#Seeing him standing at Mark's door looking SO empty holding that fruit basket only for him to be smiling warmly when Mark

[bumblingbabooshka]

Milchick riding a motorcycle was the real plot twist of episode 2

[jkstompers]

noise complaints | myg

pairing: min yoongi x female reader

summary: yoongi is tired of his loud, video game addicted roommate, so he decides to move out and get his own apartment for some peace and quiet. but with his luck, gets you as his neighbor: a girl who plays bass in a band and hates the feeling of earbuds in her ears.

word count: 5.8k

genre: neighbor!au, producer yoongi, bassist oc, pwp ( ；∀；) i tried but rlly it’s just... smut

warnings: mature!! (18+!), explicit language, smut, making out, fingering, dom!yoongi, he’s a little mean

author’s note: hi!!!!!! in honor of yoongi’s birthday, i wanted to post this fic that i had sitting in my drafts! i hope u enjoy!! (´⌣`ʃƪ) pls let me know what u think!

banner pic creds here <3

yoongi doesn’t know how to tell his roomate, mark, that his gaming obsession has driven him to take extreme measures that consist of: moving out. he never stops playing video games. all day, all night, his eyes are fixed on the computer or tv screen, always screaming to his team mates about where to go or who’s fucking up. yoongi’s not sure if he can take it anymore.

he’s finally saved up enough to move into an apartment of his own, he’s been planning this for almost 6 months; already visited the apartment complex, discussed prices, background checks, etc. all yoongi really needs to do is finish signing the papers and start moving in.

he decides to just let mark know, no sugarcoat. as yoongi expected, mark practically begs on his knees for him to stay. his parents are paying for his share of the apartment but only if he splits the cost with a roommate, but yoongi’s gone through two years of it already, he’s over it. over the next few days, mark watches yoongi dejectedly as he packs his things.

by the end of the week, yoongi has finished packing and already signed the lease. he tells mark ‘good luck’ and leaves him in the dust, hopefully he’ll find another roommate, but that’s beyond yoongi’s concern now. all he has to worry about now is unpacking his boxes in his brand new apartment.

he looks around at the empty space, with the boxes cornered in one section. he smiles to himself, no noisy roomates, no unwashed dishes, no dirty laundry, ah, finally. peace and qui—

and that’s when he hears the blare of your speakers, it’s not loud enough for the entire complex to hear, but the music obviously bleeds through the shared wall. yoongi groans, knowing that this could be a complete repeat of mark. he’s not sure if he should knock on your door and ask you to lower the music down, it’s only his first day here. don’t you treat your neighbors with respect? why are you so loud?

yoongi decides to ignore it for now. he unpacks his things and starts furnishing the room so he can have a place to sleep for the night. when everything is put together, he feels the weight of the day; how much he’s been lifting and how he’s now renting an apartment hits him all at once. the dull pain resonates in his arms, his head starting to ache, and you’re still playing your fucking music. he can’t take it anymore, especially not with this ache getting worse.

yoongi feels his fist knock angrily against your door three times, he waits for you to open the door. except, he was not expecting a pretty girl to answer, he was expecting maybe an obnoxious frat guy; he’s absolutely flustered. you stand there and look up at him confused, “hi? did you need something?” your voice snaps him out of his thoughts.

“i’m— uh, i’m your neighbor, i’m sorry to disrupt, but if you could just lower your music down a bit, i’m really tired, and—” he starts but a gasp of excitement leaves you, cutting him off.

“my neighbor?! that apartment has been empty for so long! i’m so sorry, i was just so used to no one being able to hear! welcome! i’m ___!” you greet him cheerfully, taking his hands into yours and shaking them. yoongi feels his cheeks turn pink, your hands are soft and you’re so pretty.

“my name is yoongi,” he replies, he stands there not really knowing how to respond to the way you’re so excited. he wishes he could reciprocate but his head is pounding, all he wants to do is sleep.

you pick up on his energy, letting go of his hands to wave him off, “i’ll turn the music off for today, get some rest, yoongi, if you need help, some sugar or something, you can always just knock on my door,” you smile.

yoongi nods, “thank you, ___, goodnight.”

“goodnight, yoongi! nice meeting you,” you reply, closing your door. you blush behind the door, a neighbor? a cute one at that? there’s a sudden rush of adrenaline pulsing through your veins, testing you, telling you to blast your music just so he could come back and you could look at him one more time. but you decide it’s better not to, he said he was tired, maybe tomorrow.

yoongi returns to his apartment, thankful that you kept to your word and kept the music off. his body drifts his pounding head to sleep.

two weeks had gone by before yoongi’s eyes, he spent most of it buying furniture since the apartment looked so bare. one upside to a loft apartment was that he didn’t have to buy too much furniture, a bed, a couch, a tv, and maybe a rug was enough for him, for now of course.

in the time that’s passed, he’s learned that you like playing music when you’re studying, cleaning, when you’re doing anything really. whenever he thinks it’s too loud, he knocks through the wall, you get the hint most of the time. he’s also learned that you can play the bass and that you’re in a band. speaking of that, you’re having a meeting with them right now, and yoongi can hear every word of it.

your band mates decided to barge into your apartment today, waking you from your study nap and telling you that you all need to practice. the volume of their voices is jarring, you never realized how loud you and your surroundings were until yoongi moved in. you’re suddenly conscious about your volume at all times, his knocks whenever you were loud always made you feel terrible, but you couldn’t help but blush whenever you thought of him. you were torn, be loud and get his attention or be quiet and get on his good side.

“___! grab your shit and let’s go!” jungkook shouts. he’s the guitarist and lead singer of the band; he gets impatient sometimes.

“oh just let her daydream for a little bit, she’s probably thinking about her hot neighbor,” seulgi teases. she’s the drummer and your best friend. you don’t let her comment pass so easily, but you try to ignore the way your face heats up.

“you think he’s hot?” you quip back. a smirk on your face as you zip your bass into it’s case. yoongi is surprised at the way he can hear your voices so clearly, he wonders if you guys always talk this loud or if the walls are really that thin. “you haven’t even seen him yet,” you lug your bag over your shoulder.

“he sounds hot.” she shrugs, taking a bite of the apple she stole from your fruit basket. jungkook grows more and more antsy the longer you both talk.

“where’s taehyung anyway?” you ask. the realization comes to you when you feel a missing presence, knowing your 4th member would say something about yoongi.

“how nice of you to finally ask, he’s been waiting in the car for you slow pokes, let’s get going.” jungkook rushes, pushing you and seulgi out of the door. you turn to lock the door when you hear the door to your left slide open.

“oh my god, jungkook look, he’s hot.” seulgi smacks jungkook’s shoulder to make him look. your eyes are glued on the figure standing outside of apartment 77.

“hi— hey, yoongi,” you greet him while locking your door. it’s embarrassing the way the three of you are all almost drooling at the sight of him.

“hi, ___,” he sends a small smile to you, looking over to your bandmates hesitantly. yoongi notices jungkook, an assumption is made in his head almost immediately, boyfriend?

you scramble next to them and introduce them, “yoongi, these are my bandmates, seulgi, she plays the drums, and jungkook, he plays guitar and sings, there’s taehyung too, he plays guitar too but he— he’s um, in the car.”

“ah, nice to meet you.” he nods, greeting them as well. “i actually have to get to work, but it was cool meeting you all,” he excuses himself. you all wave to him.

“way to be fucking awkward guys,” you scold them when you’re all walking to the car. taehyung looks up from his phone to see the three of you walking his way, he starts the car once you open the door.

“hey, not our fault he’s good looking,” jungkook shrugs and seulgi holds her hand up for a high five, which he gladly gives her.

“not fair! you guys got to see ___’s hot neighbor while i was stuck in the car? i knew i should have just came in,” taehyung grumbles, pulling out of the apartment complex’s parking lot.

“it just so happened that he was leaving his apartment the same time we were, maybe you’ll meet him too tae,” you rub his arm. a somewhat sarcastic tone in your voice. taehyung rolls his eyes, starting the drive to the studio.

the music in the car was overshadowed by taehyung and seulgi arguing about when you and yoongi would finally hook up. you had to remind them that he hasn’t even been here a month yet, and that you guys barely talk besides the small hellos and awkward run ins when you’re doing laundry. it seems to keep them quiet, taehyung parks in the lot and you all move into the studio, making your way to the practice room the owners thankfully let you use to rehearse.

a couple songs are played and you all vote for a break. taehyung and jungkook having a guitar battle, seulgi leaning back against the wall on her phone, and you, need to pee! you leave the room and use the bathroom as usual, but a familiar bleach blonde head turns the corner and starts to walk down the hallway towards you, the breath you’re holding turns into a gasp when you realize it’s him. “yoongi?! why are you here?”

he looks up from the ground, looking as surprised as you when he realizes you were talking to him, “i work here, why are you here? are you following me?” he grills, you scoff at the question.

“i’m with my band, we’re rehearsing,” you explain. he raises his eyebrows, you’re not sure what it means. “you don’t believe me?” you pose.

“it’s just a little suspicious,” he shrugs, yoongi knows exactly what he’s doing. he hopes his hint makes sense to you, he’s never really been good at flirting. a familiar feeling erupts in his stomach, one that people could call butterflies whenever he saw you. he really just wants to see you play, and to hear you sing, that’s what he wants the most.

“uh, i can bring you to them? i promise i’m here with my band,” you laugh, warmth spreading to your cheeks. there is no way in hell that you’re going to play in front of yoongi. you were confident sure, but your embarrassing crush on him will make your fingers shake when you try to press the strings down. it’ll be a shitshow!

“can i pee first?” his small laugh brings a smile to your face. boys pee fast, you’ve learned that over time, so yoongi doesn’t take long. you’re both walking back down the hallway, “your boyfriend isn’t angry that you’re with me?” the random question makes your steps stutter.

“i’m sorry, what? boyfriend?” your eyebrows are furrowed as you stare up at him, his face isn’t showing any sign of humor, he’s serious.

“you’re not dating one of your band mates? isn’t that how it usually goes?” his lips purse as you continue to walk to the room that your band is occupying, he’s so serious that it makes you laugh.

“oh my god, yoongi, i’m single as a pringle, they’re my best friends, our number one rule is to never date within the band, that’s how things get messy,” you explain. a weight is taken off of yoongi’s shoulders, it wasn’t his fault he thought of it; you’re beautiful and surrounded by people that probably want you as much as he does.

“oh,” he answers, you both turn the corner and approach the door, “good to know.” the door opens to your three members looking at the two of you with raised eyebrows.

“oh my god, it’s him,” seulgi points to yoongi with her drumstick. you wave your hand to signal her to put it down, ‘it’s rude!’ you mouth.

“are you yoongi?” taehyung asks, taking his guitar and putting it down on it’s stand. yoongi nods, holding his hand out to shake taehyung’s, which he doesn’t take. instead taehyung pulls him into a hug, yoongi doesn’t expect the sudden action of affection, his arms not knowing what to do. “it’s so nice to finally meet you! ___ talks about you a lot,” taehyung’s confession makes your face flush.

“taehyung! what the fuck!? i’ve talked about you like twice, yoongi, i swear,” you defend yourself, pushing taehyung off of him. you laugh awkwardly, yoongi shoots you both a gummy smile.

“nice to meet you, taehyung,” he completely ignores your defense. he finds it cute, your flustered face as you try to tell taehyung to shut up.

“anyways,” you huff. “yoongi thinks i followed him here, so i am showing proof that i’m actually here with you guys and not stalking him.”

your friends snort at the same time, “actually, yoongi, we have no idea who this girl is! i think she’s following you,” taehyung whisper-shouts, you smack his shoulder.

“no but really, ___ we were just gonna call it a day, seulgi said she has to go to a family dinner soon and taehyung said he was hungry,” jungkook speaks up. it’s then that you realize that their instruments were almost all packed. yoongi looks down at you, a small smile on his face once he realizes what they’re trying to do.

“i leave to pee for five minutes and you guys hatch a plan to ditch me?!” you cross your arms over your chest.

“well… we just told you, so, technically we didn’t ditch you, also i can’t drop you off, yoongi, you can drop her off, right?” taehyung smiles to him.

“i—“ yoongi starts but you cut him off with plans to scold your members. they knew exactly what they were doing and you weren’t having it.

“taehyung, you’re dropping me off, let’s not bother yoongi,” you move to pack your bass but yoongi shakes his head.

“i can drop you off,” he smiles.

“oh, see! perfect! thank you, yoongi.” taehyung grabs his hand and gives him a good shake, before you know it your members are out the door.

you sigh as you lift your case and sling it over your shoulder, “it’s okay, yoongi, i can walk.”

he rolls his eyes, “don’t be ridiculous, are you hungry? we can eat first.”

his hand is outstretched and you’re not sure what it means, does he want to hold your hand? but no, he’s asking for your bass, so he can hold it instead of you. you reject his offer, “i can hold it.”

“you’re really stubborn,” he notes. it makes you snort.

“you’re not into stubborn girls?” the joke slips from your mouth before you can think.

this is the perfect time, yoongi thinks. “if it’s you, maybe i’ll make an exception.”

you try your best not to show any type of reaction, but you can’t really ignore the way your heartbeat quickened. yoongi leads you to his car, putting your bass in the trunk as you get comfortable in the front seat. he follows you soon enough and is driving out of the studio parking lot.

“you don’t have to work?” you question. getting into the car of someone you barely know is quite risky of you, but he was your neighbor, and he was hot. that doesn’t give you a reason to trust him, though for some reason, you think you can rely on yoongi, it’s a gut feeling.

“technically i work all day, i’m on my own schedule, i basically spend the entire day in the studio,” he explains. his focus is on the road but from his peripheral he can see your body turned to him, and your eyes glued on him.

“workaholic?” you guessed, he smiles.

“you could say that.”

“that’s good then, i’m giving you a reason for a break!” you clap, your nervousness fading as you start to get comfy with yoongi.

a friendship blooms from that lucky, odd encounter that day.

you forgot how long it’s been since you officially met yoongi and spent the day with him, maybe two months? three months ago? you never kept track. but you do remember that things changed after that. the two of you so obviously flirting with each other whenever you had the chance. yoongi would offer you a ride to the studio, which you greedily took whenever he asked; because he was a cool guy to be with, and in all honesty you were trying to put the moves on him. you’re not sure if he’s taking the hints though, you’ve never been good at the shy type of flirting, most of the time you’re upfront.

speaking of being upfront: yoongi hasn’t really been complaining about your noise lately, and it’s been eerily quiet on his end. no knocks on the wall when your volume was a tad bit higher than usual, no texts telling you to ‘be quiet’ when you were practicing late at night, nothing. you figure it’s because the two of you have grown a lot closer. hanging out together and even making some inside jokes together type of close.

it’s soon that you figure out why yoongi hasn’t been upfront, complaining to you about your noise, because he talked to your apartment manager about it. you knew namjoon well, he was one of your classmates in college. his father originally owned the place, so he’s been taking over for him. you’ve grown close to namjoon due to situations that left you outside of your apartment multiple times without your keys. his master key saved your ass one too many times. so, when you received a letter from him in the mail this morning with a big red ‘important’ stamp on it. you knew you were in trouble.

the words noise complaints, your neighbor, and eviction were the only ones you needed to read for you to be stomping towards yoongi’s apartment. you didn’t care that it was ten in the morning and you’re banging on yoongi’s door. you knocked nonstop until he opened up. his sleepy face scrunched in confusion as he stood before you.

“___? what’s wrong?” his morning voice could have made you melt, if you weren’t so fucking angry. you step past him, moving inside his apartment. “okay, come in, i guess,” yoongi says as he shuts the door behind you.

“you complained about me?! i got a fucking letter from namjoon! he never sends letters!” you raise your voice. it’s too early in the morning to be yelling, your voice is a bit rough, it sounds like you’re croaking.

it’s also way too early for yoongi to be dealing with this, so his voice is soft when he says, “be quiet, we’re gonna get complaints from the other neighbors now too.” he walks up to you and your very angry expression. he just looks so kissable right now, it’s making you angrier. how could he look so perfect when you’re mad at him? that’s so rude!

you lower your voice when you ask, complying to his demand. you cross your arms over your chest, “why would you do that?”

yoongi laughs.

it makes your eyebrows furrow. was he not taking you seriously? you loved this apartment, you needed to live here. it makes the anger boil a little hotter. “you think this is funny, yoongi? i’ve—” your voice is raising once more.

this time yoongi rolls his eyes. “shut up.” his voice grew deeper than it already was, the bass traveling straight to your lower belly.

you try to act as if it had no effect on you, but your small silence before you spoke made things a little obvious. “excuse me? shut up?” you scoff. your feet carrying you closer to yoongi, breaking the distance in effort to intimidate. yoongi wasn’t one to be scared, if anything, he found it funnier.

but the way that your pretty face looks when you’re angry makes yoongi want to do more, wants to push and push because he can feel the tension between you both. you can too. “yeah, you’re so goddamn loud all the time, shut the fuck up.” he moves a little closer, the distance between you both is almost none.

it makes your eyes flicker to his lips. here you were, thinking that you were gonna teach yoongi a lesson, yet you want to kiss him. “want me to shut up?” your eyes move back to his, making eye contact. he licks his lips in anticipation. “make me,” you press.

you feel his soft hand against your cheek first, leading you to his lips. then it was the plush of his lips against yours. this feeling could definitely make you shut up. before you knew it, you were pushing yoongi over to his couch. he breaks the kiss to plop down onto the couch, you follow suit, straddling his lap.

“if you wanted to make out with me, you could have just asked.” you spoke before reattaching your lips.

he smiles into the kiss, “where’s the fun in that?”

the kiss deepens, tongues exploring each other’s mouths and small whimpers escaping your throat. they go straight to yoongi’s groin, you can feel his hard cock against your core through your sweatpants. instinctively, you grind down, the feeling makes him groan out.

his large hands move to your ass, running over them and trailing up to your waist. his hands sliding under your shirt, you know you aren’t wearing a bra, and yoongi finds out soon after. his thumbs running right over your hard nipples, “eager?” he smirks.

you roll your eyes, “i’m just cold.” the lie makes yoongi scoff, tweaking your nipples between his thumb and index fingers. now, goosebumps raise over your skin, and it wasn’t because of the cold.

“take your shirt off,” he speaks against your lips. usually, you weren’t one to follow orders, your rebellious spirit screaming in your head, telling you to take control. but you’ve never wanted anything more than to let yoongi have you, let him do whatever he wants to you. because outside of this, he just seems so nice, never mean, never demanding. you can’t help but indulge in this new side of yoongi you’ve discovered.

so you’re taking your shirt off, the breeze created by his air conditioner makes you shiver, but yoongi's warm hands are there to comfort you. running them over your breasts, squeezing them just right as he kisses down your throat. “y-yoongi—” you whimper. his lips find a certain spot that has you grinding harder onto his dick.

“you aren’t very patient,” he speaks against your skin. “i’ll let it slide this time.” a tender kiss to your neck is placed before he lingers on the spot a little longer, sucking and licking, making sure to leave a pretty red mark. he makes his way to your nipple, wrapping his mouth around the bud and sucking. the feeling makes you throw your head back, his hand tweaks your other nipple, refusing to neglect it.

it was true, you were not patient. you hated waiting too long for something, just like how you hate the feeling of your warm core go uncared for. the grinding wasn’t enough at this point, you wanted more, needed it really. “are you gonna fuck me or not?” you push him gently off of your nipple.

an almost annoyed gaze is painted on his face, “are you going to beg?” he quirks an eyebrow.

you weren’t one to plead, “no.”

“then no,” he asserts. you purse your lips, complete dissatisfaction displayed on your face. “don’t worry, kitten, i’ll make you feel good.” yoongi gives in. he didn’t know how long he could hold back, your attitude makes him want to check you, make you cum as many times he wants you to until you’re obeying.

the nickname makes you drip. he’s pushing up from below, his leg kneeling onto the couch as he lays you down. your head lays against the pillow he has on the couch, yoongi gives you a swift kiss before he moves down, trailing kisses on the valley of your breasts and your stomach, stopping just before the waistband of your sweatpants. “yoongi,” you mewl.

“hm? wanna beg now?” he challenges. his fingers teasingly slipping under the band. your body reacts so easily to his touch, your hips slightly jerking up at the graze of his hands.

but you’re stubborn, not wanting to let yoongi win even though the only thing you want right now is for him to make you feel good. “no, never.” you shake your head.

yoongi doesn't verbally reply, instead, nodding and smirking to himself. “can i eat you out then?” he asks. you don’t trust your words, so you nod, knowing you’ll fall into the trap yoongi has set. “i need to hear you say it, kitten.”

“yes,” you quickly say.

yoongi quirks a brow. “yes, what?”

you roll your eyes, just once, you tell yourself. “yes, please.”

“good girl,” he praises. you hate to admit that you liked the way he called you a good girl. your sweatpants and panties are pulled down at the same time, revealing your wet pussy. “so pretty, baby.” he positions himself between your spread legs. you bite your bottom lip in anticipation.

kisses against your thighs and pubic bone are what he starts off with, then a brief kiss to your clit that makes you gasp. “oh, god—” you lean your head back against the couch.

“also, just to let you know, the letter was a joke,” yoongi breathes. mouth ghosting your lips, where you need him the most.

at first you didn’t pay attention to what he said, a hum leaving your lips until then you realized, “what?!”

“i thought it’d be funny to scare you a little bit, namjoon and i are friends, i asked him if he could do it for me.” he explains with a smile on his face.

you rolled your eyes. you knew it was too serious to be namjoon, his style was more so speaking, not letters. you couldn’t be mad at him, at least you weren’t in trouble. but you play it up for the fun, “will you make it up to me?” a sly look on your face.

“what do you want?” he leans his head against your thigh, waiting patiently for your answer. his fingers ever so gently running up and down your thighs.

“your cock,” you demand with a mischievous smile. your hands run through his hair, eyes pleading because you won’t allow your mouth to let the words out.

yoongi acts like he thinks about it, but all he truly wants, is to devour your and make you feel so good. “you don’t deserve it.” he denies you of the pleasure you want, but he surprises you, running his tongue along your slit.

“oh— oh, yoongi,” you mewl. your hands moving to play with your boobs, but yoongi knocks your hands away. he directs them to his hair, telling you to pull. his hands replace yours, playing and tweaking with your nipples as his tongue does the work.

“taste so good, baby.” yoongi loves the sight of you so vulnerable in front of him. you’re bare, naked while yoongi still has all his clothes on. he loves it. your eager body twitching from the ministrations of his tongue. he pulls away for a second, “don’t cum until i say so.”

