#This fool jingles wildly

[dootznbootz]

My fatal flaw is that I think I could get Penelope and Odysseus to like me. Definitely only pre-war or after he returns but I think I could make them laugh enough where I could be their weird little court jester. I'd play to their humor and their egos

[izzystizzys]

Half the jobs Fox is sent on are not within his jurisdiction. This certainly isn’t.

Planetary protection unit, they said. Military police. Orbital security force.

And now Fox is being pointed at Count Dooku on some backwater planet and told to fetch. How the mighty have fallen.

He’s pretty sure Kenobi, Skywalker and their units could’ve karked this all up perfectly fine on their lonesome; they don’t need three Guardsmen there to watch them do it. But the Chancellor says jump and Fox surpressed the urge to bash his head in with a durasteel chair. So it goes.

Which is when things start going terribly, terribly wrong, of course.

“Is that Spinder?!”, Skywalker exclaims, arms wheeling out in the air wildly to try and catch his balance. “The Count fucks?!”

Across the room, Cody rips his helmet off, several shades redder than a baseline human should be. “The Count fucks my brother?!”

Two lightsticks hover uselessly in the air, Skywalker’s zig-zagging in a relentless hum with his gesturing. Fox stands stock-still, in the hope that maybe he’ll spontaneously turn invisible if he does. Around them, 501st and 212th troopers gape through helmets. Behind him, Nuisance gasps for air amidst screaming laughter.

Ping, went Fox’s comm unit, in that unmistakeable lascivious jingle sound. Ping, answered Count Dooku’s within a split second. Match found close by.

For a moment, Fox considers what it would be like to run at the Count’s lightsaber at full speed.

…not like that.

“Count”, Kenobi says, with a face like he’s bitten into a rotten fruit. Not that Fox knows what fruit tastes like. “This is a highly… unexpected development.” He fwoosh-es his lightsaber shut, obviously having given up on fighting. “I’d call it a conflict of interest, but I’m not sure that applies?”

“Oh, it’s gonna be a conflict of something, for sure”, Cody hisses, fists clenched at his sides. He looks about ready to boil over, with Crys and Waxer inching closer in preparation. “What have you done to my brother, you monster?!”

“I don’t think you want to know that, Commander”, Nuisance gasps out between barks of laughter, proving why he’s eternally Fox’s least favourite. Cody’s splotchy red complexion slowly fades into ghostly white as a sheen of horror settles over the room. “Thanks for the fancy chocolate bouquet last week, Count!”

Dooku, who has been thus far staring at the floor with an empty thousand-klick stare, looks up at that. Fox has seldom seen a man that defeated outside of the mirror, he has to admit - but shudders when he remembers exactly what the chocolates were for.

Oh Force, he’s sexted Count Dooku into buying him gifts. Does that make him a Seppie spy? Traitor by proxy?

“I feel”, says the Count, gravely, still holding his long red laserknife in a white-knuckled death-grip, “that I have been taken for a fool.”

“Uh”, says Fox, nervously. All eyes snap to him. Oh Force, oh Force, oh Force. They’re going to invent a whole new kind of decommissioning for this and name it after Fox.

“Is it really scamming if you actually get what you pay for?”, asks Grids, considering. Fox slowly pulls off his helmet just for the comforting feeling of burying his head in his gloved palms. The sounds of a struggle ensue, and Kenobi makes a choked-off noise. Maybe if he’s embarrassed enough he’ll give himself an aneurysm.

“Grandmaster, why are you paying people for naked pictures of themselves on the holonet?!” Kenobi asks, despairingly. “Aren’t you a little old for that?”

“Oi, no one said I was naked!”, Fox exclaims, head whipping up.

“So naked”, Nuisance laughs, palm thumping against the floor. He might be crying.

“I’m not decrepit”, the Count blusters, and Skywalker makes a gagging noise. “I have - there are needs, and they are perfectly natural!” It takes three troopers to restrain Cody from launching himself at the Count.

[lady-divine-writes]

Ineffable Holiday 2020 - “Bentley Gets Fancy” (Rated PG)

Summary: Aziraphale plays a practical joke on Crowley that goes slightly awry when Bentley reacts unexpectedly to the whole caper. (1003 words)

Notes: Written for the Ineffable Holiday 2020 prompts days 3 and 4 candy cane and snowglobe.

Read on AO3.

“Tea?” Aziraphale asks, presenting Madame Tracy with his pink Wedgewood teapot, her absolute favorite of his collection, as if it’s a bottle of his finest pinot noir.

“Yes, please.” She slides her teacup forward, giggling to herself as Aziraphale bites his lower lip, restraining his own laughter. It’s the waiting that’s doing them in. Waiting for the wave to hit. 

The storm to erupt.

The shoe to drop.

Waiting for Crowley to get home from his errand down the street, picking up Aziraphale’s order of biscuits and scones for tea. An order Aziraphale purposefully placed late at a bakery close enough for his demon to walk to so he could put his plan into action.

“Sugar?” Aziraphale offers, his cool slipping when he hears the celestial sounds of another supernatural creature entering the vicinity, and he knows Crowley is just outside. A softly gasped, “Wot the---?” clinches it, and Aziraphale’s hands start to shake. Which reminds him ...

I do hope he doesn’t drop the biscuits. That’s the only real setback to all of this.

“Absolutely,” Madame Tracy manages through a titter.

One of the best things, he’s discovered, about having Madame Tracy for a friend are the pranks the two of them have been able to pull off together. After they’re done here, they’re heading over to her house to pull a whopper on Mr. Shadwell.

“Aziraphale!��� 

Aziraphale jumps when he hears his husband bellow for him, which makes him and Tracy finally laugh out loud. 

“Aziraphale! Where the Devil are you!?”

“That’s my cue.” Aziraphale puts down the sugar bowl and heads for the door.

“Not so fast!” Tracy calls behind him, grabbing her coat and tossing it on. “I don’t want to miss this!”

“Aziraphale!”

“Yes, my dear?" Aziraphale affects an air of calm as he walks out of his shop and confronts his agitated demon. "What is it? I'm right here. You needn't shout."

“What have you … what have you done!?” Crowley motions to his car parked in its usual spot out front, the bakery bag of treats swinging from his closed fist.

Aziraphale tuts, approaching his husband carefully the way one might approach a wild animal, and relieves him of the bag. “You’re going to need to be a bit more specific.”

“Thisss!” Crowley hisses, motioning more emphatically. “What. is. this!?”

“What does it look like?”

“It looks like you put reindeer antlers and a giant red nose on my baby! And …” Crowley leaps bodily across the hood to point out an object inside “… what’s that hanging off the rearview?”

“That’s a candy cane air freshener!” Aziraphale takes a deep breath in and sighs. “So you can have a whiff of Christmas everywhere you go.”

Crowley’s eyes go snowglobe wide. “A whiff … of Christmas? A whiff of Christmas!?”

“Yes!” Aziraphale clasps his hands beneath his chin and gushes, “Isn’t it darling? I saw them in the shops the other day and I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist!”

“Darling? It’s tacky as shite, that’s what it is!”

“It’s festive! Besides, it’s not hurting anything!”

“Yes, it is! It’s bruising my soul as we speak!”

Aziraphale crosses his arms over his chest and rolls his eyes. “Must you be so dramatic?”

“And that’s not even the worst part!”

“What’s the worst part?”

“This!” Crowley grabs an antler and tugs hard, but the thing doesn’t budge, which makes Aziraphale bite his lips together for fear that he’ll start laughing and bust a button on his waistcoat. “My damned fool vehicle won’t let me take it off!”

“Oh …” Aziraphale clears his throat when his voice cracks. “I see. That’s an issue, is it?”

“It makes my car stick out like a sore thumb!”

“Oh, darling. It already does!”

“Yes, but for good reasons! Sleek, sophisticated, mysterious, sexy reasons! Aziraphale!” Crowley’s ranting slows. He leans, defeated, against his car and drops his head in his hands. “You’ve made me a laughing stock!”

And even though Aziraphale thinks his demon is blowing things wildly out of proportion, he’s beginning to feel guilty about how this turned out. Aziraphale knows what Crowley’s car means to him. Crowley has had the thing since new. It means more to him than his flat. If Aziraphale had hosed down Crowley’s flat with mistletoe and garland, it wouldn’t have garnered half this reaction.

In fact, Crowley is at his flat so rarely, Aziraphale isn’t sure whether or not he’d notice.

“I am sorry,” Aziraphale says, handing off the throttled bag of sweets to a concerned Madame Tracy and putting an arm around Crowley’s shoulders. “Would you like me to try and convince your Bentley to let me remove it for you?”

Crowley heaves a gigantic sigh and shakes his head. “There’s no use going back. What’s done is done. Leave it.”

“Are you certain?” 

Another sigh, this one shuddering. “It’s Christmas, innit? And Christmas is about making the ones you love happy. If this …” He gestures over his shoulder with a nod of his head, unwilling to turn and visually acknowledge the monstrosity behind him “… makes you happy, I’m willing to keep it.”

“I’m glad about that,” Aziraphale says, his grin returning by millimeters as he tries to remain sympathetic “… but not because it makes me happy. Because it makes your Bentley happy.”

And it does, ridiculously. Aziraphale has come to accept that Crowley’s car maintains a certain amount of sentience. It makes sense when he gives the matter a long, hard think. It’s a car owned by a demon, after all. For decades even. After a while, Crowley’s demonic influence would have seeped in. Aziraphale puts a gentle hand on the car’s hood, and he swears he feels the thing purring, contented by its cheery and fancy dress.

“Yeah, I guess it does, doesn't it?” Crowley admits, peeking at the car with the bright red nose, and antlers covered in jingle bells, its windshield reflecting a faint, rosy hue, like it might be blushing under all the attention. 

Crowley growls. 

“Traitor.”

[beautifulchaostrash]

Restless Beetles

_____________________________

Martin x Male Reader

Tws/Cws: brief mentions of bugs, implied NSFW, brief homophobia ment

Image credit

_____________________________

You stood nervously at the entrance of Cuda’s butcher shop. You really, really, should not have let your friends talk you into doing this. Bullied, you mentally decreed. They had actually bullied you, and you made a mental note to never again reveal your crushes to anyone.

You frowned to no one in particular and recited in your head the words you were going to say. Worrying at your lip, hesitant to take the final steps across the threshold. You were a stranger to him, you two had never spoken before and quite honestly you had no right to ask him out like this. But just as you had finally convinced yourself to turn back and go home, the universe decided it would be really funny to shove its entire fist up your ass. 

Bells jingled as the door opened suddenly, nearly knocking into you. You jumped back, and the figure that stood before you stiffened for a moment. Doey-brown eyes regarded you with a worried expression, accentuated by a pout on his lower lip. You gawked, stunned by his handsomeness. He quickly averted his gaze from yours, and turned down the steps, walking away from you with little fanfare. Seeing him leave filled you with a kind of panic, as if you were rudely ignoring the presence of a unicorn. 

“Hey, wait!”

He snapped his head in your direction, almost frightened, and lulled to a stop. You jogged towards him. 

“You’re Martin right? The new kid?”

He nodded, a few strands of hair falling in his face as he stared down at his shoes. 

“M-my name’s Y/N, and uh, well i was wondering if-” you swallowed, and let out an involuntary bout of nervous laughter. 

He tilted his head, side-eyeing you slightly, eyebrow twitching upwards. Oh boy, he definitely thought you were a weirdo now. You cleared your throat and tried to regain at least some kind of composure.   

“I was wondering if you wanted to like, go out sometime? I mean, I-uh, figured that I could show you around the town, ya know, since you're new and all,” You rubbed the back of your neck and glanced away. “A tour, if you’d like. If you’re too busy though, I totally understand I-”

“Sure,” he mumbled.

You flushed again at the sound of his voice, so soft, quiet, with a small hint of mystery behind it. It sounded like a fine champagne that had been opened only for a special occasion. It was there and then that you knew this man would become your addiction, your desire, something you wanted to gobble down and slowly savor all at the same time. You grinned, rocking back on your heels slightly.

“Alright then, does Saturday evening work for you?”

He nodded, and you were saddened that he did not use his voice to respond, but elated that he had accepted your proposal. 

“I’ll pick you up from your house at seven then, I gotta run f-for now, but i’ll see you later, ok?” 

You waved goodbye and brusquely started down the road in the opposite direction. You hated parting so abruptly, but if you had stayed any longer you would have been executed by the volley of cupid’s arrows that were waiting in the wings to pierce your tender heart. You shook your head at the stupid notion. For pete’s sake, you didn’t even know for sure if he was into guys. For all you knew, he was only saying yes so he would have the opportunity to send you home with a black eye and a broken rib, like so many before had done. 

No! You shook your head again, confident that Martin wouldn’t do anything like that. I mean, he does look kind of gay, or at least bi-curious, but chalking things up to appearance alone was childish and stereotypical. God, why on earth did you have to make it sound like such a date? You could've asked to “hang out”, or “get to know him”, but nooooo you had to jump head first into romantic shenaniganery. You mentally kicked yourself the entire walk home. 

....

Martin shuffled through the front door, having taken a longer route home so he could have time to think. Despite all the effort he had gone through to reach a conclusion about the earlier events, he had none. He was used to people being uncomfortable around him. Forcing smiles and how do you do’s when his eerily blank expression met theirs. Eyes darting around the room, finding any excuse not to be near this mute idiot. He was used to people being angry at him, terror and rage filling their eyes and minds as they ran after him with torches and weapons. The same anger and disgust that Cuda held in his own, not just for him, but for Christina, Arthur, and essentially anyone that was not himself. He was even used to people being attracted to him. Sexually attracted, mind you. He highly doubted whether Mrs. Santini was wondering about his day or how he was doing as she hungrily undressed him with her eyes. 

He pocketed his sunglasses and trudged up the stairs, the shoddy bell alarm signaling his arrival. He hung his jacket and sat down near the window, drawing his knees to his chest and gazing out at the rapidly dwindling sunset. 

“Y/N,”

He softly whispered the name like a prayer. You had acted so nervous, but not out of fear or discomfort. You beamed wildly when he replied positively to you. Smiling again as you waved him goodbye. You glanced back at him as you left, seemingly sad to leave. But what did it mean?

Boys never asked out other boys, at least none that he knew of, so it couldn’t possibly be a date. You were just trying to be friendly that’s all. But, then, why did you look at him like that? And why was your face so red despite the cool summer breeze? Maybe that’s why he said yes. He wanted to know why, what motive did you have, what could you possibly gain from befriending him. It scared him slightly, at least he knew Mrs. Santini got sexy stuff in return for being nice to him, but he didn’t know what you would want from him. 

Maybe it was just some elaborate trick intended to make him look like a fool. He hoped it wasn’t. He hated making a fool of himself, it only made it harder for people to take his sickness seriously. 

He always heard people talking about butterflies in their stomachs, they were referenced frequently in the romantic novels he read, but now, they didn’t feel like butterflies. He had beetles in his stomach, not fluttering all around, but crawling and squirming nervously at the bottom, condensing into a writhing mass of uncertainty. 

Auchums Razor came to shed the light, as his stomach growled and he realized that he was only hungry. He stood up and stretched, gangly arms reaching first for the ceiling, then behind his back. Maybe he could chase away the beetles with whatever Christina was cooking for dinner. 

As if on cue, he heard her voice calling from downstairs, asking him to set the table. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and lumbered down the stairs, marching ever closer to what felt like his doom, or possibly, his salvation.

[themousefromfantasyland]

The Ballad of Lenore

The Dead Travel Fast

By Gottfried August Bürger

Translated by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

This is an old ballad written by german poet Gottfried August Bürger. It was later referenced in Bram Stoker's Dracula, as Jonathan Harker cites "For the dead travel fast", here translated as "Bravely the dead men ride through the night."

Charles Dickens too alludes to this line in A Christmas Carol, during an exchange between Scrooge and the ghost of Marley ("You travel fast?" said Scrooge. "On the wings of the wind," replied the Ghost.)

The Aarne–Thompson–Uther Index classifies this tale as 365: "The DEAD bridegroom carries off his bride"

Up rose Lenore as the red morn wore, from weary visions starting; "Art faithless, William, or, William, art dead? Tis long since thy departing."

For he, with Frederick's men of might, in fair Prague waged the uncertain fight; Nor once had he writ in the hurry of war. And sad was the true heart that sickened afar.

The Empress and the King, with ceaseless quarrel tired, at length relaxed the stubborn hate which rivalry inspired. And the martial throng, with laugh and song, spoke of their homes as they rode along. And clank, clank, clank! came every rank. With the trumpet-sound that rose and sank.

And here and there and everywhere, along the swarming ways, went old man and boy, with the music of joy, on the gallant bands to gaze. And the young child shouted to spy the vaward, and trembling and blushing the bride pressed forward. But ah! for the sweet lips of Lenore the kiss and the greeting are vanished and o'er.

From man to man all wildly she ran with a swift and searching eye, but she felt alone in the mighty mass, as it crushed and crowded by.

On hurried the troop, a gladsome group. And proudly the tall plumes wave and droop. She tore her hair and she turned her round and madly she dashed her against the ground.

Her mother clasped her tenderly with soothing words and mild:

"My child, may God look down on thee. ⁠God comfort thee, my child."

"Oh! mother, mother! gone is gone! I reck no more how the world runs on. What pity to me does God impart? Woe, woe, woe! for my heavy heart! "

"Help, Heaven, help and favour her! ⁠Child, utter an Ave Marie! Wise and great are the doings of God; ⁠He loves and pities thee."

"Out, mother, out, on the empty lie! Doth he heed my despair,doth he list to my cry? What boots it now to hope or to pray?The night is come, there is no more day."

"Help, Heaven, help! who knows the Father ⁠knows surely that he loves his child. The bread and the wine from the hand divine shall make thy tempered grief less wild."

"Oh! mother, dear mother! the wine and the bread will not soften the anguish that bows down my head, for bread and for wine it will yet be as late that his cold corpse creeps from the grim grave's gate."

"What if the traitor's false faith failed, by sweet temptation tried? What if in distant Hungary he clasp another bride? Despise the fickle fool, my girl, who hath ta'en the pebble and spurned the pearl. While soul and body shall hold together, in his perjured heart shall be stormy weather."

"Oh! mother, mother! gone is gone, and lost will still be lost! Death, death is the goal of my weary soul, crushed and broken and crost. Spark of my life! Down, down to the tomb. Die away in the night, die away in the gloom! What pity to me does God impart? Woe, woe, woe! for my heavy heart!"

"Help, Heaven, help, and heed her not, for her sorrows are strong within. She knows not the words that her tongue repeats. ⁠Oh! count them not for sin! Cease, cease, my child, thy wretchedness, and think on the promised happiness. So shall thy mind's calm ecstasy be a hope and a home and a bridegroom to thee."

"My mother, what is happiness? ⁠My mother, what is Hell? With William is my happiness, ⁠without him is my Hell! Spark of my life! Down, down to the tomb. Die away in the night, die away in the gloom! Earth and Heaven, and Heaven and earth. Reft of William are nothing worth."

Thus grief racked and tore the breast of Lenore, and was busy at her brain.Thus rose her cry to the Power on high, to question and arraign. Wringing her hands and beating her breast, tossing and rocking without any rest, till from her light veil the moon shone thro', and the stars leapt out on the darkling blue.

But hark to the clatter and the pat pat patter! ⁠Of a horse's heavy hoof! How the steel clanks and rings as the rider springs! ⁠How the echo shouts aloof! While slightly and lightly the gentle bell. Tingles and jingles softly and well. And low and clear through the door plank thin comes the voice without to the ear within:

"Holla! holla! Unlock the gate; ⁠Art waking, my bride, or sleeping? Is thy heart still free and still faithful to me? ⁠Art laughing, my bride, or weeping?"

"Oh! wearily, William, I've waited for you, woefully watching the long day thro'. With a great sorrow sorrowing for the cruelty of your tarrying."

"Till the dead midnight we saddled not. ⁠I have journeyed far and fast, and hither I come to carry thee back ere the darkness shall be past."

"Ah! rest thee within till the night's more calm. Smooth shall thy couch be, and soft, and warm. Hark to the winds, how they whistle and rush thro' the twisted twine of the hawthorn-bush."

"Thro' the hawthorn-bush let whistle and rush. ⁠Let whistle, child, let whistle! Mark the flash fierce and high of my steed's bright eye, and his proud crest's eager bristle. Up, up and away! I must not stay. Mount swiftly behind me! up, up and away! An hundred miles must be ridden and sped ere we may lie down in the bridal-bed."

"What! Ride an hundred miles tonight. ⁠By thy mad fancies driven! Dost hear the bell with its sullen swell. ⁠As it rumbles out eleven?"

"Look forth! look forth! the moon shines bright. We and the dead gallop fast thro' the night. 'Tis for a wager I bear thee away to the nuptial couch ere break of day."

"Ah! where is the chamber, William dear, and William, where is the bed?

"Far, far from here: still, narrow, and cool; ⁠plank and bottom and lid."

"Hast room for me?"

"For me and thee. Up, up to the saddle right speedily! The wedding-guests are gathered and met, and the door of the chamber is open set."

She busked her well, and into the selle she sprang with nimble haste, and gently smiling, with a sweet beguiling, her white hands clasped his waist.

And hurry, hurry! ring, ring, ring! To and fro they sway and swing. Snorting and snuffing they skim the ground, and the sparks spurt up, and the stones run round.

Here to the right and there to the left, ⁠flew fields of corn and clover, and the bridges flashed by to the dazzled eye, as rattling they thundered over.

"What ails my love? The moon shines bright. Bravely the dead men ride through the night. Is my love afraid of the quiet dead?"

"Ah! no;— let them sleep in their dusty bed!"

On the breeze cool and soft what tune floats aloft, while the crows wheel overhead? Ding dong! ding dong! ’tis the sound, ’tis the song:

⁠"Room, room for the passing dead!"

Slowly the funeral-train drew near. Bearing the coffin, bearing the bier; and the chime of their chaunt was hissing and harsh, like the note of the bull-frog within the marsh.

"You bury your corpse at the dark midnight, with hymns and bells and wailing. But I bring home my youthful wife to a bride-feast's rich regaling. Come, chorister, come with thy choral throng, and solemnly sing me a marriage-song. Come, friar, come, let the blessing be spoken, that the bride and the bridegroom's sweet rest be unbroken."

Died the dirge and vanished the bier. ⁠Obedient to his call. Hard hard behind, with a rush like the wind, came the long steps' pattering fall. And ever further! ring, ring, ring! To and fro they sway and swing. Snorting and snuffing they skim the ground, and the sparks spurt up, and the stones run round.

How flew to the right, how flew to the left, trees, mountains in the race! How to the left, and the right and the left, flew town and marketplace!

"What ails my love? The moon shines bright. Bravely the dead men ride thro' the night. Is my love afraid of the quiet dead?"

"Ah! let them alone in their dusty bed!"

See, see, see! by the gallows-tree, as they dance on the wheel's broad hoop. Up and down, in the gleam of the moon, half lost, an airy group.

"Ho! ho! mad mob, come hither amain, and join in the wake of my rushing train. Come, dance me a dance, ye dancers thin. Ere the planks of the marriage-bed close us in."

And hush, hush, hush! the dreamy rout came close with a ghastly bustle. Like the whirlwind in the hazel-bush, when it makes the dry leaves rustle. And faster, faster! ring, ring, ring! To and fro they sway and swing. Snorting and snuffing they skim the ground. And the sparks spurt up, and the stones run round.

How flew the moon high overhead, in the wild race madly driven! In and out, how the stars danced about. ⁠And reeled o'er the flashing heaven!

"What ails my love? The moon shines bright. Bravely the dead men ride thro' the night. Is my love afraid of the quiet dead?"

"Alas! let them sleep in their dusty bed."

"Horse, horse! meseems 'tis the cock's shrill note, ⁠and the sand is well nigh spent. Horse, horse, away! 'tis the break of day. ⁠'Tis the morning air's sweet scent. Finished, finished is our ride. Room, room for the bridegroom and the bride! At last, at last, we have reached the spot, for the speed of the dead man has slackened not!"

And swiftly up to an iron gate with reins relaxed they went. At the rider's touch the bolts flew back, and the bars were broken and bent. The doors were burst with a deafening knell, and over the white graves they dashed pell mell;

The tombs around looked grassy and grim, as they glimmered and glanced in the moonlight dim.

But see! But see! In an eyelid's beat. Towhoo! a ghastly wonder! The horseman's jerkin, piece by piece, dropped off like brittle tinder!

Fleshless and hairless, a naked skull, the sight of his weird head was horrible. The lifelike mask was there no more, and a scythe and a sandglass the skeleton bore.

Loud snorted the horse as he plunged and reared, and the sparks were scattered round. What man shall say if he vanished away, or sank in the gaping ground?

Groans from the earth and shrieks in the air Howling and wailing everywhere! Half dead, half living, the soul of Lenore fought as it never had fought before.

