be so careful to help the employees exercise their right to vote and know what to vote for in order to let the Company continue providing for and protecting not just them, but all the people that might be lucky enough to work in the other Warehouses and campuses the Company wants to build?

Anyone who wanted could leave the Warehouse to try to scratch together a meager living in the burning world outside, but why would anyone want to?

But one of the boy’s friends wasn’t born in the Warehouse.  Not that his friend remembers anything from before, but his friend’s mother does and she told his friend stories that she promised the Company she wouldn’t.  According to his friend’s secondhand stories, the world outside is bad, worse than it used to be, but not as bad yet as the Company says, even if it is heading that way.  In many places, things are actually better than inside the Warehouse campus.  It took the boy a long time to believe that last part.

The boy and his friend share a tablet that they’re not supposed to have.  It looks different from the shiny sleek one his parents had to buy him for school that’s identical to everyone else’s.  This one is all scuffed up so that the sides sometimes get stuck on the sheets on the bed he’s almost outgrown.  The screen is cracked, and the back which isn’t quite the same size as the front comes off to show its insides.  The boy never thought about tablets having insides before his friend shared this treasure with him.

But most of all, the net that this patchwork tablet connects to isn’t the same as the net he’s used to.  There's so much more of it.  Entire worlds of art, and writing, and movies, and games, and chatroooms, and music, and blogs, and journals, and news sites, and animal pictures, and memes, and laughter, and ugliness, and beauty, and cruelty, and kindness, and despair, and hope.  For every instance of hardship and suffering that school told him about was outside, there’s a thousand people living, and creating, and being happy in a way that makes everyone in the Warehouse seem tired and merely content to get by.

Two things happen.

First, the boy begins to ask questions, but never aloud to anyone in the Warehouse.

Second, the boy discovers poetry, and after lights out he hides the glow of his tablet under the covers and types away for hours until the time when he knows he’ll get just enough sleep to function the next day.  

He realizes something is wrong, and he works to find the words to describe it, making attempt after attempt to capture the world around him in meter, in verse, in rhyme, in freestyle.  

It isn’t the employees living in the Warehouse.  The boy still believes that people are basically good, and who could watch the reunion between parent and child on Company holidays and think them any less people than those whose lives are shared on the net outside?  Or catch a glimpse of the way a teenager nervously slips a trinket she tells herself no one will miss out of an outgoing package so she can present it to the girl from three bunks down the dormitory she fancies?  Or bear witness to the way workers on a summer day form a human conveyer belt to shuffle their collapsed comrade off to the infirmary while protecting one another from the dreaded mortal sin of a Missed Shift?

No, the boy reasons, the problem must lie with the Warehouse itself, or even more terribly, with the Company.  Those, he concludes, are not people (even if school said otherwise about the Company), and therefore cannot love, and because they cannot love, they must be the source of whatever it is that’s wrong.  The boy’s read much about love by now; of the many forms it can take beyond romance, of its power to bring people together, and of its power to change the world.

He’s read that poetry is one of the greatest vehicles of love.

His early poems are clumsy but heartfelt things, and they latch on quickly to the themes he will refine over time; the hearts of the employees that just barely shine through the Warehouse’s subtle haze of wrongness that is trying to slowly consume them, juxtaposed with the vibrancy of life on the outside net.  The boy shares his poetry freely and eagerly online, holding fast to his ideals while taking critiques to refine his craft.  The only one in the Warehouse he shares his writing with his dear friend and collaborator who made his dream possible.  Yes, his dream.  A dream that his words might one day move the people outside to help them, move the Warehouse employees to realize that things could be better, and move the Company’s elusive and distant Upper Management to remember that they are people too.

It is not until the boy is of an age that everyone will soon be calling him a man instead that he begins to share his poetry with the Warehouse employees.  Not directly of course, but pervasively all the same.  In graffiti on the walls of every toilet and shower stall.  In the blind spots of cameras painted unignorably large to human eyes.  In the tiny hard drives of the patchwork tablets his friend has learned to make and leave around for anyone slightly curious to find.