“that’s not— umph!” you start but yoongi retracts his hands from your breasts, bringing them back to your thighs to spread them further apart. your lips reveal your sweet spot for yoongi to take, and he’s relentless. the taste of you on his tongue drives him crazy. “that’s not fair,” you moan out.

yoongi doesn’t care. he loves being in control. so when your phone starts to ring, yoongi thinks this is the best time to assert dominance. “answer it,” he commands. he pulls away from your pussy, the loss of the feeling of his tongue makes you groan out in displeasure. in turn, yoongi rubs his middle and ring fingers against your clit. it makes you gasp. he slips the fingers in, your walls pulsating against his fingers. another moan leaves your lips. you were completely ignoring the rings coming from your phone. he repeats himself, “answer the phone, baby.”

“but,” you spoke. your worry being that you were so wound up and yoongi’s fingers were still residing inside of you. you knew it would be way too obvious.

“they won’t know,” he assures. a gentle touch against your thigh comforting you, making you believe this was a good idea.

your fucked out brain obliges, your hand moving to reach for your phone. jungkook’s contact name displayed on the screen, you press the green button and place the phone next to your ear. “jungkook? what’s up?” you answer. yoongi’s eyes locked onto yours as you speak.

“speaker,” he mouths. you nod, mindlessly obliging. taking the phone away from your ear and pressing the speaker button. his fingers dangerously still in your pussy, ready to cause chaos whenever he felt like it.

“dude! guess fucking what!” jungkook shouts over the phone. yoongi pushes deeper, bottoming out his fingers. it makes your eyes roll back, a quiet gasp escaping your lips.

you’re moving the phone away so he doesn’t hear it, but yoongi is pushing your hand back into position. “what?” you cough, trying to cover the noise.

“you okay? you sound… weird.” jungkook snorts over the phone, you can hear seulgi and taehyung in the back, their bickering all too familiar.

“i— i’m good.” you nod even though he can’t see you.

“okay, well, this guy from a record label called earlier, he said he wants to take us all out to eat and talk about our future!” jungkook informs. your eyes widen. a record deal?! even yoongi reacts, a cute, surprised look on his face. how funny was it that you were receiving this news with yoongi’s fingers fucking you.

“you’re lying.” you sit up a little bit, leaning onto your forearm. yoongi decides to be nice, letting his fingers stay stagnant in your hole so you can enjoy the news.

“i’m serious! we’re on the way to yours right now to pick you up, be ready in five minutes,” he tells you.

“right now?!” you exclaim. yoongi smirks, starting to pumping his fingers in and out of you, making your breaths a little more labored. “oh— fuck,” you groaned, you tried to cover it up by making it sound like you were annoyed. but anyone could be able to tell what you were doing, the squelch of your pussy loud enough for the entire apartment complex to hear probably.

“what the hell are you—” jungkook starts but you cut him off, yoongi’s fingers moving faster and the string in your belly about to snap from the tension.

“okay, jungkook! bye! love you! see you in a bit!” you rush the words out and press the big red button to hang up, throwing your phone onto the floor as yoongi leans over you with a smile on his face.

“congratulations, baby.” he punctuates his sentence with a quick circle around your clit. you’re so wound up, you could feel tears starting to build up in your eyes.

“yoongi, please, please let me cum.” you beg, giving in to his desires. the sound of your begging is music to his ears. he smirks, quickening the tight circles around your clit. your legs spreading wider if that was even possible.

yoongi’s plans were cut short due to your new plans, but he didn’t mind. he was happy for you, and he’s never wanted to make someone cum as much as he does now. “alright, kitten, cum whenever you want,” he whispers in your ear. his fingers coated in your wetness gliding against your clit, it feels way too good. the string in your belly snapping as soon as he gave you permission.

you found yourself letting out some of the loudest moans because yoongi was just that good. “holy fuck, yoongi,” you gasp. your chest rises and falls quickly, taking in as many breaths as possible.

“good job, baby.” he kisses your neck, letting you recover before slipping his fingers out and bringing them up to your lips. at first you furrow your eyebrows, this isn’t something you usually do; but when he says, “open,” you find yourself obliging easily. “good girl,” he smiles as you suck your cum off of his fingers.

you pull his fingers from your mouth when you’re sure you’ve sucked them clean, “i got a record deal dinner, min!” you rush to put your clothes on. yoongi tries his best to help, but all he wants to do is give you a big hug. he lets you put your clothes on before he’s holding you in his grasp, while you’re trying to make your way to his door. the two of you wobbling to his door.

“let me kiss you first, rockstar.” he smiles, his hand gently taking ahold of your face and giving you a kiss. it tastes just like you, the sultry memory that will live in yoongi’s brain for as long as it’s able.

he tries to kiss you once more, but you’re pushing him away. “i gotta go, yoongi,” you giggle. his hands holding you close to him, your back pressed against his front door as you kiss each other sloppily. “yoongi!” you smile, more laughs erupting as he helps you open the door. as soon as the door slides open, yoongi’s eyes move behind you, a sly smile on his face.

you turn to see your three band mates, all of their mouths agape. “i fucking told you! pay up, idiots!” seulgi smacks the both taehyung and jungkook’s shoulders.

your face blushes tomato red. you try to hide your face as you open your apartment door. before you turn the key, you hear yoongi congratulate the four of you. “good luck at your label meeting! make sure they don’t scam you,” he advises. your bandmates laugh, thanking yoongi and moving into your apartment. they don’t let you live down the embarrassment for the entire night.

when you come back home, you sit on your couch. a smile taking over your face when you think about how great the day was. you think the dinner went perfect, and when you hear a knock on your door, it has you rushing to open it.

yoongi stands outside your door with a cupcake and a single lit candle stuck in it. “congratulations!— it went well right?”

you stand in front of him, a sweet smile on your face as you nod. “i think they loved us,” you pull him into your apartment.

“of course they did! you guys are amazing!” yoongi hugs you, holding the cupcake above your head so it doesn’t get in your hair.

the rest of the night you and yoongi enjoy each other’s presence and the two of you talk about everything and nothing.

yoongi says the cupcake is just for you, but you take a knife and split it, “for us.” you give him a quick peck before eating your half, and then kissing him once more.

for us. it repeats in yoongi’s mind.

us.

yeah, he’d like that.

[bookwyrminspiration]

Shattered Upside Down

A kotlc wings au: masterpost here

chapter summary: The consequences of Sophie’s decision are starting to catch up to her, but she doesn’t know how to handle them.

Chapter 4: The Broken

Word Count: 4.7k

warnings: crying, numbness, avoiding problems, emotional breakdown (that’s the crying part), swearing, let me know if I need to add anything else

taglist: listed at the end, let me know if you want to be added or removed!

everyone ready? here we go!

ao3 link here or read beneath the cut! 

Sophie held onto the imparter until the buzzing stopped, having gone to whatever the elven version of voicemail was.

It started ringing again.

And another, behind her.

She turned painfully slow, dread curdling her skin, watching as Fitz pulled out his own imparter, staring down with that eerie gaze as it buzzed in his hand.

Then Biana.

Then Dex.

Then Wylie.

None of them answered.

The imparter in her hand chimed once, then again. They’d stopped trying to hail her--now they were sending messages. She couldn’t concentrate on the words flooding the screen, her fingers trembling too severely to hold it steady.

Before she could think it through, she opened the imparter, purposefully not reading the dozens of messages pouring in--from more than just her parents. She typed out a quick message, sent it off, and turned off the notifications, shoving it back into her bag.

The words burned the back of her throat, the ones she’d never get to say aloud, had left sealed behind with that cover when she made the choice--she made this choice--to leave.

She didn’t see what the others did as she continued moving forward, the grasses shifting from decrepit and decaying to unkempt but thriving, the vines becoming more lush, thicker and snaking and warm and untended to.

But she didn’t hear anyone pick up a call. She kept moving.

The area was...peaceful, if a bit wild. The marks left behind were clear--this area had been cared for, once upon a time. Now moss overgrew the trees, the rocks shaped as though meant to be sat upon, woven baskets left discarded on the grown, now-rotten fruits spilling from each.

“Over here,” Biana called, blinking into sight in the distance. Sophie hadn’t realized she’d disappeared.

Biana stood at the base of one of the thickest trees, towering, curling roots tearing into the soil below, sturdy enough that she stepped atop one like a stair. Biana pointed upwards, to what she’d called them to.  

Their panting wasn’t the only sound amongst the trees, the faint chimes of soft bells pealing from above, so quiet she’d almost thought the trees themselves were singing. The sound sucked the air from her lungs, draining her dry as she ran her fingers through the knots of her hair, peeling it from her sweat-soaked neck, twisting it through her hands. Resisting the urge to tear it out.

Once upon a time someone had sung such similar songs to her as they braided her worries away.

Once upon a time she’d sat with them, and cooked with them.

Once upon a time they’d died.

She dropped her hand to her side. Now was not the time.

“Okay...how do we get up there?” Wylie stood at the base of the tree near Biana, hand resting at his chin as he frowned upwards.

Just barely visible through the thick canopy of leaves and vines a rustic, curved base was visible, wrapping and coiling itself around the thick trunk, as if it’d always been there. Greenery covered it, untamed and overgrown, spreading from somewhere unseen up above.

The gnomes abandoned tree-houses.

“We climb.”

Sophie panted softly in the light of the rising sun, palms scraped and aching. It had been higher than she’d thought, no easy way up aside from the branches gracing the trunks--the gnomes had planned it that way. Hadn’t anticipated anything would be able to find a path.

Not that it mattered now.

They stood on a wooden porch, able to clearly see the rest of the homes from here--it was an entire community. She’d known, logically, the scope of the gnomes who’d gone missing. Who’d left. But standing here--there were dozens of elaborate, woven residences clinging sturdy to the forms of these trees, wrapping around them with the trunk jutting through the center.

The chiming of those faint bells reverberated throughout the area, the budding rays of sun peeking through the foliage, reflecting off small gems and pieces of glass scattered throughout the builds.

“Holy shit,” she breathed, spinning slowly, taking it all in.

Linh curled her fingers, and the sound of bubbling water rose from various places throughout the trees, delicate dripping irrigation systems diverting the dew and catching the light. Cascades of warm flowered vines fell from the roofs, curling around the braided edges of the railings on each porch. There was a gap, a gate in each, where a thin path--wood suspended on loose vine--stretched out to the next tree, the next habitat over, some meeting and crossing, each dripping with moss and foliage and morning dew--and gouge marks.

Her stomach turned ice as she tentatively stepped out onto one of the bridges, gingerly fingering the marks. This place was beautiful, yes.

But it was abandoned. Empty.

The people who had woven these bridges, molded themselves into the trees--none of them remained.

The wings at her back shivered, twitching with her despair, and the urge to rend them from her skin nearly consumed her. Monsters had ransacked this place, torn the people from their homes and broken their paradise.

Nothing from below, no.

They’d been attacked by monsters with wings.

“What now, Sophie?” Keefe was looking at her so softly, head cocked to the side, it made her want to rip it from his face. She shook herself internally, dousing the thought with alarm. No. She didn’t want to hurt him. She’d done all this...come all the way out here, just to keep herself from hurting people.

She wouldn’t start now.

She would fight this, whatever was happening to her, whatever was changing within her, as long as she fucking could and she would not let it control her. She’d needed to get out of the underground, couldn’t trust herself to be near them anymore--but neither could they.

“Now…” she paused for a moment, unsure what to do. So many things had gone so wrong so quickly, the ground ripped from beneath her feet. What would they do? “Now, we hurt them back.”

Her resolve was steel against the chill morning air, cutting through the loathing with absolute certainty. At least for now.

Maybe she couldn’t trust herself to be a safe person anymore, but neither could any of them. The wings had come first--and Tam’s eyes had come next. Who knew when--if--it would stop. Where. Maybe it wouldn’t.

They could all be on a collision course, already doomed and just waiting to reach the end of the road. But until then. She was going to do everything she could to hurt back the people who’d taken the safety, the individuality from her friends. From her.

The others felt her thoughts, her determination through their linked minds, and she watched as each of their faces hardened alongside her own.

They couldn’t trust themselves either.

Didn’t matter whether or not they had a dangerous ability, they’d still become an unknown to the people they loved. Still hated not knowing when and if and what would happen and where and if it would stop and whether or not they could trust their own minds.

None of them could, but they were all in it together.

It was a risk. Any of them could lose themselves, turn on each other they way they were afraid they would underground.

But it was a shared fear, a shared future, a shared determination.

But it was all of them, all of them versus themselves.

And that was a risk, a chance, they’d take any fucking day. 

The window in Sophie’s space was broken.

It would’ve been beautiful, once upon a time. Gnomish things often were. Curling, intertwining branches curved around each other, climbing up the wall in a haphazard arc, overgrown with flora. The view beyond was somehow better, the tops of the trees bursting with color, dripping dew set ablaze by the early morning sun.

Now glass littered the floor, dusting the panels, scattering themselves across the floor, pieces of different colors of someone else’s life. Faint tendrils of vine clung to the few cracked panes remaining in the frame, as if desperately holding itself together.

She tucked her knees in closer to her chest.

The light flowed through that shattered window, catching on the pieces on the ground, reflecting back up on her face as she sat there atop someone else’s bed, mussed and pressed against the wall, those wings spread behind her as she sat staring through that shattered hole.

She should be sleeping.

The others were.

She wasn’t.

She couldn’t. Not when the last time she’d done so she’d woken to be someone--something--else. Not when her imparter lay beneath her legs, ablaze with messages she may never read.

Those wings shifted behind her and she grimaced, gaze fixed straight ahead.

She hugged her knees closer.

Sophie Foster was

so

tired.

The wings twitched again, and her breath caught. The trees outside that shattered window grew slightly blurry, and she blinked hard. It wouldn’t go away.

Tear after tear tracked its way through the scrapes and dirt on her face, drifting down her cheeks and dripping their way across the sensitive skin of her neck.

Her nails dug into her skin, trying trying trying to hold those pieces of herself together, hold herself together like that broken window. Those pieces that had been shattered and scattered within moments, flipped around and tossed with abandon.

She couldn’t find that Sophie who’d been so angry, so determined, bursting with fight. Her friends had made a commitment to her and themselves, to get back at the people who’d done...this...to them.

They’d each claimed a home, an old gnomish space.

And when Sophie had walked into hers, chosen it for the wreath of moonflower vines framing the door, the moment her friends’ eyes left her, every bone in her body had turned to stone and her muscles to feathers.

She’d sat before that broken window and she hadn’t moved since.

She couldn’t.

Every time she moved, so did…they.

Just thinking about it sent a jolt through her spine that had them twitching. She hadn’t seen them, hadn’t looked.

She’d seen the stumps in the mirror, had caught glimpses of color and shape in her friends’ minds when she’d crashed into that tree, when she’d jumped from that creature.

Not enough to see them.

There was a part of her, a foolish, hopeless part of her, that thought if she ignored it long enough, it would go away.

If she didn’t look, they weren’t there.

If she didn’t look, they weren’t real.

Seeing them made them real.

She didn’t want them to be real.

She

was

so

tired.

Sophie’s gaze drifted outside the window, wandering between the different colored leaves and the draping vines and the flowers dangling from the--her--broken window.

Then it caught.

Alongside the bottom of the twisted branches was enough glass left for a splintered reflection to stare back, hollow tear-stained eyes, knotted hair stuck to her skin, curled up like she could disappear if she held herself close enough.

Wings.

They were hard to see in the glass, but they spread behind her, as if reminding her they were there. Her pulse roared in her ear, body overcome with that numbing tingle of pure panic.

Sophie inhaled. And slowly turned to look at them.

They were...real.

Attached at her shoulder blades, they spread from her back, the entirety of them on display. She couldn’t...tell what they were. Her friends, they each had something identifiable. An animal, a creature of some kind. Something distinct.

These...weren’t.

But she could identify the base.

Bumblebee.

That was the shape. The delicate, thin membranes threaded through with veins, and as they beat they made the same buzz. That’s what she’d been hearing earlier, she realized. That hum as she walked through the forest--it had been the wings.

But the color was off. Bees' wings were colorless, maybe a gradient of beige near the body. These were alive with splotches of color, translucent blues fading into purples blending into greys, speckled throughout with blinding white.

Like the endless expanse of the night sky. The hollow echo of the void.

Her eyesight blurred again, and she blinked hard as she followed the veins from the edge of the wing, all the way to where it met with her back. It took her a few moments to understand what she was seeing.

Another way she’d been set apart.

There were...feathers. Small, colored feathers textured through with speckles and swirling white patterns at the very base--only at the base. As if those wings had been unable to decide what they wanted to be, and had decided to be everything.

Sophie reached out, tentatively tracing a finger along the membrane.

She jolted, back arching reflexively, as if someone had tickled the bottoms of her feet.

She pressed out an exhale.

So they were sensitive.

Very

sensitive.  

Sophie turned back away, looking out through the window once more, suddenly so so...numb. Her eyelids became lead, trying to succumb to gravity.

No.

Please.

Jerkily, exhaustion-worn, she reached for her imparter, still pressed between her legs. Anything. She’d do anything to keep from falling asleep again.

She thumbed open the messages, the unanswered chats between her and her terrified, desperate, confused parents. She couldn’t read them. The adrenaline trying to sear its path through her veins could’ve been nothing for all she felt.

She knew it was there. But it was doing nothing.

Sophie’s shoulders dropped, imparter slipping from her grasp as the electrical signals in her body stopped working. Her fingertip caught the edge of the screen, sending the conversation scrolling back back back.

Until she could see that one, final message she’d sent her parents.

I’m sorry. I left of my own will. I didn’t want to hurt you. Don’t look for me. I’m sorry. I love you. I always will. I’m so sorry.

And then Sophie Foster collapsed.

She could see herself. She was supposed to, at least. She wasn’t actually there.

There was no her to see.

 The mirrors only reflected themselves back on each other again and again, becoming a darkening, sickening shade of green with each faux version of not-her.

 The mirrors were empty.

 Where was she?

 Why couldn’t she see?

She was here, wasn’t she?

Why couldn’t she see herself?

 The mirrors weren’t supposed to be empty.

 Where had she gone?

Cinnamon and wind pressed against Sophie’s face, and her eyes snapped open, instantly on edge. She jerked up, those wings buzzing with alarm. Her fingers splayed behind in the torn sheets of that bed as all her senses overloaded her mind with too much information all at once.

The sun was still out but it was setting the trees were wet and the fibers of this blanket were individually woven together and the air was rusting the flower petals on the door and--

“Woah, woah, woah. Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you like that.” Fitz was holding his hands out placatingly, like she were some startled animal. Which...she supposed she was.

Sophie took a moment to respond, breathing slowly until all that sensory information became no more than background noise.

“Are you...alright,” he asked, lowering himself onto the bed, sitting diagonal so those wings didn’t get in the way. Those wings. She’d hadn’t looked at them closely yet. Had been too frenzied on adrenaline.

She changed the topic. “Do you know what...kind...those are,” she asked, gesturing towards the wings with her chin.

He grimaced, gazing over his shoulder. “I tried not to think about it, if I’m being honest.”

“But…” Sophie prodded, encouraging him gently with a nod of her head. Her face softened as she scanned him, the rumpled clothes--he’d changed into a new outfit--the unkempt hair, as if he’d pushed it back and forth, torn his fingers through it; the circles and lines beneath his eyes, framing his face like bruises; the scratches lining his knuckles, the way he pulled and fidgeted with his hands as he looked back at her--behind her.

The wings tucked in, resting against her back as she gently nudged him with her arm.

“Well...obviously, I’m assuming a bird of some kind.” He exhaled lightly with faint amusement, rolling his eyes. “You know. Because of the feathers.”  

“Can I...may I see?” Her voice was too quiet, should’ve been too quiet. But they both heard her all too clearly. She winced, starting to pull back, lean away. She’d so clearly hidden the ones attached to her, now she was asking him to show off the pair on his back.

His eyes widened slightly as she retreated, and the wings spread slightly. He shifted on the bed, and the full length extended, wrapping up and descending around her, nearly enveloping her.

She couldn't keep the silent gasp from slipping through her lips, mouth falling opening as she saw the full pattern of those wings. Rich brown feathers melded into warm, golden honey, spattered throughout with occasional pops of cream. The feathers were smaller closer to his back, growing steadily longer and sleeker as they reached the outer edges of the wings, nearly the length of her forearm.

“I don’t know what kind of bird they could be,” he admitted, blush staining his cheeks. “There aren’t many with natural, earthy coloring in the Lost Cities.” His voice broke at the end, and he cleared his throat to cover it. The Lost Cities. They truly were lost now, weren’t they. A faux paradise broken into pieces, nothing more than memory. As ruined and haphazard as she was.

Sophie shook herself. Not now. Fitz needed her. She needed him. She cocked her head, looking at the pattern. “They remind me off…” she trailed off, sending her mind back back back. Something was pulling at her, a memory; something from her human life. There. A day at the San Diego zoo, her human mother holding her hand as they looked through the habitats.

“A golden eagle,” she whispered.

Fitz said nothing as she reached out, almost in a daze, running her finger along the edge of those feathers. He didn’t react, so…

“These aren’t sensitive, are they?” It was more statement than question, but he nodded anyway.

“Why? Are yours?”

Something clanged through her at that, jolting through her muscles and sending her thoughts convulsing into the shadows. Hers. She pushed it aside.

“We’re talking about you right now,” she teased, a little too out of breath to be okay. Her fingers fisted in the ragged bed sheets, resisting the urge to pull at her skin, her scalp, anywhere she could get her hands on.

He frowned at her, scrunching his nose a bit. “This isn’t just a me thing, Sophie.” His voice was too gentle, too caring, too too too aware of everything going on inside her and reading her like a book of melodies he could leaf through at his whimsy. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you after everything. But I know you’re trying to hide it. The leader we--all of us, Sophie--want you to be isn’t a person who will hide themselves from us. I know it wasn’t the same for you, the mission, waking up, but that doesn’t mean we’re that different.”

He glanced over her shoulder at both those pairs of wings, bumblebee and golden eagle. “Please don’t push us away. You don’t have to talk to me,” he continued, looking down at her clenched fingers, gently uncurling them and holding her hand in both his own. “But please talk to one of us.”

Fuck.