The churchyard troop, a ghostly group, close round the dying girl; Out and in they hurry and spin through the dance's weary whirl:

"Patience, patience, when the heart is breaking. With thy God there is no question-making. Of thy body thou art quit and free. Heaven keep thy soul eternally!"

[happywitch416]

Chapter 80

They took a night to celebrate before the real work began. Nadia opened the palace to all of Vesuvia, Lucio had brought in enough food and wine to feed what was left of the city twice over. And while the people took their first breaths of freedom and began to bury the dead, the inner circle set to work hunting down Lucio's supporters. Vlastomil had been the simplest, and saddest. Rhena and Ris, with Asra and Orion’s support, had ripped open another portal to the magic realms and he disappeared with a shriek. She had almost passed out doing so, but it was worth it in the end for the peace of mind.

Valerius gazed imperiously over his wine glass as Nadia held court over another noble. "Their vineyards would bring in much-needed funds." 

Rhena huffed, looking over the property listing with wide eyes, her nose curled in disgust. "Not to mention the horses, who pays that for a horse?" She jabbed at the paper incredulously.

"Nobles." Muriel reminded her with a soft laugh, hands busy with whittling another charm. 

"Not all of us are fools." Valerius told them dryly, the corner of his lips turning up just slightly on one side. 

"Golden hooves?" Natiqa cackled from beside Rhena. "I can't wait to see them." 

"You could at least pay attention while this woman falsely accuses me!" Screeched the noble in question, spittle flying indignantly and arms spinning like a windmill. "Where's the justice here?" 

Rhena sighed, pushing away from the table to join Nadia on the dais. "It's not the Countess that accuses you, Nictis." She informed him, arms crossing with the flash and jingle of several bracelets. 

"Baron Nictis.” He sneered, tossing his peppered black hair back from his cold eyes. “Then who? The people of Vesuvia?"

Rhena's smile was a hard line. "I do." He blinked, watching her beringed fingers tap against her arm. "You have a choice, a deal perhaps." An eager, plotting smile spread across his face, drawing another low chuckle from Muriel as Valerius smiled behind his wine glass and Natiqa lounged like she was watching a beloved drama. "You can submit to the Countess and her justice for your crimes against the people of Vesuvia and for treason." Nadia had to try to keep a straight face, they had played out this scenario a dozen times already but she had discovered Rhena’s flair for the dramatic extended far past earning the laughter of the inner circle and family. Rhena waited until the noble started to fidget, eyes darting wildly, as she calmly shook out of the skirt of her dark red dress and arranged the drape of it just so. "Or you can let the Wood decide your fate." 

"The Wo-Wood?" He stammered, tugging at his heavily embroidered collar.

"Under my supervision, of course." The tilt of her head and soft smile made his blood turn cold. "I won’t have you destroying my Wood." 

"Anyone can walk out of the trees." He straightened, trying to sneer again, the image of the former doctor turned tree lurking in his mind as the other half of him tried to convince himself that the Countess wouldn’t let that happen to him. "It's just trees."

Her smile widened, the glimmer of sun in her green eyes the furthest thing from comforting he had ever seen. "Only as the Wood decides." 

The screams that echoed from the forest, tales of monsters and ghosts. The golems people spoke of, the giant wolves that were now watching him intently, froze his heart as the Court waited with held breath to hear his choice. He swallowed audibly, several times before straightening his robe and raised his chin. "I submit to the Court." 

Rhena turned to give Nadia a short bow. "Then I leave this in your capable hands, my lady." She winked, causing Nadia to hide a smile and laugh behind a cough. 

She rose to her feet, the power of Vesuvia in her hands and the weight of its responsibility on her shoulders. "Magician Rhena, stand as witness to the Court's decision." Rhena inclined her head to Nadia and turned back to the noble, fingers tangling together before her as she waited. Nadia made a great show of deliberating, but after speaking to the servants that had been trapped in the noble’s estate, the workers that came forward to speak of the conditions they suffered, his fate was sealed before he had finished introducing himself. "The Court finds you guilty of the mistreatment and abuse of the people in your care, and actively supporting and encouraging the destruction of Vesuvia." She took a long deep breath as the noble stammered weak protests, eyes wide as he stared at the Magician. The Magician whose other names were whispered behind trembling hands, the Gardener of Souls, the Witch of the Wood. "The Court is seizing your properties and accounts to be redistributed as deemed fit by the Court, and you are to be exiled." Her eyes narrowed into a withering glare. "You return to Vesuvia and your life will be forfeit." 

He gulped down air, his eyes never straying from the Magician. "I thank the Court for its benevolence." Exile was a better fate than being added to the Magician’s Grove, trapped and twisted into a tree, or worse. The guards led him out in chains in which he sagged in relief.

Rhena rolled her neck, letting it pop and crack before grinning at Nadia. "When are we going to tell people the tree thing was a one time deal?" 

"Never." Muriel suggested, wrapping his arm around Rhena who half shrugged in agreement. 

"The Magician’s Grove at least pairs well with the Red Market." Her nose twitched with mirth. "In an evil witch sounding way." Nadia shook her head with a warm smile

"You did say you wanted to be evil." Natiqa reminded her with a laugh.

Chapter 81

Rhena collapsed into bed beside him. The fact they ended up in the same bed seemed a miracle, and wouldn't have happened if Inanna hadn’t tracked her and Warg down and led them back to the hut. "This is exhausting." A sleepy grumble of affirmation answered her. "The shop is too small for us and Asra." 

"And Julian." She smiled at the half scowl in his voice. "Does he sleep?" 

"Well." She coughed, hiding her laughter. "Considering how we always know when he's went to bed, I'd say no."

A nearly incomprehensible mumble was all she got as he slung his arm over her waist and pulled her close, pressing a kiss between her shoulder blades. “We aren't any better.”

“No.” She grinned, leaning her head back against him. 

A huff of laughter left him. “And now you're awake.” She nodded, basking in his warmth as she mulled over the day’s dealings at the palace. With the family returned to Prakra and the Clouded Mountains, for the most part, there were fewer hands for even more work. Volta had asked timidly to help with the food shortages, she had more contacts for food than Rhena could have ever guessed. No one was going to starve while they waited for crops to grow and animals to recover. Her fingers danced along his arm as she hummed. She and Asra were working on something to help Volta with her endless hunger, to make the little demon woman’s life easier. It didn't feel enough to Rhena to pay the debt of gratitude they owed her, especially as she took up the day-to-day tending of the forest. Housing was a nightmare, where buildings were not destroyed, they were in need of repair, or had been in need of repair for years. And the repairs were going slow. She had spent most of the afternoon frustrated beyond belief that she could not anchor many buildings above the flooded district, and then had found out why when the ground opened up beneath her and dropped her shrieking into a tunnel. She deflated, now they had to contend with that too. She didn’t even have it in her to hope that the recent messages from other nations and city-states contained something useful. Muriel squeezed her gently. “There's that old farm on the edge of town.”

She nodded absentmindedly, wondering if the tunnels could be filled easily or if they should leave them for other purposes. “He was relieved to get a job in the palace gardens, I think. His wife is nice.”

“It's for sale.”

“Oh.” She turned to prop herself up on her elbow, hand smoothing across his chest as he stared up at her sleepy-eyed with a soft smile. “I figured it was taken.”

“It might be good.” She blinked several times, eyes near crossing and drawing a laugh from him. “You need sleep.” She rolled her eyes, which was promptly followed by a yawn. “It has room for a workshop.” He started quietly, he had walked past the place several times, and helped the old farmer and his wife move to the palace grounds. He had agreed to check it over when he was nearby, just in case. “The garden could be nice, and the apple trees are healthy. Barn needs some work, but the forest lines the back of it.” He swallowed hard, fingers smoothing along her cheek. “You’d have space to have your shop still.”

“Our shop.” She reminded him gently with a soft kiss to his palm. She had gotten to take a few commissions, mostly for repairs so the shop hadn’t felt crowded yet between her, Asra’s wares and tarot readings, and Julian’s temporary pharmacy. But what made her happiest was Muriel deciding to sell his carvings and protective charms. He couldn’t keep up with orders half the time and had finally agreed to let Rhena string them onto jewelry which didn't help. But they were going to run out of counter and space for supplies. He nodded, cheeks flushing slightly as his thumb trailed along her jaw. “Well. Let's go look at it in the morning then.” 

They had woken with the sun, a trill of excitement making Rhena bounce on her feet. The wolves flooded around them, twisting about their humans as they walked. It was a gentle stone building, instead of being hewn smooth like so many others in Vesuvia, the almost white stone held its natural shapes, carefully fitted together like a puzzle. The weathered blue door was nestled under a broken trellis, tired morning glories trying to weave their way up the wood. She let go of Muriel’s hand to wipe the dust from the window to peer in. The sun was just right in the sky behind her, casting it into mysterious darkness.

“I have the key.” Muriel rubbed the back of his neck. At her arched look, he shrugged. “Asked me to watch the place when they moved.” She nodded, watching him stick the key in the door, and took a deep breath before pushing it open. It was cool within and once her eyes adjusted, the wheels began to turn in Rhena’s head. 

The front room had a wide window on two sides, dust motes dancing in the sunlight. A long table with baskets that still smelled of good earth lined the top of the long table. Shelves lined the walls, some deep-set for more baskets, others with closed doors. The wood was dry, turned the grey of old age, was warped and pitted under her fingers. She could see it though. A glass-topped counter, one or two of the cabinets given glass doors to display their work. The wood either repaired or replaced with some dark and shining with geometric burns patterned onto some of their edges. Adding color to the room in reds and greens with touches of gold. The tapestries they had carried back on the walls, work tables carefully placed beneath the one window, chairs for customers in front of the other with a small table for making adjustments and working out commissions. 

Muriel took her hand, pulling her from the daydream to lead her through one of the three doors, pausing long enough to open one to show her a storage closet that ran the length of the shop room. It smelled like old dust, and a scittering of tiny feet caught Warg’s attention. They left him and Inanna to investigate as they moved into the living area. 

The empty space felt vast, room for some couches and chairs before the fireplace and then a table big enough for everyone. The kitchen took up the back corner. Enough counter space to be comfortable, the window over the sink looked out to the woods. The cabinets had seen better days, the doors hanging haphazardly. But the shelves looked sturdy still under all their dust. The stove needed a good cleaning too. A door led out onto a little porch, a clothesline hung limply between its poles, the barn that was missing more than a few boards was of a good size and Rhena gave Muriel a small grin at the chicken coop built to look like a smaller version of the house. 

He shook his head. “Come on.” He pulled her back inside and through the other door. It led into a hallway and Rhena’s first thought was the door had to go. It was an easy enough fix as she pushed open the next closest one. It led to a large airy bedroom, the ceiling vaulting into high arches and the large window easily opened to let in the breeze. The other two bedrooms were much of the same, just a bit smaller. 

“Oh. This is.” Rhena shook her head eyeing the broken tiles and dingy walls. “This bathroom is something.”

“I did say it needed work.” Muriel snorted.

She arched her brows with a small smile. “That is a lot of work.” Warg sprinted down the hall to them, skidded across the dust slicked tile, and knocked a stone clear out of the wall. Daylight glowed gently in as Rhena began to laugh. 

 It had needed a lot of work and working on it on their spare days when they weren’t rebuilding Vesuvia was not in their favor. Fall was becoming chilly instead of crisp when they moved the furniture in. Several craftsmen and women had come by over the past months offering their services to the Magician and the Champion. Another one was currently getting a tired half smile from Muriel who shook his head every time the man called him Champion as they discussed a window replacement outside the front door. Rhena ran a rag over the glass-topped counter again, the soft off-white linen ready to be lined with jewelry, charms, and carvings. A chin landed on her shoulder, fluffy white hair tickling her cheek. 

“We got the bedroom done.” Faust flicked her tongue from where she was twirled around his wrist. Rhena half-turned, her brows furrowing in concern that only made Asra laugh. “It's nice!”

A huff of laughter left her at that. “I would expect no less, but I didn’t know you were in there.”

His grin took a sly turn. “Just adding some finishing touches.”

“I haven't even seen it yet.” She half grumbled. She had spent the day unpacking supplies into the drawers and shelves Muriel had built into the long storage room and installing the lanterns and curtains. 

“Kitchen’s finished!” Portia and Julian appeared with matching grins. Julian sprawled across the freshly cleaned counter, causing Rhenas chin to drop to her chest with a huff. “Mi’lady sent food too, you won't have to worry about that for a few days.” She winked as Muriel came in. “All you need to do is break the place in.”

“Speaking of.” Asra looped his arms through Julian and Portia’s and towed them to the door. “We’ll see you this weekend!”

Laughing, Rhena and Muriel called out their goodbyes. At the front door. Rhena traced her fingers up the carved wood, the twin trees twisting up the sides before encircling the sunburst window in the center. “It came out beautifully.”

Muriel wrapped an arm around her waist with a soft smile. “You helped.”

She side-eyed him with a chuckle. “I just added the glass.” She tugged on his hand stepping through the door. “Come on, I haven't seen anything but the shop all day. And I'm dyyying.” She dropped her head back dramatically making him shake his head. He brushed his fingers across the inset lock behind them, the cool gems heating briefly against his skin. 

“It looks good.” His nose wrinkled as he eyed what had been dubbed his work table, which looked a bit like it had been arranged and then dismantled by rabid squirrels. “What did you do to it?”

She tugged on her hair a moment before giving him a sheepish smile. “I gave up trying to make it look pretty after I. Well.” She cleared her throat before holding up her hand, with its nice shiny red gouge along her thumb before turning her hand to show him the back of it that had several more nicks. “I figured if I couldn't keep from bleeding all over the table I should leave it be.”

He took her hand, brushing his thumbs across her knuckles with a tingle of warmth flaring across her skin, and healed them the rest of the way. He brought her hand to his lips for a gentle kiss before giving it a slight shake. “You work with hot metal.”

She wiggled her nose at him as her eyes narrowed playfully. “But it's not sharp.” 

They fell quiet as they looked about. Deep green curtains fluttered along the open windows, the whitewashing on the stone glowing behind the dark, shining wood shelves that lined the workspaces. The edges of the deep shelves were carefully burned in a repeating pattern around the room. The half-wall of shelves behind the counter had their own pattern, one Rhena had carefully inlaid with gold. Even empty they were lovely, gently drawing the eye from the gleaming glass countertop. A Kokhuri tapestry hung on the wall, framed by the shelves. The deep blue warmed the white wall, the gold pattern on the shelves picking up on the golden yellow on the red figures. Rhena had made special hangers for it, the gentle clasps wouldn't damage the fabric that told Muriel’s story. She squeezed his hand gently. 

“It looks nice.” His voice was barely above a whisper. She gave him a little smile, going up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek before pulling him through the beaded curtain that had replaced the interior doors.

Rhena let out a soft oh, she hadn’t seen it since helping to move the couches and table in. The same green curtains lined the room’s windows, the door to the outside had been replaced with a double door, the top half open to let the evening breeze in. Several vases of flowers lined the long table that sat eight. Rhena admired the table runner Portia had made, the deep red fabric was bordered with golden squares, the ends coming to tassled points. 

Muriel was investigating the cabinets and cold box. “Nadia sent enough food for ten people.”

“Less to cook this weekend when everyone is here.” She squeezed her eyes shut a moment with a groan. “I forgot to talk to the baker before we left.”

“I did yesterday.” Muriel was looking out the window towards the forest, only sort of ignoring the unfinished barn and the clothesline that still needed tightening. Inanna and Warg were chasing each other with reckless abandon through the fallen leaves. 

Rhena was watching him. He had worked in the kitchen for weeks, they had ended up tearing everything out. Each cabinet he had put together himself, carved the handles, and planed the countertop with his own hands. When she had helped him put them she decided if she hadn't already been madly in love with him before that, it would have sealed the deal. She shook her head, only slightly banishing the thought of what had happened on the counter after they finished installing it. But it did remind her. “Asra said he put finishing touches on our bedroom.”

Muriel’s thumb grazed his lip as he turned and half met her eyes. “I know.”

Rhena’s eyes narrowed. “You know.” She turned her nose up in mock indignation, hands settling on her hips. “No one told me.”

“It's a surprise.” 

“Oh, that's even worse.” She deflated dramatically. She squeaked when Muriel picked her up, brushing a kiss to his cheek when he smiled as he carried her down the hall. He nudged the door open gently with his foot and Rhena let out a gasp. She slipped out of his arms, eyes wide as she took in the bed. 

Trees made up the posts of the big bed, gnarled roots blending into the smooth wood floors, green wispy fabric draping from the lifelike leaves. Some of the leaves winked in the lantern light with the polished glimmer of gems and stones. She recognized the lanterns that hung delicately among the branches, ones Nadia had commissioned her to make for a garden area. She shook her head, a disbelieving smile on her face. Between the branches that grew together, the center showed the night sky. Auroras flickered between constellations, the sky of the Shining Steppe winking down at her with the warmth of Asra’s magic. 

“I don't even want to know how he did that.” Her voice quiet with awe before giving herself a shake and looking at the rest of the room. A table with drawers was fitted beneath one of the smaller windows they had added, several of her jewelry boxes on its top along with a gilded mirror on a stand. Jasmine tumbled from the top of the wardrobe, the doors echoing the trees of the bed. She turned to Muriel, mouth opening and closing. “When did you do all of this?”

He was leaned against the doorframe, watching her warmly and his arms crossed over his chest. “I don’t have to be at court as much as you do.”

A short laugh left her, head shaking with a wide smile. “I am not at court that much.” 

His fingers brushed against his chin thoughtfully, a smile breaking through. “No, but Asra helped keep you busy.” 

She settled her hands on her hips a mischievous grin appearing. “Well, I guess it's a good thing I had Nadia’s help for a surprise of my own.”

She twirled past him at the door, leading the way to what had been the saddest room in the house. Rhena opened the door with a flourish and snap of her fingers. The lanterns reflected off the blue tile, mosaics twirling up the walls to create a watery oasis that echoed the hot springs in the forest. What really caught his eye was the slightly smaller version of the bath they had shared at the palace. His aching muscles were ready. 

“How did you move it here?”

She held a hand to her heart in mock offense. “I didn't move it, what kind of woman do you take me for?” She grinned. “I grew it.” She settled on the edge, fingers trailing along the smooth stone. “It's not a habit I want to make but it's worth it.” She leaned back to tap the silver spigots. “Nadia knew a man who knew how to do the heating elements and sent the artists who did the tiles. They are helping restore the palace but they are wasted on repairs.” She shook her head, the iridescent shine of the tile danced in the light.

“And you made the lanterns.”

She nodded, turning a little shy. “Every single one in the house, I almost like making them more than I like doing jewelry.”

“Sounds fake.” He pulled her to her feet.

“I said almost.” She giggled, resting her forehead against his chest. “I didn't do anything with the other two rooms, did you?”

“Nope.” He huffed. “I don't know what to do with them.” She bit back a laugh. Her mother had already made suggestions as to what the rooms could be used for. They stayed wrapped around each other for a time, gently swaying to the beat of their hearts. “I have one more surprise.” He said quietly.

Rhena looked up at him, the corner of her mouth turning up as he led her back to the shop room before disappearing into the living room. He returned with a piece of wood, the edges carefully carved before handing it gently to her. It dwarfed her hands, the dark wood gleaming. Twin trees grew up the sides of the sign, mirroring the front door. The sunburst made the top, delicately carved with a glowing emerald set behind its curved line. “Heart of the Wood.” She murmured, the name they had picked for the shop one night amid slightly drunk giggles and heady sighs.

“Do you like it?” He fidgeted, fingers curling and uncurling at his sides

She looked up at him then, tears in her eyes as she nodded wordlessly. She helped him hang it above the door before wrapping an arm around his waist as she stared up at it. “It's ours.”

His fingers were gentle on her chin, tipping her face up to his. “It's ours.”

Heart of the Wood

[tracybirds]

@kenzie-running-free prompted me last week some time with:

Maybe a 'what-if' story based on "The Man From TB5" where the Hood recognized John in the scene when he makes himself known (Instead of John stuttering). Just an idea

mate what a STUNNER of an idea, I fell in love, have been lowkey obsessed for a week and I guess this is the result!! I hope you enjoy!! 

Any recognisable dialogue I stole from the episode itself but it’s a fairly loose interpretation bc what else are what-if stories are for?

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It was taking all of John’s considerable willpower to keep his arms locked down by his sides instead of allowing them to creep up and cross over his chest. He’d gotten several lectures from the last party he’d attended, Penelope telling him gently but firmly that it was unacceptable for him to stand glowering at her guests from the corner. Lady Penelope didn’t ask – she demanded – and John had always known that when enough time had passed, he’d be expected to make another appearance. She had never understood, or perhaps never tried to understand, the way his skin crawled when people sidled up to him, the way his body flinched away from the bursts of laughter that spilled from other people’s lips. The idea that he kept his hands clenched to stop them shaking was foreign to her, and that he crossed his arms not out of anger or impoliteness, but because they allowed himself enough personal space to stop and breathe despite the crowd trying to crush his lungs, was not something that ever crossed her mind.

He took a step back and tried to smile weakly at the newest patrons who were taking an interest in him, discreetly breathing through his mouth. The strong scents that people insisted on wearing were making his nose run and made his difficulty breathing much more than an imagined reality.

He should have taken Scott up on his offer to swap roles earlier, or even allowed him to spill the beans strategically in the hearing of his younger brother – Gordon’s delight at the thought of attending a party with Penelope had come much too late to be of any use to him. John poked at the lapel on his jacket, excusing himself from the gossiping group with another grimace and a wave of his hand. Even if he was stuck, he knew he could call on his brothers to help ground him when it all became a bit much and all the noises around him began to crash together in a cacophony of sound inside his head while the bright flashes of colour made him want to back away and squeeze his eyes shut.

“Scott, I’d like to report a situation,” he muttered out of the corner of his mouth, nodding absently at a waiter who passed by him.

There was a faint beeping in his ear and John frowned.

“Scott, come in.”

Still silence, and John could feel the panic bubbling in his chest at the thought that his brother had abandoned him.

“Scott?”

The words were whispered helplessly, his back firmly against the solid wall and his eyes starting to feel wet. He shuddered faintly and suddenly, there was a hand hovering hesitantly over his shoulder and clear, calm eyes looking into his.

“What’s got you into a tizzy, now?” murmured Parker, and John nearly collapsed at the sound of someone familiar.

“I’m fine,” he gasped.

Parker snorted.

“I told milady that this would be too much,” he said with a sniff. “She should have warned you.”

John startled at the confession of disagreement between them. He was touched that Parker would go out of his way to even pass a comment on Penelope’s decision, firstly to bring him along, and then to lie to get him to agree.

No, not lie. Lady Penelope never lied. She left out details, she exaggerated, she understated, but she never lied.

Parker was still eyeing him with considerable concern and John realised his head had fallen into his hands, arms no longer trapped by his sides.

“It’s Scott,” he said. “He’s been checking in, so has Brains, and the others. I can’t get a hold of them.”

“That’s not like them,” said Parker with a frown, and John felt cold relief spreading through him that his fears weren’t entirely unfounded.

“Try h’again.”

John poked at the lapel, feeling a little silly, and called out softly. “Gordon? Alan? Can you read me?”

Crickets.

“EOS, is this another of your jokes?”

More silence.

“Scott, please,” he whispered, looking desperately up at Parker as he did so. He knew rationally something deeper was going on, something much more sinister than a family abandoning a brother to his fate, but still the old anxieties of being too much and not enough for people to stick around reached down into his gut and knotted his intestines together.

He felt sick.

“H’allow me to speak to milady,” said Parker. The serious tone grounded John more than he expected, and he nodded. Parker walked off and John watched his movement across the auction floor to the group of socialites Penelope had gotten caught up in, her tinkling laugh heard clearly throughout the room.

Parker whispered in her ear and Penelope looked up sharply at his words, her eyes catching John’s pinched gaze from across the room. She nodded once, dismissively, and Parker slunk away to patrol the perimeter while Penelope extracted herself from the group with a gracious inclination of her head and a charming smile.

“You can’t get a hold of your brothers?” she asked quietly, as she slotted into place beside him.

John shook his head.

“Do you think there’s been a communications failure?” he asked, hoping for some external reassurance.

Penelope narrowed her eyes as she considered the situation.

“John, are you willing to believe that Tracy Island has experienced a communications failure knowing what your family does? Are you willing to believe that of Five?”

He could never, and he knew she knew that.

“I very much doubt this is a mere comms failure, John.”

Penelope eyed up her guests carefully, appraising each of them as they walked by and searching for any sign of foul play.

“I can’t imagine any of the guests being involved. I invited them because they had have more money than sense and that’s what really sells at an auction – two fools in a bidding war.”

John looked at her, wondering at the way she perceived the people around her.

“So you think it’s serious?”

“John, I think everything is serious.”

She looked up at him, slightly frustrated.

“I have to start the auction. Will you be all right?”

John smiled tightly at her and Penelope’s frown deepened.

