#but this— and specifically this— I will stand behind with complete conviction

[dykeogenes]

quick fyi: the term ‘war crime’ ceases to have meaning the moment you designate a group of people— any group of people— against whom it is legitimate to commit them.

that isn’t a political statement. it’s just how the concept of war crime works. there were some interesting conventions written about it that you might like to read. the Red Cross has a page about them.

[watsonmelon]

homosexual love and heartbreak in "Bartleby the Scrivener" by Herman Melville. an interpretation.

Warning: this story in this context is a tragedy, and this analysis discusses views of homosexuality as an affliction, and covers themes of Christian morality and guilt regarding homosexuality. There will be heresy here. I have tried to be respectful.

I'm not saying the story is not about charity or capitalism or anything. I only offer this for consideration.

I will comment on selected passages in order. Emphasis in the quotes is not mine. Let's begin.

I am a man who, from his youth upwards, has been filled with a profound conviction that the easiest way of life is the best. Hence, though I belong to a profession proverbially energetic and nervous, even to turbulence, at times, yet nothing of that sort have I ever suffered to invade my peace. I am one of those unambitious lawyers who never addresses a jury, or in any way draws down public applause; but in the cool tranquility of a snug retreat, do a snug business among rich men's bonds and mortgages and title-deeds. All who know me, consider me an eminently safe man.

The first thing that the narrator tells us about himself is that he keeps his head down. He follows the rules. He is a safe man.

In answer to my advertisement, a motionless young man one morning, stood upon my office threshold, the door being open, for it was summer. I can see that figure now—pallidly neat, pitiably respectable, incurably forlorn! It was Bartleby.

Briefly, notice Bartleby's entrance, as if he was dropped upon the narrator's doorstep.

It was on the third day, I think, of his being with me, and before any necessity had arisen for having his own writing examined, that, being much hurried to complete a small affair I had in hand, I abruptly called to Bartleby.

Risen? On the third day? Like Jesus?

“I would prefer not to,” he said, and gently disappeared behind the screen.

For a few moments I was turned into a pillar of salt, standing at the head of my seated column of clerks. Recovering myself, I advanced towards the screen, and demanded the reason for such extraordinary conduct.

In contrast to the narrator, Bartleby does not follow the rules. Specifically, he is nonconforming in his preferences. The way he responds is unnatural and unsettling to the narrator, which to me resembles a nineteenth century view of homosexuality as a taboo. Furthermore, on considering him, the narrator is turned not to stone, frozen in shock, but instead into a pillar of salt, just as Lot's wife looking back upon Sodom.

With any other man I should have flown outright into a dreadful passion, scorned all further words, and thrust him ignominiously from my presence. But there was something about Bartleby that not only strangely disarmed me, but in a wonderful manner touched and disconcerted me. I began to reason with him.

and...

As days passed on, I became considerably reconciled to Bartleby. His steadiness, his freedom from all dissipation, his incessant industry (except when he chose to throw himself into a standing revery behind his screen), his great stillness, his unalterableness of demeanor under all circumstances, made him a valuable acquisition. One prime thing was this,—he was always there;—first in the morning, continually through the day, and the last at night. I had a singular confidence in his honesty. I felt my most precious papers perfectly safe in his hands. Sometimes to be sure I could not, for the very soul of me, avoid falling into sudden spasmodic passions with him. For it was exceeding difficult to bear in mind all the time those strange peculiarities, privileges, and unheard of exemptions, forming the tacit stipulations on Bartleby's part under which he remained in my office. Now and then, in the eagerness of dispatching pressing business, I would inadvertently summon Bartleby, in a short, rapid tone, to put his finger, say, on the incipient tie of a bit of red tape with which I was about compressing some papers. Of course, from behind the screen the usual answer, “I prefer not to,” was sure to come; and then, how could a human creature with the common infirmities of our nature, refrain from bitterly exclaiming upon such perverseness—such unreasonableness. However, every added repulse of this sort which I received only tended to lessen the probability of my repeating the inadvertence.

He feels unsettled and provoked by him, and yet safe with him. He comes to value Bartleby. Bartleby is always there.

Now, one Sunday morning I happened to go to Trinity Church, to hear a celebrated preacher, and finding myself rather early on the ground, I thought I would walk around to my chambers for a while. Luckily I had my key with me; but upon applying it to the lock, I found it resisted by something inserted from the inside. Quite surprised, I called out; when to my consternation a key was turned from within; and thrusting his lean visage at me, and holding the door ajar, the apparition of Bartleby appeared, in his shirt sleeves, and otherwise in a strangely tattered dishabille, saying quietly that he was sorry, but he was deeply engaged just then, and—preferred not admitting me at present. In a brief word or two, he moreover added, that perhaps I had better walk round the block two or three times, and by that time he would probably have concluded his affairs.

Now, the utterly unsurmised appearance of Bartleby, tenanting my law-chambers of a Sunday morning, with his cadaverously gentlemanly nonchalance, yet withal firm and self-possessed, had such a strange effect upon me, that incontinently I slunk away from my own door, and did as desired. But not without sundry twinges of impotent rebellion against the mild effrontery of this unaccountable scrivener. Indeed, it was his wonderful mildness chiefly, which not only disarmed me, but unmanned me, as it were. For I consider that one, for the time, is a sort of unmanned when he tranquilly permits his hired clerk to dictate to him, and order him away from his own premises. Furthermore, I was full of uneasiness as to what Bartleby could possibly be doing in my office in his shirt sleeves, and in an otherwise dismantled condition of a Sunday morning. Was any thing amiss going on? Nay, that was out of the question. It was not to be thought of for a moment that Bartleby was an immoral person. But what could he be doing there?—copying? Nay again, whatever might be his eccentricities, Bartleby was an eminently decorous person. He would be the last man to sit down to his desk in any state approaching to nudity. Besides, it was Sunday; and there was something about Bartleby that forbade the supposition that he would by any secular occupation violate the proprieties of the day.

The narrator is on his way to church, and goes astray. I thought it was interesting to read in this annotated text that Trinity Church and the earlier mentioned John Jacob Astor were controversial, hated for their greed. Perhaps the church he strays from is hypocritical and does not truly uphold virtue.

The narrator finds Bartleby exposed, and he finds himself stripped of his masculinity.

Suddenly I was attracted by Bartleby's closed desk, the key in open sight left in the lock.

I mean no mischief, seek the gratification of no heartless curiosity, thought I; besides, the desk is mine, and its contents too, so I will make bold to look within. Every thing was methodically arranged, the papers smoothly placed. The pigeon holes were deep, and removing the files of documents, I groped into their recesses.

Attraction, justification, violation. The violation is on his own property—in his own mind? The erotic language of the search.

I now recalled all the quiet mysteries which I had noted in the man. I remembered that he never spoke but to answer; that though at intervals he had considerable time to himself, yet I had never seen him reading—no, not even a newspaper; that for long periods he would stand looking out, at his pale window behind the screen, upon the dead brick wall; I was quite sure he never visited any refectory or eating house; while his pale face clearly indicated that he never drank beer like Turkey, or tea and coffee even, like other men; that he never went any where in particular that I could learn; never went out for a walk, unless indeed that was the case at present; that he had declined telling who he was, or whence he came, or whether he had any relatives in the world; that though so thin and pale, he never complained of ill health. And more than all, I remembered a certain unconscious air of pallid—how shall I call it?—of pallid haughtiness, say, or rather an austere reserve about him, which had positively awed me into my tame compliance with his eccentricities, when I had feared to ask him to do the slightest incidental thing for me, even though I might know, from his long-continued motionlessness, that behind his screen he must be standing in one of those dead-wall reveries of his.

And how malnourished Bartleby is...

Revolving all these things, and coupling them with the recently discovered fact that he made my office his constant abiding place and home, and not forgetful of his morbid moodiness; revolving all these things, a prudential feeling began to steal over me. My first emotions had been those of pure melancholy and sincerest pity; but just in proportion as the forlornness of Bartleby grew and grew to my imagination, did that same melancholy merge into fear, that pity into repulsion. So true it is, and so terrible too, that up to a certain point the thought or sight of misery enlists our best affections; but, in certain special cases, beyond that point it does not. They err who would assert that invariably this is owing to the inherent selfishness of the human heart. It rather proceeds from a certain hopelessness of remedying excessive and organic ill. To a sensitive being, pity is not seldom pain. And when at last it is perceived that such pity cannot lead to effectual succor, common sense bids the soul rid of it. What I saw that morning persuaded me that the scrivener was the victim of innate and incurable disorder. I might give alms to his body; but his body did not pain him; it was his soul that suffered, and his soul I could not reach.

The narrator does not see him as dishonest or immoral, but instead sees him as afflicted, and also as an affliction on him. Bartleby has taken root.

Here is the core idea. Bartleby represents the narrator's own homosexuality: love toward men, or perhaps love toward a particular man. I do not say that Bartleby himself is the romantic interest or object of desire; I think he is only the idea. He looks and acts like a ghost. He haunts the narrator, and does nothing.