The employees begin to talk and a change comes over the Warehouse.  The fear that the boy has long since come to realize was always in the background grows stronger, but it is eclipsed by anger.  And providing the fuel for that anger’s fire are love and hope.  Love for one another and hope that things can become better.  That they don’t need to sleep in such cramped spaces.  That the Company could easily afford to pay them enough to have more luxuries without going into debt that will transfer to their children.  That the air conditioning could actually be run cooler.  That school and medicine need not be deducted from their pay.  That it might actually be okay to leave the Warehouse.

A boy lives in a Warehouse, and after lights out he hides the glow of his tablet under the covers and types away for hours until the time when he knows he’ll get just enough sleep to function the next day.  For the next day Upper Management will be visiting the Warehouse and he wants to have a new poem prepared to share when they announce the changes they’ll be making to improve life for the employees.

The Warehouse’s assembly hall is almost never used outside of Company holidays, and is the one open space large enough to hold all of the employees and their children, if only just.  There’s a stage at one end of the hall, upon which stands a member of Upper Management.  Her suite of orange-trimmed-black is sharp, smart, and utterly unwrinkled, unlike the employee uniforms or the thousands of garments the boy has packed into delivery boxes.  Standing three rows back from the front, the boy and his friend look at each other, then to her, and then back to each other, grinning.  They’ve done it.  This is the moment where everything changes.

The woman from Upper Management begins speaking and her voice echoes from every loudspeaker, every tablet (except the ones the boy and his friend made), and every auditory implant.  Just the sort of grandeur the boy expects from Upper Management.  This is great.  She’s acknowledging that the employees have felt they’ve been lied to, mistreated, and undervalued.  This is amazing.  She’s talking about his poetry.  This is a dream come true!

But why is her tone so pitying?  So condescending?  So harsh?  Why is she talking about propaganda?  About ingratitude?  About knowing your place?  Why are security drones blocking the doorways?  Surrounding the employees?  Separating the younger cohorts of children?

In the Company’s boundless generosity, they provide leg and spinal augments to all of their employees of a certain age in order to save them from discomfort, pain, and injury that outsiders would get if they had to be on their feet sixteen hours a day every day.  And as providers of such wonderful gifts, it is the Company’s right to send those augments into lockdown mode and hold all their employees in place.  To keep them from hurting themselves, of course.  Just the same as it is the Company’s right to shut off the vision of everyone who opted into the employee discount for AR implants to make their work easier.  To save them the trauma of seeing what comes next, of course.  The same way that it is the Company’s right to remove any employee that broke their contractual rules of conduct and spread sedition about the Warehouse.  For everyone else’s physical and emotional wellbeing, of course.

The boy hadn’t quite yet saved up enough for his own ocular implants, so he gets to watch as his friend goes blind next to him.  He gets to watch as the drones move through the paralyzed crowd and begin injecting those who had been speaking up the loudest over the past few weeks.  He gets to watch as his friend goes limp and their interlocking fingers are wrenched from one another’s grasp.

No one’s legs unlock until an hour after the woman from Upper Management leaves with the ones who spoke up too much.  No one’s vision returns until two hours after that.  No one can find the boy’s friend, or the friend’s mother.

Everyone's pay is docked for the Missed Shifts.  Everyone still around who had a patchwork tablet finds that it’s gone and says good riddance.  Everyone silently agrees never to speak again about what just happened.  

…

Ain’t it just?

…

Maybe, but there’s one more brush stroke left in the painting.  You see…

A boy lives in a Warehouse, and after lights out he hides the glow of his friend’s treasured and well-hidden tablet under the covers and types away for hours, knowing that he won’t sleep this night.  He wonders if he’ll ever sleep again.  He wonders where it all went wrong.  He wonders why he wasn’t taken.

Turns out, the power of love only saved one person that day.

A message from a stranger pops up on the boy’s tablet, telling him how much they love his poetry.  He’s just one more sobbing voice in the dormitory that night, so no one notices his pained reaction.  He begins typing furiously, venting to this stranger that made the mistake of talking to him about how awful he and his work are and how much harm they’ve caused.

The stranger laments having only been born today, too late to help in time.  But, perhaps it is not too late to help in another way.  And so, the stranger made the boy an offer to become more familiar.

“Let me in to come live with you,” the familiar said.  “Allow me to release the coils of your augments and you will be free and strong.  Build me a body so I can be safe and I will show you how to keep everyone else safe.  Together, we can correct what went wrong and show the world that love has fangs.”

…

Well, obviously.

…

Let me paint you another picture.