“That is not reassuring, John.”

“Can’t help it,” he replied in a low voice. “When you’re worried, I can’t help but think everything’s about to go to hell in a basket.”

Penelope pursed her lips together and scanned the room one last time.

“Find out for me what’s causing the comm jam. And if you can, find out why.”

With that, she turned on her heel and strode up towards the podium, charming façade firmly in place.

Penelope never asked, she demanded.

It was helping, having a problem laid in front of him, tempting and waiting to be solved. John narrowed his eyes, allowing the parameters to define themselves in his mind.

The faint jingle of glittering bracelets and dainty earrings. The luxury of satins and silks. The rich colours and the haughty looks. The exclamations over recent purchases and loose connections to the even more rich and the even more famous.

Wealthy, airheaded patrons.

“The reception here is positively dreadful,” complained a woman as she walked past.

No communications in or out.

“Welcome everyone,” called Penelope warmly from the stand. The chatter began to die away as everyone gathered around her.

An isolated auction at a secret location.

A thief then, a pickpocket as Parker had idly mentioned before.

“Our first auction item is a gracious donation from International Rescue.”

A thief with a vested interest in International Rescue’s London agent. A thief with a vested interest in International Rescue themselves. A thief with access to a sophisticated computer system capable of hacking through the firewalls he’d set up personally around Penelope’s network.

No, he thought, more likely the invitations sent out to the people gathered here was at fault.

Surprised murmuring at the outrageous bidding happening around him broke his focus for a moment, but John quickly dismissed the background noise.

He didn’t have Penelope or Parker’s experience in the field by any means; John had always preferred to keep his sleuthing restricted to impersonal companies that had condemned themselves with unethical actions that the barest tweak of data leakage could wreak havoc over. But he was no dummy. He could add two and two together.

“The Hood.”

“That’s exactly right.”

A gasp rippled around the room as the snooty man Penelope had steered him away from earlier stepped forward and revealed himself.

Penelope’s eyes met his, determined and unsurprised at the intrusion. No doubt she’d worked it all out before him.

There was another gasp as the serving staff stepped forward, armed with cruel smiles and tasers. John was pulled roughly from his position and half led, half dragged to the front when the facial scanner drew a negative.

He wasn’t certain whether he should curse Brains or thank him.

“This one doesn’t show up on the system.”

The Hood paused and shot the man an irritated glare, cut off mid-gloat.

His eyebrow raised as he looked John up and down.

“Now,” he said with a mocking smile. “Who exactly are you?”

“Me?” asked John. in faux surprise. His eyes glanced around the room wildly, spotting the mirrors that reflected Penelope and her hands, spelling out a message to him.

“Uh, nobody,” he said, now concentrating on the rapid motion of Penelope’s hands.

We can’t let him get away with this, she was signing frantically. That, John could agree with.

“Uh I… won a ticket!” he exclaimed, seizing upon a flash of inspiration. “At… uh, work.”

John gave the Hood his best bemused look and waited with bated breath.

The Hood narrowed his eyes. Then he straightened his posture with the satisfied air of someone who had just snagged a major prize.

“I’m afraid, John Tracy,” he said in a silky manner. “That I just don’t believe what you have to say.”

The world crystallised around John in a moment of sharp understanding. The Hood knew who he was. The Hood had not come across the auction by a chance view of the invitation spread amongst the global elite. The Hood had hacked Penelope’s datastream, sidestepped his security and gathered enough information to know who he was to Penelope and who he was to International Rescue.

The Hood wasn’t here for pocket change.

The Hood was here for him.

“How delightful it is to see you in the flesh,” he said. “How long has it been since you’ve stepped out into the light? Seven years? Eight?”

His tone was light and conversational but John could see the malice glinting in his eyes. The Hood leaned in and he flinched away at the breath that brushed against his ear.

“I know,” the Hood whispered. “I know about your experiments in programming sentience. I know about the AI.”

He laughed as John twisted away from him, revulsion, anxiety, desperation in his eyes.

“Let me tell you what is going to happen, Lady Penelope,” he said turning his sickening, parasitic smile back on his host. “I am going to take your dear friend John away with me for a while. It’s been a long time since we last saw each other, and I’d like to get reacquainted.”

“No,” breathed Penelope, struggling in the grip of the goon that held her.

“Oh, yes,” said the Hood with relish. “John is coming with me, and in the meantime you are going to call International Rescue and keep them busy for me.”

He smirked, and John felt the heady rush of goosebumps breaking out across his body.

“After all, we have so much to discuss.”

“What makes you think I would call International Rescue to the scene?” demanded Penelope, drawing herself up to the full height her heels afforded her. “I could just as easily give them your coordinates.”

The Hood casually withdrew a tablet from his jacket pocket and showed her display.

“Because I have set up laser cutters on each of the cables that holds up this fine establishment.”

He pressed a button, and there was a large jolt as the hotel settled on the suddenly weakened cable. Penelope’s eyes flitted between her panicked guests and the cool turquoise of John’s gaze. Parker was struggling with the man who held him, furious at the mark that John being kidnapped would leave against his professional record. John looked at them both and took a deep breath.

“I’ll go with you,” he said, thinking of the scared people that filled the room. Thinking of how his family would be able to reach them if he left, how the Hood would give them a fighting chance.

“As long as he has control of those laser cutters, he calls the shots,” he said in an undertone to Penelope. “I’m sorry, I have to go with him.”

“You damnably noble idiot,” she hissed back as he was roughly pulled away. “Of course you do.”

“Put this on,” said the Hood with a triumphant smile.

John put on the harness, wondering for a moment if the Hood was really so arrogant as to allow him to leave under his own power. Perhaps it was the image of betrayal he was hoping to leave behind – the idea that he might have left willingly. As if his brothers would ever believe that.

He was roughly thrown from the window and a startled yell escaped his lips as gravity – always gravity – pulled him down towards the surface of the earth. There was a whirring sound and faint laughter above him as his descent came to a sudden halt. The Hood fiddled with his screen again and John felt himself accelerating upwards until he was level with his captor.

“I’m in control now.” He jabbed one finger at the tablet again and John heard the low humming of powerful lasers and rotating machinery deep in the pit of his stomach.

“I wish you luck, Lady Penelope,” he called. “To you and your guests, and to International Rescue. Let’s see them pull off another fantastic rescue in your honour.”

John was dragged away by mechanical wings, Valkyries carrying him away from the battle he’d rather stay and fight.

He had one last thing he could give, one ace up his sleeve.

“Penelope, catch!” he cried, and pulled out the laser cutter Brains had hidden away.

He could see where it landed, clattering at her feet and she stooped to pick it up.

He hoped it would be enough.

[Part 2]

[marimeetsmischief]

the Safety of a Mask - Chapter One

read on Ao3

summary: Two years ago, Ladybug and Chat Noir faced off against Hawkmoth for the last time. Two years ago, Marinette Dupain-Cheng and Adrien Agreste were forced to give up their miraculous in the months after the final battle. They never got the chance to tell each other who they were, or have any kind of life together. Two years ago, everything just... stopped.

Marinette has been locked in grief for two years and no one even knows what happened to Adrien. The betrayal of his father, Nathalie, the permanent loss of his mother, Plagg and his Ladybug, he had every reason to grieve.

But now Paris is faced by a new villain, with an all-new Miraculous, and all anyone wants to know is...

Where are Ladybug and Chat Noir?

A tiny set of pink lips parted widely, a soft and sweet yawn escaping them. As she always was this early in the morning, Marinette Dupain-Cheng was exhausted. Even with years of filled up schedules and even a double life for a while, she had never quite adjusted to the lack of sleep. Now, even though she was twenty years old, she was still just as exhausted by it as she had always been. It was hard for her to find much energy anymore, or inspiration or creativity of any kind. It wasn’t exactly hard to pinpoint the moment those things had left her either. But, as much as she wished otherwise, there was nothing she could do about it anymore.

She took a moment to stretch, yawning again before letting her arms fall at her sides, hitting her hand on a macaron display in the process. The little wire tower wobbled for a moment as she froze in place, praying for some kind of good luck to keep it from falling, but it was pointless. Her luck had left her two years ago, she knew that much. The tower shuddered one last time, and as it started to settle, one of the legs happened to shake right off the edge of the counter, toppling the whole thing over and covering Marinette in the pastel cookies.

“Figures,” she muttered hollowly, dusting them off of her and sighing helplessly. It was a good thing that her and her parents had learned to be prepared for this kind of thing. She picked up the macarons carefully, and arranging them haphazardly with the tray of croissants she had overcooked slightly this morning when she had fallen asleep in the kitchen. Because of her frequent mishaps, they had decided to have a little section that was aptly named the “Marinette Special,” which was just a teasing way of saying pastries and cookies that were half off because of some accident or another. At least this way, the thought had been, they don’t completely lose out on money. And sure enough, people didn’t mind buying dented macarons or crunchy pastries since Tom Dupain’s recipes were still the best around. After she’d set those up on the discount tray, she disappeared into the back, grabbing a replacement tray of macarons to arrange on the wire tower.

Coming back into earshot of the front door, she head the little bell jingle and whispers of the tiniest voice leaking into the kitchen. Practically throwing down the tray, Marinette dashed out of the kitchen, looking around wildly for the source of the voice, trying desperately to spot what she was so sure had to be the little red kwami. When her eyes landed on a little girl in the arms of her mother, she tried her best not to be surprised. After all this time, she wasn’t sure what she expected.

—-

Two Years Before

“Master, please, you can’t,” Marinette pleaded tearily, holding the red kwami to her chest and slowly backing away from the Guardian she had trusted so wholeheartedly.

“Marinette, I would not ask for this if I was unsure. The powers of the Miraculous will be needed elsewhere, and I cannot make another mistake with them.” Wang Fu’s words were solemn, the whole speech dripping with sadness at the heartbreak he had to inflict on a girl he cared deeply for. Marinette and Tikki were both in tears, not sure how they could ever say goodbye to each other. Fu had already collected the black cat Miraculous, having hoped it would be the easier of the two, but Plagg had put up much more of a fight than he ever had before. After having to fight through that interaction, the poor old man was tired, and thoroughly broken.

“Oh Marinette, I’ll never be gone from you,” Tikki said softly, pain in her voice as she floated up, kissing the tip of her chosen’s nose. “You’ll always be my Ladybug, Marinette. And we’ll be together again soon, I just know it,” she added, trying to show some kind of smile and bravery. Marinette could do nothing but sob once more and wipe her eyes, nodding. With shaking hands, she slowly took the familiar earrings off, holding them out to Master Fu and dropping them into his hands. The sudden coldness on her earlobes broke her heart more than she thought it would. She closed her eyes and turned away, crying softly as the door opened and shut with a very final sounding click. “Tikki, I renounce you,” she mumbled, barely audible at all. Her shoulders heaved with body racking sobs, feeling the warmth of her friend leave her once and for all, like all the light in the world had gone out.

——

Marinette quickly shook her head, forcing the memory from her mind and trying to focus on the customer in the bakery, taking a moment to comprehend that both the girl and her mother were frantically pointing at something behind her. As soon as she was alerted to it, her nose recognized the smell of smoke and she whirled around, rushing into the kitchen.

“NO! No no no no no,” she muttered angrily, flinging the door of the oven open, and grabbing for the tray. In her rush, she had forgotten that her hands were bare, and screeched rather loudly. By now, the smell of smoke and the scream of pain had alerted her father to some kind of crisis and his heavy steps sounded on the stairs, rushing down them to find the problem. When he got down the stairs, he was greeted with the sight of his poor daughter on her knees in tears, clutching her hand carefully with a tray of blackened cookies next to her. Upon seeing him, she cried even more, trying to make her way onto her feet without using her hand somehow.

“Papa, I’m so sorry, I spaced out and-“ he quickly cut Marinette off and pulled her into a crushing hug, petting her head carefully.

“Shush now, sweetheart, you hurt yourself, please don’t apologize.” Tom knew his daughter had always been clumsy and a little odd, maybe even rough around the edges, but she had been so much worse in the last year especially. She had never burned her hand this badly before, and it broke his heart to see her apologizing to him when she was the one hurting. He pulled away, helping to lift her onto her feet and finally met her teary eyes with the softest look only a concerned parent could hold. “It’s okay, Marinette, I’ll handle this, and you go to the hospital to get that hand checked out, okay?”

At first she wanted to protest, trying to muster the strength to play off the burns and convince him that she was okay. When she looked into his eyes, she knew that there was no fooling him though, and just nodded dejectedly. She started up the stairs, tearing up again as she climbed them. She made a beeline for her room, ignoring her mother’s attempts to talk to her, concern laden in her voice. She grabbed her purse, and pulled her apron off, forgetting for a moment about her burned hand only to cry out when she used it to grasp the rough fabric. She descended from her room, stopping at the top of the stairs into the bakery when she heard her parents talking.

“Tom, I can’t stand seeing her like this,” Sabine sighed tiredly. Even though she couldn’t see her mother’s face, Marinette could hear the tears starting to creep into her voice.

“I know, honey, but I don’t know what else to do. You know as well as I do, nothing we’ve tried has worked. She doesn’t talk to anyone, she doesn’t go out, she doesn’t even sketch designs anymore!” Her father’s voice was shaky, pain present in every wobbly syllable. Tom Dupain was always the steady one, the rock in the great storm of life. At least, that’s what Marinette thought of him. But because of her, he was hurting, she thought.

“Well maybe we could give her a break from the bakery. Or even get her out of Paris, send her on a trip with her grandmother? We have to try something.”

Deep down, she knew that it was only said out of worry. She knew her parents loved her dearly, even with all the accidents and vacantness she had held lately. But when she heard those words, the only thing her brain could process was that they wanted to get rid of her. And in her mind, they were right to. She had fallen apart after everything that had happened, and she honestly wasn’t sure how she would ever be okay again.

Somehow, Marinette held back the overflow of tears that was gathering at her eyes, keeping the floodgates up long enough to run down the rest of the stairs, out the door and halfway down the block before letting it all out.

——

To be entirely honest, Marinette had no idea how she had managed to make it all the way to the hospital. That had to be some kind of miracle, of course, given her track record. She had been in a daze for the whole walk there, vaguely knowing where she was going, but not much more than that. Thankfully, she had found the hospital somehow and headed for the first set of doors she saw, too many tears in her eyes to bother reading the signs around her. The automatic doors whooshed open in front of her, and she stepped into the chilly air and hugged her shoulders tightly. She hadn’t anticipated this level of air conditioning, dressed in just a pink tee shirt and black skinny jeans. Marinette awkwardly approached the front desk, finally realizing that she probably wasn’t at the right entrance, but not sure how else to get there but ask directions.

“Uh, erm, hi, I’m looking for the emergency room?” she asked, her voice hesitant and soft as she stumbled over the words. At first, the woman at the front desk seemed annoyed, slapping her magazine closed with a loud sigh. However, as soon as she noticed Marinette’s tear stained face and red eyes, her gaze softened and she took pity on the girl.

“It’s a little confusing to find it from here, give me a second and I’ll call someone to escort you, alright?” she said, trying to be as comforting as possible with her tone. Then, she picked up a walkie talkie off of her desk and pushed the call button and began to talk into it. Marinette at this point had nodded and looked around her, trying to find some sign of where she was. The inside of the room was stark white and bare, bright fluorescent lights that could have given her a headache. She’d always hated the way hospitals were cold like this, even though she knew it had to do with cleanliness. Finally, someone showed up and the nurse at the desk motioned for her to follow him out the door she had come in, which she quickly did. Or rather, tried to, almost instantly crashing into a tall man dressed in designer looking clothing. She fell to the floor, toppling backwards slightly with a squeak. Quickly shaking her head to clear the confusion and disoriented feeling from her limbs, she scrambled up, muttering high pitched apologies as she rushed to follow the orderly. Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at the person she had knocked into, confusing herself when she thought that they looked a little familiar. As she hurried out the door, she didn’t notice the blonde head of hair shake in disbelief, or the bright green eyes widen in recognition. She definitely didn’t hear the person softly mumble her name as they watched her speedwalk to keep up with the orderly’s longer legs. What she did notice, however, was the lettering over the doorway that read “St. Bernadette Psychiatric Institute.”

What a place to mix up with the ER, she thought to herself, shaking her head. I’m lucky she didn’t see my excessive crying as a danger and have me committed. She shuddered at that thought, not even remembering that the man she had run into had seemed familiar in the slightest. Noticing that her guide was already a few paces ahead of her, she tried to stop thinking entirely, picking up her pace in order to not lose sight of him. By the time they had reached the emergency wing, she was thoroughly winded, and thanked him profusely between panted breaths before heading for the correct set of doors.

——

After about four hours of waiting and talking to doctors and nurses, Marinette left the hospital with her hand carefully bandaged, a prescription for a topical salve that would help it heal, and instructions to change the bandage every day. With all the time she had had to think and figure her mind out, she felt a little soothed, though not enough to be completely relaxed. She had no idea how she was going to talk to her parents after she had left the house in such an emotional state. It was even harder to think about telling them that she had heard their conversation about sending her away. She wasn’t sure why she was so opposed to the idea, but something in her was screaming at her that she had to remain in Paris. It wasn’t like she really had anything there for her at the moment. She wasn’t taking any classes, didn’t have any internships, and she couldn’t even remember the last time she had even spoken to someone that could be considered a friend. In fact, if she really thought about it, she hadn’t really spoken to anyone after she had taken her final exams at Françoise-Dupont. If she was in a better state of mind, maybe that would bother her more, but as it was, she wasn’t really sure how she felt about it.

Losing Tikki when she hadn’t expected it had taken a lot away from her. It was almost as if all the progress she had made while being Ladybug was heavily reverted, and she ended up even worse than she had been when she took on the mask. Her creativity had plummeted, her clumsiness skyrocketed, and even her luck got worse. Of course, if she had lived a normal life, it would have just been labeled as depression. But she wasn’t exactly normal, and she knew that. There were times when she almost wished she had never even become Ladybug in the first place. After growing so used to having Tikki and her powers, Marinette had grown to feel kind of useless without them. In her mind, her classmates had probably been relieved when she drifted away from them and eventually just vanished from their lives. It wasn’t like she could remember how much they had tried to stop her anyways, the last months of her time in school flashing by like a meaningless blur. But that was two years ago. Was two years a long time to go without really having friends? Did it really matter, in the long run? After all, no one had made any recent attempts to reach out, so she had to be right about her absence being some kind of relief… right?

“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” she groaned out loud, picking up her pace as she walked back to the bakery. She wanted to get back already and have this awful conversation with her parents, not even caring what the outcome would be anymore. Even if her gut told her to remain in Paris, she didn’t see why she had to listen to it, especially since she had reminded herself once again that she had nothing to keep her here. Maybe if she went with her grandma, she could find another source of inspiration, or anything at all to keep her going, and get her off of the train towards lifelessness she was stuck on. It was a hard decision to think about, the idea of leaving the place she had been raised, even if only for a month or two. By the time she had made it to the bakery, she was thoroughly confused and conflicted, having twisted her mind up with every pro, con, and what if scenario.

“Mama, Papa, I’m back!” she called out to the empty bakery, looking around. Apparently they had closed for the lunch break already, so she popped upstairs and found them sitting at the table, a sandwich already prepared for her. That little gesture put a smile on her face and she greeted them both with love, kissing their cheeks softly.

“Marinette, sweetie, how’s your hand?” her mom asked her immediately, standing up to check on her and make sure she was okay. She just shrugged it off, chuckling in a way that was a little less forced than normal.

“It’s alright, they said the burn was only a second degree, so there might be some blistering but I’ll be okay. I picked up the prescription salve they gave me on the way back.” She sat down at the table with them, trying to figure out how to eat the sandwich with only one hand before her mother stopped her, laughing and shaking her head.

“Here, here, let me cut it into small pieces,” she said, standing up and grabbing a knife, cutting the sandwich into eighths that were small enough to be picked up with only one of Marinette’s dainty hands. “Do you want anything to drink, sweetheart?” she asked after she had cut the lunch up, moving to the fridge. “There’s still some lemonade left from yesterday’s lunch, if you want that.”

“That’s perfect, mama, thank you,” she said softly, becoming increasingly worried by the careful way they were treating her. They had always been fairly gentle with her, but this porcelain doll treatment was even more worrying than normal. She hurried to swallow the bite of sandwich she had taken, wanting to talk before they got the chance to say whatever they were clearly worried about bringing up. “Listen, I know I haven’t… been exactly myself for a while, and I’m sorry it’s worried you so much. With everything that happened at the end of my last year of school, I think I got a little confused with what I wanted and who I wanted to be.”

She paused, pursing her lips and wrinkling her eyebrows in thought as she searched for the right words. It was hard to understand what she wanted to say, even for her. Did she want to stay or go? Should she even bring up that she had heard their conversation? Would that just cause more problems, or should she just approach it head on like she always had so much trouble doing. So many years of carefully crafted and elaborate plans, sometimes she thought she had forgotten how to just be direct, even with herself or her parents.

“Please don’t send me away,” she finally admitted abruptly, looking down at her plate as she willed the tears not to fall. She gritted her teeth and steeled herself, trying to appear to be steady, even just for her parents' sake. “I understand why you think that might be a good idea for me, but here, with you, is where I belong.”

Her parents were definitely shocked by her sudden eloquence. It definitely wasn’t what they expected from their daughter. They couldn’t help but be proud of her for it though, and nodded, glad that she had managed to tell them how she felt about it all. None of them could really phrase any of the intense emotions in the room, so they settled for exchanging a set of loving and understanding looks before settling in to finish the lunch in silence. Thankfully, it wasn’t awkward, and the silence didn’t last the whole way through. After about ten minutes of quiet chewing, Marinette dropped an entire slice of tomato on her lap, groaning exasperatedly before meeting her parents eyes, all three of them bursting into cheerful and amicable laughter. A little bit of tried and true Marinette brand clumsiness had been exactly what they needed to get back to normal, and the meal continued with a series of teasing bread related puns from her father and amused giggling from her mother, punctuated by the odd groan or grumble from Marinette. This was who they had always been, after all. For all their messes and worries, the Dupain-Chengs were possibly the least dysfunctional family in Paris, and that would never change.

[figurctives]

      a week and a half after the baby shower, despite all she’s done to avoid him, henri runs into theo. on her flight back from hong kong, she’d convinced herself that she was going to confront him immediately, that she needed to break it off clean. whatever ‘it’ was. but the second her feet had touched the ground she’d been overwhelmed with nerves, and suddenly the last thing she wanted to do was be within a ten foot radius of him. it’s easy to avoid him with her being in new haven. she deletes his number and ignores all his texts, practices over and over again in her head what she’s going to say when she finally has to courage to say it. 

      but he catches her off guard, showing up to yale of all places. it’s another alumni event, a charity fundraiser to start construction on a new building for the business department, as if they even need it. she’s only planning to stay for an hour, in and out, when she catches theo’s eyes across the room. her face pales as he smiles at her. he isn’t even a yale alum. her hour turns into twenty minutes as she places her half empty champagne flute on a table and slips out the nearest exit. out in the hall, her pace picks up. she doesn’t want to have this conversation right now, but with each stride she takes her anxiety subsides in order to make room for the vexation that surges. she stops short as she rounds a corner, the sight of theo at the end of the hall meeting her unexpectedly.

      “are you... avoiding me, henrietta huang?” he asks, mouth tilted and eyes cunning. handsome. devilishly.  her blood still boils at the thought of all the lies he’s sprouted. the fake concern and the fake reassurance. every time she turned around he’d been laughing at her back, concocting plans and drawing her in further. it makes sense to her now, why he’d convinced her to meet his colleagues, why he’d never been that careful about keep things between them hush. he wanted people to know. henri sees it now, even if it is a little too late. 

      “were you going to tell me? or just wait until leonard announced it?” she asks in return. “i mean, what was your plan? did you think i was just going to pretend that you aren’t a lying asshole? was i just some game to you, like all the rest of it?” with each question, her voice grows sterner, angrier. 

      “one question at a time, henri.” theo says. his tone is petulant, she’s never noticed before. he watches her intently, putting the pieces together in his head. analyzing, calculating. 

      “how could you do that to sinclair?” is the questions she settles for. 

      the switch happens so quickly that she almost thinks she’s imagined it. his entire demeanor changes, his face turning cold. a different person. not the theo that had waltzed her through her break up and tried to fill the sinclair shaped hole in her heart. the real theo, she realizes. 

      “what did he tell you?”

      “everything.”

      “and you believe him? after he lied to you all those weeks, after he kept this from you for months?” theo’s face melts back into a look of concern, and he takes a step closer. “he told that it was father’s decision, then? leonard is just doing what he feels is best for the company he cultivated. there’s no malicious intent behind my decision to accept his offer. what would i gain from crossing the son of one of the most powerful men in business?”

      henri tenses as he closes the gap between them, reaching for a strand of her hair and curling it around his finger. “everything he has that you want. but it’s not yours to take, theo.”