Now that Bartleby—the idea of a homosexual love—has been revealed to the narrator, on the other side of the attraction is repulsion, as well as the heartbreak of Bartleby's loneliness: the body can be relieved, but the soul cannot.

I did not accomplish the purpose of going to Trinity Church that morning. Somehow, the things I had seen disqualified me for the time from church-going.

And now, the guilt of his realization.

By the way, Melville seems to explore similar themes, more explicitly, in "Vine and Clarel" in Clarel. Let us read some of it:

Apart see Clarel here incline,

Perplexed by that Dominican,

Nor less by Rolfe--capricious man:

"I cannot penetrate him.--Vine?"

As were Venetian slats between,

He espied him through a leafy screen,

Luxurious there in umbrage thrown,

Light sprays above his temples blown--

The river through the green retreat

Hurrying, reveling by his feet.

Vine looked an overture, but said

Nothing, till Clarel leaned--half laid--

Beside him: then "We dream, or be

In sylvan John's baptistery:

...

But hark--a bird?"

Pure as the rain

Which diamondeth with lucid grain,

The white swan in the April hours ⁠

Floating between two sunny showers

Upon the lake, while buds unroll;

So pure, so virginal in shrine

Of true unworldliness looked Vine.

Ah, clear sweet ether of the soul ⁠

(Mused Clarel), holding him in view.

Prior advances unreturned

Not here he recked of, while he yearned--

O, now but for communion true

And close; let go each alien theme; ⁠

Give me thyself!

But Vine, at will

Dwelling upon his wayward dream,

Nor as suspecting Clarel's thrill

Of personal longing, rambled still; ⁠

...

Divided mind knew Clarel here;

The heart's desire did interfere. ⁠

Thought he, How pleasant in another

Such sallies, or in thee, if said

After confidings that should wed

Our souls in one:--Ah, call me brother!--

So feminine his passionate mood ⁠

Which, long as hungering unfed,

All else rejected or withstood.

Some inklings he let fall. But no:

Here over Vine there slid a change

A shadow, such as thin may show ⁠

Gliding along the mountain-range

And deepening in the gorge below.

Does Vine's rebukeful dusking say--

Why, on this vernal bank to-day,

Why bring oblations of thy pain ⁠

To one who hath his share? here fain

Would lap him in a chance reprieve?

Lives none can help ye; that believe.

Art thou the first soul tried by doubt?

Shalt prove the last? Go, live it out. ⁠

But for thy fonder dream of love

In man toward man--the soul's caress--

The negatives of flesh should prove

Analogies of non-cordialness

In spirit.--E'en such conceits could cling ⁠

To Clarel's dream of vain surmise

And imputation full of sting.

But, glancing up, unwarned he saw

What serious softness in those eyes

Bent on him. Shyly they withdraw. ⁠

Enslaver, wouldst thou but fool me

With bitter-sweet, sly sorcery,

Pride's pastime? or wouldst thou indeed,

Since things unspoken may impede,

Let flow thy nature but for bar?-- ⁠

Nay, dizzard, sick these feelings are;

How findest place within thy heart

For such solicitudes apart

From Ruth?--Self-taxings.

Attraction, yearning, desire, femininity, unfed hunger, guilt, temptation, sickness, self-reproach.

Now let us continue with our story.

I looked steadfastly at him, and perceived that his eyes looked dull and glazed. Instantly it occurred to me, that his unexampled diligence in copying by his dim window for the first few weeks of his stay with me might have temporarily impaired his vision.

First of all, Bartleby suffers from being hidden away in the dark. Second, love is blind.

Melville takes inspiration from Shakespeare, so I thought, what might Shakespeare have to say about love being blind? Here I will share an excerpt about the forbidden lovers in The Merchant of Venice:

Enter Jessica above, in boy’s clothes.

JESSICA.

Who are you? Tell me, for more certainty,

Albeit I’ll swear that I do know your tongue.

LORENZO.

Lorenzo, and thy love.

JESSICA.

Lorenzo certain, and my love indeed,

For who love I so much? And now who knows

But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours?

LORENZO.

Heaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art.

JESSICA.

Here, catch this casket; it is worth the pains.

I am glad ’tis night, you do not look on me,

For I am much asham’d of my exchange.

But love is blind, and lovers cannot see

The pretty follies that themselves commit,

For if they could, Cupid himself would blush

To see me thus transformed to a boy.

LORENZO.

Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer.

JESSICA.

What! must I hold a candle to my shames?

They in themselves, good sooth, are too too light.

Why, ’tis an office of discovery, love,

And I should be obscur’d.

LORENZO.

So are you, sweet,

Even in the lovely garnish of a boy.

Back to our story again.

Somehow, of late I had got into the way of involuntarily using this word “prefer” upon all sorts of not exactly suitable occasions. And I trembled to think that my contact with the scrivener had already and seriously affected me in a mental way. And what further and deeper aberration might it not yet produce? This apprehension had not been without efficacy in determining me to summary means.

Bartleby's eccentricities are now spreading to the narrator, taking actual effect, and this alarms him, so he tries to rid himself of Bartleby.

I was now in such a state of nervous resentment that I thought it but prudent to check myself at present from further demonstrations. Bartleby and I were alone. I remembered the tragedy of the unfortunate Adams and the still more unfortunate Colt in the solitary office of the latter; and how poor Colt, being dreadfully incensed by Adams, and imprudently permitting himself to get wildly excited, was at unawares hurried into his fatal act—an act which certainly no man could possibly deplore more than the actor himself. Often it had occurred to me in my ponderings upon the subject, that had that altercation taken place in the public street, or at a private residence, it would not have terminated as it did. It was the circumstance of being alone in a solitary office, up stairs, of a building entirely unhallowed by humanizing domestic associations—an uncarpeted office, doubtless, of a dusty, haggard sort of appearance;—this it must have been, which greatly helped to enhance the irritable desperation of the hapless Colt.

But when this old Adam of resentment rose in me and tempted me concerning Bartleby, I grappled him and threw him. How? Why, simply by recalling the divine injunction: “A new commandment give I unto you, that ye love one another.” Yes, this it was that saved me.

The matter nearly comes to a passionately violent end out of resentment, and then comes the narrator's epiphany: in one way or another, he has been commanded, by Jesus, through Bartleby, to love his fellow man. He goes on to speak of charity, but could there be concealed here something else as well?

Here I would like to to share some of a letter from Melville to Nathaniel Hawthorne in November 1851, speaking of Moby-Dick:

Your letter was handed me last night on the road going to Mr. Morewood's, and I read it there. Had I been at home, I would have sat down at once and answered it. In me divine magnanimities are spontaneous and instantaneous -- catch them while you can. The world goes round, and the other side comes up. So now I can't write what I felt. But I felt pantheistic then -- your heart beat in my ribs and mine in yours, and both in God's. A sense of unspeakable security is in me this moment, on account of your having understood the book. I have written a wicked book, and feel spotless as the lamb. Ineffable socialities are in me. I would sit down and dine with you and all the gods in old Rome's Pantheon. It is a strange feeling -- no hopefulness is in it, no despair. Content -- that is it; and irresponsibility; but without licentious inclination. I speak now of my profoundest sense of being, not of an incidental feeling.

Ah! it's a long stage, and no inn in sight, and night coming, and the body cold. But with you for a passenger, I am content and can be happy. I shall leave the world, I feel, with more satisfaction for having come to know you. Knowing you persuades me more than the Bible of our immortality.

and...

Some days now passed, during which, at leisure intervals I looked a little into “Edwards on the Will,” and “Priestly on Necessity.” Under the circumstances, those books induced a salutary feeling. Gradually I slid into the persuasion that these troubles of mine touching the scrivener, had been all predestinated from eternity, and Bartleby was billeted upon me for some mysterious purpose of an all-wise Providence, which it was not for a mere mortal like me to fathom. Yes, Bartleby, stay there behind your screen, thought I; I shall persecute you no more; you are harmless and noiseless as any of these old chairs; in short, I never feel so private as when I know you are here. At last I see it, I feel it; I penetrate to the predestinated purpose of my life. I am content. Others may have loftier parts to enact; but my mission in this world, Bartleby, is to furnish you with office-room for such period as you may see fit to remain.

Ow, incredible...

Continuing with the story.