They sat there for a few moments, just breathing next to each other in heavy silence as Fitz brushed his thumb rhythmically over the back of her hand, ready to wait. To wait as long as it took her to say whatever was boiling brewing curling steaming screaming inside her.

It broke her.

Her fingers tightened in his as her whole body wracked with sobs, shuddering and collapsing in on itself. Her free hand slapped to her mouth, trying to push the noises back into her lungs, the room splotchy and blurred as those tears she’d tried so hard to ignore and to keep to herself and to pretend were only temporary slipped through.

She didn’t scream.

Fitz pulled her into an embrace as she shuddered, crying silently into his shoulder. Her throat was so so thick, so tense, her tongue so heavy in her mouth she couldn’t speak. Nails digging into his shoulder blade, fingertips brushing against the base of those wings, and she cried harder.

She wanted to tell him. She wanted to--. What did she want?

His arms were so warm around her, so steady as he held her, squeezing her closer and waiting waiting waiting for her.

She couldn’t find the willpower to voice it, to speak it aloud.

She didn’t need to.

She didn’t have the strength to speak, but her mind was stronger than her body.

I don’t want to become a monster.

That was what she was running from, hiding from. This possibility. The chance that the wings weren’t the end, that maybe this was where the first monsters had come from, all those months ago. And she was next. She’d have to sit inside her body and watch it rot, becoming the very thing she hated, despised, so dearly. Something with nothing inside it, something bloodthirsty who frothed at the opportunity to attack, no thought behind her actions, a danger to anyone near.

And that had driven her away from some of the most important people in her life. Looking back, it was still safest for her to be as far from her family as possible, but it still hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt.

She hadn’t been able to read the messages from her parents, whatever they’d said to her in terror, desperation, fear for her.

Maybe one day it would be fear of her.

She hated what she’d done to them, but she couldn’t fix it. Not when she was like...this. An unknown assuming the worst.

I know. Fitz inhaled shakily next to her ear, and she realized he was crying too. I know...exactly what you’re feeling. His mind was whirling beside hers, both their mental shields lowered as they sat beside one another.

His thoughts were slow but oh so tragic. Each one a nightmare, his body ruined and decaying, a monster that had once been him crawling its way into the underground, tearing the stones from the walls, gouging into the unprotected below.

Ripping his mother’s heart from her chest.

His arms clenched around her and she held him closer too.

Hey. Hey. Hey, she consoled, gently rocking the two of them back and forth. You...You’re not a monster, she finally whispered, and he sagged in her grasp, burying his face in her neck. I don’t think you could be. You’re too...good.

He laughed hollowly against her skin as she released her death grip on his shoulder blades, a hand coming up to cradle the back of his head, fingers running through his hair.

She’d tried to distract herself from the wings on her back by asking about the ones on his...but he’d also tried to distract himself from his quiet nightmares by asking about her own. What a pair they were.

What a group.

This was the two of them, but they were not solitary lights. They were fragments of stars amongst the constellations of people they had chosen to love.

Eight of them living through the exact same waking nightmare, only a few doors away.

“We’ll fix this,” she promised, voice hoarse from her tears. “I don’t know...I don’t know what fixed will be. Maybe we’ll be out here for the rest of our lives. Maybe we’ll go back to the underground eventually. Maybe...maybe we’ll even go home.” Her voice broke on the last word, but his breathing had slowed. He was listening. “But whatever it will be, we’ll find it. We’ll make it. All of us. We work best when we work together. If anyone can fix this...it’s us.”

Fitz leaned back, his palms running down her arms and coming to rest in their laps.

“Yeah,” he whispered, staring down at their interlaced fingers, eyes red and vacant. And it was so so natural to reach forward, brush his tears away with her thumbs, hold his face in her hands for a moment before picking up his own once more.

He looked up at her at that, opening his mouth as if to continue, but he paused, head cocking to the side and a slight smile spreading across his lips.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just...are you--” he cut out, looking down at his palms, laughing slightly as he angled them towards her, so she could see.

The skin of his palms was dusted in a faint layer of light powder, almost a translucent silver. He pointed to her own arms, and she followed his gesture.

“What are you--oh.” All thoughts left her mind, leaving her with just a what? Every inch of her exposed limbs was brushed with a fine layer of powder, clinging to the surface of her skin and catching the sunlight streaming in through that broken window.

Sophie scooted back on the bed, shaking out her arms, a shower of light dust raining down. She wasn’t even angry about it, there was only pure dumbfounded bafflement as she brushed the powder off again and again and again, mostly of it falling to the sheets, but enough clinging to her skin that she was sure she’d never be rid of it.

Fitz laughed louder at her perplexed expression, glancing at him as she shook out her hands again, his voice cracking slightly as he stood, bounding to the broken window and eagerly leaning out, looking around.

“What are you doing? This is a very serious situation Fitzroy,” she said, scrunching her nose at him lightheartedly. Sure, she was confused. But she could handle that if it got rid of that horrid numbness shadowing his face. Whatever it was sent a sweet scent wafting from him, and she smiled slightly herself. He was...genuinely amused. But what was he doing?

He turned towards her and grinned, pointing to one of the flowers framing the glass, a soft periwinkle encrusted with speckles of grey, drooping from the vines. “Look.” Flower between his fingers, he tapped it a few times, a shower of that fine powder falling from the center.

“...and?” She wasn’t following.

“You’re a bumblebee,” he laughed slightly. “It’s pollen.”

“Oh for fucks sake,” she sighed, pressing her hands into her cheeks, squishing her face as she turned to look at him. “Our homes being overrun by mindless bloodthirsty creatures: I can handle. Living underground for months: I can handle. Running away from our families: I can handle that. Growing fucking wings? I can handle it. But this pollen. I just don’t think I can take it. I think this, right here, this will bee my breaking point.”

Fitz full on snorted at that, her little pun, and she found herself grinning back at him.

His smile faded after a moment and he titled his head to look at her, the movement inhuman. “You can handle it, huh?”

She dropped her hands down to her lap, thinking it over. She’d been joking around, wanting to make him laugh, ease the weight off both the shoulders the way Keefe did so effortlessly, but...the words hadn’t come out of nowhere.

“Yeah,” she answered finally. “I think we can.”

Maybe not now. This would hurt, this would linger for a while yet, but she’d get there. There was a while yet to go, but it would be manageable someday.

She’d have to remind herself of that.

He nodded to himself, briefly meeting her gaze, and she was put off for a moment at the intensity of his stare. He nodded again, and something shifted in his stance. His muscles eased and a sturdy calm washed over him, like he’d seen something in her that’d given him confidence.

“I guess then we’ll--” he cut off as both their heads snapped towards the door.

The sound.

Light footsteps pounded erratically against wood, losing their balance several times as they skidded right onto that patio outside. Something pinged in the back of the mindbubble.

Something’s wrong.

They each flinched as the door burst open, Biana’s hair frazzled, eyes wide with pure panic, the scent of damp terror permeating the space. She leaned in just long enough to say two awful words.

“It’s Dex.”

Taglist: @loudnerdfest @rainbowtay-11 @cadence-talle @pyrokinetic-loser @ahecktonoffandomsinoneblog @itstiger720 @loverofallthingssmart @cowboypossume @jolieharkness @wings-of-hell-and-beyond @shellyseashell @blossomjennie @akotlcblog @imaramennoodle @booknerdddddd

[ateezmakemeweep]

if you’re not busy, can i pls request a ateez reaction with y/n sketching them out during either sport practice, at the library, park, etc. and they end up seeing it and you get all flustered and shy uwu

❥ kim hongjoong

during free period, there was always one place you could find hongjoong. 

you peek your head in the empty music room, the boy’s small frame hunched over the piano as he plays on the keys before scribbling messily on a sheet of paper. you let out a quiet sigh, knowing that this is the only time he has to eat or drink but refuses to spend his free time doing anything else but music. 

you walk over silently, greeting him with a small smile as you sit down and push a tray of food in front of him. “please eat it as some point,” you whine as you open your sketchbook, his lowly mumbled “i will,” not at all making you feel confident. 

and with good reason because the entire time you draw, he doesn’t stray his attention from the keys or his notebook. and you know this for a fact because you’ve been watching him for the past 30 minutes, sketching the slope of his nose and handsome features of his face before you even realized it. 

and much to your luck, when you’re finished up, that’s when hongjoong decides to put down his pencil and stretch his arms in front of him. “what have you been up to?” you hear him ask you, your face snapping up and flushing when he’s looking at you knowingly. 

“no-nothing!” you stutter. but before you can slap the book shut, he peeks over and sees the profile of his face, his head lowered and a focused expression sketched in grey, lightly smudged graphite. 

“cute,” he mumbles, smiling when your face turns pink and you throw your pencil at his arm. 

❥ park seonghwa

you don’t know when you and seonghwa decided to start eating in the library. 

it could’ve had something to do with that fact that his and your chaotic friends were too much for both of you, the odds of a food fight or loud bickering back and forth far too common. you both enjoyed the time out of class to be calm and quiet, seonghwa usually reading or playing on his phone while you practiced your sketches or art projects. 

today, you were having trouble. you couldn’t quite set the tone of the piece, letting out a quiet groan as you erased marking after marking. you decided to ditch the landscape all together after that, looking around the room to see if anything else sparked some inspiration. 

and there it sits in front of you, seonghwa sitting there flipping through the pages of a book. his shoulders were relaxed and his face was pulled into a soft smile, chewing at his food and your pencil started moving before your brain could even keep up. 

seonghwa looked up and smiled when he saw you at work, his eyes narrowing as he noticed you had the sketchpad lifted away from him. he waits until the scratches are less frantic, your face less focused as you shade in parts of whatever you drew. 

“what’d it end up being?” his deep voice asked you, your head snapping up to look at him. and it’s like the second he sees your face, he knows. because the smirk that crosses his is far too teasing and amused, extending his arm out and looking at you pleadingly. “let me see.”

“no,” you snap, shaking your head as you hold it to your chest - how embarrassing. 

“c’mon, baby,” he whines, the term of endearment he throws around like it doesn’t hold so much power making you even more flustered. “let’s see what a good job you did.”

❥ jeong yunho

the substitute in your math class was about as useless as the subject matter. 

he assigned you three questions that would take even the most horrific students less than fifteen minutes, insisting that was the work assigned for today and to remain quiet for the rest of class. you roll your eyes as he looks over all of you, making sure no one has there phones out or is trying to pass notes. 

you and yunho meet gazes and he looks just as annoyed as you, placing his head down on his arms and shutting his eyes. in the time you’ve put your work away and pulled out your sketchbook, you’re pretty he’s actually fallen asleep. his eyelashes rest on his cheeks and his brow is furrowed every so slightly, your crossed legs turning in your seat as you start to draw the sleeping boy. 

class ends just as you start to shade, missing the loud ring of the bell as you focus in on making his face as peaceful and handsome as he looked. a looming figure above you causes you to jump, the model himself now awake and looking down at you with a smirk. 

your cheeks flush immediately and he bites his lip to hide his smile from widening, not wanting to embarrass you but also finding it incredibly cute and endearing. you press your lips into a firm line as you close the book immediately, about to blurt out an apology or explanation before he asks if he can walk you to your next class.

❥ kang yeosang

with half of the boys either out to lunch or getting extra help in the library, your lunch table was relatively quiet with only yeosang and jongho present. 

you zoned in and out of the boys conversation, speaking up when addressed directly or giggling when jongho insulted yeosang to the point of being smacked. you couldn’t help but admire the older boy’s sweet smile despite his violent acts, his eyes lighting up each and every time a laugh bubbles out of him. 

no one catches on to your looks up and down and the scribbling of your pencil until mingi and yunho come through the door, mingi’s hand ruffling your hair before he notices your sketchbook. “whoa!” his voice exclaims, your body stiffening as you try to cover the half-drawn portrait. “that’s so good, y/n! is that yeo-“

“stop!” you squeak, your face pink and heart pounding as you slam the sketchpad shut. everyone but yeosang gives you a strange look, his small smile reassuring you for the rest of the lunch that it was okay. 

“can i see it?” he mumbled in your ear when lunch was over, your cheeks still burning as you look up at him with a pout and shake your head in embarrassment. “pleaseee,” he whines, his deep chuckle bringing goosebumps to your skin when you smack him lightly with the book.

❥ choi san

san had planned a picnic for the both of you, sandwiches and fruit and little bars of chocolate filling the wicker basket at your feet.

laid out on the yellow blanket he’d brought, you rested on your stomach sketching him as he throws the tennis ball to your dog a few feet away in the grass. his dimples poked out as the sun shined down on him, your heart fluttering each and every time as you sketched out his handsome face. you giggled watching your dog jump up on san, the boy nearly toppling back as dirt got all over his black shirt. 

“i’m sorry,” you said softly when they came back, fishing through the basket for some spare napkins. but with your back turned, you left your book exposed and san’s eyes traveled over the drawing of him. he smiled looking over it, his eyes moving to you just as you turn around. “here you go, that should-“ your words get cut off when you see your sketch is visible, your cheeks flushing when you see him staring down at you.

“i-i’m sorry,” you say again, feeling creepy and weird that you were caught. he rolls his eyes and sits down in front of you, his hand going through a strand of your hair. 

“why are you sorry?” he asks with a small smile. he looks back down at the sketch and can’t help but shake his head, insisting he’s not that handsome and then apologizing that he doesn’t really look like that. you let out a scoff, throwing a piece of bread at him that your dog is quick to snatch up. 

❥ song mingi

you and mingi had been in the same spot at the empty cafe for hours, studying and finals completely consuming you guys. 

you stretch your arms out with a groan, moving your study guide aside to give your pounding head a break. mingi barely looks up from his laptop, working to finish the ten-page essay due tomorrow. it’s with that look of concentration, the light from his laptop softening his face that causes you to draw him. 

focusing on the way his hair hangs in his face, the plumpness of his chapped bottom lip and the way his eyes filter back and forth over the screen. you hear his chair scrape against the floor and look up to see him go over the counter, humming to yourself as you start to draw from memory. 

a tray smacking against the table causes you to jump, almost scribbling a stray line before you look down and see he got you a chocolate chip cookie. warmth spreads through your chest as look up to thank him, his eyes on the page and a smirk on his face. 

“who’s that?” he asks teasingly, watching your face drop and cheeks flush as you bury your face in your hands. he can’t help but chuckle when he hears you groan, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before silently making his way back to the computer. 

❥ jung wooyoung

given that wooyoung was usually your ride home, being neighbors and all, you frequently found yourself sitting in the gym watching his basketball practice. 

he was like a completely different person when he played, his happy smile and playful demeanor gone as a completive edge and focus overtook him. he stood tall and confident, his exposed arms looking muscular and fit. you can see the blank ink under his rib, biting your lip as you take out your sketchbook and draw out his body and face.

it proves difficult as he keeps bouncing from one side of the court to another but when he’s standing still for about two minutes, his head thrown back as he gulps down water and his adams apple bobs, you know you’re about to get a fairly good sketch. 

you clean it up and shade to the best of your ability, only feeling a little bit bothered by the way he starts to sweat and pant heavily. you miss the way he’s been watching you, a smirk on his face as you look down concentrated with your teeth digging into your lip. 

“what’re you drawing today?” you hear him ask breathlessly, the white towel slung over his shoulder making you gulp. you shake your head and mumble “nothing,” knowing if he sees it, he’s gonna scream and pinch your cheeks and embarrass you. 

he sees the way you get nervous, a smirk crossing his lips as he tries to peak down. “c’mon, y/n, share with the class.” he tries to take the sketchbook out of your hand but you cave in on yourself, closing it as you cover it with your chest and making it even more obvious you were drawing something. 

“you’re no fun,” he whines, your eyes narrowing at him because why does have to be so annoyingly hot and when did he even get that tattoo? 

❥ choi jongho

with an injury to your ankle but demands from your cheer coach to sit in on practice, you currently sat on the bleachers facing the football field. 

you watched your squad practice the moves you’ve been doing since the beginning of the year, letting out an annoyed huff before your eyes move to the football field. particularly on player number eight, the jersey that reads choi every friday night when, more often than not, he scores at least one touchdown. 

but now he’s standing on the field with his team members and coach, his arms crossed over his chest as you find yourself itching to reach for your sketchbook. you and the boy are fairly close due to how often you see each other, one of the only nice and respectable jocks in this school. 

but even so, you’d be mortified if he saw your book right now. the way you draw his broad shoulders and chest, his arms stretched over them as you bite your lip in concentration and focus in on all the little details you’ve come to notice at parties and after practice. 

you’re so focused on sketching and shading and tweaking the boy’s stance and face that you’re completely ignorant of the whistles blowing around you, signaling the boy’s are free to go and walking past the cheerleaders to go down to the locker room. 

you jump when you hear your name being called, jongho just a few feet away from you as he walks toward the bleachers. your frantic reaction causes the book to fall from your lap, wincing and blushing when, before you can reach down and grab it, he picks it up for you. 

his eyes linger over the drawing for a few seconds, breaths caught in your throat as you feel about ready to explode or burst into tears. but then he only smiles sweetly down at you, turning the page over just as another team member comes up and smacks him on the back. 

“what’s that?” you hear the random boy ask, your eyes immediately moving to him. 

“nothing,” jongho responds casually, handing the book back to you with a knowing glint in his eyes. “just something that belongs to her.” you stare wide eyed at the boy’s back as he retreats toward the building, finally getting air in your lungs before he ruins it again by turning around and winking at you.

[yehet-me-up]

Into The Ancient Woods - Four

Pairing: fae!Jongin x lady knight!reader

Genre: Fantasy AU

Rating: PG13 - mentions of blood, gore, etc.

Word Count: 2,149

Moodboard (that I’m OBSESSED with) @gingersaysjump​ 

Summary: When your sister is stolen by the Fae King you set out on a quest to save her. But when you arrive in the Kingdom of the Fae, all is not as you thought, and in no time killing the king becomes the furthest thing from your mind.

A/N: I wanted soooooo badly to combine these drabbles into a oneshot but after a few weeks I realized that it’s either going to be a few fun drabbles or... basically a full book’s worth of a plot and there’s no happy middle. 😅So I picked out my favorite bits from the rest of what I wrote and here they are! 😄

One | Two | Three | Four

Too much has been sacrificed to turn back now.

A king needs his queen. The kingdom needs love and blood to begin again. New life to wipe the stains of death away from its’ surface like steam from a mirror. And to do that he needs you. No one else. He’s tried. 

Other fae women. Their drops of blood did nothing. 

Other mortal women. Their spilled blood had only appeased the curse for a short while. 

No, he thinks as he gently sets you on the plush bed, watching the light cascade over your face. No, it must be you. You’re his final hope. The one with the hair the color of fire and the spirit to match.

~~~~~~~

The cell is an opulent one, but it is a cage nonetheless. Now that he has you, he isn't willing to take any chances. The bed may be lavish and covered in blankets - red and gold brocade, warm against the chill that lingers everywhere in his kingdom. 

He wonders if you’ll scream at him again when you wake and he smiles at the thought. It’s been far too long since life flowed in this village and he craves the intensity.

His healer already attended to you, removing any damage his sharp and efficient magic did. Exhaustion is the only thing keeping you from consciousness now. He stifles his impatience and paces in front of your cell.

He has questions - hundreds of them, as he observes the gentle rise and fall of your chest. 

Who put the flowers in your hair - were they done with your own hand or by someone else’s? A lover, perhaps? 

How did you come upon the sword you carry? The mortal kings have long been dismissive of the women in their kingdom. Did you steal it?

Jongin longs to pry open your mind and heart and have a look to see just what kind of woman fate brought him. Decades and centuries of waiting for the prophesied one. Endless years of suffering, now brought to an end. If she accepts me. And this.

~~~~~~

It's midday when someone comes for you again. Unfortunately, it's the King himself. Handsome and devastating and evil.

Though you now know it would solve none of your problems, you still long for your sword to be able to drive it through his heart. If just for the satisfaction of having bested him.

'Would you like to go for a walk, kultaseni?'

You make a noise somewhere between a scream and a whine of confusion. 'Surely you are joking.'

He leans an arrogant shoulder against the frame of the door and smiles at you. 'I am not. You have seen your sister, alive and unharmed. I would like to speak with you and would prefer to do so without bars between us.'

'You're the one who put me here,' you counter. You grip the metal so tightly it bites into your palms.

His expression turns mournful, brows drawn together and his plump, red lips pouting. Irrationally you want to sink into the bottom one with your teeth and pull. Just to taste him. Just to hear him moan and know it was you who caused it. But then the light shifts and his expression is reserved and taunting once more and you swallow the thought.

'Fine. But if you try and harm me, I'll gouge your eyes out with my thumbs.'

He raises a brow and smiles at you, pleased by your comment. 'I'd expect nothing less.'

The castle and the village, in daytime, are disconcertingly similar to your own.

Children play in the town square, their laughter echoing off the cobblestones. Women and men walk to and fro down a path off the center square, carrying baskets of fruit and grain from the harvest. Soldiers stand guard at the palace gates. No wonder they were so cavalier, you think, their threat comes from within. Not from the world outside.

Jongin leads you towards the mountains that rise towards the south. The villagers nod as you pass, watching you with awe. You wonder if everyone has heard the tale. You can almost hear their silent pleas, asking you to be your savior. Would you not do the same, in their place?

Thankfully the path disappears into the trees and you and Jongin are alone once more. Here, he's quiet and contemplative, hands drawn behind his back. You've never seen a man more beautiful. Or more dangerous. His moods change faster than lightning and you do your best to keep up.

He runs a ringed finger along the branch of a thick tree. Its bark is twisted and old, fighting death as the tree reaches towards the sun. 'The forest was so beautiful, in my youth.'