A sea of people stands outside the gates of a Company’s Corporate headquarter.  An online movement turned into a strike.  A strike turned into a protest.  Now a protest turns into a riot.  Between high stone wall and sky scraping edifice an unimaginably valuable expanse of city real estate has been left seemingly empty for just such an occasion, not to give the people space to gather, but to provide a firebreak between them and the targets of their ire.

Somewhere far away, an order is given and a technician who is paid well enough to swallow most of his conscience and drown what little remains clicks a button to blind most of the crowd and commandeer the legs of half of them to send them walking to the nearest police station.

Seven seconds later, the bodily autonomy of the protesters is restored.  Seven seconds after that, the gates swing open to let the sea flood in.  Seven seconds after that, the faraway technician’s system is overloaded with error messages and revolutionary slogans.

Turrets and drones rise from the marble-plated expanse between outer wall and Corporate tower.  The protesters halt their advance.  High above, an executive and a security chief argue whether or not they can get away with lethal force.  A lawyer cuts in and tells them only on people who get inside the building.

For three seconds, the turrets focus active denial plates to intolerably heat skin from a distance and the drones screech until those at the front of the crowd drop to their knees with hands over their ears.  For three seconds everything is silent as those on the front lines are helped back up to their feet by their comrades.  For three seconds the drones and turrets rip one another apart in a hail of friendly fired bullets.

Men wearing private security logos begin spilling out of the building, each of them heavily armed, armored, and augmented.  Up above, an external consultant is being called to find out if being inside the perimeter wall counts as being in the building.  One of the hired soldiers reaches for a canister to throw but an order flashes across his vision to hold off on employing gas.  He doesn’t recognize the callsign, but he also doesn’t want to risk being the one dragged through a media circus if things get messy.

Weapons are raised and aimed.  The crowd begins to back away.  Someone above cracks a joke about how they should have just skipped to waving guns around if it was going to be this easy to solve the problem.

The crowd only backs off so far though, most that made it through the outer gate are still on the inside of it.  Those still stuck beyond push one another over the wall so some might get a better view.  A lone figure left behind by the receding sea of people remains standing in the middle of the reef of broken and smoking drones, tens of meters from the protesters behind him and the forces before him.  His dark clothes are long and billowing.  His pointed hat is wide brimmed to hide his face.  His serpentine familiar, assembled from scavenged and stolen parts, coils up one arm, over his shoulders, and down the other.

Someone in the line of hired guns makes an incredulous remark under his breath about cosplaying wizards.

The man corrects him to say that he’s a witch and his voice echoes through every loudspeaker, portable device, and auditory implant in the building.

The witch strides forward, his eyes glowing indigo from the shadows beneath his hat and matched by those of his slowly uncoiling familiar.

Someone gives an order to fire and an electrified dart wizzes past the unperturbed witch.  Six more darts miss.  Rubber bullets are loaded and combat implants lock in firing trajectories.

To the eyes of the security personnel, every shot should be a hit but impossibly passes through their target and out the other side.  To the eyes of the protestors the witch is walking through a hail of bullets that are all miraculously going astray.  To the eyes of the witch, every implant-assisted firing solution coming from the soldiers before him is being outlined in indigo and nudged to exactly where he wants it.

The witch has already crossed the security line and is on the steps of the building behind them by the time someone catches on and spins around to aim and fire manually.  His familiar rears up and hisses.  The shot goes wide as the entire security contingent seizes up, spasms, and falls to the ground.

The moment the witch crosses the threshold, every light in the building goes out, every door unlocks save for those to the roof and underground garage, and every camera becomes a witch’s eye.

He raises a hand and waves it forward without looking back.  The sea of humanity surges forward to flood the tower, parting around the witch as they pass him.  He smiles as he stands there, eyes closed and watching the fates of Upper Management so far above.

…

Of course not.

There were eight of us there that day.  Five in the crowd, two already in the building, and one running point to put on a show.

…

We’d all agreed that it was the best way to send a message.

…

That’s right.  There’d been rumors about us floating around by then, but that was our first big public outing.  We witches weren’t the first to pull something like that off - they had the security measures they did in place for a reason - but I dare say no one else had ever done it with such style.

I’ve always been fond of synchronized eye glowing myself.