I didn't understand Edwards very well, but I found Joseph Priestly's The Doctrine of Philosophical Necessity interesting to read through and relevant to the analysis. Priestly himself was a Rational Dissenter, and argued for open discussion and religious toleration. To my understanding, in this particular document, he teaches of a benevolent God who is merciful toward the actors in His plan, and of universal salvation. Here is the main idea:

In other words, I maintain that there is some fixed law of nature respecting the will, as well as the other powers of the mind, and every thing else in the constitution of nature; and consequently that it is never determined without some real or apparent cause, foreign to itself, i. e. without some motive of choice, or that motives influence us in some definite and invariable manner; so that every volition, or choice, is constantly regulated, and determined, by what precedes it. And this constant determination of mind, according to the motives presented to it, is all that I mean by its necessary determination. This being admitted to be the fact, there will be a necessary connection between all things past, present, and to come, in the way of proper cause and effect, as much in the intellectual, as in the natural world; so that, how little soever the bulk of mankind may be apprehensive of it, or staggered by it, according to the established laws of nature, no event could have been otherwise than it has been, is, or is to be, and therefore all things past, present, and to come, are precisely what the Author of nature really intended them to be, and has made provision for.

Priestly also speaks of preference:

Let the objects be two kinds of fruit, apples and peaches. Let it be supposed that I am fond of the former, and have an aversion to the latter, and that I am disposed to eat fruit. In these circumstances, the moment that they are presented to me I take the apples, and leave the peaches. If it be asked, why I made this choice, or what was the reason, cause, or motive of it? it is sufficient to say, that I was fond of apples, but did not like peaches. In the same disposition to eat fruit, and retaining my predilection for apples, I should always, infallibly, do the same thing. The cause then of this choice was evidently my liking of apples, and my disliking of peaches and though an inclination or affection of mind, be not gravity, it influences me, and acts upon me as certainly, and necessarily as this power does upon a stone. Affection determines my choice of the apples, and gravity determines the fall of the stone. Through custom we make use of different terms in these cases, but our ideas are exactly similar; the connection between the two things as cause and effect being equally strict and necessary.

Returning to our tale, the narrator has found great comfort. Bartleby is not at fault for his preferences, and the narrator is not at fault for being troubled by Bartleby. He comes to believe that Bartleby is sent to him by God, and he accepts him. He has found his purpose. Perhaps Bartleby even represents his soul-mate. Also, the narrator's language is quite erotic.

I believe that this wise and blessed frame of mind would have continued with me, had it not been for the unsolicited and uncharitable remarks obtruded upon me by my professional friends who visited the rooms. But thus it often is, that the constant friction of illiberal minds wears out at last the best resolves of the more generous. Though to be sure, when I reflected upon it, it was not strange that people entering my office should be struck by the peculiar aspect of the unaccountable Bartleby, and so be tempted to throw out some sinister observations concerning him. Sometimes an attorney having business with me, and calling at my office and finding no one but the scrivener there, would undertake to obtain some sort of precise information from him touching my whereabouts; but without heeding his idle talk, Bartleby would remain standing immovable in the middle of the room. So after contemplating him in that position for a time, the attorney would depart, no wiser than he came.

Also, when a Reference was going on, and the room full of lawyers and witnesses and business was driving fast; some deeply occupied legal gentleman present, seeing Bartleby wholly unemployed, would request him to run round to his (the legal gentleman's) office and fetch some papers for him. Thereupon, Bartleby would tranquilly decline, and yet remain idle as before. Then the lawyer would give a great stare, and turn to me. And what could I say? At last I was made aware that all through the circle of my professional acquaintance, a whisper of wonder was running round, having reference to the strange creature I kept at my office. This worried me very much. And as the idea came upon me of his possibly turning out a long-lived man, and keep occupying my chambers, and denying my authority; and perplexing my visitors; and scandalizing my professional reputation; and casting a general gloom over the premises; keeping soul and body together to the last upon his savings (for doubtless he spent but half a dime a day), and in the end perhaps outlive me, and claim possession of my office by right of his perpetual occupancy: as all these dark anticipations crowded upon me more and more, and my friends continually intruded their relentless remarks upon the apparition in my room; a great change was wrought in me. I resolved to gather all my faculties together, and for ever rid me of this intolerable incubus.

Although he has accepted Bartleby, the narrator is now troubled by the views of society—the illiberal minds. He fears scandal. Influenced by others, he goes as far as to call Bartleby an incubus—literally a male demon who preys sexually upon his victim.

Society's reaction also has a parallel in Priestly's work ("A" being under the scheme of "necessity," as opposed to the scheme of "liberty"):

It has been seen that punishment would have no propriety or use upon the doctrine of philosophical liberty; blame also, upon the same scheme, would be equally absurd and ill founded. If my child A acts wrong, I tell him that I am exceedingly displeased, because he has shown a disposition of mind on which motives to virtue have no sufficient influence, that he appears to have such a propensity to vicious indulgences, that I am afraid he is irreclaimable, and that his utter ruin will be the consequence of it. This is the proper language of blame; and upon a mind constituted like that of A, may have a good effect, as well as the discipline of punishment.

Even if he is not at fault for his nature, he can still be blamed by man, but man's knowledge is finite and imperfect.

What shall I do? I now said to myself, buttoning up my coat to the last button. What shall I do? what ought I to do? what does conscience say I should do with this man, or rather ghost. Rid myself of him, I must; go, he shall. But how? You will not thrust him, the poor, pale, passive mortal,—you will not thrust such a helpless creature out of your door? you will not dishonor yourself by such cruelty? No, I will not, I cannot do that. Rather would I let him live and die here, and then mason up his remains in the wall. What then will you do? For all your coaxing, he will not budge. Bribes he leaves under your own paperweight on your table; in short, it is quite plain that he prefers to cling to you.

Then something severe, something unusual must be done. What! surely you will not have him collared by a constable, and commit his innocent pallor to the common jail? And upon what ground could you procure such a thing to be done?—a vagrant, is he? What! he a vagrant, a wanderer, who refuses to budge? It is because he will not be a vagrant, then, that you seek to count him as a vagrant. That is too absurd. No visible means of support: there I have him. Wrong again: for indubitably he does support himself, and that is the only unanswerable proof that any man can show of his possessing the means so to do. No more then. Since he will not quit me, I must quit him. I will change my offices; I will move elsewhere; and give him fair notice, that if I find him on my new premises I will then proceed against him as a common trespasser.

Even now, the narrator does not truly believe society's narrow-minded view, and regards Bartleby as innocent. He is not an incubus, but a helpless mortal creature. The narrator cannot in good conscience cast him out like a demon, and so instead he tries to make Bartleby undeliverable to him.

I re-entered, with my hand in my pocket—and—and my heart in my mouth.

“Good-bye, Bartleby; I am going—good-bye, and God some way bless you; and take that,” slipping something in his hand. But it dropped upon the floor, and then,—strange to say—I tore myself from him whom I had so longed to be rid of.

The narrator wants to be rid of his affliction, and yet is pained to give him up.

Aghast at this torrent, I fell back before it, and would fain have locked myself in my new quarters. In vain I persisted that Bartleby was nothing to me—no more than to any one else. In vain:—I was the last person known to have any thing to do with him, and they held me to the terrible account. Fearful then of being exposed in the papers (as one person present obscurely threatened) I considered the matter, and at length said, that if the lawyer would give me a confidential interview with the scrivener, in his (the lawyer's) own room, I would that afternoon strive my best to rid them of the nuisance they complained of.

Notice that repeated attempts are made to deliver Bartleby to him, and how Bartleby is passive, like an object. Also reminiscent of Peter's denial of Jesus.

Despairing of all further efforts, I was precipitately leaving him, when a final thought occurred to me—one which had not been wholly unindulged before.

“Bartleby,” said I, in the kindest tone I could assume under such exciting circumstances, “will you go home with me now—not to my office, but my dwelling—and remain there till we can conclude upon some convenient arrangement for you at our leisure? Come, let us start now, right away.”

“No: at present I would prefer not to make any change at all.”

The narrator tries to bargain with him, and I tried to think about why it is impossible and what it means, but maybe... maybe it simply was never meant to be, and that this too was decided by God for reasons we cannot know. "The LORD gave, and the LORD hath taken away," as Job 1:21 says, and this will soon become even more relevant. The fact that it is impossible under the circumstances does not mean that the idea is morally wrong.

By the way, this story was first published November-December 1853, and a major source of inspiration was an advertisement printed in February 1853, according to Wikipedia. Melville and Hawthorne grew apart in late 1852. I recommend reading that page.

The same day I received the note I went to the Tombs, or to speak more properly, the Halls of Justice. Seeking the right officer, I stated the purpose of my call, and was informed that the individual I described was indeed within. I then assured the functionary that Bartleby was a perfectly honest man, and greatly to be compassionated, however unaccountably eccentric. I narrated all I knew, and closed by suggesting the idea of letting him remain in as indulgent confinement as possible till something less harsh might be done—though indeed I hardly knew what. At all events, if nothing else could be decided upon, the alms-house must receive him. I then begged to have an interview.

Being under no disgraceful charge, and quite serene and harmless in all his ways, they had permitted him freely to wander about the prison, and especially in the inclosed grass-platted yard thereof. And so I found him there, standing all alone in the quietest of the yards, his face towards a high wall, while all around, from the narrow slits of the jail windows, I thought I saw peering out upon him the eyes of murderers and thieves.

And so, despite his harmlessness, and even innocence in the eyes of the narrator, Bartleby is condemned because he could not be delivered.