Curiosity gets the better of you. 'How did it come to be cursed?'

~~~~~~~~~

The light through the branches falls on his face and suddenly you can imagine the boy he was in his youth. His amber eyes are shrewd and playful. You wonder what it was like when his smile was easy and unburdened, when he gave of himself willingly and joyfully. 

When his choices didn't carry the fate of an entire Kingdom behind them.

You feel your heart soften a fraction and pull back, afraid of being drawn in by him. Even if you understand the source of his actions, even if the women aren’t hurt - there’s still blood on his hands that will never come clean.

‘If you wanted me… if I’m the prophesied queen, why did you take my sister? Why not come for me directly?’

He pauses, a slight blush coming to his cheeks in the golden light. ‘Is it so wrong that I would want my future queen to be able to say goodbye to her family in some way? To the human world?’

‘So you’ll really let her go back? You meant it?’

He folds his hands behind his back, contemplating. 'I'm entirely honest. If you hold up your end of the bargain, I'll hold up mine.'

You watch him, through the trees he looks almost human. His skin is ice white, with none of the bright warmth you'd associate with living. But his features relax in nature, away from the harsh lines of the castle. He’s been just as much a prisoner of the curse as the village, as the woods. 

For long moments you both get lost in your thoughts. He pulls a flower from one of the trees and holds it between his fingers. You can only imagine what must occupy the mind of a king of an immortal land. If you make this choice, you will become like him. Trapped forever in this land, trapped forever in this body. Until you choose to die.

'Will it hurt?' you ask quietly.

He looks at you suddenly. 'Are you agreeing?'

His eyes are wide with hope and you imagine him much younger. Being forced to make a deadly choice to save his people. Wouldn't you do the same, in his place?

'Yes.' Your promise is a whisper. 'Yes,' you repeat, stronger, finding your conviction and surrender like air beneath your wings. 'I'll do it.'

Jongin catches you off guard by wrapping you in his arms. In two steps his scent and his body envelops you. His delight is a palpable thing between you, seeping into the marrow of your bones. He pulls back and watches you fiercely.

'I will owe you for this,' he says gently, breath cascading across your lips. 'Forever.'

Even if you didn't know that magic lived in him, you'd be transfixed. His eyes are dark brown, cut through with amber in the bright sunlight. You remind yourself of the terrible things he's done and on instinct you step back.

'You didn't answer my question.'

His hands hang in midair for a moment, as though he were imagining you still in his arms. 'Yes, it will.' His hands fall to his sides and he looks sad. 'I'm sorry for that. Being remade is not an easy feat, from my understanding.'

You steel yourself. 'I've said many times in my life I'd be willing to fight, and die, for those I love. And if this will forever keep them safe, I'll do it.'

Jongin nods. 'You cannot know what it will mean for my people. Centuries of pain ceasing, like blood clotting in a wound.'

No words come, the thought of a lifetime away from your family sits heavily in your mind. But wounds still leave marks, even after they heal. Never seeing your mother and father again. Never being human again. 

Some wounds never heal. But for this, you'll sacrifice everything. And perhaps, in time, come to find other reasons to live. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The stone dais in the square is empty. Distant noises of battle - swords clashing, men and women fighting for their lives - pound in your ears as you race to complete the ritual before it’s too late. Before all is truly lost forever

Jongin hesitates for a moment before stepping up behind you. He could have remained opposite you, closeness wasn't a necessity to slice your arm. But despite it all, you're glad he's there. The fact that he lives and breathes and feels comforts you. You hope you're still yourself after this night is done.

'Ready?' he asks, softer than you'd imagine.

With his chest to your back like a shield you slide up the sleeve of your overdress, exposing your skin. Fear clogs your throat and you struggle for breath. Fear of pain. Fear of loss. Fear of failure.

You grit your teeth and will yourself to be strong. 'Ready.'

His broad hand wraps around your wrist, holding it out over the circular opening of stone. The bottom is stained with age, with the imprint of hundreds of years of dead leaves. The sun has bleached the rim. With morbid fascination you hold still as he draws the blade against your skin.

The cut is deep, well-placed. You wince at the searing pain and bite down hard on your cheek, but still you don't look away. His face presses against yours and you realize abruptly how close he is. Jongin sets the knife down on the rim and wraps his free hand around your waist, keeping you steady. Held close against him, as if you were lovers.

The blood pools in the base, in drops, thick and red. You should have asked him what the transformation entails. Too late you realize you were so caught up in the loss of your human life, you'd asked nothing about your journey into the immortality.

Moonlight shines, clear and bright, as the clouds above you clear. Like a beacon it settles on the steady drops of blood that fall from the open wound. It's slowing, turning from a steady flow to a trickle. Just when you think he'll take up the knife and reopen the wound, the stone beneath you trembles. A great rumbling starts beneath your feet and you cling to his arm with your right hand. Ready for whatever hell is unleashing upon you tonight.

'Hold steady,' he says.

You nod and press your lips together to avoid screaming. In the silver light the blood in the base shines. It morphs from red to orange to a near white color in seconds. The structure around you drops a fraction before stilling. Your breath comes out in pants and you keep firm as the shimmering moves up the drops of blood, flowing upwards and back into your body.

When it reaches your skin, you feel like you've been stabbed all over. It's like the time you got too close to the fire as a child, when the flames licked along your skin and burned. You can't help the sound of surprise and agony that leaves you as the ancient magic undoes your humanity.

Jongin catches you as you fall, turning you in his arms and easing you down onto the stone. His hand beneath your head cushions you as your body writhes and jerks as though it were trying to evaporate like smoke. He seems to glow himself as he watches you with a look both fearful and intense with hope.

He squeezes your hand and you look down, realizing he's clasped his hand around yours. The world fades at the corners of your vision. The branches of the trees appear menacing in the darkness. The great turrets of the castle disappear as the clouds move over the moon once more. A great bolt of lightning cleaves the sky, striking the dais.

Your head lolls to the side and you watch the stone crack in half. Thunder echos around you so loudly you gasp. As you lose consciousness you hold Jongin's focus, praying that it worked. That his kingdom will be restored. That your people will be free. That he will once again be whole and uncursed.

[tardytothepardy]

Fruits Basket - Vol. 18

The first part of this book was honestly pretty sweet, I was living for it. The second part of this book reminded me that Haru can kick ass if he wanted to, but for the most part he doesn't. The third part of this book reminded the characters that Tohru wants to help these people in their predicament, but she also wants to help one person in particular out of their predicament.

By the end of it, I kinda want Kureno to carry around a spray bottle and spritz water or vinegar at Akito every time he does something bad. Probably vinegar. It wouldn't do anything bad, but he'd be smelly.

So, the first part. It's mostly just with the Student Council, continuing the graduation ceremony stuff from the previous book (and no, Tohru and Co. are not graduating. I don't know why I thought they were), with some focus on Machi, Yuki, and Kakeru. How fun.

It starts with the one strict guy (I've never had to talk about him at all so I wasn't sure what his name was for a while, honestly. It turns out his name is Sakuragi Naohito. The more you know, I guess) lamenting about how graduation is near, which the rest of the group finds odd, because no one in the group is graduating this year. Then a couple girls show up at the door, saying that Machi knocked down some boxes of chalk, and generally made a mess. They also brought up some random (but very personal) rumor about Machi trying to kill her baby brother a while back, and surely that's why Machi is the way she is. Kakeru tells Yuki about it, from what he was told. It was said that Machi became jealous of her younger brother (who, according to Kakeru, had been decided to be the heir to the family's fortune) and tried to kill him. Afterwards, her parents decided that it would be best if she was removed from the house entirely, and ever since she had lived alone. Kakeru offered to take Yuki to Machi's place, to ask her herself, which Yuki didn't really agree to. Kakeru also mentioned, offhandedly (because he was just jumping from one topic to the next) that he once saw Machi, out in the snow, making footprints all over it. He had no idea why, but he said she seemed pretty intent on it.

So they arrived unannounced to Machi's place, which she did not appreciate whatsoever. She might have been fine with Kakeru showing up, but she was more flustered once she saw that Yuki was also there. (I wonder why,,, hmmm) While they were there, Kakeru was just being weird and put one of Machi's bras, all rolled up, in Yuki's hand. Why did he do that. Don't manhandle bras, dude. They're expensive. Anyway, once he got kicked out for that (they kinda started cleaning up Machi's room, and he was taking out the trash), Machi asked Yuki about the rumor, and if that was why they were here. Yuki didn't answer that, and instead asked Machi if she hated perfection. The answer is yes, she does, because of shit that her mom said and did to her.

Basically (and I feel like this was touched on a bit earlier), after Kakeru acted out and got tired of the family's bs, more pressure was put on Machi to behave, to do the best that she could, get the highest marks in school, have the perfect behavior, etc. She couldn't step out of line, otherwise she would be punished severely. Despite this, her mother would often talk about how boring she was, in front of Machi. This was especially the case after her younger brother was born, and her mother would talk about how glad she was for another heir to the family, because Machi was just so average, so dull. After one of these times, Machi actually confronted her mother, asking, "Why do you say that? I thought this was what you wanted me to be like?", to which her mom was like, "You say that like it's my fault. Well, maybe it is. Oh well."

That sense of "Oh well, onto the next one" was not the thing that Machi needed. She needed reassurance, that she wasn't just some blank, dull, empty person, who brings nothing new or interesting to anything or anyone. I think it's kinda here when she started tearing things apart: anything that was too neat or orderly just reminded her of that suffocating feeling, and she couldn't stand it.

It was then that Yuki praised her, basically, for all the hard work that she did, all that work, just to try and keep ahead. Clearly, this was not something she had ever experienced, because it caused her to break down, and she told him about what actually happened with her and her younger brother: she was just putting a blanket over him. She thought he was cold, and he could get sick. But when her parents saw her holding a blanket over him, they already had a bias against Machi, and were convinced that she was jealous, that she had ill intent. They wouldn't listen to what she said, they didn't care. She had shown a "sign" of something bad that easily fit into their narrative, and took that as a reason to take her away from her younger brother.

Yuki then offers that, if the snow gets thick enough, they can go outside and make footprints all over it, and, honestly? That's some cute ass shit. I love that kinda thing, really. That's romance: stomping around in the fresh snow. Who needs physical contact when you can stomp around on fall leaves? That's the real stuff, right there.

But Kakeru interrupts the scene (he was kinda lingering behind a wall, listening to most of this. I think he was there for the story about their younger brother), but I liked it. It was nice. That wasn't entirely where this section ended, however. There's still a little bit more, with Sakuragi, and why he was so bummed out about graduation.

The short answer is that a girl he likes is graduating. But she (I looked it up and her name is Motoko Minagawa) likes Yuki, who doesn't like her. And Sakuragi is kinda taking out his anger on Yuki, who is mostly just bummed out that so many girls are coming up to him and confessing their feelings, and he just has to turn them down. In the end, Yuki and Minagawa had a chat, things are fine. She told him how she felt about him but she wasn't expecting anything in return, and she said she wished for the best for him, which he was unnecessary. Later, Sakuragi kinda?? told Minagawa how he felt about her, but he mostly just gave her well wishes, and now he is less angry and uppity. How nice.

Moving onwards to the second chunk, Hiro's mom had a baby! Her name is Hinata, and she's not a Juunishi. It's great. Hiro's gonna do his damnedest to make sure that Hinata gets everything she needs, and probably try to protect her from the burning dumpster that is being a Sohma. (Really, it just doesn't seem to be that great.)

While that's going on, there's discussion of Izusu, where is she? People say that she's in the hospital, but they won't say which one, or where. She's not at Kagura's house, where she lives, and she hasn't shown up at school for ages. Kagura had to actually attend Izusu's graduation in her place. It's all very weird. People are started to ask around, but no one has the answers. Kagura's worried, Tohru's worried, Hiro's mom is worried, and at one point Yuki even went up to Haru and asked him if he'd heard anything about where Izusu was. Haru hadn't, but afterwards, he got on the search. On the way to the search, he ran into Hiro and Kisa. They all kinda knew what Haru was doing there, and that's when Hiro told Haru that the last time Izusu got really hurt, it was because Akito had pushed her off a second-story ledge. He then apologizes to Kisa, saying that it was his fault that Akito lashed out at her, and he wasn't allowed to anything about either incident. He then reveals that Izusu is trying to break the curse, and she did something, Akito found out, and that's why she was punished (along with Akito forcing her to break up with Haru).

Anyway, now Haru's pissed. He makes a beeline straight to Akito's room, and he's looking for some answers. He cuts to the point, asking, "Why'd you push Izusu out the window?" Akito denies it, of course, who'd own up to that? He says that Haru must have made that up, or heard wrong from someone, but Haru is not swayed. He's gonna get answers one way or another.

While all of this has been happening, Kureno had noticed that there was a person carrying a tray of food and wandering off to where people don't typically go. He followed her, and tracked her down to a dilapidated building, and he asked her what she was doing. She wouldn't say, but she give him the key to the building, saying that Izusu hadn't eaten in days, she was withering away. So Kureno found Izusu, her hair was hacked off (and Akito did it, it's not even speculation, there's a page where you see him doing it. Well, he's coming out of the room, scissors in hand, with these long clumps of hair trailing on the floor. He totally did it.), and took her to the hospital. So when Haru is questioning Akito, Kureno comes in and tells Haru that she's in the hospital, which is probably a good thing for Akito's sake. Haru is pissed. I haven't forgotten about the "black" Haru thing. The last time that came up, it also had to do with Izusu.

Haru asked Kureno where she was, and it's revealed that she was in the Cat's dungeon, essentially. (I think of it as a dungeon, personally) This totally sets off Haru, who asks if this was another attempt to kill Izusu, and Akito was basically like "So what if it was?" which was not the correct answer. There was no correct answer, at that point, but that one was the most wrong answer. All sorts of feelings were welling up in Haru, at this point, and all kinda gathered into one really nasty feeling: helplessness. He felt like, despite how much he loved Izusu, and how much he cared about her, it wasn't enough. He wasn't able to protect her from the shit that had happened. Fortunately for Akito, he only punched a hole in the wall, rather than Akito's face, but he then left the room. Kureno followed him, and said that he should try to get to the hospital, because he thought that Izusu wanted to see Haru, specifically because she had been saying Haru's name when Kureno had found her.

Later on, we are in the hazy mind of Izusu, who woke up in the hospital and is pretty disoriented. Last she was aware, she was in the Cat Room of Doom, not a hospital bed. She could remember that Kureno was there, that he carried her out. She was looking for him, especially after she saw him talking to Tohru, and when he left, Tohru was crying. She wanted to know what Kureno said to Tohru, and tried to track him down. Turns out that he's pretty elusive. But she did run into another person: Ren. She asked Ren if she knew of a way to break the curse, and Ren said that there was something of hers in Akito's room, a box, and that if she got that box back, she would,,, have it back. She didn't actually say that she would tell Izusu anything, but Izusu's desperate to break the curse. Unfortunately for that desperation, Akito found her, right in his room, holding the box. Akito threatened to hurt Haru, if Izusu tried to get out, but Izusu saw this as payment for her failure, she made absolutely no attempt to escape.

There's a little blip back to Ren and an old lady who reprimanded Kureno for even finding Izusu at all, and it turns out that Ren probably didn't know how to break the curse anyway. She didn't particularly like Izusu, so it wasn't a huge loss on her end. She just wanted to get that box back, for some reason, and was using Izusu to try to get it.

In this hazy dream-state, Izusu's just confused. She can't remember what actually happened, but she's kinda bummed out that she dreamt all of that, and Haru wasn't there. Then he popped up, conveniently. She apologizes to him, saying that she failed, her attempts to save him and break the curse were worthless (and she also thinks that she's worthless). "Dream" Haru says that she can't go off anymore, because he missed her, a lot, and if she went away again, he wouldn't know what to do with himself. She says that this is such a nice dream, but it's not a dream (as I'm sure you could tell with the quotation marks). Turns out, she's lying on the pavement, outside somewhere, and Haru found her. It's reminiscent to the other time that Haru found her lying barely conscious on the pavement, but this time he can pick her up and carry her home. He reassures her that she's not a burden, that she should take help when it's handed to her. In this case, she should let herself be carried when she can't walk.

It seems that Izusu is now staying at Kazuma's house, probably because Kazuma is so chill with that kind of stuff. Tohru was really glad to see Izusu again, which gave Izusu some conflicting feelings (mostly "agh stop don't care about me" but also "hey it's actually kinda nice to know that people care about me"). Tohru wasn't told why Izusu's hair got chopped off, or much about the situation. They ("they" being Yuki, Haru, and Kazuma. I suppose Izusu as well) didn't want Tohru worrying too much, she already was very concerned.

Later, Shigure came by Kazuma's house, to talk to Izusu about what happened, and basically confirmed that Ren was using her, and that she wouldn't know how to break the curse. He also said that he think Izusu should give the curse-breaking thing a rest, because the curse is starting to break itself without anyone doing anything (as we've seen with Kureno). Izusu doesn't believe him, but he doesn't say anything more about it. He just says that, probably in a couple years, it'll be broken, and no one will have to do anything. Then Tohru arrives (who was coming over to see Izusu, and even had a gift for her), and says that that's not good enough, that the curse has to be broken before next spring, before their graduation. This shit has an ever-increasing importance to Tohru. She hates the way that Kyo talks about it, like he's already come to terms with what will happen. Tohru will not stand for it for a single second, and she'll probably do her damnedest (hey look i used that word again) to break the curse before then.

(Also this is kinda, I think, when Izusu and Shigure are kinda like, "Whoa, she really cares about Kyo, huh? Hm, surely there isn't any deeper relationship there, right? Hmmmmm"

[superfreakerz]

Cursed

I originally wanted to write this for @nalu-week but I was late lol. Still, I really liked the idea so I'm going to post it now anyways! This is a Fruits Basket crossover, nalu style! The idea was given to me by @princess--alice-xxx :D

"Cursed"

Rated M for sexual themes.

Summary: Fruits Basket crossover AU. Lucy is in for a surprise when she stumbles into Natsu and finds out that he transforms into an animal of the Chinese zodiac.

Cursed

Lucy didn't know much before about her classmate, Natsu Dragneel. She knew that he was friends with her best friend, Levy, that he was a distraction in class, and that there wasn't a day that went by when he wasn't sporting his signature, scaly scarf. She also knew that he was drop dead gorgeous with his unruly tufts of pink hair, his mesmerizing dark orbs, and his mischievous grin that could stop the whole room. Other than that, the boy used to be a mystery to her.

Key word being used to.

Now, she was just stumbling across his greatest secret.

After class had ended, Lucy headed straight for book club, just as she did every Thursday. The girl loved book club more than anything. It allowed her to read new novels she never heard of before, led her to Levy, and even gave her inspiration for stories of her own. It was what she looked forward to every week.

Only this week, fate had more interesting things in store for her that Thursday.

After realizing that she forgot her bag, Lucy rushed back to the classroom, urging Levy to go without her and that she'd catch up. Hastily slipping past lingering students, the girl didn't waste even a second before throwing open the door and rushing inside, only to slam into something warm and firm.

Next thing Lucy knew, there was a puff of smoke and she was falling forward. She fell to the floor with a loud thud.

"Ow," the girl mumbled to herself. She sat up, rubbing her forehead. That was sure to leave a mark.

Just as she was about to get up, a muffled sound caught her attention. Glancing around the room, she searched for the source of the noise, only to find that the room was empty save for herself. Still, she could hear the faint voice coming from somewhere nearby.

Shifting to get up, she heard a sharp intake of breath.

"Will you get offa me already!?" a voice shouted, the sound coming from beneath her.

Lucy jumped with a startle, slowly lowering her gaze to her legs, which were folded underneath her. Her heart stopped, the first thing she noticed being red scales. With a scream loud enough to wake all of Fiore, she jumped off of the creature and onto the closest desk.

Not wanting to lose sight of it, she carefully leaned over to find the creature- she still wasn't sure what it was- laying on its back. Its scales were a bright red. Its belly was yellow, a sharp contrast from the rest of it. Once she found the creature's legs, she knew that it wasn't a snake. It must've been some sort of lizard.

Lucy whimpered. Now she was stuck with some strange, possibly venomous lizard. She would call Levy to help her, but unfortunately her phone was in her bag, which was at her desk.

On the opposite side of the room.

The girl watched as the lizard flipped itself over onto its hind legs, standing at about a foot. She may not have been an expert in lizards, but she'd never seen one stand before.

"Oh Mavis," she breathed out, her voice hushed in fear. "Please don't jump, please don't jump, please don't-"

"I'm not gonna jump so calm down, alright?"

Lucy's brows rocketed upwards at the voice. It was familiar, the same voice she heard earlier. She could swear she recognized it from somewhere else.

"H-Hello?" she called out, her eyes trained on the door. Someone must've been outside the classroom or something because there was no way in hell the lizard was talking to her. Nope. No way.

But sure enough…

"Down here," it said.

Lucy felt dizzy as she trailed her gaze back to the lizard, who was now staring at her with what she assumed was an annoyed look. The fall she took must've knocked her out earlier. She was dreaming. That had to be it!

"Uhh, maybe you should get down from there," the lizard said. Judging from its voice, she assumed it was a male.

"What? So you can bite me? No thanks, I'm fine up here," Lucy replied.

"You don't look so good. You're startin' to sway. I think you're about to pass out."

"Even though this is just a dream, I'd still prefer not to get attacked. I'll take my chances."

"I always had a feelin' you were weird, but now I know for sure you are."

Lucy arched a brow. "Wait, what do you mean by always?"

The lizard sighed before using his claws to close the door to the classroom.

"I'd give it about five more seconds," he said.

"Give what five more seconds?"

Suddenly, a puff of smoke surrounded the lizard. A shrill scream bubbled up to Lucy's lips, caught off guard. When the smoke died down, she found that she was in for yet another surprise.

Standing in front of her was none other than her classmate, Natsu Dragneel.

And he was naked.

That was all Lucy needed to send her off the edge. Her lids grew heavy, her eyes rolling in the back of her head as she wobbled on shaky legs. She could feel a cold gust of wind hitting her body as she fell forward.

"Oh shit!" she heard Natsu say right before she crashed into a firm surface, hot to the touch.