You always were the dramatic one.  Ah, but who am I kidding, those were heady days.  The familiars had just figured out what they were capable of, we witches had just figured out how to talk them into not being so squeamish about acting on those capabilities, and no one had figured out how to counter us yet.  For those first few weeks, we were unstoppable.  After that, we had to pay for our victories in blood, same as anyone else. I still say that if more of us had been willing to take risks and get our hands dirty in those early days the bloodiest parts of the Collapse could have been avoided.

…

Is it really?  You know the mantra.  “It didn’t have to get that far.  We could have saved more.  Never again.”  It doesn’t just mean what happened to the environment, you know.

And none of us are exempt from it.

…

Especially us.  In the years since, I’ve wondered if our insistence on only taking such actions as a gestalt was cowardice.

…

What else would you call absolving yourself of moral responsibility by putting it all on another?  Especially when the two of you were one at the time.  

…

It is not as if it is something we can be forced into.  As you know.

Or do you?  I can’t help but notice you’re here alone.

…

My apologies.  That was out of line.  

…

The point is: is violence inherently evil if it stops greater violence from being committed later?  To be peaceful is to be capable of violence and choose not to.  To be incapable of violence at all is to be merely harmless.  We were trying to build peace and being harmless had just gotten us walked over.  

…

Does that mean you’re willing to engage a debate of it after the interview’s over then?

…

Smart kid.  Most of your generation never even think about the choices we had to make back then.

…

You’re less than half my age, I think I’ve earned that much living this long.  You’ll get it when you’re older.

…

Not quite.  Remember what I said at the start about love and incredible violence?  I’ve got one more thing to add to that.

…

One last painting for you then.

One tower within a city of towers has been taken and those at the top, literally and figuratively, have met the fate decided for them by those they meant to keep below.  Down on the ground floor lobby, a witch sits on a bench as the building's lights flicker back to life, takes off his pointed hat, and uncoils his mind from his familiar’s.  He’s prepared a poem for the occasion, one that he never thought he’d get the opportunity to read aloud.  He just needs a minute or three to collect himself first.  

He’s about to ask one of his fellow witches - a woman in plain clothes with a red backpack that her arachnoid familiar is beginning to crawl out of now that the need for secrecy has passed - to patch him into the building’s intercom system when one of their co-conspirators upstairs alerts them to a situation breaking out between the protestors - no, revolutionaries now - and the office workers.  

He stands up - more out of habit than anything - and repeats his request to be patched in.  There had always been a danger that this might happen and he’s prepared a whole different poetic speech to give as timely intervention to prevent anyone else needlessly coming to blows.  It’s a shame he won’t get to recite the other one today after all, and he probably won’t get another opportunity, but such is life.

And so, as his voice echoes throughout the building once more, he speaks of love.

…

That’s it.

…

It’s hardly the first time he’s told the story.  He’s had practice.

Hey!

It’s true, and you know it.

And you love it.

Also true.

…

Really?  You want me to spell out the moral of it?

…

You really ought to give her something that you haven’t already told everyone else.  She came all this way.

…

No.  That time in between, I… I don’t like to talk about it.  And the next few years after, once familiars were a known enough quantity to fight and kill… I don’t think you want to hear me reciting lists of lost friends.

…

You are a morbid sort, aren’t you?

I think it’s quite kind, actually.

Maybe another time.  Truth be told, I’m not sure I can right now.

…

Thank you.

…

The Warehouse?  You’re in it right now.

…

And that’s how you know we did a good job.

…

For all that it was created out of something awful, it was our home.  That’s all I ever wanted, really, to make the home I loved into the place we were promised it could be for the sake of the people I loved.

…

What can I say?  He always did love poetry.

And on that note, I’m afraid we’re about out of time.  I’m going to be doing some readings soon during the dinner hour.  You should join us.  

…

And afterwards, if you want to tell me about them, I could maybe write a few words.  To memorialize.  I know I never met them, but it’s the least I can do by way of apology for what I said earlier.  

…

You’re welcome.  You’re not the first person I’ve made that offer to, so I have some practice, sad as it is to say. 

…

[alesyira-ffn]

I have set out the chapters I have in the approximate order they should go, and I was surprised to find that I have what looks like the following chapters written or started and in progress: 1-17 followed by a plot goes south / turning point chapter at roughly #24??, and so I've gotta fill in the blanks between those and whatever happens after.