The round face of the grub-man peered upon me now. “His dinner is ready. Won't he dine to-day, either? Or does he live without dining?”

“Lives without dining,” said I, and closed his eyes.

Specifically, he dies of starvation.

“Eh!—He’s asleep, aint he?”

“With kings and counselors,” murmured I.

There is Job 3:14. Let us also read Job 3:20-23:

Wherefore is light given to him that is in misery, and life unto the bitter in soul;

Which long for death, but it cometh not; and dig for it more than for hid treasures;

Which rejoice exceedingly, and are glad, when they can find the grave?

Why is light given to a man whose way is hid, and whom God hath hedged in?

Job cursing the day of his birth... Job who suffered, as part of God's plan... Job whose friends said his suffering was punishment for sinning... Job who was innocent... and was it not Satan who was allowed by God to take from him...

Yet here I hardly know whether I should divulge one little item of rumor, which came to my ear a few months after the scrivener's decease. Upon what basis it rested, I could never ascertain; and hence, how true it is I cannot now tell. But inasmuch as this vague report has not been without certain strange suggestive interest to me, however sad, it may prove the same with some others; and so I will briefly mention it. The report was this: that Bartleby had been a subordinate clerk in the Dead Letter Office at Washington, from which he had been suddenly removed by a change in the administration. When I think over this rumor, I cannot adequately express the emotions which seize me. Dead letters! does it not sound like dead men? Conceive a man by nature and misfortune prone to a pallid hopelessness, can any business seem more fitted to heighten it than that of continually handling these dead letters, and assorting them for the flames? For by the cart-load they are annually burned. Sometimes from out the folded paper the pale clerk takes a ring:—the finger it was meant for, perhaps, moulders in the grave; a bank-note sent in swiftest charity:—he whom it would relieve, nor eats nor hungers any more; pardon for those who died despairing; hope for those who died unhoping; good tidings for those who died stifled by unrelieved calamities. On errands of life, these letters speed to death.

Ah Bartleby! Ah humanity!

Bartleby is the narrator's letter which could not be delivered and is sent to death. He is the narrator's impossible hope of fulfillment, a love that is starved in spite of its blamelessness.

To conclude, let us read the of Melville's "Monody," written later, speculated to be about Hawthorne:

To have known him, to have loved him

After loneness long;

And then to be estranged in life,

And neither in the wrong;

And now for death to set his seal—

Ease me, a little ease, my song!

By wintry hills his hermit-mound

The sheeted snow-drifts drape,

And houseless there the snow-bird flits

Beneath the fir-trees’ crape:

Glazed now with ice the cloistral vine

That hid the shyest grape.

Recommended reading:

Melville's Allusions to Religion by Gail H. Coffler

Melville's Secrets by Caleb Crain

[beyondthetemples-ooc]

same anon as the raven and trigon question here! I completely agree that their relationship is abusive, I didn't mean for it to come off for a second like it isn't. imo the only way to read it as not abusive is deliberately ignoring canon or like, only watching teen titans go and taking it as gospel or something. I still think it's interesting to explore, though. Trigon influenced so much of Raven's drive to be good and how much conviction she has towards Azarath's ideals and her need to be a hero. I think it's also interesting how much Trigon wants a family, it's something very human in his very inhuman personality. It's also interesting to me that he doesn't care for anyone who he doesn't see as a part of him - he has no interest in an actual romantic relationship, he's only interested in having his children rule beside him. there's just lots to consider with them and how much Trigon affected Azarath and Raven.

(Oh my stars, I'm so sorry about the delay on this one. I saved it as a draft and forgot to finish it and reply.)

Hello again! I would like to reassure you: If I had any anger or defensiveness about the abusive aspects, it wasn't directed at you specifically! It was more at the creators who acted like it was Just Regular Father-Daughter Stuff in the bonus content for JLvTT. And the writers/boarders/whoever wrote in that moment at the end of Apokolips War where it lingers between Raven and Trigon as if it's a bittersweet farewell. I'm horrified that they seem to think such treatment is normal.

You're right though, it IS interesting to explore! Because it's no small, petty conflict. They're both very driven, and you're right, it's a defining factor for Raven.

(I have a small gripe with most writers making it her ONLY struggle nowadays, but that's all very subjective.)

I'd go so far as to say it's also a big factor for Arella and Azar, too. I wish we'd been able to see more of Raven's relationship with them, but what we Have is so impactful! And none of them would know each other if it weren't for Trigon.

The story behind Trigon and Azarath fascinates me to no end (at least, the story in the first half of the 1980's). Opposing forces, forever in struggle. Life, death, and rebirth. I'm not sure if you've seen, but I can write collegiate-length ESSAYS on Azarath, and I've spent a long time contemplating why Azar even BOTHERED creating Azarath, if Trigon was going to kill them anyways!

(My conclusion: Raven was the crux all along. Azarath needed to exist to stop Trigon, to raise Raven. But paradoxically, Trigon wouldn't existed if they hadn't created Azarath... So maybe he would've existed in another form if they hadn't, and there wouldn't be anything to stand in its way? That's wild speculation though. I'm still not sure.)

Anyways, this "interesting" aspect is why I do read others' fanfictions about it! One of my favorite things to watch people headcanon is how his influence affects her. How much of her is him; how well she can control it (or not); how she feels about it; how she feels about HIM. How it looks when under pressure; how it looks in her other relationships. It's very fascinating to see what other dimensions people add to the obvious tension in canon.

[odonmytokblogs]

Free Will is an Illusion

I firmly believe that Free Will is an illusion that we are confined to because of our innate need to survive. I believe in determinism because of cause and consequence, and the complex web of events that infinitely influence the events to come afterwards. I suppose that this is an off-branch of compatibilism since in practice I believe in both determinism and in free will. However, my personal deviation from the compatibilist theory is that we do not have a choice to feel as though we have free will, since I believe that if we felt as though we didn't have free will, there would be no point to living. Imagine a life where you have no choice or any responsibility over your actions.  I don't see how this would be beneficial for the survival of people, and at the end of the day, our little reptile brains are truly just fighting for us to be able to grow up and reproduce in hopes of creating another generation of our often flawed yet beautiful species. Do I still believe that there should be moral responsibility? Yes. I do believe that there should be more responsibility since people do have to live under the illusion that there is free will and choice, however, I find it irresponsible the way that we convict people for specific crimes that are more situational than they are choice-driven. I believe that our criminal system should be more centered around the statistics behind crime since these numbers allow us to make proper claims about the impact that either imprisoning or not imprisoning these people will have on their future actions. For example, rape is a crime that is highly likely to be repeated, and for this reason, I believe that rapist should indefinitely be put in jail for longer than someone who committed a crime of equal weight ( if we can even judge more weight) that is less likely to be repeated. I also think that having the consequence stand is important in repelling people's actions due to some fear of being held accountable for their choices. When discussing topics that involve science, particularly more abstract sciences, such as quantum mechanics or quantum physics, there always seems to be a conflicting set of beliefs: the human instinct and the scientific instinct. For this reason, and due to my human bias, I can't say with complete conviction that I am certain of anything. Science can point towards something, and I can wholeheartedly believe it to be true, but if there is that human element, that pit in my stomach, I am unable to fully allow myself to believe that theory is completely true. I believe this is a coping mechanism for us to understand the world, and at the end of the day it is most likely more of a morally responsible way to act in the world since as humans, we are more likely to be empathetic towards others when we consider our emotional sides.

[red-pill-blue-pill]

Newfound interest

Pairing:  Steven Grant x fem!Reader

Words: 2600-ish

Warnings: Fluffy fluff basically.

Summary: You go on a date with the handsome museum gift shop-ist.

A/N: What can I say. I'm currently obsessed with Moon Knight and Steve Grant (and Marc also but Steve just has that something that makes my heart tingle). It's proofread but you know how that works, maybe I've missed something

Gif credit: nikolatexla

You wandered through the museum, reading every little label, trying to soak in the huge amount of information and historical pieces on display. 

It had been years since you had went to the museum. Not this one specifically but any museum in London. Yeah, yeah, it was almost criminal for you to forget about the amount of culture that was available. It wasn’t that you didn’t like museums, it was just the lack of free time and, mostly, your lack of power of conviction. It was difficult to drag your friends to a cultural plan when the only thing on their minds as soon as they left work on Fridays was, understandably, getting drunk out of their minds. 

Besides, doing things on your own wasn’t something you were used to. The deep rooted conception that people doing stuff on their own were lonely people was the stupidest thing ever but it still nagged you at the back of your mind, forcing you to discard the possibility of going to the museum by yourself. That was, until now. 

You had planned to go early in the morning, see as much as possible and then go have lunch by yourself. Your anxiety was over the roof but you wanted to force yourself out of your comfort zone. 