They fell back onto the floor, Lucy on top of him once again. That same puff of smoke appeared once more, Natsu having turned back into a lizard. He gave a pained yelp, which helped Lucy get out of her hazy daze.

"How many times are you gonna crush me!?" he said, trying to squirm out from beneath the blonde.

Lucy slowly moved off of him. Her mind was working on overdrive, trying to put the pieces together and figure out just what the hell was happening. It had to have been a prank of some sorts. She'd seen many talent shows that featured magicians able to pop up out of nowhere. Perhaps that's what he was doing, replacing himself with a lizard.

Yeah, that made sense.

"My tail!" she heard Natsu shout. He held his tail in his claws. It was bent weirdly, probably from being pressed underneath her. He turned an angry gaze on her. "This is your fault! I told you to get down from there! I knew you were gonna pass out!"

Lucy's face etched with fury at his accusation. "My fault? You're the pervert doing magic tricks and replacing yourself with a lizard!"

"Okay one, I'm not a pervert. That's Gray. Two, I'm not a lizard. I'm a dragon, got it? And three, I'm not a magician. This is just a curse."

"Curse?"

"It's a long story. For now, I need you to stop yelling. Someone's gonna hear you and come in here."

"Good! I don't want to be in the same room as a lying pervert!"

"Oi! Quit callin' me that! I'm not-!"

A puff of smoke appeared yet again, leaving Natsu naked in his human form.

"Okay, I see why you think this would make me a pervert," he said, holding his hands up in surrender to keep the girl from screaming. "But I can explain."

Lucy's eyes went wide, her face set ablaze as she stared at the bare man in front of her. Her gaze moved on its own, glazing over his abs and down to his-

"KYAAA!" she shouted, slapping her hands over her eyes.

Natsu winced at the volume of her voice, quickly slapping his hand over her mouth. Of course, this only freaked her out even more. She screamed against his palm, thrashing around before biting his hand. With a yelp, he pulled his hand back.

"You just bit me!" the boy shouted, glaring at the blonde.

"You deserved it!" Lucy retorted, making sure not to remove her hands from her eyes. "Just put your clothes back on, pervert!"

A vein ticked in Natsu's forehead after being called that again. Muttering incentives to himself, he hastily threw on his clothes. Wrapping his scarf around his neck, he gave a relieved sigh.

"You can look now," he said, watching as Lucy shook her head.

"I'm scared you're going to flash me again."

"I didn't flash you! It wasn't my fault!"

"You really expect me to believe that?"

Natsu sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I'll explain everything, alright? Just come with me."

Lucy parted her fingers slightly, peeking at the boy to make sure he was really dressed. Only after did she nod.

"Fine. But if you even think of lying to me or flashing me again, I'm going straight to the police!"

"Yeah, yeah. Let's go."

Natsu led her to an empty, rundown park. He sat on one of the picnic benches, gesturing for her to take a seat as well. She refused.

"You know, now that I think about it, I probably shouldn't have followed a boy that just flashed me to an abandoned park," Lucy said.

"It's not like I'm gonna do anything to you," Natsu replied with a shrug. "I just need you to promise you won't tell anyone what you saw today."

"And why the hell should I promise that? What you did was sexual harassment, you know."

"I already told you it was the curse!"

"What curse?"

Natsu groaned. "It's called the curse of Fairy Tail. There are twelve of us. We each represent one of the signs from the Chinese zodiac. Whenever we're hugged by someone of the opposite sex, we turn into our zodiac form. I'm the dragon."

Lucy glared at the boy in front of her. "You really expect me to believe that?"

Losing his patience, Natsu stood up from the bench, moving right in front of her. "Hug me again and find out for yourself."

A blush rose to her cheeks. "N-No way! I don't need to hug you to know that you're lying!"

"Fine, then let's go find Levy."

"Levy-chan?" Lucy asked, arching a brow. "Why do you want to find her."

"She's one of us. Duh."

She would've been annoyed by his 'duh' comment if she wasn't so curious.

"Alright, fine," she said, planting her hands on her hips. "If Levy-chan says you're telling the truth, I'll forgive you for what happened. If not, then I'll beat the hell out of you."

His lips curled into a mischievous grin. "You really think you can?"

"I have a pretty mean kick."

"Now I kinda wanna tell you I'm lying so that I can see just how strong that kick of yours is."

"Keep annoying me and you'll find out."

Making their way back to the school, Lucy popped her head into the room where the book club met up. After gaining Levy's attention, she waved for her to come outside.

Closing the door behind her, Levy arched a brow finding that Natsu was with Lucy. The two never spent time together.

"Where were you, Lu-chan?" Levy asked. "Book club is almost over!"

"We needa talk," Natsu said. "C'mon."

The trio headed back to the classroom. Natsu closed the door behind him and locked it.

"So, I might've messed up," he said, turning to meet Levy's gaze.

"What did you do?" the petite girl asked.

"Lucy found out our secret."

"What?"

Lucy breathed a sigh of relief at Levy's confused expression. Just as she thought, Natsu was lying.

"I knew you were lying! I'm so going to beat the-!"

"How did she find out!?" Levy shouted, cutting the blonde off.

Lucy whipped her head towards the other girl. "Wait, what? You mean he was telling the truth?"

Levy chuckled awkwardly. "Yeah, he was. You must be shocked."

"B-But we hug all the time!"

"The curse only works if the hug is from someone of the opposite sex."

Lucy's mouth parted as she leaned against the wall for support.

"No way," she breathed out.

Natsu shrugged, his arms crossed behind his head. "I'm surprised you didn't find out sooner."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you hang out with a bunch of us. I figured someone woulda told you by now."

"What!?"

"He's right," Levy said. "Well, about you hanging out with a bunch of us. Not about us telling you. We aren't dumb."

"Wait, who else is like you guys?" Lucy asked. Her mind was short-circuiting.

"Well, there's Erza, Juvia, Cana, and Mira. All of us are cursed."

"And Gray, Gajeel, and Jellal," Natsu added. "But you don't hang out with them."

"Aren't there supposed to be three more?"

"You wouldn't know them. They're older than us."

Lucy brought her fingers to her temples. She could feel an oncoming headache.

"So you guys really turn into animals when you're hugged by the opposite sex?" Lucy asked, still unable to completely wrap her head around it.

"Yep," Natsu answered nonchalantly. "And you're the only one outside of Fairy Tail who knows our secret!"

Lucy faced Levy. "What zodiac sign are you?"

The other girl pouted. "I'm the rat. Sadly, I'm not one of the cuter animals."

"It makes sense though. Rats are supposed to be intelligent and resourceful. What about everyone else?"

"Erza is the monkey, Juvia is the rabbit, Mira is the goat, and Cana is the horse."

"Gajeel is the ox, Gray is the tiger, and Jellal is the snake," Natsu added.

"And you're the lizard," Lucy teased, stifling her laughter.

He glared at her. "Dragon, okay? I'm a dragon!"

"Pretty small for a dragon."

"That's only because a real-sized dragon would destroy everything!"

"Oh, so you can change your size?"

"Well, no but-"

"You're a lizard."

"Yeah? Well you were pretty scared of this 'lizard' earlier! You shoulda seen yourself! You were screaming at the top of your lungs! You even jumped on a desk! That gave the perfect view to your underwear, you know?"

Lucy blushed in embarrassment, chasing after the cackling boy. She was so going to wring his neck if she ever caught up to him.

"I knew you were a pervert!" she shouted.

"Stop callin' me that!" Natsu shot back.

Levy sighed, rubbing her temple as the other two bickered. "Well, I'm going to go find Erza and tell her about this… development. I'm sure we're in for an earful." Seeing that the other two were too caught up in their argument to hear her, she shrugged before heading out.

"Stop running so I can kick you now!" Lucy demanded.

Natsu laughed, his cheeks starting to hurt with how wide his grin was. "Gotta catch me first! What's wrong, Lucy? Can't catch up to a lizard?"

Getting fed up, Lucy cut him off and tackled him to the floor, triggering his curse. By this point, she was starting to get used to the puff of smoke that accompanied Natsu's change in form. Wrapping her hand around his scaly abdomen, she gave him a smirk.

"Looks like I finally caught you," she teased.

Natsu huffed, a small wisp of fire slipping past his sharp teeth. "Yeah, yeah."

Lucy ran her finger over his scales. "You know, it's kind of cool that you guys change forms."

"Cool? It's called a curse for a reason, Lucy. It sucks. Every time a girl tries to throw themselves at me, I gotta think quick enough to dodge them or else I'm gonna end up on some researcher's desk while he cuts me up and tries to figure out why I change forms."

The girl shrugged. "That's true. But it also brings you guys closer together. Not to mention it makes you special."

Natsu stared up at the blonde, his eyes widening a fraction. "You don't think it's weird?"

"Oh, it's weird alright. But you called me weird too, remember? So I guess I have no room to talk."

The dragon grinned. "You are pretty weird. The weirdest person I know since you're so calm about all of this."

"I wouldn't say calm. I almost fainted earlier."

"Oh yeah. Then I had to catch you and you fell on me. You're pretty heavy, you know that?"

Lucy grabbed his tail with her other hand as she glared at him. "Don't make me rip you in two."

"So violent!"

"Only because you know how to annoy me."

Natsu laughed at her expression. Her cheeks were puffed out in annoyance as she narrowed her eyes at him. He was about to reply when the effect of his curse wore off. His body was engulfed in a puff of smoke as he morphed back to normal. He was left standing bare yet again.

Only this time, a hand rested on his upper thigh.

Lucy's face burned crimson as her gaze was immediately met with a part of Natsu she had never seen before. Swallowing thickly, she tried to force her gaze away. Realizing that her hand was on his upper thigh because of where she was holding him earlier, she tore it away with a squeal.

"I-I didn't mean to touch you there!" she shouted.

Natsu clamped his teeth on his lower lip, trying to stop his body from growing hard. Unfortunately, his attempts were fruitless. It wasn't his fault! There was a beautiful girl on her knees right in front of his groin and her hand was on his thigh for god's sake!

Lucy felt like she was on fire, the pit of her stomach coiling as the area between her thighs throbbed in arousal. She could see his cock growing hard in excitement, and even though she didn't have any experience in this sort of thing, she had heard enough about Cana's sexual endeavors to know what it meant.

"This is the second time I've caught you staring at me, you know," Natsu said, grabbing her attention.

Lucy flailed her arms around, her heart thrashing around her ribcage. She shot up to her feet and turned around in mortification.

"It's not my fault you change back so suddenly!" the girl shouted.

Natsu laughed. He wasn't the kind of person to get embarrassed easily, so he didn't let what just happened bother him too much. Instead, he got dressed.

"I'm dressed now," he said.

Swallowing thickly, Lucy turned to face him. Her eyes immediately dropped to the hem of his pants.

"And that makes a third time," Natsu teased with a heavy smirk.

Lucy groaned, heading to the opposite side of the room to grab her backpack- the catalyst for how this all began. Glaring at him, she headed for the door.

"I'm going home," she said.

Natsu laughed, following her out the door. "What? Sure you don't wanna go for a fourth look?"

"Shut up!"

"Oi, you don't have to yell! It's not my fault you're a pervert!"

Lucy groaned again. Something told her that she was going to be stuck with Natsu following her around from now on. In truth, she couldn't say that she minded.

The day was hectic, to say the least. Hell, she still wasn't completely sold that she wasn't just dreaming. Still, she was sure that her life was about to get a whole lot more interesting with Natsu around.

[foul-humors]

Radiant Duet II

It took some time for Steia to return to the Crystarium following Mister Lavada’s return from the fae kingdom. Twice she drifted off course, distracted by her thoughts. As unsteady as she was, an observer could be forgiven for believing she headed towards her own death. Once within the city at the base of Syrcus Tower, a guard even took notice, asking if she was okay.

She lied, assuring him she was merely put off balance by the returned night sky. The guard patted her shoulder before proceeding to wax poetic about the restored firmament. Steia didn’t listen, but made a show of feeling better.

Outside the door to her - or rather - Drassa’s room in the Crystarium, Steia paused. Hand on the doorknob; she could sense the presence within. Shaken once more, she took a step back. The presence felt like another Mirror, both known and unknown to her. As her mind raced with new questions - chief among them wondering what Esoterica had kept from her - a wave of vertigo took hold. Her breath quickened, she swayed, and she stepped back, gripping the railing behind her for support

.....

While Steia made way for the room, Drassa paced within. A pixie sat on the edge of the nearby table, sipping from a thimble of nectar. On that table, a basket of fresh fruits was arrayed, and a kettle of tea sat next to a bottle of the self-same nectar drank by the pixie. Drassa’s pacing took her past the table, and she snatched an apple from it, taking a few bites as she continued.

“I spy with my little eye,” the pixie began, looking about, “Something tiny, but bright and twinkling merrily.” They giggled.

Drassa stopped, and tilted her head. Then she cracked a grin and replied, “Your reflection in the mirror.”

“Oh! How do you know tis not a star in the sky?” the pixie replied, a tad frustrated that Drassa had guessed so quickly.

“Full certain am I you saw the stars, first, then thought of what else might fit such a description in effort to trick me.”

“You have been playing with me for too long, Petal,” the pixie replied. They mock pouted, then giggled again. “I shall fetch a new mortal to replace you, I think.”

Drassa chuckled, and sat down on the stool next to the table. “I doubt much you will find one quite like me, my Flower.” Quietly, Drassa appreciated the attempt to pull her from her thoughts. Like Steia, she was nervous. Unlike Steia, Drassa was burdened with knowledge. She knew where the woman had come from, and why she was here, even if Steia barely knew it herself. She'd had visions of other worlds, a being broken into fragments, and a cursed woman desperate to correct her errors.

“Do you think we will like her?” the pixie asked.

Drassa wrinkled her nose. “If one is to judge by the company she keeps, no.” She looked to the pixie. “Though, the bully did say they were simply family, and one does not choose their family.”

The pixie nodded. “She was alone most oft when I checked in on her.” They rolled their wrist. “Tis hard to know someone you cannot interact with, and she wears something that hides her true self.”

They were silent again, as Drassa took a few more bites of her apple. She amused and distracted herself by biting little patterns into it, then after a moment, stared at what she had done. Her smile brightened, and she looked to the Pixie. “I have an idea of how we might know her!”

.....

Steia was about to knock again, only to hear the moving of heavy furniture within. Curious, now, she quietly opened the door, and beheld a silver-haired woman in green robe expending effort to move a bench on her own. Chewing her lip thoughtfully, Steia finally entered, and went to the opposite side of the bench, gripping it to help move it.

Naturally, this caused the other to look up at her, and they both immediately dropped the bench with a start. Astonishment was clear on their features, but Drassa spoke first. “Light take me...you truly could be my twin.” She shook the thought away, and pointed to the side of the room. “This is to go over there. Ready?”

Steia continued to stare at her “twin” a moment, puzzled by how nonchalant Drassa was about the matter. Still, she’d silently offered to help, so she did, answering aloud: “Yes. On three? One, two, three!” The bench was lifted accordingly and moved. Then Drassa went to move a partition, with Steia helping. “What are we doing?” Steia asked.

“You will see,” Drassa replied. Steia wrinkled her nose, but continued helping until a large spot had been cleared in the middle of the room. Drassa grinned, then motioned to the table. “Okay, catch your breath, have a bite.”

Steia looked to the table, and shook head. “I fear I am not hungry. Mayhap one of your friends has filled my stomach with butterflies.” She paused, and approached the kettle. “If this is tea, however....”

Drassa chuckled. “Never would the little flowers do such a thing...lest you were to make the suggestion to them. And yes, tis tea. My favorite, in truth.” Steia poured herself a cup and took a sip. The taste of apple tea met her tongue, and brought a smile to her lips: it was her favorite as well.

“Most appreciated,” Steia murmured. A few more sips, and she set the cup down. Drassa was staring at her, curiously, but rather than ask a question, she motioned to the empty spot they’d created. “Stand here, and face me.” Steia did so, hesitantly. “Okay, I will be performing some movements, and I wish you to copy me.”

Steia screwed up her face, clearly confused. “You...wish me to copy you? What on Norvrandt for?” Drassa shook her head.

“You wished to meet with me, no? Well, these are my terms. Now, first....” The grey-haired woman grinned and stuck right arm out to the side, somewhat raised, fingers together. “Lali-ho!” she said enthusiastically. Steia boggled for a moment, but then copied the motion.

“Lali-ho?” She more asked than stated. Drassa nodded. “Needs work, but you understand! Now another.” Now she held her arms in front of her, elbows bent at right angles, as though she might fold her arms. Instead, the arms were spaced apart, and her hands cupped, the lower hand facing up, and the upper hand facing down.

Steia mimicked the action a little better, as she recognized it; she’d seen the guards in the Crystarium doing so as a sort of salute. Again, Drassa nodded, grinning. “Perfect! Another!”

Steia nodded, grinned, and parroted, “Perfect! Another!” This drew a giggle from Drassa, who then performed a more elaborate motion. Steia also giggled, and performed the motion as best she could. As they continued, the motions became more and more involved until they pair appeared to be dancing. Had anyone observed, they would be forgiven for thinking the pair to be fools, practicing for a show.

.....

“So what was that all about?” Steia asked after she caught her breath. They were seated at the table having finished Drassa’s little game. For the moment, they were in high spirits.

“Twas a bit of a test, I admit,” Drassa answered breathily, less in shape than Steia. “Your...family? I fear they were among the most dour visitors I have received in a while.” She took a few breaths before continuing. “The one that looked like an elf is much like the other Fae, but most unwelcome, known for bullying the others. The mystal-like woman seemed like she might be fun, I suppose, but her mood took a turn for the worst when my little flowers decided to turn her into a leafman as she announced she’d sit out on one of the games.”

Steia blanked. “I cannot speak for Mister Lavada - the elf - being a bully. Never have I thought of him as such. Yet Aspen’s stance seems understandable.” She paused. “Admittedly, her patience may have already been thinner than normal. Matters are strained between us.” Steia hung her head. “You see, I fear I have grown rather disconnected from the mortal world, and gravely offended her recently.”

“You are...disconnected?” Drassa chuckled. “As am I. It leads me to wonder: how much alike are we? I sense naught from you.” Steia nodded and removed her earrings and rings. “Ah...clever trinkets, hiding the truth of yourself...and I can see why. Tis a terribly, corrupt taint on your soul.”

Steia nodded, then tapped her fake eye three times, activating it. She looked Drassa over for a moment before tapping it three times again. “A fae taint upon yours.”

Drassa chuckled. “I should think it a mark, not a taint. Full proud I am of it.”

Steia frowned at that, and went to the window to look out at the sky. Drassa followed, wondering if she had offended. Steia folded her arms and stated, “Once did I feel the same way regarding my horns.”

“Until they were ripped from you, right?” Drassa asked, joining her. Steia nodded, then looked sharply to the fae-touched woman. Drassa chuckled, and motioned to her own head. “I have visions of people from time to time.”

Nose wrinkled, Steia muttered, “I should not be surprised...people where I come from call it ‘the Echo’. I should have known you would possess it, too.” Hanging her head, she asked, “Have you seen the reason I came?”

Drassa nodded. “Indeed. Tis quite an unfortunate situation...no fun at all.”

Steia nodded. “I was told I could find the solution by traveling to another world, and so here I am. I cannot think your presence a coincidence, and so...I would know if you have any ideas.”

Drassa rubbed her chin thoughtfully, then shrugged. “Tell the clan about your mirror, and I should think it will sort itself out.”

Steia shook her head. “She would simply alter their memories. She has done so before.”

“Hmm. I suppose destroying the clan is out of the question.”

Steia scoffed. “Twould certainly solve a number of problems, would it not? Alas, no.”

The two were silent for a moment before Drassa offered, “Why not create another of your Mirrors to fight her?”

Steia shook her head. “Reliance on mirrors is a poor idea, as I have proven. Not only might they rebel, but if Esoterica were to destroy that Mirror, their soul would rejoin with the nearest compatible mirror, that being Esoterica. Simply would she become more powerful.”

“So why not skip a few steps?”

Steia huffed. “What do you mean? Rejoin with the soul from the start? I suppose that might work, but I would still need to find a compatible...soul to....” She trailed off and looked to Drassa, who was grinning at her. Her jaw dropped as the realization struck her. “No!”

Drassa shrugged. “Yes.”

Staring at Drassa, all she could manage was, “Why?”

“Are you not tired, too?” Drassa asked. Steia furrowed her brow, and the other woman's smile softened as she continued, tone calm. “You are old, and have many regrets, yes, but you spent much of that time blindly seeking aether, and yet more of it drifting aimlessly through the void. In all that time, sans stimulation, even the most willful mind stills, eons becoming instants. How long have you actually lived?”

Steia shook her head. “I...I know not. Between lost memories and not really keeping track...”

Drassa chuckled. “I have lived...actually lived for centuries now. I know I might seem full of life, but I am exhausted. I was old ere the flood came, and I have regrets. Many, many regrets. I thought about ending my life several times now.” Drassa pinched the soft flesh of her wrist with her nails hard enough to leave a bruise. She showed it to Steia. “You see, I am merely ageless, not immortal. If one were to stab me in the heart, I would expire as quickly as any other hume.”

Drassa then mimed holding a knife to her chest. “Yet whenever the knife was to my bosom, I started thinking about what would happen to my body after the fact. Who would find it and have to deal with it? What tasks would I saddle someone else with? Whose hearts might I break?”

Dropping her hands to her sides with an exasperated sigh. “I would do naught but leave another mess for someone else to deal with, and worse yet, I would not have made up for all the suffering I have caused, or helped to cause. And so I resolved to wait until I could trade my life for something good...and tis my hope that you will help me do that.”

“But what about-?” Steia started, before Drassa interrupted.

“This world? Psh. Any fool can do the things I would do to help the people on this world, and oft they do. Tis the whole premise of the Crystarium, no? Yet how many fools can claim to have a reflection of themselves come from another world to seek their aid?” She pointed to herself. “I should think this fool uniquely blessed.”

Steia chewed on her lip. “I...Oh! Wait! You can simply return to Hydaelyn with me.”

Drassa grinned. “Assuming you can return as well, indeed I could!” She nodded, then shook her head. “But I will not.” She patted Steia’s shoulder. “No, I made up my mind ere I came here, and come to terms with my path. Already have I said my ‘farewells’ to those that might care to hear it.”

Drassa took Steia’s hands in her own. “And what of you? Do you make your peace with your loved ones ere you came here?”

Steia’s breath caught in her throat. “I...no. I did not really have time to think it over, and merely told them I was going away.” She chewed on her lips, mulling over the significance of this. After all, she had planned to return, but would she? “Oh...oh.... If I do not make a mirror of you first, what will happen to me?”

Drassa gave Steia’s hands a little squeeze. “You know the answer to that. So, again...are you not tired, too?”

[writerinthedark]

World Long Hidden P1: Teen Wolf Fan-fiction

A/N: I had written this story during the long month of November for NaNoWrimo. Now it is time to release it into the world. I hope you enjoy. PS, This has yet to be edited.

Word Count: 3411

OTP: Derek x Casity

Warnings: Abuse, language, violence.