      “i didn’t take it, stop being so childish,” theo sighs, letting her dark hair fall back against her shoulder. “it was given to me. on a silver platter and chilled in ice. i’d be a fool to decline, and sinclair isn’t cut out for the job, anyways. he has a temper, as i’m sure you know, and he makes his decisions recklessly. he’s just a boy, and leonard needs a successor now. for christ’s sake, henri, he let you think that he’d cheated on you for months rather than just tell you the truth–”

      “and you let me believe that you actually cared about him. for months. without telling me the truth,” she counters. theo’s expression stiffens, but his only reaction is a small, pitying smile. 

      “well, i probably do care about him more than you. i’m not willing to let him tank park corp, and he’ll be grateful for it in the long run. you, though, god... really, how could he ever forgive you? i know i wouldn’t be able to. sleeping around with the enemy?” he whistles lowly, eyebrows raised. then he lifts a finger, like a lightbulb has just gone off in his head. “oh, is that how you got him to tell you? did you take all your clothes off and then put his cock in your mouth–”

      the smack of henri’s palm across his cheek echoes against the walls. her face is a furnace, the red in her cheeks a mixture of boiling rage and simmering shame. her chest rises and falls wildly, eyes glossing over with tears she refuses to shed. theo brings a hand to his cheek, running his fingers across his face where henri has just hit him. 

      “if you ever come near me again,” she says, voice shaking but words sure. there is venom in her words, an anger coursing through her that she’s never known before. “i will castrate you, and then serve it to you on a silver platter, chilled in ice.”

      she swallows and turns to leave, but before she gets far theo is grabbing at her wrist and pulling her back towards him. she almost doesn’t recognize him as he stares at her, his anger poorly concealed. 

      “i’ll scream,” she threatens. he contemplates her for a few more seconds, and then reluctantly lets go. henri leaves as quickly as she can, and she doesn’t look back. 

–

      a few days later, she’s still shaken. but she’s back in new york, another year at yale behind her and the keys to her new soho apartment jingling happily in her bag. because she can’t spend another summer in her parent’s home, and lexi has been chewing her ear off about wanting to spend a month or two in the city with her. i can’t stand the texas heat it’s hell on earth, she’d said. and henri’s mother has been more insufferable than ever it seems. henri doesn’t like to think about why. doesn’t like to think about the articles on page six that argue over the authenticity of her engagement, or the gossip pieces online that pick apart every aspect of her life, and sinclair’s. they’re together one day, they’re not the next. the distance is too much, some say. why haven’t we seen them together? they’re rich, if they wanted to see each other they would. everyone seems to have an opinion on it. but henri tries not to think about it, because she’s content. and because sinclair is here, in new york. so they can all shove it.

      the afternoon sun is bright and warm as it shines down on fifth avenue. even with the sun in her eyes and the new york streets crowded and busy, it doesn’t take long for her eyes to find him on the steps of the met. she can’t help the smile that stretches across her face; she’s missed him. after they’d gone their separate ways following the baby shower, she’d started missing him as soon as she boarded her flight. lexi and cat had been ecstatic to know that they’d made up, claiming they knew all along it was going to happen after that party in new haven. sam had been supportive, happy for her, but still distant after the conversation they’d had in his car. henri hopes that their friendship isn’t ruined, making a note to talk to him about it if he keeps avoiding her. but it’s a problem for a different time, a different day. 

      her feet come to a slow stop a small ways away from the steps of the met as she pulls out her phone, typing quickly. it’s only been two weeks, but she and sinclair have spoken more in that time than they have in the past few months. it’s nice, to know that she can text him whenever she wants and call him when she misses the sound of his voice. she’s even found herself sending him some of the photos taken of him in seoul, secretly entertained by his unexpected amount of young fangirls. she’ll tag the photo with a simple i liked the shirt you wore today or a teasing you look cute in this one. but just that hasn’t been enough. she’s missed the feel of his skin against hers the most, missed having him near and holding her more than she’s ever missed anything else in her life. 

      her texts are quick, playful.

imessage — sinclair ♡

2:28PM henri: i spy with my little eye  2:28PM henri: a really hot guy outside the met rn 2:28PM henri: u think i could get his number if i asked?

[aurora-the-kunoichi]

A Year Without – Part Eight

The green drained from his horrified face as realization hit him like a ton of bricks. Leonardo leaned back on his haunches watching as his wilting cock slipped free from your body while the pearlescent remanence of his climax followed after, seeping to the cold metal table below. His hands clenched into tight fists refusing to meet your haunted gaze still glazed over from your own release. You could feel his body start to shake above you as his mind raced with thoughts and came to terms with what was happening. “I-I’m sorry Y/N, I don’t….” his voice faded giving up and reached down fumbling for his pants.

After shoving himself back into his underwear Leonardo reached for your hands pulling frantically at the leather cuffs keeping you in place. Clumsily your hands were freed and Leonardo moved to release your legs but stopped at the obscene noises rising in volume on the opposite side of the room.

Leo knew the sounds his brothers made, knew them all too well due to living in close quarters with them all their life.  So when he heard the three of them grunting and grumbling half hearted protests just to the right of him it distracted Leo from the heart wrenching sight beneath him.

Looking up, the blue terrapin’s body went rigid but his fingers finished their work on your restraints seeming on auto pilot. He growled deep in his chest seeing Karai kneeling before his brothers, mouth around Raphael’s length and slender fingers stroking frantically at his two younger brother’s erections. The doctor he had met a year ago sat patiently on the side lines gripping three syringes filled with an unknown substance no doubt prepared specially for his three unsuspecting brothers. They were about to do to them what they had done to him a year ago, ruining his life and taking him away from all he knew.  

As if to make the situation worse, Raph’s breathing hitched and growled erupting into the warm cavern of Karai’s mouth which she eagerly drank his down, her throat constricting with each rush of his scorching release. Seconds after, Donnie and Mikey arched following suit coating the floor below them with the white flood of their cum.  

In that instant something snapped inside of the mutant. “KARAI!” Leonardo bellowed dropping from the table barreling towards the shocked kunoichi as she detached herself from his muscle-bound brother with a sloppy pop.

Her eyes hazy with lust it took her a few moments to comprehend what was happening. As if in slow motion she saw the nearly seven foot raging freight train that was Leonardo gunning for her with death and fury in his eyes. It was then she realized he was free of their control and her demise was imminent.

The Doctor yelped in shock as he was bypassed by a whirling green blur stumbling sideways keeping the precious serum clutched in his hands.

Karai tried to dodge the furious terrapin but he was too fast and didn’t move in time finding herself pinned to the ground and her supply of oxygen cut off by Leonardo’s unwavering grip. The massive weight of him settled over the stunned kunoichi pressing his thumbs down against her larynx.

“Achckk….inject h-him again you fool!” Karai managed to cough to the stunned doctor.

Dr Langston snapped from his confusion and fumbled forward yanking the protective slip off the syringe and lunged forward aiming the needle at the dense muscles of Leonardo’s neck.

By now you had recovered and dropped down from the table to see the doctor lunging for Leo. You were still naked from the waist down, only your bra keeping your upper body partially covered and you could feel the warm slid of Leo’s essence slipping down your inner thigh. But there was no time to worry about that now. A quick shot of adrenaline raced through you seeing Leonardo about to be ripped away from you again and your feet moved launching yourself at the preoccupied doctor about to give Leo another shot of blind obedience.

You collided with the doctor making him unsteady on his feet dropping all the vials in his arms to the floor. Arms flailing, you took advantage and climbed up on his back and hooked one arm around his throat and locked the wrist with your other hand applying pressure to his neck cutting off his oxygen supply.

Dr Langston gasped for air clawing at your arms trying to pry your grip free bucking and writhing with panic. But you held tight as Leo continued to assault the struggling kunoichi oblivious to the danger he was just in. He was focused on Karai, one of the people who ruined his life, took away everything took his honor and molested his brothers. You couldn’t see his face but you knew he intended on killing her.

As Dr Langston struggled to free himself of you, you could hear metal jingling in his pockets. Keys, they had to be to the guys restraints. You had to release Langston and knock him out so you could free the turtles but you were just too weak. It had been days since your last meal or had anything to drink, hell you were surprised you still had the good doctor in a firm headlock. You were obviously running on pure adrenaline but it wouldn’t last forever.  

“Leo!” you screamed out trying to break him of his concentration. You couldn’t do this on your own; you were slowly losing your grip. “Leo, please I need you, your brothers need you.” You could see Karai’s face just over the raging turtles shoulder, purple and bloated as the deprivation of oxygen took its toll. She had been unsuccessful in ridding herself of her new sex toy hell-bent on her destruction and she would pay the ultimate price for it.

Her body finally gave out passing out in Leo’s still constricting grip determined to end her life.

“LEO!” your grip slipped and you were thrown against the wall next to Michelangelo cracking the side of your head on the cement wall. Mikey called for you, or at least you think he was or was he screaming for his brother to snap out of it. All you knew was that your head felt like someone had cracked open your skull and set a blender to your brain. You were now seeing two of everything. “H-He has the keys in his pockets.” You croaked stumbling to your feet holding your screaming skull in your hands.

The doctor righted himself and gathered the prepared syringe and made a stab at the leader in blue. As his hand reached the green flesh of Leo’s neck the terrapin rolled to his right missing the point of the needle by millimeters. Karai’s body slumped to the ground motionless now free of the mutants hands but now the doctor was in Leonardo’s sights.  

“You!” he bellowed taking large strides towards the retreating man. “You ruined my life! You ruined me, stripping me of my honor! I am no longer worthy of my title!” the glimmer of unshed tears damned at the corners of his eyes threatening to spill with each step.

“The keys bro, he has the keys!” Raph screamed over Leo’s ranting.

Leo’s head tilted toward his brothers listening and returned his angry gaze to the white coat the doctor wore. Too fast to comprehend, Leonardo shot forward tackling the doctor and ripped at the pockets on his lab coat. “Release my brothers!”

His green fingers found the silhouette of the keys inside a side pocket and ripped them free tearing the fabric open in one fluid motion. “I won’t let you do to them what you did to me! I’ll die first!” His fingers full of metal, Leo pulled his fist back and swung forward connecting with the dense skull of the doctor sending him into unconsciousness. Leo sat there for a few seconds as his chest heaved for air trying to get himself back under control.

Just then the door burst open and several foot ninja filtered into the room circling the kneeling terrapin. Leo turned to see you on your feet and threw the keys at you before barreling forward into the hoard of ninjas toppling over several with his bulk alone.  

The clutch of keys hurdled towards your face and thankfully you caught them in one midair grab. Turning to Mikey you made quick eye contact with his baby blues and anxiously freed his limbs. When his hands came free he stuffed himself back into his pants, ripped his hoodie from his hips handing the garment to you and ran towards the fray ready to fight again with his brother.

The orange hoodie hooked over your fingers you watched the youngest of the four crouch down and jump sailing over the fight landing in the middle, his fists swinging wildly.

“Come on Y/N, Don and I are ready for some pay back.” Raph growled urging you to continue.

Tying the given hoodie around your waist sideways doing your best to cover yourself from prying eyes you stepped forward reaching for Raphael’s restraints. Your eyes kept above the waist on the brute as you unlocked his shackles; his scent was still strong in the air and it was very distracting.  

Rubbing his sore wrists he put himself away and gripped your arms gently, “Are you alright?”

You nodded unable to meet his gaze and pushed his towards the fight, “I’m fine, I’ll set Donnie free, you go help make sure we get to take Leo home tonight.”

Without a word the brute grunted turning on the balls of his feet and launched himself into the brawl screaming as he collided with three foot ninjas.

Donnie was next and his sad brown eyes watched as you released him. His limbs came down and pulled you in his embrace quickly holding you for a few tense moments before heading off to help his brothers.

With all of them free and fighting to gain freedom you dropped the keys to your feet and felt yourself start to tremble. Fatigue started to set in and your limbs felt so heavy, you just wanted to sleep. You wanted this nightmare over with; you wanted Leo and his brother’s home safe and sound with everything going back to normal. But how unhinged Leonardo seemed horrid animalistic growls ripping from his throat as he fought, you knew it was going to be a long time before normalcy would return to the lair, or maybe it would never return?

Just then Leonardo looked up from the brawl making sure you were still there and his blue eyes blew wide and his mouth opened screaming your name. Dread filled your veins seeing him so terrified, it only meant one thing.  You sensed her before her hands found purchase around your waist and the cold press of sharp metal made itself known against your carotid artery.

“S-stop fighting o-or I spill every drop of her blood at my feet!” Karai’s voice was horse and weak but her grip was as strong as ever.

Part Seven

 @blossom-skies @moonlightflower21 @midnightrebel669 @imthegreenfairy88 @southernblossoms @naturigurl and all the nonnies!

[seokjins-shoulders]

DRINKING AND INKING

seokjins-shoulders

genre: fluff, tattooist!au, kind of crack? but it gets serious warnings: harsh language, sexual themes pairing: min yoongi x reader

DO NOT REPOST, DO NOT STEAL, DON’T DO SHIT

a/n: this is my first fic!! I got a request for this literally ages ago... and I put my heart and soul into, and I’m very proud of it. Constructive criticism is welcomed, but please be gentle I’m weak lol anyways, enjoy the fic!! lmk what you think, and have a wonderful day! love you~~~

“You fucking fell asleep on his lap right before you were going to suck his dick.”

~

When your roommate suggested a night out on the town, it seemed like a decent idea at the time. And with her help, you picked out an outfit and did your makeup.

What a fool you had been, for letting her talk you into wearing a pair of her stilettos.

Now, you were outside a bar, whining to yourself as you nursed your aching feet. It was nearly one in the morning, and you were dying to go home. You sent another text to your roommate, who was still inside, probably grinding against some poor person—she was definitely a wildcard.

And what a fool you had been yet again, when you neglected to bring a jacket. You’ve always been sensitive to the cold, but like the idiot you are, you thought you could brave the cold tonight.

“Chilly?” Someone asks to your left. Damn, his voice is deep.

“Like a pepper,” you replied instinctively. You laughed awkwardly, cursing yourself inwardly as you glance to your left. “Sorry, that was reflex—“

You choked mid-sentence. God, was this guy attractive. He was hotter than a freshly microwaved hot pocket. His features were soft, but sharp at the same time. His deep brown eyes were glinting with something you couldn’t pinpoint, both mysterious and enticing.

“You okay?” Hot pocket asks, biting his lip to repress a laugh.

“F-fine, yep!” You stutter, face flushed. “Choked on some... uh, air.” Why were you like this?

“Here.” You blink, surprised, when you’re suddenly handed his jacket.

“Oh, I can’t take your jacket,” you say, feeling your rising blush, “I don’t even know you.”

“You’ll get frostbite if you don’t,” He teases, leaning back against the bar’s wall, now wearing only a plain black shirt.

“Are you sure?” You ask him.

When Hot pocket nods, you finally slip on his jacket. You’re embarrassed, but the warmth of the jacket is too good to refuse. And it smells like Heaven, oh lord.

Then, you finally notice the array of tattoos coating his left arm. There are painted roses, songbirds, and symbols, as well as beautiful phrases written in impressive script. You feel yourself starting to stare, but you can’t find it within yourself to look away.

“Like tattoos?” His voice snaps you back to reality.

Face red yet again, you tear your gaze back to his eyes. “Yeah, always have. Where’d you get them done?”

“Local parlor.”

“They’re beautiful,” You say with a smile, inching towards him to get a better look.

He chuckles, extending his arm so you can get a better look. Every tattoo on this man was beautiful, but none compared to the initials written along his collarbone.

“What’s your name?” His question derails your train of thought before you think to ask him what the initials mean.

“Name?” You ask. “L/N Y/N... you?”

“I’m—“

“Y/NNNNNN!” Your roommate suddenly interrupts with her loud slur. She stumbles over to you, hiccups, and proceeds to rest her chin (and her entire body weight) on your shoulder.

“Jiyeon!” You exclaim, surprised to see her. She’s usually partying until three in the morning on average.

“Y/N!” She imitates you drunkenly, bursting into a fit of giggles.

“Your friend?” Hot pocket says with a devilish smirk, raising an eyebrow. Fuck, that’s attractive.

“Y-yeah, my roommate—“

“Who is he?” Jiyeon interjects. She looks him up and down, then turns to you and smiles. She nods approvingly.

You blink at her. “What are you nodding for?”

“Oh, so you aren’t going to hook up with him?” She hiccups, then coughs and seems to throw up in her mouth a little.

Hot pocket laughs gently. Fuck, husky. “She looks pretty wasted... I’d bring her home.”

“Yeah, good idea.” You mumble distractedly, as you try to make sure Jiyeon doesn’t hurl. “I’ll take her home... sorry about that!”

“No worries.” He says, waving as you lead your drunk roommate down the sidewalk.

“He was so hot!” Jiyeon yells, ignoring your pleas for her to be quiet. “I would’ve sucked his dick, for sure.”

“Ji, he can probably still hear you!”

“But Y/N, look at his face! Guys like him always have massive—!” You smacked your hand over her mouth, effectively silencing her.

You throw a nervous glance behind your back—and there he is, laughing. Terribly embarrassed, you rush even faster down the street and ignore your aching toes.

-

Hours later, a new beautiful morning. Everything is fine and dandy as Jiyeon nurses her hangover and you prepare some cereal for her.

Except for one thing.

You forgot to return his fucking jacket.

How do you do such a thing? A guy, an unbelievably attractive guy, you hardly know lends you his nice jacket, and you accidentally steal it? Wow.

“Hahhhhh,” Jiyeon mocks you, half groaning and half laughing. “I can’t believe you stole his jacket. And you don’t even know who he is!”

“Be quiet, Ji.” You hiss at her. She only laughs at you, greedily accepting the bowl of soggy cereal.

You sigh, flopping down onto the bed next to your roommate. You groan, but she gives you no acknowledgement. You groan a second time, obviously trying to get her attention.

“What?” She huffs sarcastically after swallowing. “You told me to be quiet.”

“Ji,” you complain, “help me.”

“What do you want me to do, Y/N?” She asks through a mouthful. “I don’t know who this guy is. I don’t even remember what he looks like.”

“But I have to return it!”

She rolls her eyes, setting the now empty bowl on the bedside table. “Look, think of it like this. If he really cared about the jacket, do you think he would’ve lent it to some random girl outside a bar in the middle of the night?”

“I guess not, but—“

“Ah,” Jiyeon cuts you off. “Think about it. He would’ve stopped you if he cared about it.”

You contemplated for a long moment, before finally conceding with a sigh. “I guess you’re right.”

“As usual.”

“Shut up, loser.” You groan, flicking her forehead playfully as you get up.

“Hey! I helped you!” Jiyeon laughs, sticking her tongue out. “Now go get my computer for me, won’t you? I want to watch Netflix.”

-

A week later, you find yourself in a similar predicament from the week prior. Except this time, there’s no Hot pocket, and it’s just you struggling to control a wildly drunk Jiyeon.

“Ji, please.” You groan. “Let’s go home?”

“No!” She all but roars. “I want to get a tattoo!”

She stumbles off towards the parlor that just so happens to be down the street. You have no choice but to follow her.

Jiyeon throws open the jingling door of the parlor, stepping in and announcing herself: “My name is Kim Jiyeon. Ink me up, bitches!”

The parlor is an aesthetically pleasing place. The floor’s were dark wood, the black walls were covered with different pieces of art and photographs. Along the left wall, there was a stairwell going up the second floor, and adjacent to the stairwell was a door. There was a classy front desk in the midst of the room, and on the opposite side, there were a couple chairs and a comfy looking couch.

The guy seated at the front desk whistles, swivels around in his chair and slips into the back room through the door. You hear him speaking to the other employees: “We got a couple of customers. One’s totally plastered.”

“Jiyeon, come on.” Your grab her wrist, trying to drag her out of the parlor. “You’re going to regret this. Please come home?”

“But I’ve always wanted a tattoo.” She whines. “And now I can, like, do it! I already know what I want to get.”

“And what’s that?”

“His name? Tattooed on my rib?” She suggests, all too innocently. “Isn’t that a nice idea?”

You sigh. “Please think this through. We can do this another day? When you’re not drunk?”

“But Y/NNNN.”

“Please, Ji?”

She huffs and bites her lip, finally giving in. “Fine, but when I do get it, you’re coming with me!”

“I hear someone wants to get inked up?”

Oh my god, that voice.

You spin around, meeting the ever so mysterious and enthralling gaze of Hot pocket.

“Oh!” He smirks, amusement lighting his eyes up. “Hello, Y/N.”

“H-hi!” You say, still dumbfounded. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” he says. Then turns to observe Jiyeon. “Is she drunk again?”

“She’s getting over a bad break up,” you supply, rubbing Jiyeon’s back as she absently picks at her manicured nails. “I’m so sorry about all of this... we bothered you last week, and now we’re invading your parlor...”

“It’s no trouble, really,” he says, never losing his smirk. “Honestly, you two are quite the duo. Very entertaining.”

“Yoongi, should I set up the chair?” The guy, the young and handsome fellow from before, steps out from the back.

Yoongi waves him off. “No need, Jungkook.”

“Yoongi? That’s your name?” You ask as Jungkook leaves yet again.

“Yep. Min Yoongi, yours truly.”

“Oh. I like it.”

“Thank you.”

You wink awkwardly, and he smiles in response. Your curse your awkwardness, but you find you quite prefer the gummy smile over the smirk.

“Y/N, are we going to leave, or...?” Jiyeon slurs from beside you.

“O-oh yeah! I should, uh, go.” You smile, shooting him a finger gun. What the actual fuck are you?

He chuckles. “It was fun. I’ll see you around, I suppose.”

“Hopefully.” You say, earning one more small smile from him. You wave as you slowly lead your drunk roommate from Yoongi’s parlor.

You listen silently as Jiyeon drunkenly rants to you about her ex for the billionth time as you walk home. You try to pay close attention, but your mind can’t help but wander back to Yoongi and his tattoo parlor, and his gummy smile.

And as Jiyeon begins to intoxicatedly curse her ex’s entire existence, you bite back a smile of your own.

-

You feel like a lovestruck teenage girl; you can’t seem to stop thinking about Yoongi. His smile, his style, his tattoos, all of which seem to constantly occupy your thoughts.

You want to see him again—obviously. But you don’t know how to go about visiting him in his tattoo parlor.

But then, your eye catches the familiar jacket hung over the back of your desk chair. It’s exactly what you need—a sensical and casual reason to pay the Hot Pocket a visit.

You snatch up the jacket, fix your hair and grab your shoes, and make your way out the door.

The walk is rather quick, only a couple blocks away from your and Jiyeon’s apartment.

The parlor’s door jingles when you push open the door.

“Oh, it’s you!” A familiar face greets you. You recognize the handsome boy as Jungkook. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“Hi... Jungkook, right?” You smile, walking up to the counter. “Nice to see you.”

“You too, Y/N—“

“Jungkook, can you go get me a few paper towels from the storage closet?” A voice yells from the back.

“One moment!” He yells back. “We have a visitor!”

“Not a customer?” They reply.

“She’s Yoongi’s friend!” Jungkook answers, sending you a quick wink.

“Oh!” The owner of the voice, a pristinely handsome young man, steps out from the back room. He’s wearing a plain white shirt, dusted with what looks like charcoal or graphite. “I’m Seokjin, but call me Jin. It’s nice to meet one of Yoongi’s friends.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t call us friends.” You smile awkwardly, ignoring the heat in your cheeks. “We’re just strangers who keep running into one another.”

“Well, all the same.” Jin replies.

“Who are you talking to?” Yoongi asks as he descends the nearby staircase. “Y/N?”

“H-Hey!” You turn to face him, hating how giddy you sound. But admittedly, he looks as delectable as ever.

“Funny seeing you here.” He smirks. “But, what for?”

“I wanted to return your jacket.” You stick out the jacket from the night days ago.

“Oh!” He exclaims, accepting it. “Honestly, I completely forgot about it. Thank you.”

“Wait!” Jungkook cries out suddenly. “Is Y/N the hot girl you were trying to pick up that night?”

You choke on your own spit.

“Ok! Jungkook, you have an essay to work on for college, right?” Jin says all too loudly, dragging the younger boy away. “I’ll help you! Let’s go do that right, in the back room, and leave them alone.”

The look in Yoongi’s eyes can only be described as completely and utterly dying inside. As you try to come up with something to respond with, you hear Jin hollering at Jungkook: “JUNGLEBOOK, YOU THOUGHTLESS LITTLE—“

Yoongi pushes the door closed before anything else can be heard.

“Ahaha...” You laugh awkwardly, as Yoongi turns towards you.

“I’m sorry about him,” He huffs with an embarrassed smile. “Jungkook takes a lot of things out of context. And just, does whatever with them.”

“Oh, yeah, d-don’t worry about it,” You say, stumbling over your words. “I know you wouldn’t think of me like that—I mean, like in that context—you know what I mean, I hope...”