And here you were, having the most pleasant morning in the last couple of months, free of hangovers, filled with knowledge. Your brain was reeling with all the new information but there was a specific topic you were dying to research on your own: the egyptian deities. You were completely mesmerized by the collection, it seemed almost impossible that such a rich civilization had really existed and had left all that beauty for you to enjoy. 

As you walked back towards the entrance of the museum you couldn’t help but notice a small gift shop. You, being obsessed with postcards, immediately headed towards it. As you approached the shop you saw there were tons of books about the exhibitions and your eyes lit up at the prospect of not having to wait until you got home to research on your new favorite topic. 

But there were so many of them… you were completely lost on which one would satisfy you newfound curiosity, even though with the amount knowledge you had — close to zero —probably any of them would suffice. Still, you weren’t completely sure so your eyes quickly scanned the shop, looking for someone to help you. 

The cashier was sorting the postcards, his back turned to you. You approached him, too silently it seemed, because when you said “Hi” he slightly jumped and dropped the postcards he was about to put back. “Jesus!” 

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you!” you said as you dropped to the floor, helping him gather the postcards and handing them back to him.

He smiled slightly “No, I’m sorry I don’t know what got into me” he said standing back up.

You stood up with him, your eyes pausing on his face for the first time. Dang, he was cute. His tired eyes looked at you with curiosity, his intense gaze made you feel self-conscious. Do I have something on my face? You cleared your throat, the sound snapping him out of his thoughts.

“I’m sorry uhm…” you slightly leaned closer to look at the name tag clipped to his chest "Steven” he smiled at the way his name sounded on your sweet voice “I was wondering if you could help me choose a book.” 

“Of course” he said as he nodded, the small lock of hair that fell on his face bouncing slightly. “What kind of book are you looking for?” 

“Well, today I discovered the ancient Egypt collection and I wanted a book to learn more about it.”  His eyes lit up and he rushed to the Ancient Egypt books with you walking closely behind. You stared at him as he looked through the books, his excitement was infectious and the boyish expression on his face made you giggle a bit. 

“Yes, I know the perfect book for you. It’s a compilation of every myth and story about egyptian deities and it also puts them in context with cultural practices from the time. It’s very interesting because you get to see hoy religion affected the day to day life.” You listened to him intently, your eyebrows arched and your eyes following his hands as they moved swiftly to the explanation. So he is cute and smart, huh? “for example when they had to bury the pharaoh the only organ left in his body was his heart, cause Anubis weighted the heart of the dead against the feather of truth. If the scale was levered he could spend eternity in the field of reeds, if not, Ammit would eat his heart and… I’m sorry I’m getting carried away.” he chucked as he scratched the back of his neck pulling his lips into a shy smile. His cheeks had turned rosy and you couldn’t help but reach to touch his upper arm in a reassuring way. 

“It’s okay, I’m really enjoying it.” you said smiling. His eyes travelled to your hand and then back to your face, his surprised stare making you pull your hand away as you felt the red in your cheeks starting to spread to the rest of your face at the realization of what you had just did. You weren’t the type to go around touching people’s arms, what the hell was that?. You cleared your throat again trying to compose yourself. “I’m taking that one, yeah” you smiled and he handed it to you.

“Okay, let’s go get you checked out then.” 

He scanned the book as you leaned against the counter, eyeing his every movement. “That’ll be 24 pounds and 99 pence” he bagged the book as you swiped your card. Something in your stomach churned at the thought of ending the conversation with Steven.

“Hope you enjoy it.” he said smiling and handing you the bag with your new favorite book.

“You definitely set high expectations so I’m sure I will” you said chuckling.

Both of you stared at each other for a couple of seconds before he opened his mouth to speak again but the fear of him saying goodbye made you speak faster

“Do you wanna go grab dinner?” You blurted it out, maybe a little too loud, causing a couple of kids nearby laugh at the, at least in their eyes, embarrassing interaction. 

He closed his mouth and pressed his lips in a thin line while quirking an eyebrow as he stared at you.

“M-me?” he said pointing his index finger to his chest, not believing you would want to go out with him.

“Yes, you.” you reclaimed your natural confidence compensating for his shyness in some way.

“Yeah, I’d like to. The only problem is that I am vegan. We don’t have to go to a vegan place though, I can eat salad too there’s no problem, normally there’s salad everywhe-“ he started rambling again and you cut him off with a smile.

“I’m vegan too, don’t worry. How about today? Are you free?” you asked while rummaging through your purse in search of your phone.

“Y-yeah, I’m free, yeah.”

You unlocked your phone “Great! give me your number and I’ll text you. You can choose the restaurant if you want.” 

You exchanged numbers and said your goodbyes. Your heart thumped in your chest as you made your way out of the museum, glancing back to the gift shop to catch him staring. What an interesting individual you thought as you walked inside the tube, your plans to go out to eat cancelled at the prospect of a date with Steven. 

A few hours later your phone pinged and you leaped from your sofa to grab the phone, struggling to draw the unlock pattern in the first try. Your new book fell to the ground with a thud and you cursed and picked it up, inspecting the pages, hoping non of them folded. Then you turned all you attention back to your phone reading the message on the screen “Aldgate East at 6?” you couldn’t help but smile. You quickly typed your answer “yeah!” and went to your room to start getting ready, nervousness already creeping in your stomach. 

Your boots clicked on the stairs as you made your way out of the tube station. You heart thumped heavily on your chest and you didn’t know if it was a mixture of excitement and anxiety or just anxiety. The wind blowed, lifting your skirt and leaving half of your ass on display for everyone to see. Great outfit choice for a windy night, you mumbled to yourself while you the skirt down with your hands. You looked around trying to do some damage control. And then you spotted him. He was looking at you, trying to suppress a laugh as he came closer. He had clearly seen it, your ass, you mean.

He looked stunning. He was wearing a black button up shirt and black jeans and, in his hand, he had a beautifully arranged flower bouquet, mostly conformed by wild flowers. You smiled nervously as you got closer to him. Please don't say anything, please, please.

“Hi” you said a little embarrassed.

“Hi, you look gorgeous” he said, his cheeks turning rosy, as he handed you the flower bouquet.

You grabbed it “It’s beautiful Steven, thank you.” You e the flowers, pink, yellow, orange, incredibly pretty. “You don’t look too bad yourself.” you winked and he chuckled.

“Shall we go?” You nodded as you took a deep breath, mentally thanking him for being so discreet.

The restaurant was nearby. You walked side by side, your arm looped around his with your hand resting on his forearm. The conversation flowed with ease. He was sweet, considerate, a very good listener and, most importantly, his taste for restaurants was exquisite. You talked about your hobbies, your life, your jobs. He was so passionate about everything, it was a breath of fresh air in your worn out day to day routine. He showed kindness in everything he did, he was gentle and patient and it warmed your heart to see a soul like his had managed to survive in this fast and dull society. You insisted on splitting the bill but he grabbed your purse and didn’t give it back until you were out the restaurant. 

“You’re a prick!” you said snatching it back from his hands while you laughed.

He shrugged “Maybe” he said smiling as he offered his arm for you to grab again on the walk back to the station. You slid your hand down from his forearm and slipped it into his pocket, grabbing his and interlocking your fingers.

“I’ll let you win this time but next time I’m paying.” you said as you leaned your head on his shoulder. His heart fluttered at the sweet gesture and he squeezed your hand.

“Will there be a next time?” he turned to look at your face.

“Was it that bad?” you joked as you looked at him quizzically. You really liked to mess with him, it brought out the sarcastic Steven and it was amazing.

“I mean could’ve been better but I’m not complaining”

You nudged his side with your elbow and laughed loudly “Hey! You’re paying next time then.”

He smiled triumphantly “Oh, no, what a shame.”  

The rest of the walk was silent but comfortable. You gave each other little hand squeezes from time to time, exchanging glances and shying away when your eyes met, enjoying the cold London breeze and savoring the last moments of that perfect night. You didn’t want it to end. You dreaded the thought of going back home, being alone. It felt like leaving the amusement park as a child, everything is exciting and new and fun and home seemed like a boring, mediocre place.

“Well…” he said as you got to the station “I guess this is it.”

You both stared at each other, none of you wanting to say goodbye. He brought you hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles softly, his eyes never leaving yours. You took a steady breath, trying to control the part of your brain that was screaming for you to step forward and crash your lips to his but to no avail. You slid you hand from his grasp and ran it through his hair before cupping the side of his face. His light stubble was rough against your palm and you rubbed your thumb against his cheek as he leaned into your touch.

“I had such a fun time.” you whispered, unsure if he could even hear you but he did.

“Me too.”

You took a step closer careful not to crush the flowers between your bodies. He breathed in shakily. You were staring deep into his eyes, drunk on the feeling of his body, so close to yours.

“Can I?” he asked as his hands rested on your hips.

“Please” you breathed with your mouth barely inches apart from his. His mind reeled at your words, playing out all the different scenarios in which you would plead at him just like that. The thought of it made him dizzy. 