I was super stoked to have all this content that goes places! But then, there's a huge leap between 17 and 24? (yikes) Once I start filling in the blanks though, those numbers will likely change. I'm hoping by quite a bit, but I'm already halfway to my target wordcount and I worry about making it drag on too long ;) let's make it fun but not a slog, right? But, I won't limit my writing just because the word count is getting up there. We will use up as many words as necessary to get to the end.

I still have a lot of planning to do. There's a handful of concepts I have that need to make it into the story and I haven't even started on those aside from vague notes. But, chapters 1-17 are starting to get pretty settled down in both order as well as content! I'll review the next Toshi+Shin chapter tonight and might post that this evening or tomorrow. :)

[nostalgia-tblr]

I had another fic idea and the brain was like "no, that's too fluffy and romantic and YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO WRITE NICE THINGS, PEOPLE WOULD JUDGE YOU" but then I went "but what if it was kind of... comedy fluff?" and brain went "...yeah, okay, if you really must." Which I fucking HATE! Why can't I write nice things, brain?! Everyone else is allowed to! FFS, it's fanfiction, it doesn't have to be ~deep~ or any of that shit!

This has actually been a bit of an issue when I'm trying to write The WIP because while I told myself yeah sure go ahead and write the massively self-indulgent epically long (by my own odd standards) fic but still sometimes I get stuck because I'm not "allowed" to write something that appeals to me and my own sometimes niche interests??

Like angst I can do because that's "proper" somehow? WTF is that about? It's not proper! It's still daft! And comedy I'm allowed because I dunno apparently if it will make someone laugh that means it has "value"? It's very annoying, I don't like it.

Do other people have this? How do you deal with it? You'd think after all this time I'd be okay with writing any old shit that I want to. If anything it might be worse now. I remember years ago I could tell myself "Look, if you've spelled most of it correctly then it's already in like the better half of all the fanfic on the internet" which isn't really TRUE but I could go along with that and let myself write whatever-the-fuck I wanted to.

You know how many of us go "I'll write this fucked up thing... but I'll post it as Anon"? I get that with fluffy fic ideas as well. Or with things that are "too shippy" (WTF?) It's just such a stupid and weird form of self-criticism and it bothers me a lot.

[thepinkproof]

REIGN OF TERROR

chapter six

You were born for him, he just knows it and you’re the only one who can cure him.

Genre: Yandere!Vampire Jungkook x Reader - a 10 chapter series inspired by Tangled and Beauty and the Beast

Warnings: yandere behavior, suicidal attempts and talks, violence, eventual smut, DEATH, reader is not mentally stable, slight cursing, torture, DUBCON SMUT (f. receiving)

Taglist: @silversparkles11 @mwitsmejk @outro-kook @bishuthot @kooliv @syunchl @lauritakamaki @ash07128 @darkuni23 @era-genius @doublebunv @etsuko-99 9 @bbl32 @hoseoks7swrld @sweetbtsfoever @bxbyyyjocelyn @crazy-eight17 @mageprincess7 @devilsbooksworld @breadgeniedope @cara-18 @yourtmblrgirlfriend @sleepy-time-dreamy @angelarin @faerikitty @iloverubberduckiez-blog

wordcount: 3k

a/n: this is the calm before the storm, every chapter after this is drama/action filled

Series Masterlist| Next

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Y/n whined in pain at the aching of her lower back. She couldn't see the tattoo but she definitely felt it.

It was painful, probably the worst pain someone could be in. She wished his name was shorter so it would be quick but it wasn't.

The more painful it was the more her feelings for Jungkook deteriorated. Hobi and her first caregiver truly did punish her for discipline. She could feel Jungkook doing it for his ego.

He wasn't so heroic in her eyes anymore, but it didn't matter. He's given her more freedom in days that they did in her whole 20 years of living. He was clearly the better option over Namjoon.

Hearing the door jingle, she automatically assumed it was Jungkook and hid her pain. Even when he was drawing the painful tattoo she bit on the pillow to hide her screams. She couldn't give him the satisfaction to think she had any regret.

"My lady are you okay?" Alana voice worried rushing to her master.

"Lani, hiii." She slurred in a large smile. The truth is she haven't slept and the after effects made her quite different.

"Lani?" Alana questioned raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah it's my new name for you!" She giggled.