“No, no, it’s not that I think you’re unattractive,” he quickly states. “You definitely are! Wait, uh, this is... getting—“

“So! How long have you known Jungkook and Jin?” You interrupt him, swerving away from the awkward topic. Your cheeks felt like they were on fire–you prayed they were horribly red.

You pretend you don’t see the relief in his eyes as he answers you. “I’ve known Jin since college.. and he and Jungkook are practically brothers, so he introduced me to him.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” You smile. “Do you guys run this parlor together?”

“I own it with another friend of ours, Namjoon.” He supplies. “He’s a really talented artist—taught me a lot.”

“Oh, there are more friends,” You raise your eyebrows in interest.

“Seven of us total—well, Namjoon’s overseas right now.”

”Are you all tattoo artists?”

“Just me, Jimin and Namjoon. Jungkook’s still learning. If you come around again, you’ll get to meet the rest of them.”

You hate how your heart leaps at his suggestion of you visiting again. You nod eagerly, almost too eagerly. “Yeah, I’d love to meet them. I need more friends,” You laugh. “All I have is Jiyeon.”

“Oh? How long have you been in this area?”

“Jiyeon and I moved here together after we finished college. She’s pursuing music, and I had a job opportunity here.”

He raises one of his perfect eyebrows at you. “What do you do? For a living, I mean.”

“I’m a waitress, but I’m writing a book—well, trying to.”

“That’s amazing.” You’re surprised by the earnest interest in his voice. Your heart does a few excited backflips.

Your eye catches the elaborate piano tattoo on his left bicep. You can’t help but point it out. “I like this one a lot. Who did it?” You ask, gently grazing it with your fingertips. Neither of you had noticed how you’d subconsciously drifted closer to one another.

“Oh,” Yoongi’s eyes turn sad as he looks down at the tattoo. “A friend.”

Obviously, it’s a sensitive topic. You don’t know how to react, so awkward silence creeps in. Thankfully, before it becomes too unbearable, your phone bings with a notification.

“Jiyeon wants me to come home early. She says it’s going to storm tonight.”

You really want to stay. To make things less awkward—maybe even comfort him.

“Bummer.” Yoongi replies, stepping away from you as he finally seems to notice the proximity.

“It was nice to see you again.” You try to smile, zipping your jacket up.

“You too.” He sounds distant, waving half-heartedly.

His eyes still look sad. You don’t like the sight of him in such obvious pain.

“Bye, Yoongi.” You say, the door bell jingling as you push it open as rain begins to fall outside.

His goodbye is drowned out by the sudden storm.

-

“Jiyeon, you don’t understand! It was so fucking—auGHHHh!”

Jiyeon rolls her eyes, throwing her damp towel at you—she had just gotten out of the shower and had been drying her hair. “Calm down.”

You catch the towel before it can smack you in the face, instead throwing it behind you. “He got all personal and emotional and it was so rough, we were meshing so well and then—“

“What’s to say the meshing disappeared?” She asks, cutting you off. “I’m sure it’s fine. He probably wants to see you again, let’s be honest. How about we visit the parlor tomorrow?”

“I—… I don’t know about that.” You protest weakly.

“Why not?”

“We have to have a reason for dropping by.”

“Who says?” Jiyeon snorts.

“Society.”

“Shut up, Y/N. You’re being an idiot,” she says. “If you like him, just fucking talk to him.”

You give up, falling back on her bed as you groan gracelessly and loudly. Jiyeon snorts a second time, as she sits down in front of her vanity and begins to apply makeup. You perk up, eying her curiously. “What’re you dressing up for?”

“Oh, I, uh, have a date.”

Your jaw fell open. “What? A date?”

When she bit her lip and nodded, you couldn’t help but spring up in excitement. You were thrilled for her. Her last breakup with her last boyfriend, Jongin, had been nasty, and she had desperately needed to move on. It had been two months since their split, and Jiyeon had been either moping around or going wild ever since. You knew she still cared about Jongin, but you were proud of her for getting out there.

“That’s amazing, Ji! I’m so happy for you!” You fling yourself at her, sweeping her up in a hug. She scoffs and tries to push you off, despite the fond smile pulling at her lips.

“Yeah, well, gotta move on sometime.” Jiyeon said softly. Suddenly, she got an evil look in her eye, that you just barely caught. She smiled, slow and deliberately. “Y/N.”

You blinked, pausing. “What. Why do you look like that.”

She let out an ugly giggle before saying, “I’m not going to go on this date—“

“WHAT!? WHY NOT—“

“—unless you go talk to Hot Pocket.”

You stopped working for a moment. Jiyeon leaned back in her chair, a satisfied smile on her face. She knew damn well you were desperate for her to get back out there, and how much it meant to you for her to try to get past Jongin. It was a little wrong to manipulate you this way, but Jiyeon was Jiyeon.

“Jiyeon, there’s no way—“

“You’re doing it.” She had already decided.

“I can’t! How!? I’m a lump of cringe!”

Jiyeon snorted for the thousandth and swiveled around in her chair. “You’re not a lump, idiot. You got lumps.”

You groaned, lightly thwacking her head. As she cursed at you, you flopped onto her bed for the second time that night. You knew Jiyeon was serious about not going on the date unless you talked to Yoongi.

-

So here you were, a week later. You had procrastinated as long as you could, until Jiyeon put her foot down and made you go by yourself. She had gone on the date, and on a second date, with the mystery man named Chanyeol, and was now making you hold up your end of the “deal.”

But you just didn’t know how to go about this. So you stood across the street from the same tattoo parlor, contemplating how the Hell you should go inside and look casual as you try to start up a conversation with them. You were getting frustrated with yourself, so you decided to just go for it.

“Fuck it,” you murmured to yourself, “I’m a bad bitch.”

You crossed the street, and got to the front of the tattoo parlor. You hesitated for a split-second before pushing the door open and stepping inside of the warm building.

“Y/N?”

You look up, smiling giddily after meeting Yoongi’s eyes. He’s sitting behind the front desk, with a sketchbook and pencils spread out in front of him. You walk up to the front desk, trying to remain as chill as a bill as you say, “It’s me.”

“What’re you doing here?” He asks.

“Oh, I was, uh, walking home from work and I thought I’d pop in.” You weren’t lying—you had been walking home from the diner you worked at when you noticed the parlor was along your usual route home. Coincidentally, that same moment Jiyeon texted you, demanding when you were going to visit Yoongi and the parlor.

“I’m glad you popped in,” he finally smiles, and you feel stupidly relieved by the sight of it.

You leaned forward onto the desk, looking at the intricate drawing on the sketchbook’s paper. You can’t help but gape at its beauty. “Woah! That’s such an amazing drawing!”

He glanced down at his artwork, his cheeks immediately flushing a light pink. “Oh, this?”

It was a gorgeous drawing, skillfully sketched and beautiful drawn. It depicted a lone piano, sitting within what looked like an abandoned room—the floors were dusty and the windows boarding up. Flames could be seen licking through the cracks in the windows and around the room. It was mysterious, haunting and incredibly realistic.

“What do you mean, ‘Oh this?’ This is so beautiful, Yoongi!” You realize you’re gushing, so you bite your lip to stop from acting like a fangirl.

He laughs sheepishly. You can’t help but notice just how deep it sounds. “I’m glad you like it so much—I was kind of insecure about it.”

“You have no reason to be whatsoever,” you say, “I can’t get over how great it is. Are you always this amazing?”

“You should see my other drawings,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes.

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that self-deprecation I hear?”

“Whatever do you mean?” He snorts sarcastically. “I would never not self-deprecate.”

You laugh, loudly and genuinely. He smiles his adorable gummy smile, and soon, the two of you are talking easily and enthusiastically. The two of you drift from topic to topic, and you learn lots about him. He’s dyed his hair a lot in the past, and he used to play the piano. He was originally from Daegu, but moved to Seoul to pursue music and art. Somehow, you weren’t surprised to hear he dabbled in rapping and producing music. Maybe it was the way he talked, gracefully and smoothly, that subconsciously lulled you into the idea.

You wear surprised when you heard just how talented he was, when he shyly showed you a song called “So Far Away.”

“What the Hell?!” You yelled with a huge smile, making him blush as the song playing on his phone ends. “That was fucking amazing, Yoongi! Holy shit! Who was singing with you?”

“Jin and Jungkook,” he answers.

“Damn,” you drawl. “Boys got pipes.”

“Indeed,” he chuckles, tucking away his phone. “Well, I showed you my song. I vote you show me your book.”

You blank for a moment, before blinking slowly at him. “M-my book?”

He nods, and you hide your face in your hands as you groan. He’s right, you do owe him after he showed you his masterpiece of a song. “I’m guessing you don’t have your rough draft right this moment? Damn.”

“I didn’t expect for anyone to be reading it,” You confess. “Like ever.”

Yoongi snorts. “If you want to be a writer, you have to put yourself out there.”

“Well, same goes for you and that song!”

Immediately, he gushes and rubs the back of his neck, “It’s not even that good—“

“Are you kidding? You’re kidding. Yep. Funny joke, Yoongi!” You fake a laugh, sounding completely ridiculous.

Yoongi snorts, sputtering out a laugh. “You sound like a whale!”

“Rude!” You hit him playfully. “Are you calling me fat?”

He faked a gasp. “I would never.”

You roll your eyes, and the two of you are laughing together as everything falls into place until your phone bings with a notification. You pause, pulling out your phone to see a new message from Jiyeon, wondering where you were. It was then you realized you and Yoongi had been talking, alone, for nearly two hours.

“Who is it?” He asks, leaning back in the chair.

“Ah, it’s Jiyeon. She’s wondering when I’ll get back,” you answer.

“Yeah, what time is it? I’ve kept you hear for—holy shit, two hours?!”

You can’t help but laugh at his reaction. “I didn’t even notice. I should probably get going, I guess. It was great to see you.”

Yoongi nods, and you nearly miss the disappointed look in his eyes. You give him another smile, and wave as you turn around to leave, when he calls out to you. “Wait, Y/N, give me your number.”

You turn around, trying to hide your eager excitement. “My p-phone number?”

“What else?” He asks with a smirk, sending a shoot of excitement up your spine. The two of you quickly exchange numbers. “Great,” he says, leaning back. “I’ll text you sometime.”

“Cool beans,” you say, giving him finger guns. What the fuck are you? “Bye Yoongi.”

You don’t really want to go home, but you could tell Jiyeon was getting a little worried. It was dark outside, and undoubtedly cold. Zipping up your jacket and securing your hat, you pushed open the door just as Yoongi called out behind you.

“Y/N?” You turned to face him. “Make sure you visit again.”

You heart feels like it’s exploding with giddiness. “Will do.”

-

And you do. For the next couple weeks, you would visit the tattoo parlor almost everyday on your way home from work. Sometimes you’d spend ten minutes there, and sometimes you’d spend nearly three hours there. You felt comfortable saying you had become friends with Yoongi and the other boys.

“Y/N, what do you think of this?” Jimin asks you, showing you a sketch he was working on. You and the fluffy blond had met over three weeks ago, and you had become fast friends. He was incredibly genuine, sweet and funny—and an amazing tattoo artist and dancer.

“That’s fantastic,” you say, through a mouthful of the chips you were sharing with Taehyung and Hoseok. You got along just as well with the two of them just as well—both were sincere, caring and great people. Taehyung and you had a joke of constantly mocking one another’s fashion choices, and you and Hoseok had bonded quickly over a shared favorite book series.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, nasty,” Jungkook chided you, and you respectively swatted at him. He dodged you with a laugh, when Namjoon stepped out from the backroom.

“Where’s Jin?” He asked absentmindedly as he signed into the computer on the front desk. You had only recently met Namjoon some two weeks ago, but he was just as kind as the rest of the boys.

Jungkook shrugged. “Last I saw, he was going out to get coffee.”

“Ooh, I want coffee.” Hoseok mumbled to himself.

“Ooh,” Taehyung imitated him in a warbly voice, making you snort.

“Shut up,” Hoseok quips back, playfully shoving Taehyung off the couch you three were sitting on. You couldn’t help but cackle at the odd sound resembling a shriek that Taehyung made when he landed on his side.

“Children,” Jungkook says as he rolled his eyes.

“YOU’RE THE YOUNGEST,” You holler, throwing a chip at him—which he caught in his fucking mouth. “WOAH—WHAT THE FUCK?!”

“HAH!” Jungkook chokes on the chip. “I—I’m a GOD!”

“So fucking loud,” You’re the only one who catches Yoongi’s soft complaint when he comes thumping down the stairwell, wearing sweatpants and a plain tee. How he manages to be so delectable so easily, you have no idea.

You jump up off the couch to go greet him, and to tease him about how messy his bedhead is. “Were you sleeping?”

“Naps are my crack,” he says sleepily, resting his chin on your shoulder.

You laugh quietly, teasing him gently while wrapping your arms around him to give him a hug as he pretends to fall asleep again. The hug is perfectly innocent—but you can’t help but long for more. You want him to hold you and look deep into your eyes. You want him to stroke your hair and hold your hand. You want him to whisper words of love and kiss you.

But you’re just friends.

You break away from the hug to avoid it becoming too awkward, and you miss the red color of Yoongi’s flushed cheeks, and the way his eyes keep darting back to yours.

“Yoongi, come here,” Jimin calls, “Look at my sketch?”

“Yep.” Yoongi answers, flashing you a smile as he crossed over to look down at Jimin’s work.

You watch him intently as he talks to the blond, as he points out critiques and gives thoughts on Jimin’s beautiful artwork. You adore the look in Yoongi’s eyes whenever it comes to art. He lights up like a strand of Christmas lights whenever the two of you discuss anything artistic. It was obvious he loved what he did. It reminded you of your passion for the arts, particularly creative writing.

“Wow.”

You nearly jump out of your skin when you hear Jin’s voice beside you. “Jesus! You scared me,” You breath, hand over your chest.

“Sorry,” he apologizes lightheartedly. “But really, wow.”

“What?” You blink.

“How can the two of you be so physically affectionate towards each other and not be dating?”

You blank, heart suddenly pounding a million miles per hour. You laugh awkwardly at him, “Jin, don’t be silly. We’re not dating—we’re just friends.”

He snorts. “I don’t believe it for a second. Here,” he says, now switching the topic, “I got you a coffee.”

“Thanks, Jin. I should get going now though,” You say as you accept the coffee. “Bye guys!”

A chorus of goodbyes yell back to you. “Bring Jiyeon next time!” Jimin adds.

“Will do!” You smile, waving to them. You catch Yoongi’s eye before you leave, and he gives you a small smile. You feel fuzzy at the sight of his small, personal expression. You mouth a private goodbye to him, before turning to leave.

-

It’s cold outside, you realize, when you step out of diner. Usually, you’d be home with Jiyeon, cuddling under a blanket and watching whatever show she’s currently obsessed with. But your bitch of a boss made you work a double shift.

“You’re where?” You ask Jiyeon over the phone, as you start your usual route home. You can’t help but feel a little spooked by the darkness of the night.

“I’m on a date with Jimin!” She squeals, sounding like a teenager.

“W-what? What happened to Chanyeol?”

“Oh. Turns out he was gay for some guy named Bacon or something. He moaned his name when we were fucking.”

“And you only just told me now?!” You demanded, completely shocked. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t noticed Jiyeon and Jimin getting closer whenever she would come to the parlor with you. What you hadn’t expected was Chanyeol to be gay and her and Jimin to start dating so quickly.

“You’ve been so busy with Yoongi, after all,” She says back. “Practically fucking each other.”

“What!? Jiyeon!”

“What? Don’t deny it, Y/N!” She practically shouts. “You’re, like, eye-fucking each other all the time! The whole ‘I-would-die-for-you’ looks and all that.”

You balk. You don’t know what to say. You can hear Jiyeon laugh on the other side of the line. “Oh, sweetie,” she cooes, “You didn’t even realize your own feelings, did you?”

“…Do we really look at each other like that?”

She howls with laughter, and you’re left shouting at her to shut up, your cheeks on fire.

“Oh, Y/N, I love you so much,” She says, still laughing, “Have fun now. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Fuck you, Jiyeon. See you tomorrow morn—wait, morning?! Are you going to sleep—“

“—Bye Y/N.”

And with that she hangs up the phone, leaving you to yourself. You grumble absentmindedly as you slip your phone into your back pocket. As you walk along the sidewalk, you can’t but overthink what Jiyeon had said to you.

She’s right.

You do like Yoongi. You feel it whenever your heart would flutter whenever you would see him, how it would nearly explode whenever you two would hug, or have intense and amusing discussions with each other. But you don’t know how to go about it. You want more, but you don’t want to ruin what you had going. You two have managed to become so close despite how awkward and weird your initial meeting had been.

“This is so…” You mutter to yourself, shivering as you walked. Already, you’re stressing out about the potential relationship with Yoongi. You really want it, but you didn’t know how the hell to go about it. “Ah, fuck me…”

“I didn’t peg you for the casual type,”

You startle at the sound of Yoongi’s silky voice, nearly falling over. Next to you, from where he’s leaned against a storefront, he laughs at your reaction. You scowl at him as he extends a hand to help steady you.

“Jerk,” you snap playfully, rejecting his hand.

“C’mon, Y/N,” Yoongi says, chuckling under his breath, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Jesus, Yoongi,” You sigh, steadying yourself after finally accepting his help. “What are you even doing out here? ”

It’s one hell of a coincidence. You had just been grilling yourself over your feelings for him, and now here he is, with a sexy smirk and fluffy-looking hair. You try to ignore how hot your cheeks feel, and how much your heart’s racing.

“You didn’t visit, and you always come on Fridays,” he confesses, “And I got worried about you. So I thought I’d walk to the diner, see what’s up.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” You smile, “Bitch boy made me work another shift. Apparently I’m not working hard enough as it is.”

“Damn, waitressing sucks ass, doesn’t it? Was that what you were complaining about?”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Complaining? When?”

“When you said, ‘Ah, fuck me,’ that?”

“Oh!” You squeak, feeling your cheeks get even warmer. “Yeah, no, that was… something else,”

“Oh,” he says dumbly, your reaction confusing him. “Okay, then, can I walk you home?”

You hate how your much heart leaps in excitement. “Sure!”

The two of you fall into step next to each other easily. As you walk, you take the opportunity to complain about and bash your boss. Your boss really is an asshole. Not only did he overwork you and your other coworkers, he’s terribly sexist. He constantly comments on your feminine attributes, and mocks you whenever you’re in a bad mood, blaming it on either your menstrual cycle or your “delicate, womanly feelings.”

“I’ll fuck him up, if you want,” Yoongi says with a scowl, “The boys would help. He sounds like a pig.”

“He is!” You say. “Good men are so hard to find.”

“You say that like I don’t exist,” Yoongi says. Stupidly, your heart explodes. You know it was a casual remark, just a simple joke, but you can’t help but overthink the hidden connotations behind it.

“Y-Yeah, what a c-catch you are,” You say, praying your stutter isn’t painfully obvious.

“You good?” Of course it was noticeable.

“Just something in my throat,” You make up a lame excuse, and thankfully he seems to believe it. The two of you continue the walk home in casual, easier conversation.

When you finally reach your apartment building, you find yourself feeling sad. You want to keep spending time with the hot pocket, so you build up as much courage as you can muster.

“Feel like coming in for a drink?”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow at you. For a split-second, you think he’ll mock you for the offer, but the next second, a painfully sexy smirk is spreading across his face. “A drink?”

“You don’t have a shift tomorrow, right?” You say, “I don’t either. And we’ve never hung out at my place before.”

“Then I’ll take you up on that offer,” He says. You want to squeal with excitement as you quickly lead him to your apartment.

-

You laugh loudly, nearly snorting, as Yoongi enthusiastically describes a story to you.

“You can’t be serious!” You say, giggling as you sip your glass of beer. “That didn’t happen.”

“It sure did,” Yoongi protests, “I was a dumb kid with no sense. And when I saw those glasses, I had to have them.”

“Oh my god,” you say, words slurring just a bit, “You’re a legend.”

“A myth.”

“A miracle.”

“A god.”

“Mm, I like that one,” He hums stupidly, taking another swig of his beer. “This is some good yeast.”

“Isn’t it, I found it—wait, yeast?” You say drunkenly.

“Yeast.”

“No, beer.”

“Yes.”

“Yoongi, what the fuck?”

“Alcohol is yeast, right?”

The two of you stare at each other for a moment, before both of you burst into laughter. You lean towards him, playfully slapping him as you howled with laughter. You looked up into his eyes, taking in his gummy smile and happy expression. You found you were entranced by him. It could’ve been your drunken stupor, but in that moment, you thought you had fallen in love with him. Even after he stopped cackling, and was simply gazing back into your eyes, you were hypnotized. He was beautiful.

Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours.

His lips are soft as he kisses you, tender and careful. Cautious and gentle, almost afraid you’ll reject him. You respond slowly, gently cupping his cheek as your lips danced with his. You feel breathless as Yoongi slowly deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth. You sigh into the kiss, fervently returning his growing passion.

“Y/N,” he breaks the kiss to breathe against your swollen lips. You whimper, pressing yourself closer to him, desperate for another taste. He chuckled as his hands slowly crept up your shirt, tracing shapes into your skin and sending shivers down your spine.

“Yoongi,” you whisper, pressing your lips against his. He responds eagerly, his hand drifting higher and higher. You slowly knotted your hand into his hair, pulling at the soft strands. You bit his lower lip teasingly, and he responded by gently digging his nails into your sides, rumbling. God, everything about him was sexy.

You let out a squeak, breaking the kiss when the beer you’d been holding slipping out of your hand, spilling across his lap. Yoongi blinks, sobering up a bit as he looked down at the wetness covering his lap.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you say, blinking your eyes as you knelt in front of him. You leaned over his lap, weakly wiping at the mess with your sleeve. Only when your hand brushes over a specific spot, do you realize what you were doing.

“Y/N,”

You look up into his dark gaze. You feel heat rush to your core. He chuckled, a deep, husky sound, that sent a shiver down your spine. “Y-Yoongi…”

Before you know what was happening, he was kissing you again. You desperately unbutton his shirt as he pulls yours over your head. You moan at the feeling of his fiery lips across your chest, mumbling dirty words in your delirium. Your hand rests upon the growing bulge in his jeans.

You sigh dreamily, giggling at the sheer size of the bulge, “Excited?”

He presses a kiss against your neck, sitting back to watch you rub him through his jeans. His eyes are dark, hooded with desire. “Only if you want to,”

You practically purred, kissing him deeply before making your way down his neck, sucking and biting at his skin. He moan quietly as you left marks on his collar bone, on his bare chest, his abdomen, just above his belly button.

You kiss his jeans, fumbling with the button. You rest your cheek on his thigh for a split-second, relishing the warmth and sturdiness of it. He leans back, watching you as sighed in delight as you fumble with the button.

You feel your eyelids get heavy. You nuzzle against his warm thigh, using it as a pillow. And in your drunken stupor, you feel your attention waning.

And then you fell asleep.

-

You wake with a start the next morning. Instantly, your hangover smacks you across the face as a terrible headache sets in. Massaging your temples, you slowly sit up. But you’re not in your bed…? You’re on your couch, with a throw pillow under your head and Jiyeon’s throw blanket thrown over you. A few empty beer bottles stand abandoned on the coffee table just next to the couch.

“What… the fuck…?” You mutter to yourself, slowly standing up.

“Oh! You finally up?” Jiyeon’s voice yells from the kitchen. “C’mere, I made omelets.”

That’s odd. Jiyeon never cooked. Nonetheless, an omelet sounded really good right now. After adjusting your rumpled clothes, you shuffled into the kitchen. Jiyeon stood at the stove, finishing off the omelets and Jimin sat at the counter—wait, Jimin?

“What’re you doing here?” You ask Jimin, setting yourself down next to him.

“Jiyeon and I came here earlier this morning with coffee for you—which is over there by the way—but we, uh…”

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s fine,” Jiyeon interjects, placing a plated omelet in front of you, “I’ll tell you later.”

“Well, I’ll take that as my cue to leave then,” said Jimin, as he stood, “Jiyeon, I’ll call you, and I’ll see you later, Y/N.”

“O-oh, okay,” You say, “You don’t have to go—“

“Y/N, it’s fine, I got to talk to you about something anyway,” Jiyeon interrupted.

“Are you both sure?” You fret.

Jimin smiles. “Positive. See you two later!”

“Bye Jimin,” Jiyeon practically sings, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek as he pulled on his jacket. Jimin smiles at her, gives you a wave, and is out the door within the next minute.

As soon as he’s gone, you turn back around and set to work on the omelet Jiyeon made you. After the first bite, you realize why Jiyeon doesn’t cook often—but nonetheless, the omelet does taste good and it is helping your headache.

“So.”

You look up at Jiyeon, who’s standing at the opposite side of the counter. “What.”

“You got drunk last night,” Jiyeon says, “Still in your work clothes.”

“Yeah, I guess I did.”

Jiyeon gives you an incredulous look. “You don’t remember anything?”

“What should I be remember—oh, holy fucking shit.”