He kissed you softly, holding himself back, not wanting to be too much too soon but you weren’t having any of it. You dropped your hand to the back of his neck and held him in place, opening your mouth to allow his tongue to explore the new territory. His fingers sunk into your hips as he deepened the kiss. It was desperate, not only from his side, from yours too. You pulled at his lower lip before parting the kiss and you stared at him, his breathing raged and his eyes filled with lust. 

“Wow” you breathed as you smiled to each other

“yeah, wow” he chuckled.

“wanna to go back to my place?” you asked, hopeful that he would say yes. Instead he looked at you with panicked eyes, a worried expression plastered across his face.

“I’m sorry, love, I can’t.” he said, feeling doomed the second he saw your smile falter and a hint of disappointment clouding your eyes

“Oh…”

His hand reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Other time, I promise” but he couldn’t really promise and he hated himself for lying to you. All he really needed was time. Time to figure out what the hell was going on. Time to explain it to you. Time for you to process everything. He leaned to kiss you again, this time a small peck.

“It’s okay, Steven, don’t worry.” you composed yourself, feeling a bit stupid for having that reaction over such a silly thing. “Thanks again for the flowers and the lovely evening.” you smiled sweetly at him and he smiled back.

“You’re welcome beautiful. Call me when you get home, yeah?” he said before pecking your lips one last time and watching you walk down the stairs. As he watched you he remembered the skirt incident and chuckled to himself as his face turned red once again. What a woman, he thought as he started walking back to his apartment, his hands on his pockets, his brain going over the whole evening, trying to remember every little detail. 

“Mom is going to be so happy when I tell her.”

[alyssapoprocks]

I don't think it's talked about enough how good of a friend Bakugou truly is to Kirishima. He may not be able to show it in an overall sense like Kirishima can, but he shows it in moments where it matters most, moments where he can easily see Kirishima needs it.

Like in the flashback of Kirishima talking about how he feels he's falling behind everyone, he's literally sitting with two of his best friends (Kaminari and Sero) and neither of them step up to make him feel better. Sero even tells him to stop whining (I don't think he meant it in a mean way but more in a "this isn't like you" way, for the record, I don't think Sero is an absolute asshole lmao)

But then Bakugou turns to him and with just absolute conviction says "you wanna talk about keeping up?" as if it's literally the dumbest thing he's ever heard Kirishima say. It's like it didn't cross Bakugou's mind for a second that Kirishima doesn't have what it takes.

He sits there are reminds Kirishima that he's unbreakable. He sits there and tells him that just being able to keep standing it what makes him strong. He believes wholeheartedly in Kirishima. There's not an ounce of dishonesty in Bakugou's words. He knows Kirishima has what it takes. He know Kirishima can keep up with them all, because Bakugou has seen first hand Kirishima's strength. Has fought alongside it in moments against actual villains. The first real villain fight, they're together. They step up against Kurogiri together. Just the two of them. How could Bakugou ever think Kirishima was weak or not able to keep up?

He even looks angry at Kirishima putting himself down, like again, it's the dumbest thing.

Bakugou even goes as far as basically comparing him to All Might, talking about how All Might didn't go down at the end of Kamino. Bakugou knows Kirishima can keep standing just like All Might does, and if that isn't literally the most complimenting thing Bakugou could have said to him, I don't know what is. And that's what strength is in Bakugou's eyes. In Bakugou's eyes, Kirishima is a pillar of strength, just like All Might.

Another example of him being such a great friend is when they first move into the dorms. The framing of those scenes show that making Kaminari go dumb was nothing do to with the rest of his class. His eyes fell to Kirishima. He saw how sad Kirishima specifically was, and wanted to do something about it.

Now, I see people argue he only did that to give Kirishima the unnecessary money back BUT I disagree. If it was truly only about giving the money back without anyone seeing, he's not dumb, he could have easily just done that when they were in their dorms, complete privacy.

But no, because that's not what it's about. Bakugou just wanted to see Kirishima be himself again. He hated seeing Kirishima look so sad. He could have looked at Iida, or Momo, or Midoriya too, but he doesn't. His eyes are specifically on Kirishima. His entire class was sad, but in that moment all that mattered was Kirishima.

And then in the novels when Kirishima goes into Bakugou's room when they first move into the dorms and Bakugou's like "get out" but actually makes no move to remove him, and instead let's Kirishima stay and help him unpack.

Also in the novels, Bakugou tidying Kirishima's room for him, going as far as trying to fix his wallpaper where posters had pulled it down, like??? That's so cute???

Basically, Bakugou is a great friend to Kirishima and he deserves the same credit Kirishima gets for his friendship with Bakugou.

[princeofheartclasspects]

Could you do the Knight of Heart, if you haven't already? Cool blog, bro.

KNIGHT OF HEART

Passive (+)

Active – Page of Heart

Inverse – Rogue of Mind

Knights are a passive giver class and can be simplified to “one who serves (aspect)” or “serves through (aspect) for others.” Yes, I think Knights are passive. I’ve gone back and forth a lot, Knight and Page are both unconventional compared to the relative straightforwardness of the other classes. I like the theory of active classes act to primarily benefit themselves whereas passive classes benefit others. Knights fit that 100%, as they focus on aiding others and use their aspect to protect others.

For Knights, they utilize their aspect, using what they have and using it extremely well. They’ve never had a lot of their aspect, so they’ve had to make do and make the most with the little they have. And make the most of it they do, Knights are incredibly self-sufficient and use their aspect as a finely honed tool for everything. Knights also tend to have a predisposition for masking their true feelings, projecting a specific kind of image, or hiding behind some sort of façade.

Heart is related to the Self. It is the Core of Self, your Soul, what makes you, you. It is what makes you stand out from everyone else, being Unique and Separate from the crowd, your Individuality. Motivation, Passion, and Identity are the foundations of Heart. It is Bias, not able to completely detach itself from Emotion and Instinct. Intuition and Empathy are also components of Heart. Heart understands facades and so are excellent at using them as well as tearing them down.

As for a Knight of Heart’s personality, it might be like this: The Knight is an ambitious albeit a reckless kind of person. If someone is in danger, the Knight won’t waste a second to think it through, they’ll jump straight in to help – consequences be damned. They’re a very emotionally sensitive person and is attuned to other’s emotional states but may keep it under wraps or not show it openly. They may stifle or keep their emotions tightly locked down as they may feel like their own emotions don’t matter, impede what they’re trying to do, or come second to other’s. I can see a Knight of Heart being compassionate and caring to a fault.

The Knight is encouraging and protective of other people’s emotions, though keeps their own closely guarded. The façade of a Knight of Heart is especially powerful and one that is not easy to find a crack in. They’re a passionate and driven individual, but also very independent. They especially dislike having to rely on others and are determined to do things on their own – to be the one to protect and carry it all. A strong moral compass with a very strong sense of intuition and instinct, they feel things strongly and won’t hesitate to act upon it once they build that conviction.

The true heart (pardon the pun) of the issue for the Knight could be a variety of things. Struggling with their identity, who they really are, who they want to be, maybe being detached from their own sense of self… etc. No matter what could be plaguing the Knight, it’ll be a struggle relating to Heart and the Knight is keeping the issue bottled up tight. It won’t be easy getting the Knight to open up about this insecurity or fear, they’re purely focused on the group and assisting others instead of themself.

At worst, the Knight can get reckless. Knights just want to contribute in some way, and if they feel like they cannot do so, may needlessly throw themselves into danger or harm’s way. They may also get obsessive and needy if their insecurities really start to weigh upon them. Knights tend to be relentlessly self-critical of themselves and deny or stifle their own wants or needs. Building self-confidence and treating themself as kindly as they do others will go a long way for this Knight.

Just the combination of being a Knight and having the aspect of Heart gives a two-fold of dose of hiding their true self. They’re extremely flexible in their facades and adaptable with them – very Mind-like ironically enough. Their journey is going to be a very internal one of self-discovery and finding out who they really are, and that’s going to put them out of their element. It’s not easy to just jump into loving yourself if you have such a heavy doubt of if you’re enough or not. Having to build that trust in yourself, your identity, your very being is no small task.

An under-embracing Knight sinks into their façade entirely. They are genuinely relieved by doing so, unlike the over-embracing Knight who suffers from their façade, and a true Knight who manages to drop or at least manage it in a healthier way. The under-embracing Knight ends up stagnating, stuck in the middle and making no progress. They lack confidence, believing themselves to be incapable of handling the situations that arise. They stay out of the action, watching on the sidelines despite knowing what they should be doing or what would help the situation but being unable to do so. They completely ignore their intuition and instincts, end up devoid of motivation and passion, and grow more and more conflicted and despondent. An under-embracing Knight is incredibly weak, neglecting their capabilities entirely. That once finely honed ability to wield their aspect is now clumsy and has dulled significantly.