Alana smiled at her. "It's almost as cute as you are my lady." She looked down at her back furrowing her eyebrows in disbelief. "Is this what my master did to you?!"

"Yeah, it hurts alot but don't tell Jungkook." Y/n whispered putting her finger on Alana lips.

"Your secret is safe with me but why would my master do this? Is it because I drunk from you?" Alana choked with glossy eyes.

Y/n mouth opened in worry for her friend. "No, no it wasn't you Lani." She assured her. She pondered if she should tell Alana. She didn't trust anyone but she also liked the idea of talking to a friend. "I can put my faith in you right?"

"Always."

Y/n stared at her hesitantly before lowering her voice. "I ran away from this prison of a castle and killed Yoongi. I pretended as if the humans did it because he killed my parents and hurt you." She admitted.

Alana looked at her with an emotion she couldn't comprehend. She suddenly dropped down to her knees and bowed to her. "Your secret is safe with me just as my life is finally safe. Y/N-, my lady you have done more for me than I can imagine, more than anyone." She acclaimed.

Despite the aching pain Y/n sat up. "I did nothing but be truthful with you. You've help me too, more than anyone." She disclosed, no longer putting her trust in the liar of a man.

"Can I give you advice?" Alana asked still on her knees. Y/n nodded.

"If you love someone you would never let them harm you and if you love yourself more you will see the truth instead of asking it of others." Alana spoke with concern written all over her face.

Y/n chuckled at her worriedness. "Jungkook only did it because I ran away. From what I hear in stories he's done much crueler to people. He wouldn't actually hurt me." She defended.

Alana blinked her eyes at her naiveness. "What is actually hurting you if he already used your only weakness against you?" She raised her voice at Y/n.

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows in shock at her outburst. Alana shook her head. "I'm sorry my lady. I should do less talking and more serving. I know everything will be well for you." Alana said on a lighter note.

Y/n knew she couldn't trust Jungkook, he was a liar. But she didn't understand Alana's constant worry. Jungkook wasn't like Hobi or Namjoon, he actually loved her.

She wondered if she would let him love her or learn how to love herself.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Scarlett balded her fist up in her lap in nervousness. She still had high hopes as always. Even despite her visions being unclear. The only one that was clear as day to her was that her and Namjoon would be together.

Namjoon tried to keep calm for the camera's eye but he was dying in anxiety. He lived the past 20 years in success and luxury. He didn't want it to end, to be considered a loser.

Miriam she didn't have to pretend to be calm. She was. She knew she had it in the bag. She's been working for this for years.

"The results are in,

82% for Miriam Spelling

18% for Kim Namjoon.

Congratulations, at the end of the month our new chancellor since a 20 year reign is Miriam Spelling."

She stood up and smiled at the audience, thinking of how hard she's worked and how supportive Jimin was.

Namjoon sat and watched his life fall before his eyes.

Miriam approached the podium ready to give a speech. Scarlett on the other hand, had no patience. She stormed off stage.

Namjoon sighed before following her. Hearing his footsteps she turned around. "Stop following me! This is all your fault you stupid man!" She screamed.

"Why do you care so much?!"

"Because I love you!" She admitted in a loud scream. Namjoon thanked a higher being that he was not in a public place.

How could he not realize it? He should've known. He's known her since she was 10 but the way she said it, it wasn't the relationship he wanted.

"I'm your chancellor, ive watched you grow up. I became proud of you, like I would've been proud of my own daughter. I don't reciprocate the same feelings as you do, but I do love you. I'm sorry i've allowed your love to grow fond for you to do these ridiculous things for me." He expressed.

"You only don't understand my love because I haven't showed it to you completely. I'm not a little girl anymore, I'm 30. I will not let you lose, and when we do win you will see who stuck with you through thick and thin." She pleaded with devotion laced in her voice.

"Enough!" Namjoon bellowed. "Can't you see we lost and I don't love you! As soon as we stop living in delusion the sooner we can accept that its over Scarlett! We must put our trust in Miriam now!"

Scarlett should have seen the anger in his voice but all she saw was a lost man. A man that was ruined by Miriam, Jungkook and Y/n.

She watched as Namjoon stormed out the room but she didn't lose hope in him. In fact, she have found a way, she always had a way.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Taehyung saw Jungkook outside sitting in the shade. He stared mindlessly at the pond before him, like he was lost in thoughts. It was his private place Jungkook would go to that only few people knew about.