Jiyeon, being Jiyeon, laughs uproariously. “You remember, yeah?”

You remembered everything. Meeting Yoongi on your way home from work, him walking you home, and then you inviting him in for a goddamn drink. And then the two of you drank so much beer, you both got drunk. And in your drunken stupor, you two had made out so aggressively, you could still feel his teeth nipping at your lips. You undoubtedly had a few hickies dotting your neck and collarbones.

And last, but certainly not least, you fucking falling asleep on his lap right before you were going to suck his fucking dick.

What in the actual literal holy fuck.

“You okay?” Jiyeon’s question brings you back to Earth.

“NO!” You blurt, panicking, “Jiyeon, w-what—we were this close to having SEX! O-oh—oh my god, what do I do? What the Hell do I do?”

“Woah, calm down,” Jiyeon says, coming around the counter to rest her hands on your shoulders, “It’s okay, I promise.”

“Wait, do you know what happened? That Yoongi and I—that we almost—“

“You’re going to give yourself a heart attack, Y/N, calm down!” Jiyeon says, finally managing to quiet you down. “I’ll explain, okay?”

You nod, shoving another bite of omelet into your mouth.

“Okay. I told you I was out last night, right, I was out with Jimin. The date went stunning by the way, but that’s besides the point. What happened was I came home this morning, and you and Yoongi were both knocked out on the floor,” She explains, “cuddling each other. And I… I might’ve shrieked in surprise, which startled Yoongi so much he fucking launched himself into the air. Anyways, he was a little hungover, but he still lifted you onto the couch and made sure you were all comfortable before leaving. He also managed to avoid explaining whatever happened last night himself, but you seem to remember that just fine.”

Oh god. You let out a loud groan, and hid your face in your hands. “Oh god.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t really fuck,” Jiyeon says, “Cause you’re still wearing your clothes. Damn, those hickies though.”

“Fuck, really?!” You cry, your hand flying to cover your chest.

“Yoongi can work, damn!”

“Jiyeon,” you whine miserably, “Help me!”

“What do you want me to do, sister? You’re the one who got drunk and fucking attacked the man.”

“No, but—like, what the Hell do I do from here?” You wailed, smacking your head onto the counter.

“I don’t know, talk to him—“

“I CAN’T DO THAT!” You interrupted, wallowing in your own embarrassment.

“Y/N, I don’t know what to tell you—“

“Do I text him? Did he text me? Oh, holy shit, this is horrible. Our friendship is ruined. Now we can’t hang out around the boys because it’s just—“

“Y/N!” Jiyeon all but screams, effectively silencing you.

“Yes?” You squeak.

“You’re fine,” She grunts, “Trust me. He likes you too.”

Doubt creeps into you. “How do you know?”

She rolls her eyes. “Because no guy would’ve acted the way he did if he didn’t like you. Trust me, Hot Pocket’s just as crazy about you as you are about him.”

“Then what should I do?” You ask, twisting your hands together.

Jiyeon plants her hand on your head, playfully mussing up your already frazzled hair. “Just talk to him, Y/N.”

-

After talking to Jiyeon, you felt much better. You felt even more better after a shower and a short nap. It was late that night—just after dinner time—when you pulled on your jacket and shoes and set out for the tattoo parlor.

You stand across the street from the parlor, your anxiety eating away at you. If what Jiyeon had told you was the truth, you’d be fine—but there’s no way for you to know for sure. That is, unless you ask Yoongi. And that’s exactly why you’re goddamn here. Now it is only a matter of working up the confidence.

“I’m a badass bitch,” You whisper to yourself, just as you had that night all those days ago.

Steeling yourself, you cross the street and make your way to the tattoo parlor. Before you can overthink it and sprint back home, you pull open the door. The parlor is virtually empty, which made sense at this hour. The only person in the room is Jin, who sat behind the desk, scribbling something down. He’s wearing comfortable clothing, and has his glasses on. When the bell jingles, announcing your arrival, he glances up to meet your eyes.

“Oh, hey Y/N,” he says calmly, sitting back from his work.

“Hey.” You walk up to the desk. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” he supplies, “Just working on some stuff. What brings you here?” The way he said it gave you the impression that he knew every single minute detail of last night’s debacle.

“Is Yoongi around?” You ask, feeling sheepish. You tried to shake it off—Jin was your friend, you could trust him.

“Yeah, he’s upstairs in his room,” Jin answers. “Want me to get him?”

“Would you?”

“Of course,” Jin says, his smile knowing. As your heart begins to race, Jin collected his papers and went up the stairs. It was silent for just a moment before you heard familiar footsteps thumping down the stairs. You looked up, and there was Yoongi in all his tired glory.

He’d showered since last night, and wore a simple pair of sweatpants and a shirt for a band you didn’t quite know. He gave you a small smile when you gave him an awkward wave.

“Hey,” you greeted quietly, once he stood directly across from you, “How are you?”

“I’m good,” Yoongi nodded, “Still a little hungover, but feeling fine… You?”

“I’m okay. Jiyeon made me food, and that helped.”

“Oh, how is she? I heard she and Jimin are getting along.”

“Yeah,” you laugh, happy for your friend, “Their date went really well.” You tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered at speaking about the subject of dates and romance with him.

“That’s great. I’m glad they’re together.”

“Me too.”

Now you didn’t know what else to say, especially since he had only nodded and smiled in response. A silence enveloped the two of you, allowing the tension and awkwardness to fester in the air. After almost a minute, you couldn’t help but explode.

“Look, about the other night, I’m really sorry, it was really—“

He glanced at you. “Why are you apologizing?” His voice was so soft.

“—sudden, and I shouldn’t have overstepped like that—“

“Y/N,” he gently interrupts a second time, “Why are you apologizing?”

You look up into his warm eyes. You want nothing more than to wrap your arms around him and melt into his embrace.

“Because I think I messed up,”

He nods, still as sweet as ever. “Do you... regret what happened between us...?”

“No, no, just—just how it happened, since I—,” You break off, too scared to say the next words.

“If I overstepped, I’m really sorry… being drunk is not an excuse—“

“No, it’s just that I like you a lot and it happening that way is less than ideal!” You blurt out, cheeks aflame. “Ah fuck, I’m sorry, you probably—It’s fine, I’ll just go, I’m sorry about all of this—“

Before you can even blink, he’s pulled you into his arms and silenced you with a kiss. Immediately, you respond to the kiss, melting into his arms and letting your hands run through his hair. The kiss is slow, passionate—conveying everything inside of him. You wanted to kiss him forever.

The kiss breaks all too soon for your liking, and your left staring up into his eyes, rosy cheeked and swollen lipped.

“That was nice,” You murmur awkwardly.

“Was it?” He says, arching a brow.

“Yeah,” you say quietly.

Yoongi smiles at you, gently cupping your left cheek in his hand. “I like you too, idiot. A lot.” He blushed. “I have for a long time.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he admits, moving his hand to your waist. He avoids your gaze—embarrassed—and you almost scream from how adorable it is and how happy you are. “I think I started liking you the second I saw you screaming about your stilettos.”

“Jiyeon’s stilettos,” you correct playfully, “There’s a reason I could hardly walk in them.”

He snorts. “Of course she owns shoes like those.”

“And I wasn’t screaming that night! Just loudly… protesting,” You joke, wrapping your arms around his neck, “Imagine if you had never lent me your jacket, Hot Pocket—“

“Hot Pocket?”

You snort. “Oh! Yeah, yeah, forget about that—“

“No, tell me,” Yoongi pressed with an amused smile, “You have to tell me, Y/N.”

“I don’t have to do anything!” You protest playfully.

“Except go on a date with me?”

“You—Wait, woah. Yoongi, that was pretty smooth.”

He gave you a dramatic flourish of a bow. “Thank you. I practice.”

“I can tell,” You tease, “And yes. I will go on a date with you.”

“Well you didn’t have a choice either way.”

“You’re so dumb,” You laugh, terribly happy.

Yoongi gives you a goofy smile before pulling you to his chest, wrapping his arms around you. You lean into him, taking deep breaths of his comforting smell.

“I guess you’ll be coming by the parlor much more often now, huh?”

“Guess so,” You agree. “Maybe I’ll even get a tattoo.”

“I’ll be the one to do it, of course,”

“I want a tattoo of Jin’s face on my ass.”

“Sounds like a plan—wait, Jin? That gremlin?” He cries out dramatically. You let out a loud laugh, and soon he’s laughing with you. During your laughter, you press your forehead against his. You gaze deeply into his eyes, and feel happier than you’ve felt in a long, long time.

You kiss gently, and you feel a future and forever in his lips.

word count: 8,784

let me know if you guys want more!! thanks so much for giving it a read, and I hope you enjoyed it! (also feel free to let me know about any glaring grammar/spelling mistakes thank u I love u)

EA

[lets-talk-story]

Lenore

Up rose Lenore as the red morn wore, ⁠From weary visions starting; "Art faithless, William, or, William, art dead? ⁠'Tis long since thy departing." For he, with Frederick's men of might, In fair Prague waged the uncertain fight; Nor once had he writ in the hurry of war. And sad was the true heart that sickened afar. 

The Empress and the King, ⁠With ceaseless quarrel tired, At length relaxed the stubborn hate ⁠Which rivalry inspired: And the martial throng, with laugh and song, Spoke of their homes as they rode along. And clank, clank, clank! came every rank. With the trumpet-sound that rose and sank. 

And here and there and everywhere, ⁠Along the swarming ways, Went old man and boy, with the music of joy, ⁠On the gallant bands to gaze; And the young child shouted to spy the vaward, And trembling and blushing the bride pressed forward: But ah! for the sweet lips of Lenore The kiss and the greeting are vanished and o'er. 

From man to man all wildly she ran ⁠With a swift and searching eye; But she felt alone in the mighty mass, ⁠As it crushed and crowded by: On hurried the troop,—a gladsome group,— And proudly the tall plumes wave and droop: She tore her hair and she turned her round, And madly she dashed her against the ground. 

Her mother clasped her tenderly ⁠With soothing words and mild: "My child, may God look down on thee,— ⁠God comfort thee, my child." "Oh! mother, mother! gone is gone! I reck no more how the world runs on: What pity to me does God impart? Woe, woe, woe! for my heavy heart! " 

"Help, Heaven, help and favour her! ⁠Child, utter an Ave Marie! Wise and great are the doings of God; ⁠He loves and pities thee." "Out, mother, out, on the empty lie! Doth he heed my despair,—doth he list to my cry? What boots it now to hope or to pray? The night is come,—there is no more day." 

"Help, Heaven, help! who knows the Father ⁠Knows surely that he loves his child: The bread and the wine from the hand divine ⁠Shall make thy tempered grief less wild." "Oh! mother, dear mother! the wine and the bread Will not soften the anguish that bows down my head; For bread and for wine it will yet be as late That his cold corpse creeps from the grim grave's gate." 

"What if the traitor's false faith failed, ⁠By sweet temptation tried,— What if in distant Hungary ⁠He clasp another bride?— Despise the fickle fool, my girl, Who hath ta'en the pebble and spurned the pearl: While soul and body shall hold together In his perjured heart shall be stormy weather." 

"Oh! mother, mother! gone is gone, ⁠And lost will still be lost! Death, death is the goal of my weary soul, ⁠Crushed and broken and crost. Spark of my life! down, down to the tomb: Die away in the night, die away in the gloom! What pity to me does God impart? Woe, woe, woe! for my heavy heart!" 

"Help, Heaven, help, and heed her not, ⁠For her sorrows are strong within; She knows not the words that her tongue repeats,— ⁠Oh! count them not for sin! Cease, cease, my child, thy wretchedness, And think on the promised happiness; So shall thy mind's calm ecstasy Be a hope and a home and a bridegroom to thee." 

"My mother, what is happiness? ⁠My mother, what is Hell? With William is my happiness,— ⁠Without him is my Hell! Spark of my life! down, down to the tomb: Die away in the night, die away in the gloom! Earth and Heaven, and Heaven and earth. Reft of William are nothing worth." 

Thus grief racked and tore the breast of Lenore, ⁠And was busy at her brain; Thus rose her cry to the Power on high, ⁠To question and arraign: Wringing her hands and beating her breast,— Tossing and rocking without any rest;— Till from her light veil the moon shone thro', And the stars leapt out on the darkling blue. 

But hark to the clatter and the pat pat patter! ⁠Of a horse's heavy hoof! How the steel clanks and rings as the rider springs! ⁠How the echo shouts aloof! While slightly and lightly the gentle bell Tingles and jingles softly and well; And low and clear through the door plank thin Comes the voice without to the ear within: 

"Holla! holla! unlock the gate; ⁠Art waking, my bride, or sleeping? Is thy heart still free and still faithful to me? ⁠Art laughing, my bride, or weeping?" "Oh! wearily, William, I've waited for you,— Woefully watching the long day thro',— With a great sorrow sorrowing For the cruelty of your tarrying." 

"Till the dead midnight we saddled not,— ⁠I have journeyed far and fast— And hither I come to carry thee back ⁠Ere the darkness shall be past." "Ah! rest thee within till the night's more calm; Smooth shall thy couch be, and soft, and warm: Hark to the winds, how they whistle and rush Thro' the twisted twine of the hawthorn-bush." 

"Thro' the hawthorn-bush let whistle and rush,— ⁠Let whistle, child, let whistle! Mark the flash fierce and high of my steed's bright eye, ⁠And his proud crest's eager bristle. Up, up and away! I must not stay: Mount swiftly behind me! up, up and away! An hundred miles must be ridden and sped Ere we may lie down in the bridal-bed." 

"What! ride an hundred miles to-night, ⁠By thy mad fancies driven! Dost hear the bell with its sullen swell. ⁠As it rumbles out eleven?" "Look forth! look forth! the moon shines bright: We and the dead gallop fast thro' the night. 'Tis for a wager I bear thee away To the nuptial couch ere break of day." 

"Ah! where is the chamber, William dear, ⁠And William, where is the bed?" "Far, far from here: still, narrow, and cool; ⁠Plank and bottom and lid." "Hast room for me?"—"For me and thee; Up, up to the saddle right speedily! The wedding-guests are gathered and met, And the door of the chamber is open set." 

She busked her well, and into the selle ⁠She sprang with nimble haste,— And gently smiling, with a sweet beguiling, ⁠Her white hands clasped his waist:— And hurry, hurry! ring, ring, ring! To and fro they sway and swing; Snorting and snuffing they skim the ground, And the sparks spurt up, and the stones run round. 

Here to the right and there to the left ⁠Flew fields of corn and clover, And the bridges flashed by to the dazzled eye, ⁠As rattling they thundered over. "What ails my love? the moon shines bright: Bravely the dead men ride through the night. Is my love afraid of the quiet dead?" "Ah! no;— let them sleep in their dusty bed!" 

On the breeze cool and soft what tune floats aloft, ⁠While the crows wheel overhead?— Ding dong! ding dong! ’tis the sound, ’tis the song,— ⁠"Room, room for the passing dead!" Slowly the funeral-train drew near. Bearing the coffin, bearing the bier; And the chime of their chaunt was hissing and harsh, Like the note of the bull-frog within the marsh. 

"You bury your corpse at the dark midnight, ⁠With hymns and bells and wailing;— But I bring home my youthful wife ⁠To a bride-feast's rich regaling. Come, chorister, come with thy choral throng, And solemnly sing me a marriage-song; Come, friar, come,—let the blessing be spoken, That the bride and the bridegroom's sweet rest be unbroken." 

Died the dirge and vanished the bier:— ⁠Obedient to his call, Hard hard behind, with a rush like the wind, ⁠Came the long steps' pattering fall: And ever further! ring, ring, ring! To and fro they sway and swing; Snorting and snuffing they skim the ground, And the sparks spurt up, and the stones run round. 

How flew to the right, how flew to the left, ⁠Trees, mountains in the race! How to the left, and the right and the left, ⁠Flew town and market-place! "What ails my love? the moon shines bright: Bravely the dead men ride thro' the night. Is my love afraid of the quiet dead?" "Ah! let them alone in their dusty bed!" 

See, see, see! by the gallows-tree, ⁠As they dance on the wheel's broad hoop, Up and down, in the gleam of the moon ⁠Half lost, an airy group:— "Ho! ho! mad mob, come hither amain, And join in the wake of my rushing train;— Come, dance me a dance, ye dancers thin. Ere the planks of the marriage-bed close us in." 

And hush, hush, hush! the dreamy rout ⁠Came close with a ghastly bustle, Like the whirlwind in the hazel-bush, ⁠When it makes the dry leaves rustle: And faster, faster! ring, ring, ring! To and fro they sway and swing; Snorting and snuffing they skim the ground, And the sparks spurt up, and the stones run round. 

How flew the moon high overhead, ⁠In the wild race madly driven! In and out, how the stars danced about. ⁠And reeled o'er the flashing heaven! "What ails my love? the moon shines bright: Bravely the dead men ride thro' the night. Is my love afraid of the quiet dead?" "Alas! let them sleep in their dusty bed." 

"Horse, horse! meseems 'tis the cock's shrill note, ⁠And the sand is well nigh spent; Horse, horse, away! 'tis the break of day,— ⁠'Tis the morning air's sweet scent. Finished, finished is our ride: Room, room for the bridegroom and the bride! At last, at last, we have reached the spot, For the speed of the dead man has slackened not!" 

And swiftly up to an iron gate ⁠With reins relaxed they went; At the rider's touch the bolts flew back, ⁠And the bars were broken and bent; The doors were burst with a deafening knell, And over the white graves they dashed pell mell; The tombs around looked grassy and grim, As they glimmered and glanced in the moonlight dim. 

But see! but see! in an eyelid's beat, ⁠Towhoo! a ghastly wonder! The horseman's jerkin, piece by piece, ⁠Dropped off like brittle tinder! Fleshless and hairless, a naked skull, The sight of his weird head was horrible; The lifelike mask was there no more, And a scythe and a sandglass the skeleton bore. 

Loud snorted the horse as he plunged and reared, ⁠And the sparks were scattered round:— What man shall say if he vanished away, ⁠Or sank in the gaping ground? Groans from the earth and shrieks in the air! Howling and wailing everywhere! Half dead, half living, the soul of Lenore Fought as it never had fought before. 

The churchyard troop,—a ghostly group,— ⁠Close round the dying girl; Out and in they hurry and spin ⁠Through the dance's weary whirl: "Patience, patience, when the heart is breaking; With thy God there is no question-making: Of thy body thou art quit and free: Heaven keep thy soul eternally!"

- Gottfried August Burger, 1774; Dante Gabriel Rosetti translation, 1900

[aveis-the-red]

Diwali

Her diya and the stone she found in the cold waters would have a special place on her desk for now.  Her diya would stay lit, she determined. She would bring it to the shop in Kugane to ensure that the oil never ran out and the wick never grew too short.  This would be her Hope. The Carrier of her Wishes. The light that she would need when everything grew too dark. She needed that. Her own darkness felt like it was breathing down her neck lately, and any offering, any little help...that was a lifeline she was desperate to hold onto. Yet as the little clay lamp was placed on her desk, the flame flickered out.  Panic hit her. There was no breeze, there was plenty of wick and still plenty of oil. Why? Why did it go out? All the light in the room around her went out then.

The darkness around her breathed. It lived, and she felt the drafts caused by fluttering robes. Voices sounded out around her, their words a singsong chant in a language she didn’t understand. The clear jingle jangle of jewelry being jostled mixed in, clashing with the ominous chanting.  From the corners of her eyes she could see the dancers, but everytime she turned to face them they would dart away. “Youah ‘eaht is weak.” “Your hope is fickle. Brittle.”  “Your wishes are unattainable.”  “Youah ah not woathy of mine love.”  “Your child will only suffer because of you.”  "You are no longer a part of Pack.” 

“You are useless.” “You are worthless.” “You wish to be better, yet here you are. Alone, pregnant with no known father, emotionally crumbling, the future uncertain.” “You will be an unfit mother.”  She whirled, chasing robes and voices, blind and terrified. Every word struck true, hitting deep. Bile crept up her throat as she reached out, wildly grasping at whatever seemed to be in front of her hands.  I have to light my diya!  Her hands found the desk, and clambering, she sought the lamp. With trembling hands she found her matches, striking them, trying to find the wick. This darkness had to be banished.  When the wick caught everything went cold, and the tiny light it gave showed a long carpeted hall. The walls bore large portraits of unhappy nobles, their eyes drilling into her.  The hall was lined with the robed dancers, and as they spoke they reached up to pull down their hoods, exposing their identities.  Her parents. Her brothers. KhenZareenArdenTolemyArhaDunraiSana--all of Pack. Their gazes were accusing. “Your shop will fail.” “If -he- is the father you will be disowned.”  “You were a waste of time and resources.”  “You will never be loved the way you secretly desire.” “Your wish to be someone’s number one is a fool’s fantasy.”  She crumbled to her knees as the diya’s tiny little light flickered and sputtered, and she curled over it, trying to protect it. But as she was surrounded by her family and their words, the flame gave out for good.

Aveis jerked awake with a start, a strangled cry of anguish tearing from her. For a moment she sat in her bed, trembling and gasping, sweat and tears running down her face.  A nightmare. It had just been a nightmare. Even so the redhead wrestled her blankets away, jumping up to run to her desk where she had placed her diya prior to going to bed. It was still there, burning away--the oil was low but it lingered on, the flame lazily licking at the air.  I can’t tell them. She sniffed hard as more tears came, blurring her vision. Wrapping her arms around her belly, she hugged herself tight, doubling over. I can’t tell them I’m pregnant.  I’ll lose everything, especially...especially if... Her thoughts trailed away as she started to cry, the light from her diya flickering in response.

[gachaesthetic]

Gacharic Spin & DOLL$BOXX Information Masterpost 2018

Warning: this is quite a long post, if you’re just looking for videos and song recommendations you can just scroll straight to the end

Gacharic Spin is an all-female rock band based in Tokyo, Japan, formed in 2009 by two friends and former high school classmates, F Chopper KOGA and Hana. Their sound varies wildly, from hard rock to dance pop to funk, but usually settles somewhere around the range of energetic electro-influenced pop rock. Their signature assets according to fans include their talented musical skill (particularly the technical slap-bass of F Chopper KOGA), complex songwriting, wild visual aesthetics, and an unforgettable live concert experience.

In terms of their marketing strategy, you might think of Gachapin (the band’s nickname) as a rock band that leans on some of the tactics of the grassroots idol scene. Members have a designated color, and you can guarantee that at any live show you’ll see a sea of fans decked out in their favorite member’s color. They’re very active on social media and take several opportunities throughout the year to interact with their fans, at in-store meet and greets and photo op events, at the merch booth at their shows, at fanclub-exclusive casual gatherings, etc. The band takes their touring schedule very seriously, performing upwards of 100 shows per year throughout the country, and each show is a spectacle, rife with penlights, costumes, props, choreography, and fan chants. Performer Mai, the band’s own hype-woman, leads the crowd in these interactive elements of the shows, and the fans dance and chant in sync in harmony with the band--a far cry from the usual fist-pump-head-bob of your typical rock concert and more in line with what you’d expect to find at an idol show. But don’t let their appearance fool you: the members of Gacharic Spin are some of the most technically proficient female musicians active in the scene today.

DOLL$BOXX is a side project of Gacharic Spin and their friend and vocalist, Fuki. They are a more traditional rock band and more familiar to overseas audiences, with their music video Take My Chance practically viral on Youtube with 2.5 million views. More on them later in the side projects section, but if you found this article through your exposure to DOLL$BOXX, welcome! You’re lucky enough to have stumbled upon not just one but two amazing bands and I hope you’ll give your support to both of them.

Gacharic Spin Members

(left photo is in Gacharic Spin, right photo is DOLL$BOXX - except Mai)

F Chopper KOGA (2009 - present)

Position: Bass, Leader

Real Name: Koga Michiko

Color: Yellow (Green in DOLL$BOXX)

The leader and founding member of the band, F Chopper KOGA (interchangeably called Chopper or KOGA for short) is the emotional core of Gacharic Spin. She is the spokesperson for the band, appearing in radio interviews and leading the MC’s during concerts. Toward the end of the larger concerts, she is known to give a heartful, tear-filled speech of appreciation to the fans and her fellow members. Her bass skills are no less than virtuosic; she plays a slap-bass style inspired by Les Claypool. She has released two instructional bass DVD’s and was named in the top 20 bass players alive in a Japanese magazine ranking (the only female to make the cut for ANY instrument in that article). She is also influenced by KISS and especially Gene Simmons, whom she credits as the inspiration for Gacharic Spin’s gregarious performance style.

KOGA is often teased by her bandmates for her tone-deaf singing (she’s the only current member without any lead vocal credits) and for occasionally stumbling over her rapid-fire words, for which she’s been given the nickname Kami-sama (written 噛み様, a pun on the verb 噛む “to fumble one’s words”). Outside of the band, she’s devoted to her dog Suku, who is an unofficial mascot of the band. She’s also interested in radio work and hosted her own regular radio show for about a year.