For a Knight to be true, they need to manage their expectations. Knights tend to place incredibly unrealistic expectations onto themselves and beat themselves up over the smallest mistakes, even when they aren’t necessarily responsible for it. A Knight will eventually hit their breaking point, and this is when they need to rely on those around them. They need to learn to rely on others, loosen up or even drop their masking/façade/projection entirely. If the Knight cannot do this, that struggle of Heart they are going through consumes them. Their true self is indistinguishable from what they project and push themself to the brink in a desperate struggle to live up to someone’s legacy, someone they admire, or someone they idolize or otherwise put on a pedestal. Maybe they end up as just a shell of who they once were, being burnt out and devoid of that once fierce passion they possessed.

A healthy and true Knight of Heart is one who will do anything and EVERYTHING to protect those they care about. They will fight to the bitter end to protect Heart and the right of Heart. They protect other people’s identities, their true selves, their individuality… The Knight protects and serves that Heart to their allies, being the safeguard to their true selves. A devout protector and a kind soul, you’d be hard pressed to find someone who loves you for you as much as a Knight of Heart would.

[royallyjoon]

nephilim (quatre)

you know where the cred goes 💙

cult au, supernatural creature au

yandere! ot7 x f! reader

warnings: yandere themes, violence, manipulation

undoubtedly, the boys have opened their arms and hearts to you. but have you done the same? life has only gotten more stressful for you, and the closer you find yourself getting to them, the more you feel as though you are changing, and the more you push yourself away. you refuse to break. never forget: one’s hubris could be their hamartia. forge your lonely path with conviction. after all, it may not be yours for much longer. the victor or the fallen--exactly who is it that stands to lose the most?

——————————————————————

For a long time now, you had feared that your relatively peaceful days in Ichabod were coming to an end, and recent events only further proved your point. 

Mana’s forewarning carried its weight well, as Aemilia seemed dead set on making an enemy of you. She went from hardly acknowledging your existence to cursing it. 

She would never lift a finger to do her dirty work, oh no, for how could the delicate Augustus princess stoop so low as to take the garbage out herself?

No, she used her puppets Brooklyn, Constance, and whoever else she managed to sink her claws into in the student body to torment you. 

They tripped you in the halls, stole your belongings, and essentially made it difficult for you to bleed into the background like you used to.

Luckily for you, you happened to gain some formidable allies.

Mana was there to tell Aemilia’s lackeys to back down, and they wouldn’t dare approach you with Jimin around. And he happened to be around more often than not, strangely enough.

The three of you managed to form a strange alliance during this time. Your best friend was still extremely cautious around Jimin and his siblings, as were you, but they had gotten somewhat closer, which made you glad. You didn’t want to be the bridge between them, as you thought that would be tiring and more than you could already handle. 

Still, the two were only human. They wouldn’t always be there to defend you. Nevertheless, you were quite capable of defending yourself. 

You didn’t give Aemilia the satisfaction of breaking under her pressure. You held your head up high despite the amounts of rumors flying around the school about you, even if they made you want to split your own skull open. 

The student body, in part, was divided. Half of them wanted nothing to do with you, considering how you were associated with both the Augustuses and the Kims. They were wary of your actions, claiming you were steps away from meeting Wylynne herself. 

The other half whispered about how tired they were of Aemilia’s antics and tantrums, given that this was not the first time she had behaved like this toward another student. 

Two weeks passed by, and neither you nor Aemilia was giving in. The strawberry blonde was beside herself, and so were her poor friends. Every day that she failed to teach you a lesson was another day she went raving mad in private.

Soon enough, her patience would snap. She would find herself going over the tipping point, but the question remains: Who would stand to lose the most when she got there?

It was another stressful day for you at Ichabod Academy as you sat in your lively homeroom. 

Mana rested on your desk, laying their head on their arms. You figured they would be uncomfortable, considering the way their body was twisted around in their seat, but your friend was drifting off without a care in the world. 

You slumped in your chair, looking every bit as done with life as you had recently felt. There was so much you had to be on the lookout for, and today was no different. 

You blinked tiredly and looked at your best friend. You then decided to lay your head on top of Mana’s, who did nothing more than let out a grunt, and closed your eyes in an attempt to get some rest as well.

When Jimin returned from the restroom, he internally cooed at the sight. 

Your head started rocking back and forth as it tilted dangerously on top of Mana’s. Ensuring he wouldn’t wake you, the boy sat you up and leaned your body on him so that your head was resting on his shoulder. 

He smiled down at you in relief. Your classmates took note of his treatment and started to whisper about the two of you, but one look from him and the room quieted.

Unfortunately for you, the peace was short lived. There was a loud crackling over the intercom that shook both you and Mana awake. 

They sat up and glared at their surroundings in annoyance. You opened your eyes in a flash, desperately hoping it wasn’t your first period teacher. 

“Don’t worry, Ms. Diivi isn’t here yet.” Jimin reassured you. “It was just the intercom.”

You nodded in thanks and covered your yawn with the back of your hand.

There was some more crackling and finally, your principal began to speak. 

“Good afternoon, students. I apologize for the interruption, but this is urgent.  Constance Pierre is to report to the principal’s office immediately. I repeat, Constance Pierre to the principal’s office. Thank you for your attention, and please continue about your day.”

You squinted in confusion. 

Constance has never been called to the principal’s office before in her entire life. Even when she was causing trouble for you and other students, the teachers paid no mind and others were too afraid to report her. What could have happened?

The sound of feet pounding against the floor got closer and closer until you could hear it outside your classroom door. A blonde blur passed the room, disappearing as fast as it had come.

“Pierre...why does that name sound familiar?” You murmured to yourself.

“It’s the name of the freshman that went missing.” Mana said as they stretched. “Chance Pierre, I think.”

Your eyes widened in understanding.

“He was-is Constance’s little brother.” They corrected their statement.

Jimin glanced at your shocked expression and suppressed a dry laugh.

Quite frankly, he could care less about the Pierre family. Constance has been nothing but a nuisance to him and his brother.

He’d been willing to overlook the rumors of how annoyingly outstanding and clever the freshman was because he knew his little brother would always be better. 

But after the blonde went so far as to start pestering you, he used the information he’d gathered against Chance in its opportune moment. And he had no regrets.

You snuck a peek at Jimin and saw a familiar, cold decisiveness plastered on his face. It was the only expression you’d been seeing from him for a while now. Any time someone brought up the missing student, Jimin would go frostily silent. 

It reminded you of the difference between the two of you, just like his reaction--or lack thereof--the morning of Chance’s disappearance had.

You figured he was just uncomfortable talking about the situation and was carefully avoiding it, just as he had with you and Mana that first day you spent lunch together.

At least it wasn’t Mom or Mana, you thought to yourself.

“They must’ve finally found him.” You commented, distracted by your incoming thoughts.

Aemilia’s family is specifically in charge of hunting down anyone who can be perceived as a “threat” to the Kim family. Brooklyn Hayes and Constance Pierre, however, acquired social immunity for themselves and their families as the girls are so close.

Or so you thought.

Constance’s disheveled appearance the morning Chance went missing made much more sense, then. She was worried sick about her little brother, and one of her closest friends didn’t even bother warning her or her family. 

You shuddered. Just how many people would Aemilia sacrifice? How far would she go, just for her sick sense of what was right?

You had no intention of finding out.

By lunch time, the rest of the school had heard exactly what happened to poor Chance Pierre.

The fourteen year old boy was deposited in the family’s living room, returned out of the blue just like all of those who came before him. 

His mother had stepped out for a short moment to go grocery shopping and returned to find her bloody mess of a son, who she then quickly rushed to the hospital.

He was covered in bruises, had a broken arm and leg, several broken ribs, and permanent blindness in his left eye. All things considered, he is one of the lucky ones.

His family was just grateful that he was returned to them still breathing.

Whatever the message was, the Pierre family had received it loud and clear. And so had the rest of the town.

No one is allowed to leave Ichabod. Not without being stopped by Death herself. 

Another school day had come to an end, and you walked out the building with Mana and Jimin at your side. 

Seeing how the end of the month was coming up, you and Jimin decided that it would be best if you went over to his house to work on the project again. The beginning of the presentations were not far off and it was about time you completed your research.

It didn’t take long to convince your mother. The both of you found it easier for you to go over to the Kim residence than to ask Jimin if he could come to your home.

You sat on a granite bench outside of the entrance. Mana stood on your left, leaning up against the wall and Jimin sat to your right, perched on the bench. 

You were waiting for Driver Bin and Mr. Waye to show up when you heard a familiar voice call out.  

“(Y/N)! Jimin hyung!” You watched as Taehyung came running out the school doors, Jungkook trailing calmly behind him.

You waved at the two and gave them a tired smile. Taehyung made himself comfortable on Jimin’s lap as Jungkook stood along the wall near Mana.

“Did you have a good day, (Y/N)?” Taehyung hummed, eyes teeming with concern.

“Yeah, it was fine.” You said, struggling to actually mean that statement. 

Mana gave you a knowing look and huffed out a laugh under their breath.

It’s not as though you almost had your things stolen twice in one day.