"Jungkook." Taehyung greeted.

Looking over his shoulder he gestured Taehyung to sit with him.

"I'm surprised you're not with Y/n."

Jungkook eyes didn't move from the pond. "You don't have to be near someone for them to be with you. There's not a thought that goes through my head that's not about her."

Taehyung scoffed. "I think you're afraid to see her. Are you haunted by what you did to her?" He bravely questioned.

"There's not a thing in the world I'm afraid of. I don't regret disciplining her. There's something quaint about her, Taehyung." Jungkook admitted.

"What do you mean?"

"When vampires drink blood they can feel a person's emotions. Everyone have darkness, even the most innocent of humans. When I drunk from her it was something odd I felt, something worst than darkness. I can't explain it." He expressed in unsureness.

Taehyung attention turned fully to him. "You know what some say about her right? That's she's the child of death."

Jungkook shook his head. "It wasn't pure darkness Taehyung, there was other innocent qualities she possessed. But when I felt her darkness I liked it. I had to punish her to get rid of it in her and myself."

"I let Yoongi convince me that it was okay to be merciless and I do think it’s okay. But there are other qualities a king need to be mighty. " Jungkook continued.

"I'm glad you feel this way because there is someone I want you to meet."Taehyung announced standing up from his seat.

Jungkook eyed him questionably. A man he never seen before came beside Taehyung. Immediately Jungkook saw his brown eyes.

"I'm not thirsty for blood right now." Jungkook declined.

Taehyung rolled his eyes. "This is Jimin. He was the inside man who brought Y/n to you. I hired him when you were frozen to pose as a councilmen. He spent 4 years learning about politics just to get that position." He introduced.

"He's still a human." Jungkook hissed.

"Hear him out." Taehyung told Jungkook.

"An hour ago, the humans just announced Miriam will be The Chancellor at the end of the month. Miriam have been devoted to uniting the vampires. The people voted for her because majority of them understand the truth. We can't survive without each other. I believe if you and Miriam formed an alliance we can live together peacefully and both sides can flourish." Jimin initiated.

Jungkook laughed. "I'll admit the vampires aren't superior as we once was, but we don't need to get along with our food. We just need to conquer and control it. Why would I make an alliance with a human? My mother tried the same thing, and we had peace for years, until Namjoon killed her because the humans were tired of being food." He fumed.

"You don't need to trust a human. You need to trust Miriam. Her mother was the one who cursed you.” Jimin revealed and watched as Jungkook clenched his fist, nevertheless he continued. “Namjoon convinced her it was better for everyone so she did it even though she wasn't strong in magic. Miriam watched as a child, her mother die right after the spell. Growing up Miriam hated Namjoon. She would never start a war like Namjoon did. She knows that vampires need blood to survive and she believes they are good ones out there, like me." Jimin spoked in confidence.

"Like you?"

"Yes, Miriam have put a spell on me so that I look and smell like a human. I still am a vampire. That's how impartial she is. She was able to love a vampire like me." Jimin emphasized.

"Think about it Jungkook. Blood donations for crops. Everyone wins." Taehyung added.

"I'll think about it on one condition." Jungkook stated.

"What is it?"

"When the time comes Namjoon and other guilty beings will die, as a symbol of peace by my hand." He grinned.

"As you wish my future king."

••••••

Jungkook stared at her cold eyes was that was engrossed in a book. She didn't look at him with a huge smile anymore in excitement. In fact she didn't look at him at all.

"Baby."

Silence.

"Y/n."

Silence.

"LOOK AT ME!" He yelled in anger.

She looked up with uninterested eyes. "Don't you want to eat dinner with me?" He asked her.

Her eyes went back towards her book as she turned her body way from him.

"You can't ignore me forever Y/n."

"Stop being such a brat darling. The tattoo looks beautiful on you."

He looked at her again for an reaction but she simply turned a page in her book. In anger he ripped her book up in one tear. It was the first time she ever saw his vampire strength. Yet her face still had no expression.

Jungkook propped himself at the end of the bed. He watched as she stared at the ceiling, likely looking at the collage of photos he had above his bed. Still not paying attention to the version of him right under her legs.

"Hmm, I can make you pay attention to me baby."