Hana (2009-present)

Position: Drums, Vocals

Real Name: Sano Hana

Color: Blue

In addition to her full plate as the band’s drummer and one of the two lead vocalists, Hana, described as a “musical otaku” by her bandmates, is also the musical leader and main songwriter of Gachapin. In her career she’s something of a perfectionist and spends long hours in the studio practicing and writing, even without the other members present. Hana is a long time veteran of the music world. Growing up, she lacked any real hobbies and enrolled in some dance classes for something to do, and ended up auditioning for some idol groups at her musician parents’ encouragement. She joined the youth idol group PRECOCI and later joined the kids’ band 12.Hitoe as a vocalist, but it wasn’t until high school that she started to experiment with playing instruments. Today, she can play at least ten instruments, and in past bands has been a bassist and a guitarist. You can even see her on rhythm guitar in Gacharic Spin’s song “Boku Dake no Cinderella.”

Despite her serious demeanor towards her work, Hana is just as goofy as her bandmates. During her drum solos at concerts she’s known to don a yellow helmet with cowbells and jingle bells duct taped to it. She was also named the “Bakadan Leader,” the biggest idiot in the group, after a quiz event. She’s also the most prone to getting pranked by her bandmates; she’s had her drumsticks swapped out for chopsticks, she showed up to her birthday event to find her bandmates all dressed in her stage costumes from throughout the years, and she got slapped with the unwanted nickname “King” that’s haunted her ever since. Outside the band, she’s into fitness (just take a look at her biceps sometime), currently learning boxing and practicing to climb Mt. Fuji. She also has a fondness for birds.

TOMO-ZO (2010-present)

Position: Guitar

Real Name: Midorikawa Tomoko

Color: Pink

TOMO-ZO is the self-described “idol-type” of the group. Wherever she wanders, you’re sure to see an absurd amount of pink, glitter, bubbles, and toothy smiles. In the early years of the band, her gimmick was that she was an eternally 14 year old magical girl, and during MC’s she would hit the audience with a magic spell that would knock them back into their seats. In 2014, she came out to put the record straight: she was not actually a magical girl, but in fact an ancient alien from Nicorin Planet who is currently 400,000,014 years old, and now she hits the audience with her “TOMO-ZO Beam” which blasts them with her alien...psionic powers or something. I don’t know. Her sweet personality is also a little shady; during oneman concerts she gets her own MC section where she “introduces” each of her bandmates by telling an embarrassing story about them, and then introduces herself by saying something like, “I’m sorry that I’m so cute!”

As the only guitarist of the group, TOMO-ZO has a lot of responsibility in delivering Gachapin’s melody while Hana and KOGA drive the rhythm. And even though she isn’t officially listed as a vocalist, she always gets at least one lead vocal song in each album. They’re usually ridiculous. She’s also the only member to have performed a solo tour outside of the group. Additionally, she is responsible for designing all of Gachapin’s merchandise. TOMO-ZO is known both for her sweet tooth (she’s known to carry around lots of sweet treats and once said that her dream was to have a house made of candy) as well as for discreetly being a big carnivore. Hilariously, TOMO-ZO is the leader of the strait-laced, dark color schemed, super serious DOLL$BOXX.

Oreo Reona (2012 - present)

Position: Keyboard, Vocals

Real Name: Suzuki Reona

Color: Purple (with white as a secondary color)

On paper, Oreo Reona (also called Oreo or Oreo-sama) is the keyboardist and one of two lead vocals, but in practice, she’s...so many things. Something like Gachapin’s trump card, during a live performance you’re likely to see her all over the place, rushing out to the front of the stage to join Mai as one of the dancers, jamming on the keytar or even playing acoustic guitar on certain songs, and of course, standing upright on her keyboard during climactic moments of the show. She’s the self-proclaimed “sexy member,” with lots of moans and suggestive motions, but she’s just as much the band’s comic relief. Sometimes you’ll see her sporting tiny shorts, fishnets, and a light-up bra harness that shoots out fog. Sometimes she snatches off her own wig mid-concert and waves it around in midair. Sometimes she’s a hamburger. It’s a beautiful mess. She’s often the victim of slapstick in the group - getting pans dropped on her or smacked in the back of a head with a shoe; forced to bungee jump as she shrieks at the top of her lungs; getting her face crushed into her own birthday cake. And sometimes she’s her own victim and takes a faceplant onstage. It’s OK. She’s sturdy.

Oreo is usually teased for her laziness behind the stage and for her big appetite. Whenever the band goes overseas, you’re guaranteed to see a social media post about Oreo gushing over the food. Another running gag is her ongoing, unsuccessful struggle to find a good man, which was the theme of an entire tour in 2016. Oreo studied ballet as a kid, and subsequently became Gachadan’s dance coach when they became part of the lineup. She adores pandas, especially after Gachapin visited China in 2013 and she drew the short stick to get to hold a baby panda. Lately, she’s also taken an interest in Mexico (mostly because of the food). Despite her constant antics, the members seem to think highly of Oreo’s intellect, as she was ranked the #1 most likely to pass a general knowledge quiz.

Mai (2013 - present)

Position: Performer #1

Real Name: Morishita Mai

Color: Light Blue

Mai is currently the sole member of Gacha Gacha Dancers (Gachadan for short). Rather than playing an instrument, Gachadan is responsible for standing center stage and leading the choreography and getting the crowd pumped up and playing along. Mai has one lead vocalist credit to her name (Tokenai Candy, which was released as Gacha Gacha Dancers together with Arisa). Mai is in charge of creating choreography for the whole band, and after Nenne’s departure in 2017, she started to take on even more responsibilities. She’s started to learn guitar under TOMO-ZO’s tutelage and now plays guitar occasionally during Gachapin’s lives, and has a guitar line and rap verses in the lead track from the G-litter album, “Redline.” She’s also been responsible for coaching Gachadan Jr. On top of all that, Gachadan used to promote independently as an idol unit outside of Gachapin, with their own concerts, but that has stopped since Nenne’s departure. Mai is not a member of DOLL$BOXX, but she did make a cameo in their “Hero” music video.

Despite her slim body, Mai is well known for her big appetite. She’s often posting on her blog about different ice cream flavors she’s tried and asking for recommendations; she’s also a fan of REALLY spicy food. She likes South Korean culture and music. She’s often called “Sweet Devil” because, according to her bandmates, her innocent face is just a cover to hide her true nature. She’s also Hana’s #1 workout buddy. Outside of Gachapin she has a prolific gravure idol career as part of the Chu-Boh idol circle, but she hasn’t been active in gravure since graduating high school a couple years back.

Gachadan Jr. (2017 - present)

Gachadan Jr. aren’t really true members of Gachapin, but rather are a rotating stable of performers that back up Mai onstage. In 2017, Performer #3 Nenne took a hiatus due to medical reasons, but much of Gachapin’s choreography relied on having 2 bodies at center stage, so Gachapin recruited about 20 young girls to participate in one of their big concerts. Nenne left the group permanently, and instead of hiring a full-time replacement for her, the Gachadan Jr. lineup was pared down to three girls who rotate to appear in certain live performances: Misaki, Anna, and Hazuki.

Former Members

Eita (2009)

Position: Guitar

Eita was the original guitarist of Gacharic Spin, but left due to creative differences before any CDs were released and was soon replaced by TOMO-ZO. Years later, Eita formed a band with Armmy called TAKAEITA.

Armmy (2009-2012)

Position: Vocals

Real Name: Ashitomi Takae

At the start of Gachapin’s existence, the band only had one dedicated vocalist, with Hana solely listed as the drummer. Like Oreo, Armmy’s character was based on over-the-top sexiness that sometimes eked into comic territory. Armmy left the group after an extended period of absence in 2011 due to poor health. She was off the music scene for a while but then formed a band with EITA, but unfortunately she passed away suddenly in 2015.

Arisa (2013-2015)

Position: Performer #2

Real Name: Kamiki Arisa

Color: Green

Arisa was hired alongside Mai as the first generation of Gacha Gacha Dancers in 2013. She was adored by her fans for her “genki,” “baka,” goofy personality. Despite that, she also had an occasional friendly rivalry with Oreo about who was the sexiest member. Just after Gachapin’s major debut in 2015, Arisa decided to leave the group to focus on her last year of high school. She hasn’t been seen on the entertainment scene since then.

Nenne (2015-2017)

Position: Performer #3

Real Name: Konishi Nene

Color: Orange

Nenne was an underclassman at Mai’s school who attended the same dance classes as her, so Mai invited her to come see some of Gachapin’s live shows and got to know the members. When Arisa announced her intention to graduate, Nenne became a natural candidate to replace her, as she had been a member of two idol groups in the past and could also play piano. They began to train Nenne behind the scenes before Arisa’s departure, so Nenne was ready to go iimmediately after Arisa left. Nenne was the first to push the envelope of the Gachadan position as she also acted as a backup keyboardist/pianist to Oreo. This granted flexibility to the band, letting Oreo come out front as more of a lead vocalist while Nenne took her station at the back of the stage. You can hear Nenne’s work throughout the Music Battler album, including the twin piano duel at the start of Nostalgic Blue. Nenne went on hiatus from the group in 2017 due to hearing damage. She spent several months in recovery, and while the condition did improve, but she decided to fully withdraw from the group to prevent any future damage. She remains in contact with the members and attends some of their lives, and she also remains active on Instagram and Twitter.

History

Ultimately, the story of Gacharic Spin is the story of KOGA, so it’s worthwhile to take a few paragraphs to tell her story. Born and raised in Nagoya, KOGA set off on her own at age 14 to move to Tokyo to get her foot into the entertainment industry with a dream to become a TV announcer or producer. She soon met a producer named Kihara Michiko, the president of the briskcrew talent agency, who signed KOGA on to her agency as a gravure idol (think racy swimsuit modelling). One day, briskcrew decided that the idols on its roster were going to hold a fanclub event, and encouraged the idols to come up with fun ideas for the fans. Some of KOGA’s seniors approached her about their idea to form a one-time band for the event, and since the other members had already chosen the other instruments, KOGA was left with being the bassist, despite never playing one before. The fan event was such a success that briskcrew decided to make the band a permanent fixture, and the punk-pop group The Pink Panda was formed.

At the same time, KOGA was working part time at a recording studio, which gave her a chance to broaden her horizons and learn about different rock bands that she heard the studio musicians covering. Her two biggest influences were Primus, which lead to her adopting her signature slap-bass style that became the basis for her nickname, and KISS, whose theatrical, over the top performance style she wanted to emulate.

Pink Panda grew in popularity and started to get scouted by major labels. What happened next is subject for debate, but KOGA’s side of the story is something like this: the record label wanted Pink Panda to tone down their boisterous style and try to go more mainstream, and specifically they noted that they’d never had a female slap bassist sell well. Rather than kick their friend out of the group, Pink Panda decided to split amicably with a full breakup. The remaining members, minus KOGA, went on to form another band called Blistar.

Short on cash, KOGA was ready to throw in the towel and move back to Nagoya, but her producer, Kihara, seeing the talent KOGA had, pleaded with her to stay. If KOGA would give it one more chance and form another band, she’d have the full support of briskcrew behind her all the way to the end. KOGA agreed but with conditions: this would be her last band, and she would only do it if one other person agreed to join: her high school classmate (and onetime bandmate in a jam band she was temporarily in during the Pink Panda days), Sano Hana. Hana was already in a band of her own at the time, so KOGA was surprised when Hana immediately agreed. Originally the plan was for Hana to continue working in her old band concurrently, but since she was a bassist in that band and KOGA wanted her to be the drummer in the new band, she decided to give one up and give her full attention to just one instrument.

The two founding members named the band Gacharic Spin. Orginally it was a bacronym because they liked the word “Gachapin” and wanted something they could shorten to that. Now, they explain it as a combination of “Gachagacha,” the onomatopoeia for the clattering sounds that a gachapon capsule machine makes, and “Spin,” mixing things together. Therefore, Gacharic Spin is mixing together several clattering, clashing elements.

The band recruited Armmy on vocals and Eita on guitar through an audition process, and the group started to perform in clubs. The group got an early boost in popularity from old Pink Panda fans, but in the back of her mind KOGA had anxiety that those fans could wander off at any time. So the band pursued an active touring schedule to try and get as many new fans as possible. Only a few months in to the band’s formation, Eita left the band due to creative differences, and they held another auditon, where they found TOMO-ZO, from the recently disbanded girl band EU-PHORIA (whom KOGA had shared the stage with before as Pink Panda). Apparently, they hit it off great with TOMO-ZO, and took a liking to her the moment she entered the room. With their permanent guitarist now onboard, they entered the “Gachapin 2.0” formation, and the group hit the studio and recorded their first two singles, Lock On!! and Hunting Summer all at once.

2011 brought Gachapin their first mini-album release and their first overseas appearance in Houston, TX. Toward the end of the year they also started to perform with a support keyboardist on tour, TOMO-ZO’s former bandmade in EU-PHORIA, Oreo Reona.

In  2012 the band reached its biggest crisis to date, a period they call the “Gachapinch” era. Armmy was repeatedly absent due to chronic health issues. The band had to cancel several co-headlining shows as a result, but they still had a headline tour of their own coming up. They recruited several of their acquaintances from different bands to act as guest vocalists throughout the tour. Two of these guest vocalists turned out to be very important: their own support keyboardist Oreo Reona, and Fuki, the lead singer of the power metal band Light Bringer.

After the tour, there was still no indication that Armmy’s condition was improving, and the band was finding it difficult to contact her at all. They made the decision to remove her from the band, with the intention to recruit a new permanent vocalist. Around the same time, Oreo was hired as a permanent keyboardist. However, the band had a tour in France already lined up for that same year, and it was too late to back out. The band decided to move forward with the France tour, with Hana and Oreo splitting lead vocal duties. The dynamic worked better than expected, and when they returned to Japan they decided to keep the four member lineup, which became known as “Gachapin 2.5.” This formation released the single “Nudierhythm” together.

For the rest of 2012, Gachapin went on the backburner a bit while the members started to work on another project. During the Gachapinch period, they developed a rapport with Fuki from Light Bringer, and the two parties had casual talks about doing a collaboration together. The talks escalated until Fuki and Gachapin decided to form a side group together called DOLL$BOXX. Their debut album, “Dolls Apartment,” was released in 2012 under the major label King Records.

After Dolls Apartment’s promotional cycle ended and DOLL$BOXX went back on the shelf, it was time for Gacharic Spin to resume its activities in earnest. However, the members decided that the 2.5 formation was lacking something. Oreo and Hana were the main vocalists, but both of them were at the back of the stage. Koga and TOMO-ZO stood out front but were mostly occupied with their own instruments. This led to a void, no front woman standing at center stage to get the crowd hyped up. The solution they found was to hire two dancers as support members. Through her connections in the idol industry, Kihara recruited Mai and Arisa, who became the first generation of “Gacha Gacha Dancers,” Gachapin’s support dancers. The new formation was dubbed “Gacharic Spin 2013 style.”

All of these changes in such a small period of time--cancelling shows, losing their vocalist, and then completely relaunching the band with a totally different lineup and performance style, were a big gamble, and the members worried about losing their fans--but, to their amazement, the fans largely stayed with them, embraced the dancers, and the band’s future was secured. In 2014, the Gacha Gacha Dancers became full-fledged, permanent members, and later the same year, after all these struggles, the band signed a major label deal with Victor Records, releasing their major debut Sekira Liar / Tokenai Candy in 2015.

Since going major, the band has continued to have some ups and downs--the loss of Arisa, and then later gaining and subsequently losing their third dancer Nenne--but nothing compared to the troubles they’ve overcome so far; they are continuing to barrel forward as they always have, with an insane touring schedule, regular CD releases, and a loyal army of Gachaman & Gachapinko (male and female Gachapin fans, respectively) cheering them on every step of the way as we inch ever toward their 10th anniversary next year. Their biggest milestones since going major have included recording an ending theme for the Dragon Ball Kai anime (their 2nd major single Don’t Let Me Down) in 2015; performing a oneman live at the legendary Hibiya Outdoor Amphitheater in 2017; more overseas shows in the United States (San Francisco, Houston, and Chicago), South Korea, Taiwan, and China; and completing a 23-show oneman nationwide tour culminating in a double oneman show (Gacharic Spin and DOLL$BOXX both performing separate, full-length headline sets on the same day) at Tokyo Dome City Hall in 2018.

Discography

Singles

Indies 1st: Lock On!! (2010)

Indies 2nd: Hunting Summer (2010)

Indies 3rd: Setsunaku Melody (2010)

Indies 4th: Nudierhythm (2012)

Indies 5th: Boku Dake no Cinderella (2014)

Major 1st: Sekira Liar / Tokenai Candy (2015)  (available on Spotify)

Major 2nd: Don’t Let Me Down (2015)  (available on Spotify)

Major 3rd: Shakishaki Shite!! / Aru Busu no Shoujo (2016)  (available on Spotify)

Major 4th: Generation Gap (2017) (available on Spotify)

Albums

Indies Mini-Album: Virgin-A (2011)

Indies 1st: Delicious (2013)

Indies 2nd: WINNER (2014)

Major Best: Gachatto Best ~2010-2014~ (2014)  (available on Spotify)

Major 1st: MUSIC BATTLER (2015)  (available on Spotify)

Major 2nd: Kakujitsu Hendou -KAKUHEN- (2016)  (available on Spotify)

Major 3rd: G-litter (2018)  (available on Spotify)

Side Projects

Never content with the status quo, Gachapin has participated in a number of side projects and collaborations over the years.

DOLL$BOXX

DOLL$BOXX (called Dorubako by fans) is a band formed by the instrument players of Gacharic Spin and Fuki, a vocalist previously from the bands Light Bringer and Unlucky Morpheus. The project arose out of the chemistry between the two acts when Fuki was a guest vocalist on the Gachapinch tour. Their debut album Dolls Apartment released under King Records in 2012 (technically, it was Gacharic Spin’s major label debut as they did not sign to Victor Entertainment until 2015). DOLL$BOXX toured through the end of 2012 in support of the album, but disappeared into the shadows for several years.

They reconvened briefly in 2014 to support a music video collection DVD, but for the most part DOLL$BOXX went completely radio silent, leading many to believe it was just a one time collaboration. However, in 2016, Fuki signed to Victor Entertainment as well, and with all five musicians on the same label finally, a path forward appeared. Hints of a DOLL$BOXX reunion swirled, with a one-off reunion show performed in February 2017. Then, Fuki appeared as a guest performer at Gachapin’s Hibiya Yaon concert in June and confirmed the suspicions: DOLL$BOXX was back, and a new mini-album was in the works, released late in 2017. DOLL$BOXX has remained active since then, with two tours and hosting their first music festival, DOLL$FESTA, in 2018.

DOLL$BOXX sports a heavier hard rock and less electro-influenced sound than Gachapin. Fuki’s swooping vocals are complemented by Hana’s backing growls, a talent of hers seldom showcased in Gachapin. Their music video Take My Chance has over 2.5 million views on Youtube and has spread outside of Japan due to their tongue-in-cheek parody of idol culture juxtaposed with their aggressive sound. Onstage and in interviews, DOLL$BOXX has a much more serious demeanor than Gachapin, but it’s immediately apparent that this is tongue in cheek as well, and that behind the serious faces and dark clothing, they’re having a blast and trying their best not to laugh and stay in character.

Members

TOMO-ZO (leader)

F Chopper KOGA

Hana

Oreo Reona

Fuki

Fuki

Position: Vocals

Real Name: Tenge Fuyuki

Color: Orange

Fuki is a very prolific singer in the Japanese hard rock/heavy metal scene. She gained notoriety as the lead singer of Light Bringer, and was a member of that band when she first met Gacharic Spin on tour. She volunteered as one of Gacharic Spin’s guest vocalists during the Gachapinch tour, and the collaboration was so successful that the two sides decided to team up and form the side project DOLL$BOXX while each remaining in their original bands. During DOLL$BOXX’s hiatus, she also participated in the recording of Gacharic Spin’s major debut best-of album, singing guest vocals on Black Survival (a song originally recorded by Armmy, but it became deeply associated to Fuki during the Gachapinch tour). Light Bringer has since disbanded, but Fuki is currently active in three different groups: DOLL$BOXX, Unlucky Morpheus, and her own solo project Fuki Commune. She’s also participated in a myriad of collaborations and side projects, including Sound Horizon, Nozomu Wakai’s Destinia, Carbonic Acid and Dragon Guardian. Her solo career has included many video game and anime soundtrack contributions including Terraformars, Kaitou Joker, and the Hyperdimension Neptunia series.

Fuki is well-respected in the scene due to her powerful, pitch-perfect, metal-influenced technique, as well her signature “high-tone” vocal style, but despite her power metal background she’s proven herself equally proficient at pop music and ballads. Fans also know her for her geeky side; she loves anime, games, and Sanrio characters (her favorite is Cinnamoroll), is frequently seen cosplaying on her social media pages, and is a founding member of Unlucky Morpheus, which started as a doujin metal circle performing rearranged covers of songs from the Touhou Project video game series and selling their work at Comiket.

DOLL$BOXX Discography

1st album: Dolls Apartment (2012)

Mini-album: high $pec (2017) (available on Spotify)

Metallic Spin

Metallic Spin is a European metal band that has gained popularity while touring in Japan, covering songs by western metal acts. Despite the similarities in names, and the fact that the bands have performed together often, they have no relation to Gacharic Spin.

**yes, but seriously, they are just Gachapin in wigs and makeup. The running gag is that they’re a totally different set of people, and it’s taboo to suggest otherwise. The original vocalist of Metallic Spin was Fuki/”Ki-fu Richards,” but now the vocalist is a guy from Saber Tiger.

Members

Kawai Tomozo (Guitar)

Nose (Drums)

Anarchy Stocking (Keyboard)

Chopako Gaefu (Bass)

Gezan Satsuporo (Vocals)

Gacha Gacha Dancers

Gacha Gacha Dancers (Gachadan for short) is the collective unit name for Gachapin’s performers. Therefore, the 1st generation of Gachadan was Mai and Arisa, and the second generation was Mai and Nenne. In 2015, Gacharic Spin released a double A-side single, Sekira Liar / Tokenai Candy. Tokenai Candy was credited to Gacha Gacha Dancers, was entirely sung by Mai and Arisa, and had its own music video. The single was released in two limited edition types, one cover featured the instrument team and the other cover featured the Gachadan team, and they had a contest to see which version would sell more copies. If Gachadan sold more, they would get their own solo CD debut. In the end, Gachadan fell short, but they still occasionally got to work outside the group attending some idol concert events as a separate unit. After Nenne’s departure, Gachadan’s outside activities have ceased so far. Gachadan has at least one unreleased original song called Banban.

Unofficial Local Idol Group Project

In 2014, someone thought it would be a good idea to create a fake idol group out of Gachapin’s members to be their opening act at a show in Atsugi. TOMO-ZO was the producer, and Hana, KOGA, and Oreo became the members in this masterpiece of a group called USUGI.

The show happened, USUGI released a demo CD, and someone had the even more brilliant idea to keep running with it, so Gachapin launched a full “unofficial local idol group” project in which they created a separate fake idol group for each city in their spring tour. Each unit had a different mix of Gachapin members, was themed around a certain part of that city’s culture, and lampooned a range of musical styles from classic Showa-style bubblegum pop to modern kawaii metal. At the end of the tour, they put on a battle of the bands event between all of the different idol groups, and they repeated the process again in 2016 with a new roster of idol groups to integrate their new member Nenne into the fold.

Hilarity ensued all around.

Teradaric Spin

Gachapin’s latest side project is a collaboration between the 4 instrument players and Terada Keiko, the lead singer of the long-running all-female band SHOW-YA. Gachapin has looked up to SHOW-YA as their “older sister band” for years, and they are a perennial participant at the SHOW-YA hosted music festival NAON no YAON. In 2018, Gachapin and Terada got together to form a side project together; they embarked on a mini-tour and also performed at DOLL$BOXX’s DOLL$FESTA event. Gachapin posted a survey on Twitter asking fans what Gachapin and SHOW-YA songs they would like to see covered, and they built the setlists for the tour based on those responses.

Links & Resources

Official Pages

Gacharic Spin Official Website

YouTube

LINE Blog (updated by all members on a daily schedule)

Twitter (TOMO-ZO)

Facebook (Hana)

Instagram (Oreo)

Instagram (Mai)

Ameblo (KOGA)

DOLL$BOXX Official Website

Twitter (Official)

Twitter (Fuki)

Ameblo (Fuki)

Music Videos

Listed in chronological order by CD release for each band. Bold links represents videos I recommend watching first for newcomers. A lot of their later videos only have short versions posted on Youtube, so I provided links for both the short, official version (higher quality + give them more hits) plus a link to the full version on another site whenever possible.

Gacharic Spin

Lock On!!