      The shouting of my parents rung me from my short-lived sleep. I never really sleep much but I would still like sleep while I could. Violence in the house was far from uncommon. It was a just like any day in my life. I was used to daily beatings from doing nothing but living. Apparently breathing in a crime worth punishment. One of them was most likely coming up soon to beat me. For what, I have no clue and probably will never know. I quickly scrambled to get ready before either of them came in. Hoping that if I was already ready they would spare me a beating. Things like this were my small experiments that I tried seeing if they change my daily life for the better. It was the first day of my junior year of high school, and would be suspicious if I showed up with a shiner. I say that like I have a choice. I was not even allowed to wear little to no makeup so if I got one there was pretty much nothing I could do.  Even though it was common for me to show up to school with a bruise. I was hoping the first day I could get by without one covering my face. The favorite place of my dad was the jaw. I was surprised my jaw was not permanently purple at this point.  I have no clue how no one put two and two together. It is not like I covered them up most of the time. It was clear as day, I guess no one really cared. The loud slam of the front door rang through the house making me tense. Signaling my mom had left the house heading on her way to work. She never was one to stand up for me, she would just watch as my father beat me. I could never see through her dull eyes. The creaking of the stairs warned me of the incoming of my father walking up the stairs. I was trying to prepare myself for what was to come. With a loud slam my door was flung open hitting the wall behind it. My father stood there with his eyes showing with anger I was all to use to by now. It was practically the only look he showed me by now. I barely remember a time when they did not beat me on a daily basis. I must have been a child when it started. He quickly walked to the side of me grabbing my collar in his fist. I looked in his eyes waiting for the first strike. It was just silence in the air as I waited. I was soon met with the stinging of a slap on my cheek. I knew better than to make noise knowing it would only make it worse. It was already bad and I had no desire to make it worse.

 “You piece of shit! You do nothing but sit around and do nothing. You eat our money and do nothing to make up for it. I swear to god if you don’t start doing more I will throw you on the street!” He yelled.

Nothing stopped him from continuing to beat me. It would only stop when he felt he had done enough. He never stuck to one area, always wanting to cover every inch on my body with bruises. It was like he was the painter and I was the canvas. With a last throw of me up against the wall, I fell slumping to the floor. My body was caked with bruises and cuts. I was just a pile of pain by the end.  So much for starting the first day of school with a clean slate. I watched as the anger drained from his face. Finally having enough with beating me to a pulp. He left me slumped on the wall looking at me one more time before leaving through the door. I bet he don't even care if I went to school or not.  I pulled myself together, dragging myself off the floor. I was not going to miss the first day of school even if it killed me. I walked over to my bathroom that connects to my bedroom. Looking in the mirror I was met with the aftermath of the beating. It was not as bad as I could be but I still would have been better if I did not have it.  My green eyes stared back at me in my reflection. Evidence of new bruises starting to show on my body. The dusty purple showing on many places on my body. I took a washcloth getting it wet with water trying to clean up the blood on some of the more severe injuries. It did not take long with the small amount of blood there was. My shoulder seem to take to brunt of my slam against the wall. It hurt a lot worse than most of my other injuries. I had no time to look at it realizing the time. I gently picked up my backpack, careful to avoid my shoulder when putting it on. If it was hurt that badly, I did not want to hurt it even more. I walked by the kitchen glad to see my father had left for work. It allowed me to get out of the house without much difficulty. I grabbed a banana from the fruit basket on the counter making my way to the door. 

Walking out the door the distance to my bus stop was not too far from my house. If it was any further I would have risked missing the bus. Looking down at my watch I saw the time. I was really cutting it close getting to the bus stop. I just made it to the stop as the bus pull to a stop beside me. The doors opens with the sound of the air depressing. The subtle hiss coming to a stop. My shoulder was starting to throb as I made my way through the seat iles every once in a while my shoulder would bump into a seat causing a wave of pain to go down my arm. Making me wince. I finally found an empty seat, placing my bag down before sitting. Taking advantage of the coverage the seat give me, I take a final glance making sure no one is looking. I begin to peel the different layers off my shoulder in order to get a look at the damage done. God knows I won’t have time later today to. My shoulder was completely swollen, the skin turning a deathly purple. I quickly cover it before anyone on the bus looked over and saw. I don’t think they would care but I don’t want to risk it. I was glad the high back seats provide slight privacy. The first day excitement was buzzing throughout the bus. Making everyone act ten times as foolish. Talking louder than normal talking about what teacher they got and so on. It was almost nauseating. The bus ride was short, only having to pick up one more bus stop before heading straight to the school. Pulling up along the curb Lexington High in newly painted letters shown on the side of the school. Every year they would paint the letters in order to look fresh. It was about the only thing in the school to look fresh. With the doors of the bus open, everyone began to quickly file out excited for the first day. Ready to have a great start to a year. Getting off was a lot harder than getting on with my shoulder. People constantly pushing like it will get them off the bus faster. Without a care in the world for other people on the bus. By the time I was out my head had become dizzy from the pain becoming almost blinding. Taking a second I was able to shake it away quickly. Once I was able to get my footing back I made my way into the school. I made a b-line straight for my locker. I was hoping that if I was quick enough I could find a seat in the back of the class. I was lucky to snag a seat in the back sometimes. Looking down at my schedule I saw my first class marked as World History. Picking up my pace I dropped of the stuff I did not need and rush to my class. I was hoping to get there before the well known popular group of kids arrived if they were in that class. Knowing they would make it worse when they did. Making it to class I was glad to see an open seat in the back by a window. Yay, best seat in the class. Dropping my backpack by my chair I took a seat, waiting for class to start. Here we go with another year. Waiting for class to start, I had time to think over what had occurred this morning. I could feel the pain in my shoulder increase as time went by. Every once in awhile holding my breath as a fresh wave of pain went through my shoulder, just breathing through. I tried to hide the pain from my face when a new wave would come. Hearing the sound of chatter growing louder, I turned to face the door. I was not surprised when the queen bee Alex walked through the door with the rest of her hive following behind. She drew the eyes of everyone in the class as she walked down the desk isles. Making me roll my eyes at her dramatics. Everyone was quick to move there things for her as she walked. It was not like she is royalty. I turned my head looking out the window beside me. To dramatic for my taste if you ask me. I could hear the distinct clicking of heels as Alex made her way to the back of the classroom, finding a seat. The clicking of the heels stopped beside me. Turning my head I was met with the queen bitch herself.

 “Can I help you with anything,” I ask with a smile plastered on my face.

“Yeah actually, you can help by getting out of my seat,” she says.

I was already starting to get feed up with her cocky attitude.

“Oh this seat?” I ask sounding surprised. She nods like it was obvious. “Really? I could have sworn I was sitting here.” I say my voice dripping with sarcasm.  

“Who do you think you are?” she asks.

“I don’t think I know I am Casity Ashton.” I respond.

“You little bitch,” she all but screeches. “This won’t be the end of this,” she exclaims.

She storms off taking a seat towards the front of the class. Pissy much? She overreacts just a little bit in my opinion. Why did I do that, I should have just let her have the seat, with the trouble I am going to get from it. I couldn’t just keep my mouth shut. I just hated it when people thought they were above someone else. No one ever stood up to them, treating them like royalty. I had no time to enjoy my victory, because I knew sooner or later she would come back at me in full swing. With her hooves kicking. I was just lucky class was about to start, not to mention it was the first day of school. No one dared to do anything on the first day of school. I sighed in frustration as our teacher walked in the classroom.

“Good morning class!” He exclaimed. “My name is Mr.Wester, and I will be your World History teacher for this year.”

 I had no clue how a teacher could sound so excited to teach a class. Just the thought of having to deal with kids our age all day sounded exhausting. Yet he seemed like he could just burst with excitement. He grabbed a stack of paper and began to pass them out.

“Ok let’s get right to it, on your desk is a paper outlining this semester,” he said.

 I looked down at the paper seeing the first subject of the year was North and South Korea. If I was correct than most of the guys would start making inappropriate comments on communists. I could feel a headache forming at just the thought of the idea. The bell rang signaling the end of the first block of the day. If this was what one block was like that it was going to be a long day. Out in the hallway I could see a few cops walking around freely. Everywhere I looked there was at least one. They seemed to be asking people questions. I was hoping they skipped me if that was the case. Seeing as we were in a middle class neighborhood I had no clue as to why there would be cops here. Through the glass windows of the front office I saw who I only assumed was a teacher crying.  Her face was pale and nose red from crying. I had to be something bad if she did not care if people saw her cry. I may not be an expert in emotions but she seem shaken up about something. Whether it was something small or not it was big to her. Maybe it had to do something with the police surrounding the school. I guess it had to be big if police were here.  With the warning bell ringing I had to skip going to my locker having to head straight to my next class. I looked down at my schedule, ugh, it was P.E. I never was a fan of PE. The throbbing of my shoulder reminded me of how difficult this was going to be.  I had to break my gazing at the police in order to avoid being late on the first day.  I was glad to find that Alex and her goons were not in this P.E class. Not that it clears me up from much at all, but it takes a little of the pressures off my chest. With it being the first day there was not much to do in P.E. We had yet to get our uniforms to participate in a normal P.E block. After attendance was called we were free to walk and talk. Only problem was little to no one even talked to me. Every once in a while someone would come up and say a snarky comment then leave. Sometimes I would get an apology if I was accidentally bumped into. Walking in a circle only increased the pain in my shoulder as I had nothing to do to distract myself from the building pain. It was boring just doing nothing but walk in a circle. Ever since freshman year I have still yet to make friends. I doesn’t bother me just seems a little sad on the outside. Watching me walk alone in a circle. Class ended at the sound of a bell. Pretty much the entire class was just walking and talking. I am fine with that but it left me with nothing to do. Outside the gym police officers still loomed around taking what I could assume to be statements. I had no clue about what though. No gossip that I heard had anything that could possibly clue in the police, so what did. It is not like violence was common in our area. We were in middle class with high paying jobs. I would definitely have to check out the news when I got home. I was just glad they had not come to take a statement from me yet. I may know a lot of things, but it is stuff I would not have learned if I did not eavesdrop that they would need. Walking to my next class I was finally able to put my stuff back in my locker from my past block. For my next block all I needed was a pencil. Most of the time I was not required to even have a pencil. That class was none other than chorus. It was the one thing I got to indulge in with my parents. Indulge, meaning I only did it at school, but it was all the same to me. I walked into the class glad to see my favorite teacher still teaching. I had no clue how he was still teaching. He was old as dust and always seemed to make it another year. He would always ask me how my day was, he even once reported about my injuries. Even though the school did nothing to help at all. This school did not give a flying shit about it. They were just glad not to have another kid under foster care. As far as I was concerned nothing could be worse than my parents now. Unlike most victims of abuse I know I have done nothing wrong. This is not just their way of teaching me, it is just straight abuse.  I was glad he still would try to make my experience at school as fun as he could. I walked in going straight to him to say hi.

 “Hi Mr. Johnson,” I said.

“Hello Miss. Ashton, I see you have come to school with yet another souvenir,” he states.

Everytime he comments it is almost like he understands what I am going through. Even if it is not true it still feels nice to think someone understands what you are going through.

 “Just another to add to my collection,” I added.

 I walked back to the seat I always sit in every year. He knows I will be back every year so he knows where I like to sit.  I sat down right as the bell rung. Mr. Johnson went up to say the same speech he says every year. It was along the lines of My name is blank, I am glad to have you in my class, and this is what we will be doing this year. I felt bad no one really paid attention to him. Even though I never paid much attention to the speech knowing he always had me work on different things than the class. I was glad I was able to sing songs I like rather than the opera stuff they sing. That does not mean I have not had my fair share of some.  I loved to see the joy in his eyes as I would sing a new song. I felt almost like a personal radio to him. I was not prepared when he announced we had to move benches because he was unable to before the start of the school year. We were his first class and only class on A-days so it was left to us to move them. Normally I would not mind but these things are heavy, and with my shoulder the way it was I was pretty much useless. I still tried to push in someway, with one more push white pain blinded me. I was used to most things but this pain surprised me. It was the type of pain I was described to about in book. I took a few steps stumbling to the wall beside me. With a thud I landed on the ground leaning up against the wall. I could barely hear the sounds around me as I tried to regain my ground. I must have hurt my shoulder more than I originally thought. I knew the bruise from this injury would most likely be one of the worse I have had. I was surprised to see no one had realized my departure. Than again I was a nobody in the school. Leaving me to easily blend in with the shadows. I could skip school and no one would know I was gone. It just went to show what I truly was to the world. I could hear the slow wobble of Mr. Johnson and his cane walking towards me. In the distance I could hear my name being called. I could barely keep my eyes open with the pain coursing through my shoulder. I could not help went my eyes closed shut submerging me in darkness. 

[perpetually-jungshook]

Without You: Bloodstone (End)

Genre: AU, bts!werewolf, fantasy, angst

Warnings: language, violence, suggestive content

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: Werewolves, contrary to popular belief, are usually gentle creatures. Except for a very specific set of circumstances, they would never hurt a human (on purpose). The few unfortunate times when mistakes were made put a permanent dark mark on the beasts and people began labeling them as monsters. What the human population failed to recognize was the fact that they were protecting us from something much more sinister. Luckily, a few survived and the gene was passed down hereditarily until one day finding its way to me… in the form of my best friend.

Link to: Storyboard (reference pictures) | General lore post | Intimacy lore post Prologue | Previous | Masterlist | Epilogue

Loyalty is often as blind as justice should be, as unstable as a lightning storm ought to be, and as misplaced as an opinion in the truth.

Chapter 28:

When I wake up, I feel disoriented. There are no windows in the bunker, no way to tell the time except by looking at a clock. Emerging from my blanket cocoon, I check Yoongi’s watch- my watch. Eight o’clock? How strange. I thought I’d been exhausted, but I apparently only slept for a few hours. I get up, limbs heavy, face puffy. I splash some water on my eyes and decide to change clothes. Mine are covered in spots of a crusty white substance, probably the foamy fluid from Halsahm’s wound. I shudder thinking about it- the doors, the demon circle, the whole ordeal.

After a quick shower, I manage to find a light sweater and some jeans in one of the drawers. They’re mine, clothes that I’d been keeping in Jimin’s dresser. Taehyung must have moved them when he was setting up my room. Or Jimin brought them when he decided to kick me out. Pushing up my sleeves, I open the metal door and limp down the hallway toward the kitchen. I need water and something to eat.

I pause when I see the gaping hole where the mistletoe doors used to be. “Missing limb” doesn’t quite fit as a description for the sense of defenseless dread that fills me.

Grabbing a glass, I fill it with water from the sink and sip it carefully, keeping my gaze on the dark stairwell. My ears search for sounds, untrusting of my surroundings. The tick of the watch; the hiss of the air vent; the hum of the refrigerator. I start to relax.

No demons. But also no werewolves...

I pick up a few fruits from the basket on the table before making my way around the bunker. Almost all the doors to the bedrooms are open, revealing no one is inside. Jungkook’s door is closed so I knock, but there’s no answer. I press my ear against the metal, but hear nothing and move on. I find the once mysterious hallway is also empty. It seems they’ve cleared the broken doors. This leaves a straight, open passage to the workshop, which is empty too. The dread sinks its claws further into me.

“Munhee?” I try. “Jungkook?”

My voice vaguely echoes through the concrete passages. I keep listening. Nothing. I make my way back to the kitchen, then look at the dark stairwell leading up to the ground level. Had they gone outside-?

Dark stairwell. Even with the shack hiding the entrance to the bunker, there are always little lines of sunlight that make their way through the cracks of wood. But there isn’t any light at all. It’s not eight in the morning. It’s eight o’clock at night.

I’m not sure whether this is less or more worrying. Where are they?

“Jimin?”

I’m not hopeful that he’ll answer, but if anyone stayed behind while the rest of the pack went out, it would be Jimin. At first, he doesn’t respond either, but then I hear footsteps. The boy with the coffee colored hair walks down the stairs at a leisurely pace. He couldn’t have been far from the little shack.

“Ah, so she’s alive.”

It takes me a moment to realize he’s joking. I force a weak laugh. I won’t lie though. I’m glad to see he’s here.

“I was kind of tired.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Jimin says quietly as he leans against the frame of the double doors.

“What were you doing outside?”

“Guarding the bunker, like you wanted me to.”

I have the urge to ask him all of the questions on my mind. Where had he been all that time before the attack? Why had he returned? How had he known to come back? The only thing I do ask is, “Where is everyone?”

“Hoseok smelled something.”

I have to take a deep breath. Why do I always have to probe so tediously for information?

“Smelled what?”

“A demon.”

My whole body goes rigid in irritation, but thankfully Jimin continues unprompted, “No, not your friend. A different one. Munhee’s.”

While he’s still being ridiculously vague, I can deduce his meaning clearly. Munhee’s demon. I recall a name, one I haven’t heard in a while. Baelmahr. An evil spirit we’d captured, the one Munhee trapped with sigil magic, had said “Baelmahr sends her regards.” The gendered pronoun confuses me slightly, but maybe demons refer to themselves differently.

“Munhee’s demon?”

Jimin nods, his dark hair falling in front of his eyes, “You were sleeping, exhausted, and wouldn’t have been very useful. So they left you here with me again.”

I’m about to enter the cycle of trying to relax while everyone else goes off on excursions that are far too big for me to handle while I fight down the shame and frustration... but then something dawns on me.

“Wait, did Jungkook go with them?”

Jimin gestures down the hall with a directional nod, “Nope. He’s in his room, passed out. At least that’s what Namjoon told me. Whatever he’s doing, he hasn’t left the bunker.”

Relief washes over me. He was far too battered for anything so strenuous. It’s nice to know he’s resting.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah.”

With a quick pace, I leave the kitchen, then pause and turn back to Jimin. “Really, I mean it. Thank you for working hard, sunbae.”

He opens his mouth, then the words seem to catch in his throat and he chooses to laugh lightly instead. His reaction isn’t patronizing or rude, but almost shy.

“You don’t have to speak formally to me.”

“Really? I thought you might like that though.”

Jimin shakes his head with something almost akin to affection, “Please. You’ve spoken informally to me for so long, it’ll be weird. And in sight of... what I did to you, I don’t think I could ask for that kind of respect.”

My sentiments toward the boy with the coffee colored hair soften just a bit. I don’t love him, but I can definitely see he’s trying and I appreciate that.

Jimin points toward the stairs, “Well, if you don’t need anything else... I’ll be doing the whole guarding thing.”

“If they don’t come back soon, maybe I can make some dinner?”

“I already ate.”

“Oh, okay.”

Jimin lets out a small, relenting sigh, “But maybe if you and Jungkook are eating I’ll come down and we can hang out or something.”

I smile genuinely, “Sounds great. I’ll let you know.”

We part ways, Jimin going back up the stairs while I limp across the hallway toward Jungkook’s room. When I reach his door, I knock.

“Jungkook?”

No answer. I knock again.

The door is unlocked so I open it slowly. Jungkook is right where Jimin said he’d be, sprawled out on the bed on his stomach with the sheets covering his waist and unharmed leg. It would be cute, if he weren’t battered and bruised. His head isn’t even on the pillow. It’s tucked under his arm... where I used to be.

My throat pinches and I’m half tempted to turn around and return to the kitchen, but I close the door and continue forward.

“Kookie?” I place my hand on his shoulder and he tenses, then lets out a huff, relaxing, turning onto his side, and hugging the pillow against his chest.

I keep my voice quiet, “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

The boy with the raven black hair mumbles, still half asleep, “Not yet...”

“You’re not okay yet?”

“Sleeping...”

“Oh, I mean how are your ribs? Your leg?”

Jungkook buries his face in the pillow.

I speak a little louder, “Jungkook.”

After another huff and a groan, he finally opens his eyes, looking tired and mildly annoyed, “What?”

“H-how are you feeling?” his sharpness makes me back away slightly.

He stares at me for a moment, then clarity washes over his previously foggy expression. He softens, “I’m sorry. I’m just tired and sore.”

“I only wanted to check on you. It’s okay, you can go back to sleep.”

“No, it’s not okay,” he sits up slowly, wincing and holding his ribs. “I didn’t mean to snap.”

I stay quiet for a moment, not sure what to say. The room settles into an uncomfortable quietness, the awkwardness blanketing the conversation heavily.

Eventually I speak up, “You’re in pain. It’s understandable.”

“No, before that too. I’m sorry for... for getting mad earlier. We shouldn’t have fought,” he sighs. “I wasn’t considering your feelings like I should’ve been.”

I take a step back, giving him space, and sit on the floor to relieve my aching feet, “Oh you mean yesterday. It was nothing. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have argued. You’re stressed out training and trying to stop evil spirits. All I have to do is study.”

Jungkook slowly shifts to sit on the edge of the bed to look at me with mild concern, “Don’t demean yourself. You work hard.”

“So do you.” I laugh lightly, “What were we even fighting about? It all seems like eight hundred years ago.”

“I know,” Jungkook laughs too. “But I’m still sorry.”

“Thank you,” I get up and offer Jungkook my hand. “Can I have a hug please? A make up hug, just as friends. I know your instincts will probably be all messed up and maybe this is selfish but-”

He bypasses my hand, standing up and pulling me into an embrace. It’s comfortable, familiar, and doesn’t make my heart ache. My body knows something has changed. There’s no broken heart feeling. It’s more subtle like... somber acceptance.

“I love you,” Jungkook’s voice is quiet, but there’s an emptiness behind his words. It’s not that he doesn’t mean them, but rather his comment doesn’t contain the depth of emotion I would have wanted to hear.

“I love you too...” my own words seem shallower in comparison, accompanied by a pinch in my heart, which doesn’t sit right. So I repeat them with more conviction, changing the intention. “I love you too.”

I do love him, but as a friend. I must accept that now to respect both him and myself. There is no other way.

Smiling, I step back, “Do you want anything from the kitchen? I can go get you some water or the Calendulas for another healing session.”

“No thanks. I’ll be okay for now.”

“I’m gonna go make dinner then. Let me know if you change your mind.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