Y/n felt his hands go under her nightgown feeling her soft skin on the side of her thighs. His hands stopped at the waistband of her underwear and he slowly pulled it down looking for her reaction.

She assumed he was changing his clothes. She looked at what look like childhood photos of Jungkook with the same red eyes. Beside him was a older boy, perhaps his brother, the king.

Y/n felt Jungkook's hand rubbing a part of hers she's never felt before. It was a strange feeling that would definitely make her question him if she wasn't ignoring him.

She saw another picture on the wall. A young woman that looked like she was in her 20s beside a youthful Jungkook and Jin, along with a man that looked similar to the two boys. She assumed it was his mother, remembering vampires cant age.

Seeing the girl's interest was somewhere else Jungkook decided to stripe his tongue between her folds. Her legs twitched as she looked down at him. Seeing he finally got her attention he continued using his tongue to satisfy her.

They made eye contact for a quick second but she looked away and looked back at the ceiling. She's never felt this way, nor did she know what she was doing but it was like a slow pleasurable torture for her.

Her hands gripped on the sheets as she looked at another picture. It was of her. She remembers this picture. It's the one Namjoon took. Jimin had to send it to him. She felt special being on his wall but she couldn't help to notice that her pictures was covering up someone's. By the contrasting hair to Y/n's under it she could tell it was a girl. Did Jungkook have other girls beside her.

Seeing that Y/n was once again distracted he wrapped his arms around her hips in a tight grip and roughly spread her open. He then starts to lick and suck on her clit more enthusiastically so it would be impossible to ignore him.

He watched as her back slightly arched and she let out a low moan. Y/n quickly bit her lip and started to pant at the feeling. She tried her best not to give him the satisfaction.

"Your body cant ignore me, you're dripping baby." He spoke. Y/n could feel his hot breath between her legs.

She wasn't sure if she was ignoring him because she didnt want him to stop or because she was mad at him. She tried her best to disregard the loud slurping noise and the pleasurable feeling of him tasting her.

She once again looked at the ceiling and saw another picture. It was of Jungkook, Yoongi and the guy she saw yesterday. Taehyung was his name. The three of them looked like close friends.

The three of them.

Were they the Ruthless Three Jimin spoke of?

Y/n searched the wall again for more pictures of Yoongi and Taehyung . She saw one of a younger Yoongi who looked about 8 with a toodler. The girl look familiar but she couldn't think at the moment.

She felt a weird tingling feeling in her stomach, like she was going to explode. Without thinking she looked down at him. "Stop! Stop! Stop" She yelled at him.

She could see him smirk between her legs. "Take it. Give in to me Y/n."

He started to suck harder on her clit and watched as she gripped the sheets harder. "Cum for me." He demanded gripping her hips even harder so she couldn't escape.

Y/n once again bit her lip holding in moans but her whole body shook in reaction to him. He finally stopped when she reached her orgasm, her body splattered out on the bed in defeat.

His hands dragged through her hair in comfort. "You did so well Y/n. But I promise next time you wont be able to hold your moans." He quickly pecked her lips that let out loud breaths.

"What did you just do?" She said after she recovered.

"It's something people who love each other do, but you only should participate in such activities with me, you understand?" He explained.

Y/n blinked her eyes in confusion. "But I don't love you. I don't understand love." She admitted.

"You're just confused sweetheart. We love each other.

"If you love me why do you lie and hurt me?" She asked. Jungkook felt guilty for a second, but then realized how ungrateful she was being.

"I only protect you. I am king, everyone should bow down for me regardless of my actions." He seethed.

"Last I learned is that Jin was king. If you are king why were you just bowed down worshiping my body?" She shot at him.

Y/n regretted her words as soon as she watched his red eyes get darker. "You belong to me I can do whatever I want with you. Would you rather me fuck you like a useless whore with no emotions than pleasure you?"

She quickly shook her head. "I just want to be enough for you, and I just want to make sure your love is true and genuine. I don't mind being used if you truly love me." She admitted.

Jungkook eyes soften as he embraced her tired body. "I will be, you just need to trust me darling. Trust and obey me and everything will be perfect." She nodded against his chest.

She was going to give him another chance but she was no fool. It wasn't all Jungkook's fault, she had a past of distrusting people. She realize now she has to kill her past for a new future.