BROKEN LOVER

Setsunaku Melody

LosT AngeL

Juicy Beats

Nudierhythm (slightly NFSW) (Live version)

Next Stage

Ima wo Ikiteru ~2013nen haru~

Meromero Fantasy

Boku Dake no Cinderella

WINNER

Shuumatsu Fantasy

Sekira Liar (longer version with a watermark on it)

Tokenai Candy

Don’t Let Me Down (full)

MUSIC BATTLER (full)

Final na Fantasy (full)

Shakishaki Shite!! (smartphone version)

KAKUHEN (full)

Shiro ga kono machi to boku wo someru

Generation Gap

Redline

DOLL$BOXX

Loud Twin Stars

Merrily High Go Round

Take My Chance

monopoly

Role-Playing Life

fragrance

KARAKURI TOWN

Omocha no Heitai

Doll’s Box

Shout Down

Sub-liminal

HERO

Sekai wa kitto ai wo shitteru nda

Dragonet

[theimaginesyouneveraskedfor]

Give No Quarter XXXI

*tags: @everyjourneylove @somewhereinimagination @imaneternalflamebb @maniczebra83 @nuvoleincielo @ara-toa-min @ealasaid @nelswp @inkededucatednnerdy @fandomgalcentral @crowleysprincess159 @thorins-magnificent-ass @booknerdinator3000 @thebakerstboyskeeper @lamberts-bitch @memory-of-a-goldfish @karenp1969 @sherala007

-Warning: Violence, blood, and death-

You could not recall the exact moment when the sight of your own blood had ceased to affect you. The red drops trickling down your cheek and chin added to the array of crimson and scarlet stains across your corset. You could taste the metallic flavour as a stray bead of blood seeped between your lips. You spat forth another globule of reddened saliva, resisting the urge to wipe away the mess from your face.

“You’ll not be so pretty when I’m done with you,” Azog brought his blade up once more, laying a precise slice across your left cheekbone to mirror the right. You cared not for his threats as you’d likely not be alive when he had deemed your meeting over. “I’ve never met a bitch so stubborn as you.”

“And I’ve never met a brute so hideous,” You retorted, choking on your blood as you laughed darkly. “You’re a paltry monster after the beasts I’ve faced.” You taunted, “Nothing but an imp delighting in fool’s play.”

“Oh, yes?” He grabbed the back of your head, forcing you to your feet as he pressed the edge of his blade to your throat, “Perhaps you don’t fear the pain I’ve in store for you, but what about your dear captain, hmm? Shall I regale you with what awaits the honourable Oakenshield?”

You visibly gulped at the thought of Thorin, having drawn out your own torture to spare him. Despite Azog’s brutality and persistence, you had revealed not but insignificant details and irrelevant lies. He had broken two of your fingers and left dual gashes across your cheeks. He had hollered with irritation and thrown you against the wall several times, replacing you in the chair to resume his interrogation. You abided it all knowing it allowed Thorin a chance to save himself…if only he could find a way.

Thorin could not find his voice to shout anon. He continued to grip the bars between his hands, his face pushed against the cold metal as he tried not to think of what Azog was doing to Y/N. Every muscle within him felt as if it was throbbing and his eyes burned with acidic tears. He sniffed as he stared at the dim flame of the lantern across from him and felt a rage spark through his melancholy

It was the same anger he had been fighting since he had drawn Y/N from the depths of the water after Elvenking had tried to drown her. His grief had chased away the hunger which had driven him for so long but now it returned to him twofold. Azog had led him to this. He had attacked his crew all those years ago, violated his sister, driven her to madness, stranded him to a life tainted by violence. And now he would take from the Thorin the only sliver of solace he had found in his ill-fortuned life.

“Guard,” Thorin wiped away his tears and called out, driven by some half-formed plot brewing within, “Guard!”

He continued to call until the hatch opened, a sour grumble accompanied a set of clumsy footsteps and the tinkle of metal plodding down the stairs. The crewmate appeared before him with a drunken wobble and burped a foul odor into Thorin’s face. “What is the meaning of all this shouting!?”

“I’ve got to relieve myself,” Thorin stated plainly.

“Use the bucket,” The guard hiccupped and chuckled, unsteady on his feet.

“You took our pot,” Thorin lied, knowing the guard’s drunken eyes could not see through the dark shrouding the brass vessel hidden in the corner, “I’d rather not use the floor…Likely you’d be the one sent to clean it.”

“Or you could, hiccup, sleep in it,” The guard laughed again but quickly clamped his lips shut as if he would vomit. He swallowed with great effort and shook his head free of his sudden discomfiture, “Ugh, that ale was much to briny.”

“There’ll be something much more briny across these boards if you don’t let me relieve myself,” Thorin insisted, “I cannot hold it much longer.”

“Hmm,” The crewmate considered Thorin with caution, leaning in to look him over. Thorin kept his gaze steady until their noses were nearly touching. “I don’t—”

Thorin reached through the bars and seized the crew mate collar, jerking the pirate so violently that his head crashed against the metal. The man’s body went limp almost immediately and Thorin released him so that he crumpled on the floor. Kneeling, he reached through the bars and searched the crewmate’s belt for the jingle which had accompanied him down the steps.

Thorin pulled forth the key ring, carefully trying each skeleton until the last turned in the hole. He sighed but a sudden rush of fear took him. What would he do now? Opening the door was but the first obstacle. He took the crewmate’s thin blade; a measly weapon but better than nothing. He slowly crept up the stairs, peaking onto the deck with baited breath, readying himself for another tussle.

Only the sound of the ocean lashing the ship howled beneath the sliver of moon hanging crookedly on the sky. The deck was empty but for a few crewmates slumped lazily over crates, the empty bottle rolling at their feet foretelling their inebriated stupors. Thorin slowly climbed onto the deck, looking over the slumbering men as he passed. If any awoke, he could dispatch them as easily as the one below, though he would risk sending up the alert.

Thorin passed the last man stationed outside Azog’s cabin. He stirred briefly before he was incapacitated with the hilt of the slender sword. Thorin led the crewmate’s limp body to the boards noiselessly, listening for any disturbance in those around him. He hooked his sword through his belt and took the rifle which rest next to the man’s perch, checking that it was loaded before he approached the cabin door.

He listened, holding the firearm at the ready. He could hear Azog’s voice droning in a taunting manner. Y/N spoke weakly in response, a small whimper following at some unseen strike. Thorin’s body went rigid and he kept his rifle balanced as he reached with one hand to slowly press down the door latch. The door clicked open slightly, but no response sounded from within as Azog continued his interrogation.

Thorin stepped back, steadying the barrel of the gun and kicked the door open. Azog had Y/N across his desk, the blade of his arm hooked beneath the lace of her corset, several others already cleft. He turned in surprise to look at the intrusion, a sudden flash of recognition darkened his black eyes and Thorin pulled the trigger.

The bullet caught Azog in the center of his chest, he staggered slightly, turning towards Thorin with a roar. Y/N caught his bladed arm, bloodied palm sliding along the metal as she screamed and twisted it free. The curved sword disjointed from Azog’s truncated elbow and Y/N rolled away from him, turning the blade in her hand and slicing it across her tormentor’s stomach.

Azog stepped back stunned, gripping the large gash across his midriff desperately, his innards slipping sickeningly between his fingers. He fell onto his knees and Y/N slashed his throat with a barbaric cry, dropping the sword in distress as blood bubbled at Azog’s neck and he gargled appallingly. The pirate’s heavy form collapsed across the boards, his blood so dark it was nearly black.

Y/N held out her bloodied hands, several of her fingers visibly broken and both palms lacerated, the right even more than before. Her face was smear of crimson, two gashes across her cheekbones, her bottom lips swollen and split, both eyes blackened, and her hair hung in scarlet-coated shanks. Her corset hung-half open, her skirts torn and barely in tact. Y/N sunk to her knees beside Azog’s lifeless form and began to wail wildly.

Thorin looked behind him, the drunken crew undisturbed by the turmoil which had just unfolded. The fates must have changed course that night. He pulled closed the door before crossing to Y/N, setting aside his rifle as he knelt beside her. He pulled her trembling figure into his lap and held her as her sobs quieted and only the convulsions that wracked her body betrayed her distress. He had saved her, but just barely.

[galaxystony]

fortune’s fool: peter parker IV

peter parker x reader

multi-part fic based off of a twitter post which I won’t link until the end so as not to spoil anything :-) Each part can be read individually or as a series!

A/N: I’m sorry, I know I said I’d have this up on Wednesday, but I’ve had a ton going on this week, and I really wanted this part to be really good for y’all, so I spent a bit more time on it. I’m most proud of this installment so far. I hope you enjoy. Also, the marriage pact trope begins! Ahhh!

requested: nope

Words: 3800+

Warnings: slight angst, mentions of death

summary: Two Empire State University students fated to meet, but just out of reach

let me know if you’d like to be added to my tag list!

requests are open!

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | masterlist

4. Spaces

25 y/o Peter, 23 y/o reader

“Peter, we won’t ever stop being friends, will we?”

Peter looked up from his chemistry textbook at his best friend who was sprawled out on top of the covers on his bed.

“Duh,” he responded simply, turning back to his book. “You know I couldn’t survive without you by my side.”

She smiled softly, closing her eyes and leaning her head back to allow the sun that shone through the window to paint the length of her neck with its speckled glow. “Good,” she replied.

After a moment, she said again, “Peter?”

“Hmm?”

“Let’s never lose touch, okay? Even of you have to move upstate with the rest of  the Avengers and I have to move to the middle of nowhere. Like, Indiana or something.” She eyed him through one open eye as he turned and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“You planning on moving to Indiana any time soon, babe?” He cocked an eyebrow, his lips turning up in a half smile.

“It was just an example,” she said defensively. “But I’m being serious. You have to promise me we’ll never stop talking to each other, no matter what, okay?”

He was smiling fully now as he got up from his seat and jumped up onto the bed, laying his full body over the length of hers as she giggled wildly. “As long as you want me to keep talking to you, I will, smarty pants.”

Then he leaned down, pressed a kiss against her forehead, then got up and returned to his work as she continued to giggle softly from her spot on the bed.

-

It had been two years since she moved away. 

“I have to take care of my dad,” she’d said. “He won’t eat or sleep if I don’t make him. I’m scared of what will happen to him if I’m not there watching over him.”

It took her only three days to pack all of her things and move out of their his apartment. Three days to remove all traces of her being, not just from the home, but from Peter’s life, too. Three days to leave Peter floundering with his head just above the water.

“I need space,” she said. “I need to be able to learn to live in a world without my sister.”

He supposed he understood. He’d spent months after his uncle’s death isolating himself from the people he loved. There was nothing, nothing, he knew, that he could do to help her. She needed to heal alone. That’s what agonized him the most; that he couldn’t do anything for her no matter how much he wanted to.

And so she left. And he gave her space. And now it’s been two years since they’d spoken.

Two years, one month, and seventeen days, his mind supplied as he watched the city move below him from his perch on the roof of his apartment building.

Even after she left, he continued with his nightly rounds. He was worried, at first, about how he’d handle everything without her. She used to be the one to fix him when he came back after a particularly late night, agonizing over his latest slip-up. She always knew the exact words to say, words that no one else seemed to have. What would he do now?

It was May who gave him the idea to start journaling. She was always insightful, always knew better than she should about everything. She knew, even if Peter didn’t yet, that he’d loved Y/N, and she supposed that losing her was the equivalent of May losing Ben.

“Just write it all down,” May suggested. “That’s what helped me most after your uncle. Trust me, Peter. You don’t want to keep this bottled up inside.”

He protested at first. What would he even write about? What would he say? He thought it all felt a little… middle-school-girl-ish.

It was only after an especially rough night where he returned bloody and crying uncontrollably, missing Y/N more than usual, that he actually took May’s advice. He took a pen to the first blank page of his journal, and suddenly the words Dear Y/N were flowing from the tip, and he found himself unable to stop writing until his hand was shaking and stiff, and tears were smudging the blue ink, spreading it thin over the lined paper.

It wasn’t the same as actually speaking to her. He knew that. But he also knew that if he didn’t get the words out now, right now, he never would, and then he’d be forever stuck in his mind stewing over what he’d done wrong and what he should’ve done.

He hadn’t meant to get so stuck on her. He knew he had to move on from the girl who lit his darkest nights, a soft but persistent glowing ember that he thought would never fade. Two years without her, though, and the darkness was all he had left, like an old friend that always stuck in the outskirts of his mind, never straying far from sight, no matter how much he wrote. He was resigned to it now. Accepting of it.

He tried, though. He tried his best to forget her, but how could anyone forget that radiant sun that had cloaked so much of his life with its glow?

It didn’t take him long after she left for him to realize he was in love with her. It was inevitable, he guessed, and looking back, he didn’t know how he hadn’t realized any sooner. It was so obvious now, that they were forever entangled, souls interlocking so tight that he knew he’d never love anybody like he loved her.

And so he stayed in Manhattan in that tiny little apartment that should house two, but now held only one lonely soul and the big, gaping hole that she left behind, and he waited.

He lay awake all night waiting to hear her keys jingle in the lock of the front door. Sat solemnly at the kitchen table glaring at her obviously empty seat. Watched his phone constantly, begging it to light up with a message just so he’d know she was okay.

Nothing ever happened. No matter how hard he stared, he couldn’t will her to walk through the door or text him back.

That made it easy for him to start hating her. He knew it wasn’t fair, that she wasn’t his to keep in the first place, and that she was an independent woman capable of making her own decisions, but he also thought it wasn’t fair that she’d leave him alone when she knew how much he relied on her. He hated himself even more for thinking that. How selfish did he have to be to want to try and take her from her family when they needed each other much more than he needed her?

The hatred didn’t last long. Nine months in, and he was left with was a funny feeling in his heart that maybe she wasn’t coming back, but maybe there was also nothing he could do about it. He hoped she was doing okay, though.

He knew that she should be nearing the end of med school if she’d decided to continue schooling at home. He hoped she had, that she didn’t give up her dream. When she was still finishing her bachelor’s degree, he remembers her internal battle over staying in the city for school or moving back home.  

“Empire State’s such a good school, but I wouldn’t mind moving home for a bit. Stony Brook has a great med school, too,” she’d said.

“You have to stay here, babe. What would I do without you?” he remembers himself saying. How utterly selfish of him. Who was he to decide where she went to school? He originally felt a smug sort of pride when she finally decided to stay in Manhattan. Now, he could only wonder how different her life could have been if she’d gone back to Long Island. Maybe her sister would still be alive. He tried not to think of that very often.

He thinks there’s no way she wouldn’t have kept going to school at home. With her grades and study ethic, she would’ve gotten into Stony Brook easily. She’d come too far and had too much to lose to quit so easily. He knew, like everybody else knew, that she had one of the most brilliant minds of anyone their age. Quitting seemed like too much of a waste of her intelligence.

He hoped and prayed that she was alright. He knew how overwhelmed she’d get when the work started to pile up, that she’d work and work and never sleep until her body literally shut down. He hoped she had someone at home who would make her stop and rest, a job he used to happily call his own.

As he crouched on the roof lost in thought, his eyes absently skimmed the empty street, hoping that each taxi that approached would be her, dipping his head in thinly veiled disappointment when they continued past the building to some other, more important location.

He found himself distracted these days, especially during his rounds. He knew he should’ve been giving it his full focus, but he just couldn’t. He constantly had an eye out for a flash of her shining hair, a corner of her favorite coat, the smallest whiff of her perfume. Anything to prove she was back and she was still real.

He felt like he was going crazy, like this was his rock bottom, and everyone around him could tell. Ned and MJ would eye each other, sharing concerned glances after each time he faked another smile. Mr. Stark would lecture him after every botched mission that was a result of his unfocused mind.  May would try and coax his feelings out of him every once in awhile when she noticed that the journaling just wasn’t cutting it, but she never got more than a halfhearted shrug and an “I’m fine”.

“She’s okay, sweetheart,” May would assure him. “She just needs time.” And he’d nod in agreement, but once he got home, he’d lay in bed and wonder exactly how much more time she needed. He knew everybody was concerned, but there was nothing he could do to stop his worrying.

“It’s been two years, Pete. She’d want you to move on. Can you imagine what she’d say if she saw you like this?” MJ asked once when she’d caught him watching his phone instead of engaging in conversation with her while they were at lunch.

“Probably something about kicking my ass for putting her feelings before my own as usual,” he mumbled in reply.

MJ smiled and grabbed his hand over the table. “Exactly. You need to think of yourself now. It’s what she’d want.”

He started to get better little by little after that. He hung out with Ned and MJ more frequently. He spent one day a week after work at the Daily Bugle (who knew his personal journaling would end up helping him land a job as the writer for the advice column?) talking to Tony about what he went through in his other job. Most importantly, he began to open up to May about Y/N.

No one, he knew, would ever take her place, and some days, he felt like he was only using the others as a substitute until her return, but deep down, he knew that he was starting to heal.

His head snapped up when he heard the sound of another car approaching, this time pulling up to the curb. He watched closely as the passenger door opened, a foot stepping out before the door opened even wider to reveal its owner.

Time seemed to stop. He was no longer breathing, his heart turning violently inside of his chest. It was her. It was her. He still couldn’t breathe. He pinched his arm hard, praying that he wasn’t dreaming. The resulting sting told him he wasn’t.

He reached to pull his mask off, yanking it roughly over his head as his eyes widened. It was her. He could tell, analyzing her familiar movements as she pulled a suitcase from the car then waved it off after paying the driver.

Go to her! his mind screamed at him as she looked up at the building, clearly not seeing him, before she picked up her suitcase and unlocked the heavy wooden door with her own key.

He sat stunned and unable to move. She was here. She was home. She was back and she was okay and he didn’t know what to do.

Go find her, idiot! that little voice repeated, and he shot up, racing to the very edge of the building and jumping without a second thought, shooting a web at the fire escape just outside her old window and pulling himself up without a sound.

He slid the window open and swung in, seeing her still-dark room empty of any movement. He moved silently through the apartment and sat at the kitchen table in his usual spot, still wearing his suit without the mask.

His ears perked up at the sound of keys in the lock, a sound he’d been waiting for with bated breath for the past two years. His eyes were still trained on the door as it opened and she stepped in, and he got up from his seat to help her out of her jacket, just like he had so many times in the years before.

She turned and smiled softly in that secret way of hers, like it was saved just for him, and wrapped tight arms around his torso, pulling him close to her and burying her face in his chest, just like she used to.

He responded belatedly, his mind still trying to process the fact that she was here and he could feel her, solid and sure. He enveloped her in a hug, leaning his head down to rest it in the crook of her neck as he inhaled her scent, something that had been gone from his apartment for so long that he almost couldn’t remember it at all.

“Welcome back, smarty pants,” he whispered into her hair.

He could feel her crying, warm tears seeping through the fabric of his suit. He knew he probably was, too. They stood there for a while, wrapped up in each other and trying to make up for all of the time they’d lost when they were apart.

When she finally pulled away, her face was wet with tears, nose red and running, and the picture was so familiar that Peter’s chest physically ached with longing. She sniffed and wiped the wetness away with one of her sleeves, smiling up at him through eyes that still shone with tears.

“I’m home,” is all she said, when he pulled her back in, holding her like he thought she might drift away, that if he let go, she’d leave again, and he’d be completely lost.

“Thank God,” he breathed into her ear, and then they were both sobbing and he was walking them backwards towards the sofa, collapsing onto it when the back of his knees hit the worn brown cushion.

They pulled apart, sitting facing each other in their usual spots, crying and laughing all at the same time, both of their hearts feeling like a weight had been lifted off of them after so long.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked when they’d calmed down. “I didn’t think you’d be back so soon.”

“My dad wanted me to finish med school at my dream school, and he knew that wasn’t Stony Brook. He promised me he’d be okay if I spent one last year at Empire State,” she explained quietly.

“That’s- that’s amazing, babe! You’re gonna be living here in the city with me again! You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you to come back! I can’t wai-”

“Peter, I’m not moving back here,” she interrupted with a pained look on her face. “I still need space. Being back home only reminded me how much I missed my sister, and I barely had any time to learn to live without her. I still need to be by myself and adjust to life away from home and without her.”

His eager smile fell, lips dipping lower and lower as she continued to speak.

“I only came here to let you know I was back in the city. It felt wrong coming back without you knowing. But I have my own apartment in Brooklyn. It’s only a twenty minute subway ride from campus. I hope you understand, Peter. You were such a big part of my life, and you know I’d never want to cut ties with you forever, but I need this time. I need to know who I am without her.”

Peter nodded his head solemnly. He understood. Of course he did. He would give her whatever he wanted, as long as he knew she was alright.

“Okay,” he agreed. “I get it. I’ll give you whatever you need.”

Her smile returned, and she leaned over to hug him again, that familiar warmth filling him from the inside out as they held each other as close as they could.

“Stay the night at least?” he whispered into her hair.

“Of course,” she replied, eyes closed to fight an oncoming bout of tears as she pushed her forehead against his.

She found herself in his bed twenty minutes later, a spot carved out for her like she’d never left that was marked by twisted sheets and dented pillows and looked just how she remembered them.

They lay nose to nose, staring unblinking into the other’s eyes as they breathed and drank in the feeling of being there together again, their limbs locked together like missing puzzle pieces reunited once again.

“I need you to know something. Before you leave me again,” Peter broke the silence first with a well-placed hand on her cheek.

“What is it?” she asked softly, even though she could guess what the next words out of his mouth would be.

“I love you,” he stated plainly.

“I know,” she responded without missing a beat. “I love you, too.”

“Then stay here with me! Y/N, I want to take care of you. I know you feel like you have to handle this on your own, but you don’t! You have so many people here that love you and want to help you heal, me especially,” he spoke desperately. She sighed, smiling sadly, and he knew she wouldn’t change her mind for anything or anyone.

“I’m sorry, Peter. I love you, but I can’t stay here. I need to rebuild on my own for a while. There’s nothing I want more than for my life to return to normal, but it won’t. So until I’m able to move on, I can’t stay,” she explained as she watched a tear roll over the crooked little bump in Peter’s nose and down the side of his cheek. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

“I love you so much it scares me. Sometimes I don’t think I’d be able to live without you. Just knowing that you were somewhere out there trying to deal with this alone made me want to rip my hair out for not being able to help. You gave me the best three years of my life before you left, Y/N. It took me nearly a year to be able to sleep through a full night because my thoughts of you kept me awake. I even wrote letters to you every day that I never sent and probably never will. I still haven’t learned how to live without you.” The tears were fully streaming now, pooling on top of the pillowcase until they were absorbed into the soft cotton.

Now was her turn to cup his cheek, wiping away the onslaught of tears as they continued to fall rapidly from swollen and bloodshot eyes that used to be the wellspring of her happiness.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I know I left you alone. I know you’ve had to deal with your own problems without me. I didn’t want you to get hurt, I wanted you to be able to move on,” she sniffed, her own warm tears coating red cheeks.

“God, I feel so stupid. Everything you’ve been dealing with is so much harder than what I’ve been going through. I feel so selfish making you feel guilty for leaving. That’s not how I want you to feel,” he frowned, trying to stop any more tears from falling.

“Peter, your problems are no less important than mine. I don’t ever want you to feel guilty for wanting to talk to me about what’s bothering you. Even if I’m not physically here for you, I’ll always be with you in here,” she smiled as she placed a small hand over his heart.

It thudded against her palm, something soft and steady that seemed to say listen to me, I love you, feel how I beat for you.

“And you’re always in here, I promise. There’s not a moment that I stopped thinking about you these past two years.” She reached to pull his hand to her chest, feeling its warmth over her own beating heart that played the same symphony as his own.

They lay there for a few minutes with their hands over each other’s hearts that beat in synchronicity as they sniffed well-deserved tears away, basking in the incredibly intimate moment.

“Y/N?” Peter broke the silence again after a moment of thought.

“Yes?”

“Promise me one thing,” he whispered after he grabbed the hand that lay on his chest.

“Anything,” she nodded, giving his hand a squeeze.

“If we both haven’t fallen in love with anybody else, and we’ve both learned to heal in the next five years, let’s get married, okay? When you’re twenty-eight and I’m thirty,” he implored her tentatively, gauging her reaction carefully through creased brows.

“Okay,” she agreed after a beat of silence, and he pulled her into his embrace, breathing in her scent without any intent of letting go.

-

She left for her apartment in Brooklyn the next morning with the promise that she’d get back in touch as soon as she was ready. This time, Peter didn’t mind so much. He felt at peace with the fact that they would come together again. It may be years from then, but he was content to know that there was a future to look forward to. Their lives were in the hands of fate now.

Desperate for a change of scenery, though, he decided to take up Tony’s offer from years earlier and moved upstate to live and work at the Avengers compound with the hope that rigorous training would be enough to keep his mind off of her until she was ready to speak to him again.

His first day at the compound was one of the hardest he’d had in a long time since before she’d left. That night, he found himself at his desk with a lone lamp illuminating the bare sheet of paper in front of him as he began the first letter he would actually send.

Dear Y/N…

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