We exchange polite smiles. They’re small, but at least they aren’t as stiff as they were before and that’s reassuring. With one last glance at the raven haired boy, I make my way back to the kitchen. Things are still awkward between us, but can I really expect everything to be fixed so quickly? Wounds take time to heal and... people take time to change. I look toward the entrance to the bunker, knowing Jimin is up there somewhere.

I bring both boys dinner, just in case they decided they were hungry. Both thank me and I leave without further conversation. An hour or two passes. I start to grow concerned. Where are the others? Why aren’t they back yet?

Worst case scenarios start running through my mind as I search around for something to do. I settle on reading more about herbs. The quietness is almost painful, and that’s why I hear the frantic footsteps so easily.

“Eun?” Jimin’s voice. He’s uneasy. “It’s Seokjin. He’s running.”

I hurry up the stairs, abandoning my book to look at the surrounding fog filled town. It seems as if the thick white haze never left, though I know logically it would’ve burned off during the day. My internal clock has simply been bumped askew of the natural flow of time. And night seems to last forever.

A massive auburn wolf leaps out of the fog at a dead sprint, then skids to a halt in front of Jimin and me, spraying us in gravely dirt from the path. I shield my eyes, but not quickly enough. I have to blink away the sting to see the fur recede and his body change shape. The eldest pack member, panting, approaches quickly.

“Munhee needs you.”

“Needs me?” I lamely point to my chest. He nods, still out of breath. “For what? I can’t perform sigil magic. Is someone hurt? Do I need to get herbs?”

Seokjin shakes his head, forcing himself to stand up straight, “Just get on my back.”

“I’m going too,” Jimin steps forward.

The older man turns his gaze sharply to the younger, “No, you’re staying here and watching the bunker.”

Jimin’s upper lip twitches, piercing amber flashing briefly through his eyes, “You really think I’m going to let you take her near Baelmahr without being there?”

“Don’t say its name.”

“Like I’m going to let you tell me what to do-”

“Jimin,” I keep my voice calm and place a hand on his shoulder. “Not just the bunker. Jungkook too. Please look after him for me.”

The boy with the coffee colored hair scowls, but stops and takes a breath, then addresses Seokjin, “Fine. But you better keep her safe.”

“You have my word.”

As Seokjin transforms and I climb onto his back, Jimin leans against the shack, sliding to sit on the ground, mumbling, “Your word is bullshit.”

If I can hear it, Seokjin undoubtedly can hear it too, but if he does (strong “if,” maybe “even though”), he doesn’t react in the slightest. This sets an uneasy feeling in my stomach. Seokjin is not necessarily a prideful person, but he doesn’t usually suffer such disrespect. I don’t blame him, but his current nonchalance gets under my skin. Is he really in such a hurry?

The eldest pack member’s shoulders are wider than Jimin’s or Jungkook’s, so it’s easier to hold on as he breaks into a dead sprint. I try not to close my eyes, wanting to get a sense of where we’re going, but the spray of dirt, fog, and brushes of auburn fur against my face make it difficult. I quickly get lost in the milky blur of trees and foliage. When we cross the stream, I regain some sense of my whereabouts, but I lose it again as we leave the flowing water behind us.

It doesn’t take long for the eerie feeling of stillness to crawl across my skin. The crickets fall silent. An odd pressure settles across my chest and the longer Seokjin runs, the more I feel as if I can’t breathe.

The auburn wolf skids to a stop in a very familiar place, the Hepatica field.

I can see the four remaining wolves pinning something down. A person. Munhee. As soon as we enter the clearing, she lets out an inhuman scream. I drop down from Seokjin’s back, rushing over to her.

Namjoon, the giant blue-grey wolf, flattens his ears against his head, letting out a growl. It isn’t aggressive, but a warning.

“I know,” I assure him, kneeling down in front of Munhee. “She’s dangerous but...”

I draw my silver knife from my boot, just in case.

Munhee looks up at me. There is so much blood on her face it’s hard to tell where it’s coming from. Her forehead? Maybe her nose or lips? One of her eyes is red red too, but it’s due to the demon’s summoning magic. The other is her normal brown. On her forehead is a sigil- a sealing symbol. It’s inside of her. Baelmahr. But she’s fighting it.

“Eun, listen closely. The wolves are going to take me back to the bunker and probably kill me in the process. Don’t stop them. Don’t try to save me. The magic is too advanced for you.”

“What? I- I could learn. I’ve been studying.”

My heart is in my throat, pinching it with anxiety. She’s giving up so soon? Why? And if she knows it’s inevitable, why is she fighting it? To warn me away from curiosity or recklessness?

“No. Unless you find someone with skills that far surpass mine, it’s impossible-”

Munhee abruptly lurches forward, screeching again, so loudly that my ears ring. Panic floods through me and I scramble backward, holding up my knife as a precaution, but the wolves manage to pin down her limbs. The perceived pressure on my chest increases.

Blood red has started to seep into Munhee’s other iris.

“Keep studying. Train the wolves, work with them,” her voice is starting to sound desperate. “Find a mentor and learn sigil magic before you even think about summoning.”

“Summoning? Why would I do that?” I speak quickly, not wanting to reduce the time she has to talk.

“Use the wolves. Trap the demons in the bunker. It’s what I was trying-”

She wails, once more straining. Dirt and dead leaves spray upward around her as she flails and the wolves dig in.

“There are only so many of them. Find the one who can break sigils. Ekomas, I think... You have to find a way to trap it too. Namjoon.”

The wolf lets out an acknowledging huff.

“You know what to do.”

The next few minutes pass like a terrifying reenactment of an exorcism gone wrong. Munhee screams in that terrifying mix of inhuman voices, struggling, clawing at the ground. At one point she tosses Yoongi aside and tries to get ahold of Hoseok. Seokjin has to step in. Even though their features are lupine, I can tell they’re conflicted. How can they hurt the person they’ve imprinted on?

A snapping branch makes me look over my shoulder. It’s just Jungkook and Jimin, the former limping in his human form, the latter a coffee colored wolf supporting him as they walk. The closer Jungkook gets, the more he favors his good leg and the more slouched he becomes, curling around the ribs that I know were broken. His condition must be worsening due to the effects of the demon. He couldn’t have walked all the way here by himself either.

“What’s going on?”

I stand, dusting myself off. “We need to get Munhee to the bunker. What’s the easiest way?”

I look to Namjoon for an answer as the demon starts speaking in a language I don’t understand.

The blue-grey wolf just shakes his head, clearly at a loss.

Think.

Demons can break down doors. Ropes won’t work. It’s taking four wolves just to hold her down.

“Jimin, Yoongi, I need you to find me something flat to put her on, like a sled. We’re bringing her back.”

I have every hope that at the end of this, she could come out alive.

As I continue giving orders, knife still in hand, the calmness in my voice surprises me. I’m starting to sound like Munhee.

Jungkook approaches me hesitantly, “What can I do?”

“Just stay here. Tell me if anything happens.”

He nods.

As we finish assembling the sled and the wolves bodily drag a writhing Munhee onto it, my friend with the raven black hair approaches me again.

“This doesn’t feel like a satisfying end,” he whispers. What an odd choice of words.

I watch the ochre, auburn, blue-grey, and bronze wolves once again pin her down. Jimin and Yoongi grab either end of the platform made from a large strip of the pliable bark of a tree, pulling and pushing respectively. There’s an empty feeling in my chest that will be filled by fear later.

I glance at each of the haggard wolves, worn down from obvious exhaustion. They’ve all gone through so much. We have all gone through so much.

Munhee screams inhumanly again and I’m unable to hold back a wince this time.

She was so strong, and yet she couldn’t stop Baelmahr. I can’t help but wonder: will the same thing happen to me with Halsahm?

This doesn’t feel like a satisfying end.

I finally mage to respond to Jungkook’s comment, “That’s because it’s not. She didn’t deserve this.”

His voice is quiet in the eerily silent night air, “Did any of us?”

✩✩✩♔✩✩✩

A/N: Well that was quite the journey 😊 Remember, there WILL be a Bloodstone epilogue, a small offshoot series from Jimin’s POV, and maybe one more lore post. Thank you so much for reading!

Send me your theories/questions here. Or just come say hi ;)

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Much love ~🐰 xx

[chris-carson]

Hardwood Sketches

The walls squeeze tight to the sidelines in Memphis. The gym is cold at 7:30 on a Saturday morning in May. The bleachers are empty. In fact, there is nobody in the gym aside from the people who have to be here. About twenty players taking layup lines with hoodies and tees over their jerseys, getting warm and loose. About six coaches, three to each side, whose laughter can be heard over the echo of leather on hardwood as they sign players in at the scorer’s table.

I’ve never traveled, but through AAU basketball I’ve seen the United States one court at a time. AAU stands for Amateur Athletic Union, and boys and girls ages 10 to 17 compete across the country, at fluctuating levels of skills, every summer. This here, though, is as made-it as you can be right now. The tippy of the amateur top. That is why the gym is empty. The national AAU circuit is a business, not entertainment, of which the greatest profiteers are multibillion dollar shoe companies and elite NCAA basketball programs. This cool and quite gym off some highway in Memphis represents the mine from which they pull the best players like rocks and make them into dazzling diamonds, while the other less brilliant ones get tossed away. But for a white boy from the North Country like me, there is more to this world than that.

With tip off the walls that seemed to choke the court recede. So do the empty folding chairs under the baskets, the referees, the coaches. I’m sitting near the end of the bench and I feel myself start to recede. I feel like I’m watching, from the bottom of a narrow tunnel, while two flocks of exotic birds dance and swoop over my head.

Dagz, our starting point guard curls off a screen and splashes a deep jumper, as his body weightlessly soars to the right. Now Dags is over half court and pulls up from even deeper and sinks another one. Driving to the hoop, his slow footed quickness leaves defenders rocking as he fades away. His jersey plumes. Nobody is able to stop him, and by the end of the half, he’s got twenty eight.

I play a little that half; almost none the second half. But here, in some games, I dont play at all. I’m used like an experiment. I get tossed onto the court and told to do one of three things.

1. Try and eat every rebound.

2. Try and block every shot.

3. Run as fast as possible and hope for dunks on the break.

Some games I do all three and play a lot. Some games I can’t do one and ride the pine. I will land no scholarship. I will sign no autographs for opponents after the game. What I will do eventually will have nothing to do with basketball.

But for now I enjoy marvelling at flashes of brilliance like the one Dagz just had in that half. They happen often. And when they do, I’m both awed and contented with the fact that, at least for now, I can run with pretty much anybody on a basketball court and hold my own. And I do it on all different types of courts

New York City is like a secret behind a steel door with a cracked window mended with a strip of packing tape. It overlooks the East River from atop a narrow linoleum staircase. On the other side of the door, everything is bright and new. The nets are stiff and the rims orange, lush, and hang from flawless glass backboards like ripe fruit from a spring tree. Light drops from the overhanging fixtures onto the polished hardwood in haloed pools and reflects glaringly off newly varnished bleachers stacked into a wall on the baseline.

Hampton feels like another dusty gym until I see three jerseys hanging below the green and yellow banner that wraps the gym’s wall. Each jersey is a different color, each from a different stage in Allen Iverson’s career. Bethel to Georgetown, Georgetown to Philadelphia, Philadelphia to 2001, when for one season Iverson was the greatest player to ever hold a basketball. His hardened gaze, his shadowed and biblical visage marked the heel of my shoes that year, and was crowned with the prophetic maxim: Only the strong survive. I quoted his game in the driveway. He who shook M.J, the cornrowed word, the answer.   

Hackensack is where the AAU season begins. I walk into this field house and onto a white court, the lines laid down in black paint. Unlike the gym in Memphis this one is buzzing with people for the first big AAU tournament of the summer. Hard dribbling, screeching sneakers and galloping bodies fill out the space with the game’s natural music.

A group of man-sized boys are lounging on a pile of blue mats stacked in the corner of the gym. Two are lying on their sides while three are standing and playing a game. The game has two purposes. The first is to kill time while they wait for overtime to end so they can get on their scheduled court and start warming up. The second is to catch one of the other guys off guard with a pass. I watch one of them loops the ball around his arms, glides it over his chest, then flips it off the back side of his hand. It rotates briefly in midair before he looks to his right and slaps the ball to his left. His teammate catches it perfectly at his chest.

The silhouette of a bull’s head with long curling horns buffs steam on the front of their burnt orange tee shirts. In a gym like this, it is understood that everybody knows how to play. But just how much they know can only be measured by the logo and team name printed on their gear. Where are they from? I recognize these guys from the Bronx. The team warming up further down the rubber track that circles the courts, dressed in powder blue, come out of West Virginia. Their name though, reps no location in particular. They are, simply, The D1 Thoroughbreds, a representation of where their players are going over where they are from. But for a few, their journey will go further than that. The Thoroughbreds are being called the best AAU team of all time. They start three McDonald’s All-Americans. One of them, scouts say, could have been the number one pick in last year’s draft.

Our team comes from Albany, and I come from further north than that, and often wonder what I’m doing in the same gym as some of these guys. I remember a game last summer against the Philly MJC, when Dagz came down center court slinking like a cat, pumping the ball at his right hip and seeing everything. I crossed half court and curved in, planting myself on the right block. Dagz gave the ball one firm bounce with his left hand and stepped to the wing, as if to deliver a bounce pass to the corner. Instead he hooked his arm around and sliced a perfect, curving bounce pass down the lane, right through my unsuspecting hands and out of bounds.

Now I’m looking down the vast sprawl of courts, the colors of the jerseys blend together, and the colors of the players’ skin blend together, and the game becomes, not basketball, but a moving abstract painting, dripping and beating, and dancing. Basketball is an unchanging work of art. No matter the parts that it is made of, or the environment in which it is presented, the game itself, when played well, forms into a masterpiece every time. A ball of energy wells up hot in the midpoint of my torso. I think of it as adrenalin, as the urge to get on the court and ball. Years later though, I will find this same feeling in reading great books, in drugs, in feeling a woman’s soft naked breasts below my chest. It is the urge to create something. To take the fissure of material that floats in the space before my eyes and affect it, make it do things and call it my own. It is the urge to seize this opportunity I was given and begin forming the rules to my own game. I feel all that now standing at the court’s edge and watching other do it with a basketball.

This guy Flynn over here on court one is from Niagara. I watch him drive down the left side. His handle is mathematically steady. The bounce in his elbow works in rhythm like a machine. He is the smallest guy on the court but he jacks the defense with a crossover clearing the path for him to rise over everybody. He bursts down the left, crosses over and, like snapping wood over a tree trunk, dunks with one right hand. His game abuses and it all starts with the way he puts that ball to the floor.

On court two, Hodge is dropping forty five against team from Oakland. In an AAU game, with a running clock, forty five is a hell of a lot of points to score. His fake is smooth, and rocks left to right like water splashing up over the side of a swimming pool. He slips the ball under the defenders’ arms, and with one stride floats into the paint. He keep the ball spellbound and under his complete control. He hooks out his left arm as he rises, stretching the ball across his body, before rolling it off his finger tips. The baggy tee shirt under his jersey makes him a bird too, swooping to the lane like a steady breeze is caught under his wings, sweeping across defenders and fading back into another made bucket.

This weekend, this gym is full of scouts and college coaches. Spotting the different color windbreakers is like spotting birds. Scouts carry folders and clipboards and are always on their cell phones. Either that or talking loudly to somebody in the lobby. If neither of those then you bet they at least have a pager clipped to their khaki shorts. They have the confidence of gamblers, and that’s really what they are. They are betting that one of these kids will be the player who will win games, and keep their babies fed and their running shoes spotless.

In the crowds around the courts too are guys with names like Onion and Iceman. They have no kids on the team and don't do any coaching, yet they always have a ride, always have a few dollars to hook you up with some BK. You hear stories every year of a kid who let an Onion or an Iceman buy him some Sean John then had his scholarship revoked. Or his mom let an Onion or an Iceman by her groceries one day, and the kid has his scholarship revoked for that too. AAU is peppered with these men like baggy shirts, who hang all over the players. They stand behind benches. Every team has one.

I hear ours played at St. Bonaventure and used to run John Wallace ragged during pick up in Rochester. But he’s so pale and his mustache is like a joke he doesn't get, so it is hard to imagine his game that sharp. He doesn't talk much. He hands out cold Gatorades during timeouts. So many see him and the other Onions and Icemans as trying to get theirs through our talent, like their presence on these courts taints what is an otherwise wholesome summer.

When I think about what I’d be doing without basketball, I taste sweet outdoor rolled in grape dutch, the smoke oozing from my mouth on a hot night. Cicadas, grasshoppers chirp among the darkened branches. I see myself hanging hard at a bonfire with the townies I grew up with. They are so firmly rooted to this one place they’ve only known that I see the sprawling nature we grew up in lurch over them with every shot of vodka mixed with cranberry juice. For some of the other guys hanging hard means getting pinched in the mall with light crack rocks tucked in the waistband of their jumpman shorts.

Without basketball, there is nothing to do and nothing to do where we come from means never leaving the city, the neighborhood, the street. Or like me, some patch of field or woods. Yet here I am. Seeing the world one gym at a time. Getting away, even if it is just for the weekend.

[pilindiel]

The Promise of the World Pt. 4 |AO3|

Pairing: Victuuri

Rating: T

Word Count: 3699

Excerpt:

A small tug on Yuuri's shirt causes him to jump but Yurio's wide, blue eyes stare up at him pleadingly.  His voice is muddled, but Yuuri catches the gist of what he's saying. “Let's take a closer look!”

“No,” Yuuri chokes, shaking his head.  He feels dizzy, breathless.  There are too many people, too many things going on.  Too much noise.  His palms are sweating.  “I-I think I've seen all I can take.  Lets go home.”  The soles of his feet are taut, there's a tightness to his legs, but his hands can't stop shaking.

When Yuuri and Yurio step out onto Porthaven's unkempt street, the smell is what hits them first.  It's like a wall: cinnamon, coriander, cumin, and mint mixed with fresh meat, fish, and the salt of the sea.  It's such a contrast to the pine forests of the Wastes that it makes Yuuri's eyes water, but the fresh air puts a spring in his otherwise heavy steps.

The buildings around them are strikingly different.  Rather than the simple sloped roofs and cobbled streets of Market Chipping, Porthaven's homes are made of sandy, red-ish blocks of stone and the doors and windows are horseshoe shaped arches that point high towards the glittering sun. The wooden doors are so intricately carved that Yuuri assumes they must have been made hundreds of years ago, with their delicate patterns and shapes.  But what catches Yuuri's attention most are the tiles.  They cover the walls and fountains in the alley Yuuri finds himself in and the blues, greens, and golds weave into mesmerizing geometric shapes.  The floral motifs are breathtaking and Yuuri cant help the way his eyes linger on the intricate patterns and intersecting lines as they move closer to the ocean and the stench of freshly caught fish.

“I dont know why we're doing this,” Yurio gripes as he clutches a wooden basket in his pudgy hands, “Victor hardly eats anything.”

“Too bad,” Yuuri retorts, barely giving Yurio a passing glance as he makes his way through the crowd. Yuuri greatly appreciates the openness of the city – he's not sure he would feel as comfortable if the buildings loomed over him as they did in his hometown.  The lack of sunlight as he wandered the narrow streets of Market Chipping always made him feel suffocated, trapped. Porthaven's buildings are short and stocky, and the laughter from the merchants and buyers around him eases the tension in his chest, at least a little bit.

People of all shapes and skin colours are yelling in unfamiliar, musical languages that Yuuri can't understand, but he makes his way through the open-air market with a small smile all the same.

They turn a corner and Yuuri can't stop the swell in his chest.  Down the lane is the mouth of the port – all manner of ships bob in the gentle swell of the ocean and the sun glimmers off the water like Yuuri always pictured it would in his books.  Though it is slightly greener than he imagined it's still stunning and Yuuri can't help but comment.

“I've never seen the ocean before,” he says to his companion, “It's beautiful.”

“It always looks like that,” Yurio replies matter-of-factly.  Yuuri snorts loudly in response – a vulgar, rude sound – but the smile that rises to Yurio's lips is worth it.

The market proper is terribly endearing.  Bright cloth awnings line both sides of the little street, covering crates of fresh fruits and vegetables from the oppression of the sun.  Tan-skinned merchants shout prices and deals at the pair as they pass and Yuuri admires the giant baskets full of ground spices, piled high like mountains of gold.  They duck beneath a faded blue canopy when Yuuri spies a cask of fresh, rusty yellow cumin.  He buys a pound with a smile and a polite bow and places the fragrant seasoning in Yurio's basket.

There are people hustling towards the pier, most likely where the freshest produce are, but Yuuri is content to drag Yurio along the sidelines, chatting idly with the people who seem to understand him and gesturing vaguely with the people who don't.  It eases the constriction of Yuuri's lungs a little when they laugh and he buys several potatoes from a cheery older woman with four visible teeth and a dazzling smile.

Older woman.  Yuuri wants to scoff.  He's quite sure she's younger than him by at least twenty years.  The fresh air and excitement of the market almost makes him forget his circumstances.  Almost makes him forget his problems and the ache of his bones.

But Yuuri can never escape them for long.

With a tightening in his throat, they move on.

Several covers down he finds the seafood, though they've been breathing the stench in for hours.  Rows and rows of dead fish line the stalls up ahead, full of barracudas, mullets, sea perch and swordfish.  The fetor and the flies do little to deter customers and Yuuri watches in awe as someone further down slaps a whole marlin on their cart and whisks it down the street, disappearing through a smoking, cloth-covered doorway.

Yuuri leans over one of the tables to inspect freshly caught tuna, holding it up by its lip.  Its skin is slick but the gradient of sliver to blue scales is nearly perfect. Yuuri's back creaks as he looks up at the merchant who smiles toothily at him through a dark, bushy beard and scraggly eyebrows. He asks how much it is and the merchant only smiles wider.

Screaming in the distance gives their small exchange pause and the man whips around.

“One of our ships is in the harbor!” A woman with a scarf on her head cries, “It looks like it's on fire!”

Panic is like a floodgate – it only takes one voice, one exclamation of fear – to send people running.

Yuuri's heart pounds as screams fill the air.  He catches snippets of sentences as their shopkeeper rushes off into the throng of the crowd.  He's pretty sure he hears “serious battle” among the cries and yelling, but all Yuuri can focus on is the blood flooding his ears and the smothering heat of the sea breeze.

He feels flushed, hot, and he presses his hunched back against the closest wall, eyes fixed on the distant water.  The warm, rough stone does little to keep his legs from shaking and Yuuri's lungs fill with burning, sticky air.

The warship is an enormous, gaudy hunk of metal being tugged by a smaller, much more homely boat.  The hull of the ship is smoking, marking the sky black, and even from his little spot on the wall Yuuri can see hundreds of sailors jumping into the freezing water.  The clanging of warning bells is deafening.

A small tug on Yuuri's shirt causes him to jump but Yurio's wide, blue eyes stare up at him pleadingly.  His voice is muddled, but Yuuri catches the gist of what he's saying. “Let's take a closer look!”

“No,” Yuuri chokes, shaking his head.  He feels dizzy, breathless.  There are too many people, too many things going on.  Too much noise.  His palms are sweating.  “I-I think I've seen all I can take.  Lets go home.”  The soles of his feet are taut, there's a tightness to his legs, but his hands can't stop shaking.

Yuuri tries to remind himself to breathe, to suck in air through his nose and breathe out through his mouth as he tries to find an exit.

Out.  Out he needs to get out.  He needs to –

Breathe, Yuuri, breathe.

Like a shot Yuuri hears it.  A deep, sonorous, heavy sound.  Like a stomp on his heart. Like a snake around his throat.

The black creature rises from the ground by the pier and Yuuri's heart stops.  It stands tall, still vaguely humanoid and dripping onto the street, observing the crowd.

It doesn't have eyes, but Yuuri can still feel its stare, still knows exactly what it's looking for.

Yuuri's words escape his chest through a hiss.  “The wizard's henchmen are here!”

“What?!”

“Be careful!” he wheezes, “They're only a few feet away.”  Yurio freezes, hand on Yuuri's sleeve. Yuuri bites the inside of his cheek, breathing heavily through his nose.  But in mere moments the creature is gone, lost to the crowd and the cacophony.  “They're gone,” Yuuri breathes, “I don't understand why no one else seemed to notice them.”

A hum rushes through the air before he can even finish his sentence.  It grows in volume, vibrates the air, shakes the earth.  Yuuri clutches the edge of the wall, his other hand gripping tightly to Yurio's thin wrist.

Everyone's eyes fly to the clouds and Yuuri can barely hear his heartbeat over the screams.  The sound is like a tearing of parchment but thousands of times louder, like the sky itself is paper and it's being shredded by engines and fire. Yuuri wants to run, he wants to get out but his legs are leaded, bolted to the quaking ground.

A whistle cuts through the air and Yuuri can't tear his eyes away from the sea.  A blob of dark metal falls.  It pulses the water, bubbles, explodes.

Fire.

People are pointing, running, crying. Another explosion trembles the ground but Yuuri can't look.  He can't handle it.

Yurio says something that disappears to the noise, but the pulse of Yurio's hand reminds him to move and Yuuri chokes on air, turns, and runs.

His eyes burn, his heart pounds, his stomach slides up to his chest making it impossible to breathe, but Yuuri keeps running until he sees the oak of the front door, tearing it open before he desperately crawls up the stairs.

He swallows air, covers his eyes, and tries not to gag.  The cold wood is comforting, solid, but his body is still rattled, his head is still whirling.  He feels sick.  Dizzy.

It's not like the room is spinning – he feels distant, breathless and not just from the running – the world isn't here anymore.  He's dazed.  Yuuri feels faint.

He barely gets to the top step before sitting down and has to desperately try to catch his breath.  Yurio shows up in moments, basket overflowing with spice and potatoes.

His icy eyes are wide and Yuuri hastily has to look away from them, focusing on the grout between the wood of the floor.

“Are you okay?”  Yurio asks nervously, setting the basket down on the top step.

Yuuri's voice is faraway, empty.  He's surprised he can keep it so level.  “I just need a glass of water.”

Yurio says nothing as he patters over to the sink and for once, Yuuri is not grateful for the silence. Instead it lets his mind wander and it makes things unbearable.  All he can see is the fire, the pain.  All he hears is the screaming. The sobbing.  The blare of the airship's engine.  He shoves his glasses up onto his forehead, grounds his leathery palms into his eyes.  He swears he can feel everyone's stare and he wants to curl into himself and disappear, to go back to his tiny shop and his tiny dreams and his tiny life.

He's suffocating.

Christophe says his name, says something, but Yuuri can't hear what he follows it with, he can't stop feeling the sharpness of his gaze and the judgment –

This isn't –

His breath is stuck in his chest, tangled in his throat and he just –

His eyes sting and he can't feel like this in front of people he can't feel weak he's supposed to get through this he can't –

Don't cry, Yuuri, don't you dare. Don't draw attention.

A scream.  Desperate.  Anguished. Yuuri can't suck in air fast enough, he can't –

Breathe, Yuuri.  Just breathe.

But the voice isn't from the fire outside, isn't from the metal and the ocean.  It's upstairs, and it resonates through the wood.  More high pitched.  More whiny.

Yuuri slaps his palms onto the floor, demands to feel the cold of its polish, demands to focus.  His vision fades in and out, debating between the cedar of the ground and the flicking of the fireplace.  His attention bleeds, like his eyes can't adjust to anything but the background.

The thudding of feet vibrates down the staircase to Yuuri's gnarled fingers and he finally looks up, throat tightening for a different reason.

He staggers to his unsteady feet, gripping to the iron railing for support.

Victor, in nothing but a towel, trundles towards him.  Steam rolls of his body from the heat of his bath and Yuuri watches rivulets of water slide down from his scalp, caressing his smooth skin before being absorbed by the cloth, hung low and loose on his hips.  Yuuri bites the inside of his cheek and tries not to let his eyes linger too long on Victor's chest, the strong muscles of his thighs, or the sharp jut of his hips.

Victor's eyes are wild, passionate, and Yuuri wants to forget the world and drown in them.

He isn't sure he can handle this.

There are too many things going on, too many thoughts in his head.  His heart is pounding, his ears hurt. His head is spinning.

Yuuri barely registers what Victor is saying, lost in his eyes and his proximity.  He can smell the sharpness of Victor's soap, the hint of lavender.

He's choking on it.

“You sabotaged me!” Victor cries and Yuuri is thankful for the harshness of his tone, for the accusation.  It helps keep things clear, keeps him attentive. “Look what you've done to my hair!  Look!”

Yuuri's brain struggles to catch up. He didn't even notice that the gold had turned to silver and his nails dig into the metal of the railing.

Yuuri swallows, but the lump in his throat remains. He starts, shakily.  “What a pretty colour – ”

“It's hideous!” Victor reprimands, long, slender, beautiful fingers digging into his grayed scalp, “You completely ruined my magical potions in the bathroom!”

Yuuri wants to step back, to hide from those eyes and those words but his legs are shaking.  He can't.  He's frozen in that gaze, in Victor's allegation and in Victor's voice. Does Victor even realize how stuck Yuuri is?

Yuuri gulps, tries to remember how words form when his tongue is so thick and heavy in his mouth.  “I-I just organized things Victor, nothing's ruined – ”

“Wrong.  Wrong!” Victor snaps, tears pricking the corners of his endlessly blue eyes, “I specifically ordered you not to get carried away!”  He slumps in the chair by the fire, curved over into his hands.  He shudders, sobs, and somehow Yuuri's heart still manages to break a little further.

Why do you always make things worse, Yuuri?

Why do you make things worse?

“And now I'm repulsive,” Victor gasps, “I cant live like this.”

How Yuuri manages to take a step forward is beyond him.  The air he sucks in does nothing to stop the tension in his chest, does nothing to stop how he can't hear himself over the thudding in his ears.  Don't panic, Yuuri. “Come on, it's not that bad,” he placates weakly, “Silver is a great colour on you!”

“Don't you get it?” Victor finally turns to him, striking Yuuri down to his core, and the tears pooled in his eyes roll down his perfect pale cheeks, dripping down his chin.  His gaze is severe.  Enraged.  Yuuri isn't sure his heart is beating anymore.  “There's no point in living if you're not beautiful!” Victor spits.

It stings.  It slows the world.  Stills Yuuri's thoughts.  

There's no point in living.

It fixates.  

You're not beautiful.

It burns Yuuri from the inside, throat first.  It sears down to his chest, inflames his heart, cremates his lungs.  His stomach is empty, the perfect kindling for this pain, and the numbness and ice melts in fire and pain and metal.

He swears he can hear it screaming.

You're not beautiful.

Yuuri's eyes hurt.  The silence of the room crushes him.  He knows everyone is looking at him, waiting for him to respond.  To say something witty or funny.  To brush off Victor's dramatics and pretend like it doesn't matter, like his bones aren't too heavy and his body isn't too thick.  Like he has something to say.

Like he doesn't hate himself.

How Yuuri finds his voice is baffling. He can barely hear it over his heart, what little of it he has left. “I wouldn't know,” he chokes.  There's a stillness to the air, a heaviness he knows he caused.  He closes his eyes and hates the crack in his voice.  “I've never been beautiful.”

If he hears a gasp he doesn't register it.

You're not beautiful.

Yuuri bows, swiftly, fists clenched at his sides.

He turns, trips down the front steps and can feel everyone's silent eyes on him as he turns the heavy iron knob on the front door.  He hopes no one notices his tears, but knows that they do.

Pathetic.

Yuuri throws the front door open and stumbles out into the Wastes.

The rain is freezing.  It seeps into his burning skin through his clothes, his hat long forgotten in the mud.  The rain drizzles across his face and he almost can't feel the heat with the cold sliding down his wrinkles and onto the frigid ground.

His mind can't stop wandering and he can't stop the speed of his thoughts.  It travels back to his home and he nearly asphyxiates.  Are his friends looking for him?  Who's making the hats at the shop?  Did anyone even notice he was gone? Did his family try to find him?

He wonders, but he already knows the answer.

He's not sure when the sobbing starts, but when it does it doesn't stop.

He bites his tongue and tries to stave it off, closes his eyes to shut them out, to stop the pain and stop the fear and stop the disappointment and his failures but it can't.  

It demands to be felt.

The clogging of his throat doesn't halt his cries, doesn't cease his mind.

You're not beautiful.

You're old.

Incompetent.

A failure.

Weak.

Yuuri's knees give out and the slick mud does nothing to ground him.  He chokes.  Suffocates.  Covers his eyes and lets it blow through him in so many waves he doesn't bother to keep count.

I'm not good enough to be loved.

He hates it.  Crying exposes him, bleeds him dry.  Makes him frail.  Empty.  He covers his mouth with one hand, the other over his eyes, and hopes the rain and thunder masks the noise.  The last thing he wants is to be more of a spectacle than he already is.

He doesn't need an audience.

It feels like vomiting – rough and violent and visceral and raw.  There's nothing positive about crying.  It's painful and rough, like someone is scraping out your insides and throwing them to the ground for the world to see.

Letting everyone see how vulnerable you are.

How weak you are.

The rain stains him, washes away parts of his fears and renews others.  It sinks into him, freezes him. Makes him numb.

It's easier to be numb – then no one can see you when the world is overwhelmingly hot.

Yuuri sits there for what seems like far too long and yet he still cant feel the icy chill of the ground or the bitterness of the wind.

And suddenly, the rain stops.  The biting wind brings an actual earthy scent with it this time and when Yuuri looks up he's greeted with a nearly mischievous smile, painted onto a large and knobby ginger root.  His prince-like clothes sparkle and shine with rainwater and Yuuri sighs.  Root has a rather large umbrella in his hand, protecting Yuuri from the elements as best he can.  Keeping him from the rain.  Keeping him from his thoughts.

Quietly, Yuuri wipes his eyes with the back of his sleeve, pushing his glasses back up his nose.  His joints creak as he attempts to stand, griping Root's pole to steady himself.

Before he can even give thanks, however, Yurio splashes out into the rain from the solid oak front door, tugging hurriedly on Yuuri's soaked sleeve.

“Yuuri, you've gotta come back inside,” he pleads, eyes wide, “Victor's in trouble!”

Yuuri lets himself be lead, padding back up the stairs into the heat of the castle and Christophe's fire, though the warmth barely reaches him.

Victor is face-planted on the hearth, oozing a green, sticky substance all over the floor and the fireplace.  It slinks towards Christophe, who looks positively mortified.

Christophe glances at Yuuri helplessly, a small twig above his head, and gestures wildly, swearing in an unfamiliar language.

“Is he dead?” Yurio asks.  Yuuri wonders for a moment whether that was a hopeful tone in his voice or not before rolling up his sleeves and stomping over to Victor's hunched over form.

“He's fine,” Yuuri murmurs, bending down to wrap one of Victor's dripping arms over his shoulder, “He's just throwing a tantrum.”  

Victor is heavy, no doubt at least sixty percent muscle and forty percent height, but Yuuri trudges up the stairs all the same, barely feeling the weight.

He doesn't feel much of anything.  Not the green slime dripping down the back of his shirt from Victor's limp arm or the stain seeping through his already damp clothes.  He feels very little.

He wishes he felt nothing.

Yuuri's vision barely focuses, debating between the top stair or the distant bathroom door and centering on neither as he takes step after step, perspective blurring.  

He makes no effort to look at the man in his stoutly arms, a contrast to himself.  Tall, muscular, handsome.  It's not worth it.  Yuuri's not sure he can stand looking at Victor right now.

He's not sure he wants to meet his eyes, to see the shame or disappointment or guilt.

Or worse, nothing.

He couldn't live with either, so he refuses to look despite feeling Victor's eyes burning into his neck at each step.

The chill of the rain isn't placated at all by the steam from the bathroom and when he deposits Victor into the tub and lets Yurio take over, his eyes are stuck to the floor.

He closes the bathroom door, straddling the slime trail Victor has left, and sighs.

Yuuri scrubs a hand down his face, his chuckle broken.

“Now I have to mop again,” he mutters and tries not to sound as empty as he feels.

[dmmowers]

Mary! Rabbouni!

Mary! Rabbouni! A sermon for St. John's Episcopal Church, Portage, Wis. and Trinity Episcopal Church, Baraboo, Wis. EASTER DAY | April 16, 2017 | Year A Jeremiah 31:1-6 | Psalm 118:1-2 | Acts 10:34-43 | John 20:1-18 On February 15, I went to Target. This was when we still lived in Minnesota, which seems like a long time ago now, but was really only a little more than a month ago. On February 15, I went to the dairy section in the back of Target to get some groceries. The dairy section is right next to the seasonal section, which, until recently, had been occupied by all sorts of Valentine's Day merchandise. But on February 15, all of the hearts and candies were demoted, relegated to the back wall: the clearance section. What had occupied the seasonal section? Easter goodies. Most notably: Peeps. You know, the marshmallow birds in neon colors.Now, some of you might be worried. "Oh, here we go. Easter Sunday and the preacher is going to go off about all the fun Easter baskets and say that we're supposed to be serious, that Easter is not supposed to be commercialized and trivialized, and say that we're not supposed to be having fun."So for all of you who think I hate Peeps and all commercialization of Easter, please know that I am a champion Peep Jouster. 

My only brother is about five years younger than me. Because of our age difference growing up, let's just say that sometimes I could talk him into things that just might get him into a small bit of trouble. Just a little trouble. He might tell this story differently. But one Easter, he and I both got Peeps in our Easter baskets.This particular year, I had heard from friends that you could joust Peeps. It turns out that if you take two Peeps, and you put a toothpick in each of the Peeps, and then you put the Peeps in the microwave, the Peeps will joust. One of them will end up poking the other, and if they don't explode, they'll just go completely liquid. The winner is the last Peep left standing, the last Peep to not be a puddle of liquid on the plate.So I convinced my brother to joust two peeps, and then we said, how about a Peep Jousting tournament? So we jousted a bunch more peeps. I don't quite remember what sent my mom over the edge: the burnt sugar smell that slowly filled the house, the cackling boys crowding into a tiny kitchen around the microwave, or a peep exploding all over the walls of the microwave. All I know is that after that one year, we were banned from Peep Jousting. I won the inaugural Peep Jousting tournament, and there was never another one. So I'm still the champion. 

I.

For all of us over age 12 or so this morning, we're past celebrating Easter because of Peeps and great gifts in Easter baskets. But many  of us who think of Easter as a holiday to be with family, the special moments we have in shopping for our kids' Easter baskets, for the beauty of the Wisconsin spring and the rebirth of mother nature after a long, cold winter. For many people, Easter is about spring, renewal, rebirth, spending time with family and grilling out.

Our gospel reading this morning suggests a different reason for our marking Easter. Early in the morning, on the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene goes to the tomb where Jesus was buried, and finds it empty. Thinking that someone had taken Jesus' body, she ran to get Simon Peter and the beloved disciple, probably John, and they run to the tomb. They see the linen wrappings that had been used on Jesus' body lying there, but Jesus is nowhere to be found. Even though the story tells us that the beloved disciple believed, he and Peter go away, and Mary is left crying at the tomb. 

As she stood there weeping, she looks into the tomb, and there are two angels there. They gently ask her, "Woman, why are you weeping?" She says, "They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him." She turns around, and sees a naked man. The story doesn't exactly say that he's naked, but it seems a safe assumption. Instead of being shocked at the appearance of a naked man, she thinks he's the gardener. He says, "Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?" She replies, "Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away." Then the man says to her, "Mary," and she replies, "Rabbouni". She embraces him, and then he tell her, "Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go and tell my brothers that I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God."

Why does Jesus tell Mary not to hold onto him? Is it because he is a ghost or a hallucination? Is something wrong with his post-resurrection body? Did any of this conversation outside of the tomb actually happen anyway, and if it did, what difference does that make?

II. 

People do not generally rise from the dead, and yet the church proclaims on Easter Day that Jesus Christ has risen again. Some people think that this resurrection is a nice myth, a fairy tale that weak people tell themselves to make them feel better about life. Colleagues in ordained ministry have told me stories of greeting people at the back door of their churches on Easter Sunday morning and being told, "Father, nice sermon." Then the person leans in and says quietly, "But you don't actually believe any of that resurrection business, do you? I mean, you're a smart person: you don't really believe any of this stuff, do you?" I know other clergy, both in the Episcopal Church and outside it, who have decided that they do not believe that Jesus could actually have risen again, but they like being pastors, so they redefine what resurrection means: they say that what the New Testament actually meant was that the first followers of Jesus had a spiritual experience, not that Jesus Christ actually, bodily rose from the dead. You don’t know me all that well yet, but you may already know that I think those approaches are exactly wrong. If Jesus Christ didn’t actually, bodily rise from the dead, I think we’re wasting our time.

Our American Christian culture has not helped this problem. Many of you are familiar with the old hymn, "He Lives", which I grew up singing as boy in our Methodist Church. "You ask me how I know he lives? He lives within my heart." But this doesn't help us at all with the question of why Jesus' tomb was empty on that Sunday morning. Our faith in Christ is not based on how our feelings; it's not based on whether we are currently experiencing his closeness in our heart. It is based on the radical claim that the tomb was empty on that first Easter morning. He doesn't just live within our hearts, Jesus lives as the one who has ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of God, the one who is the Lord of the Universe. 

And yet, there are numerous reasons reasons why the resurrection is so hard for many people to believe. It's impossible to prove. The gospels don't give us eyewitness accounts of the Resurrection - they simply agree that the tomb was empty.

III. 

But we believe in the good news, the stunning news, the unprecedented news, that Jesus Christ, having been crucified, rose again from the dead on that first Easter Day, and in so doing, conquered death, conquered hell, conquered that human tendency we have to break things. The first person to realize this may have been the disciple Jesus loved, but he doesn't say anything in our story this morning, so it's hard to be sure. 

The first person we can be sure knows and believes that Jesus has risen again is Mary Magdalene. A woman has become the apostle to apostles. Mary is alone in a garden, weeping, and when she turns around and sees a naked man, she thinks he is the gardener, but then when she hears him call her name, “Mary!” Her heart leaps and she responds, “Rabbouni”. She has walked into the Central Moment of all Human History, the moment in which the Messiah of Israel has been raised by God from the dead, has conquered death through his own death, giving to all of his people the hope that we will one day be raised again like he was.

Does this sound at all like any other Bible story to you? The author of John's gospel constantly recalls the book of Genesis, and here he gives us the new Garden of Eden. In the old garden, Adam and Eve were put into the garden to care for it: they were to be the gardeners. But the serpent spoke to Eve, and she gave the fruit of the tree to her husband, and through them sin entered the world. Adam and Eve realized they were naked and they were ashamed. In this new Garden of Eden, Mary is alone, weeping, and sees a naked man. Instead of commenting on this, and being ashamed, Mary thinks that Jesus is the gardener. This imagery is meant to make us think of the Garden of Eden, and it shows us that in Jesus - in that lovely exchange between Mary and Jesus, "Mary!" "Rabbouni!" The world has been made new. Jesus, the new Adam, has come into the world to tend it and care for it, just as the old Adam was meant to do. 

She embraces him, his real body. He is not a ghost. He is not a hallucination. Jesus' talking is not just an experience within Mary's heart, but it is his actual, physical body speaking to him. He allows her to hug him, because that is the human thing to do. Finally, he tells her, "Don't just stand here and hold on to me. Go and tell my brothers that I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God." When Jesus calls Mary's name, she recognizes him, and embraces him. After she embraces him, Jesus tells her to go and tell my brothers what has happened, and what is about to happen. After she recognizes Jesus and embraces him, Jesus gives her a mission. 

IV. 

If today is like any other Easter Sunday I've ever known, there are people here who are all over the board on why we're in church this morning. Your mother dragged some of you, and the memory of your mother dragged some others. Some of you were baptized long ago and have been at this church a very long time; others of you are here for the first time today. For a lot of us, what this day means is grilling and time with family and springtime and Peep Jousting, and we don’t reflect much on what the news of Jesus’ resurrection means for us. But regardless of what brought us here or where we are, I want to tell you that Jesus is calling for you. The question for each of us is the central question of our lives: do we recognize this Jesus as the Lord, risen from death, as the one who put himself on the line for us at the cross? Just as Jesus loved Mary, Jesus has now ascended to the Father and knows and loves each of us. 

For more than two thousand years, this event has changed lives. This event changed the course of history. For myself, knowing that the risen Jesus was calling me changed the course of my life. I didn't have to prove myself in order to be loved; in Jesus, God showed his love for me completely apart from my own actions and my own achievements. 

But we church people can get caught up in Churchianity sometimes. We can come to church here and there, or even, sometimes, every Sunday, and think that because we go to church or because we got out to church on Easter we can cross Jesus off our to-do list. Church is important; you can't follow Jesus without the church. But our faith begins not by our trying to appease God by going to church. It starts by our hearing the voice of the risen Jesus calling us, and our responding by being baptized. For those of us who were baptized long ago, our faith starts by living out the promises made at our baptism to love and serve the Lord Jesus. If you haven't made a commitment to following Jesus, to answering his call, or if you've been away from faith in Jesus for a long time, I invite you this morning in the silence of your own heart to answer Jesus' call to you.Just like Mary Magdalene, those of us who embrace Jesus are given a mission to tell people what has happened and what is about to happen: the Lord Jesus, crucified, dead and buried, was raised from the dead on the third day, and will return again: to raise all of the Lord's people from the dead on the last day, and to make our creation new, just as he and Mary walked in a new Garden of Eden, where death will be no more. If Christ calls to any of us, there is a new creation: the old order of things has gone away, and the new creation is here! (II Cor 5:12 para). Thanks be to God.