This morning, Hoseok saw you chasing a junior who was running away with some of your notebooks and folders in hand. 

His charming smile dropped and he gave her a grim look. All he had to do was extend his hand and she placed the items in his palm, which he then promptly returned to you.

Then one of your classmates stole your laptop while you were at lunch in an effort to wipe the thing. Had it not been for Namjoon walking into the library and catching them in the act, you surely would have lost all of your information. 

Thankfully, he safely retrieved your laptop from your classmate. You made a new password for all of your devices and resolved to never let your bag out of your sight again.

“I’m glad you’re coming over again, though! Maybe we’ll get to watch a movie or play some games together.” He flashed you a boxy grin and you sent him a small smile in return.

“Jungkookie’s got loads of games,” Jimin added, peeking his head out from behind Taehyung. “He’s such a hoarder, he rarely lets us play with him. I’m sure he’d let you, though.”

Jungkook punched Jimin in the shoulder, looking at the ground in embarrassment. “Hyung, what are you saying...”

 “Yeah, that sounds nice.” You sighed absentmindedly. “I could do with a break from school and homework for like, the next month.”

The youngest brother flushed, peeking up at you through his bangs. “If you wanted to, I’d be happy to play with you.” He mumbled as he smiled.

“Oh, there’s Driver Bin!” Taehyung called, hopping up and pulling you and Jimin to your feet. 

You hugged Mana goodbye as the black van pulled up to the curb. Just as you turned to follow Jimin, however, someone knocked their shoulder into yours. 

“Oh, sweetie. You should really watch where you’re going.”

Brooklyn stood in your path with her arms crossed. Over her shoulder, you saw Aemilia and Constance standing a short distance away.  They looked as though they were about to make their way towards Aemilia’s family’s car. 

Of course, she could have just walked around you, but why would she ever let you off easy? 

The strawberry blonde wore a satisfied smile and she leaned over to whisper something in the ear of a haggard Constance. Constance merely blinked and nodded in response. 

You smiled at the girl in front of you. “Of course. It was all my mistake. I’m so sorry, Brooklyn.”

You stepped closer as though you were going to confront her and grabbed her arm, pulling her toward you before she could step back.

She fought against you but that only made you grip her arm tighter. You could feel your nails start to dig into her skin.

 “I’m sorry that you’re nothing more than a means to an end.” You murmured in her ear.

The brunette stilled.

“I’m sorry Aemilia couldn’t care less about you or your family.”  You continued, speaking in a low voice. “I’m sorry that your so called friend sees you as mere disposable goods, or should I say...a useful little puppet?”

You released your grip on her arm, bringing your hand up to her shoulder instead and giving it a few consoling pats. “Didn’t your little sister just get the lead role in the school play? I would hate for you to be the next Constance...”

You looked toward the blonde just to emphasize your point and Brooklyn’s eyes followed your gaze.

Constance was staring, unseeing, at the ground, nervously clinging to Aemilia like a lifeline. She was strangely quiet and obedient...like a dog in fear of disobeying its master.

Brooklyn looked back and forth between you, Aemilia, and Constance in utter shock. You sent her one more sympathetic look before moving around her to follow the Kims into their car.

The remaining students whispered, wondering about what you said and in the corner of your eye, you saw Mana tilt their head inquisitively. You knew they had questions, questions you would have to answer later.

You bowed in greeting to Mr. Bin and entered the car behind Jimin like last time, Namjoon going in after you.

Mr. Bin closed the door and walked around to the other side of the vehicle in preparation to leave.

“I’ve never seen Brooklyn look so shocked,” Taehyung said from the backseat. He put his hands on the headrest behind you and poked his head around it. “What did you tell her?”

You shrugged. “Something that could hopefully put her life in a different perspective.”

“I don’t know how you deal with those girls, (Y/N).” Jimin said. “Aren’t you tired of the tricks Aemilia’s playing?”

“Don’t you just want to get rid of them, once and for all?” Taehyung asked, tone darkening.

You shrugged. “For whatever reason, she’s currently obsessed with me-”

The reason being all of you-

“-and of course I want her to stop, but I would never give her the satisfaction of letting her think she won. She’s petty, and a bully.”

You texted your mother an update on your location and locked your phone, looking up at your classmates. “She just needs a reality check. I’d be happy to give it to her every now and then.”

Part of you felt like trying to care for Brooklyn was pointless, especially after the way she treated you. The other part of you felt you were killing two birds with one stone--you were opening her eyes and isolating Aemilia in one go.

While Namjoon and Hoseok nodded in understanding, the rest of the boys couldn’t help but worry. 

They all followed Namjoon’s advice religiously in fear of scaring you away. But what if your independence only made it harder for them to be able to be there for you? What if you never came to them on your own for assistance?

...They would simply have to make it so that you had no other choice, would they not?

But the circumstances were not yet that dire, so for now, you had nothing to fear.

——————————————————————

The ride into the woods was pleasantly silent, and this time you made sure you didn’t fall asleep.

All too soon, Mr. Bin drove the van past the wrought-iron gate and up the impressive driveway. You weren’t as nervous as you were your first time visiting their residence, but you still had your guard up.

The boys bound up the wooden steps and opened the front door, piling into their home. You entered last, quietly closing the door behind you. 

As you were taking off your shoes, you spied a pair of nude slides next to all of the black ones.

Jungkook noticed you looking at them and smiled. “Mother prepared them for you. She saw you wearing hyung’s pair the last time you came over and ordered them after you left with your mom.”

“That’s so kind of her,” you said, slightly in awe. “I’ll be sure to express my thanks.”

You never thought you’d reach the day where Mrs. Kim would welcome you so readily into her home, but here you stood corrected. 

“(Y/N), let’s go!” Jimin called to you from the stairway.

“Coming!” You lay your shoes at the door, slid your feet into the slippers, and went to catch up with him, climbing upstairs. 

The library had hardly changed since you were gone. The shelves were just as dusty and dilapidated as before, and the couch was just as comfortable.

You maintained a safe distance away from Jimin this time as well so he wouldn’t get the opportunity to pull any tricks.

You spent the majority of the afternoon on writing the paper together, as you both had agreed. A few hours later, you finished and decided to get a head start on the presentation.

“‘The strength of a Nephilim depends on which angelic order their parent hails from,’” You read out to Jimin as he added to your shared document from his laptop. 

“‘The sheer majority, however, were parented by those in the third sphere. This was the lowest order consisting of the angels most concerned with the affairs of humans: Principalities, Archangels, and Angels.’”

“Got it.” He claimed, typing out a couple more sentences. “I think we have enough for the background information, but Mrs. Hargrove also wants us to discuss the religions they come from, their abilities and their weaknesses.”

You hummed. “Angels are mentioned in a multitude of religions, but Nephilim are really only mentioned in the Hebrew Bible, according to sources.”

“So that question shouldn’t be so difficult to answer,” He smiled, marking it. 

“Nephilim are really strong,” you said from behind the book cover, fascinated by the information it held. “They appear as ordinary humans on the outside but possess celestial powers bestowed upon them by their angelic parent. They’re faster and stronger than ordinary humans, and are excellent at reading people.” 

Jimin took the book from you and glanced further down in the book to see if he could find more specific powers for your project. 

“Oh, I found something here.” 

You opened your laptop and prepared to type as he read. 

“It says Nephilim possess super strength, longevity, the power of flight, healing abilities, teleportation, telepathy, angelic wrath, illusions, the ability to drain someone’s life force, and telekinesis.” He raised his eyebrow in awe. 

You chuckled as your hands raced to keep up with his words. “Illusions, the ability to drain someone’s life force, and what?”

“Telekinesis, the ability to move things with your mind.” He said. 

“I could use that all the time--like, the other day, I was waiting in front of the student council room to return the uniform I borrowed.” 

You recounted the story for Jimin as he peeked up at you. You were too engrossed in typing, however, to notice his gaze.  “I could have sworn the door was locked, but then Namjoon appeared and it unlocked without him pulling out a key or anything. He just flicked his wrist and open sesame.”

Jimin unabashedly stared at you, a small smile on his face. You always noticed the littlest things about them and it made his heart pound for you a little harder.

“Namjoon hyung always comes in at the coolest moments,” he replied, looking down at what you’d managed to gather so far. “So, we have the powers and where they come from. I think we found a section on their weaknesses the other day.”

“Yeah, it sounds like their main weakness is original sin, or the innate tendency to sin, all humans receive once they’re born.” You thought back to the section you and Jimin read before. “Because they’re part human and part angel, they are constantly at war with themselves and the human side typically wins.”

“Do you think that’s a bad thing?” Jimin asked. 

You closed your laptop. “...What do you mean?”

Jimin shifted, tucking his legs underneath him. “I mean, they’re celestial beings. They have cosmic powers at their disposal, access to the heavens, and everything they could have wanted. But they have a choice to throw it away, to sin, for...whatever the reason may be.” He muttered, glancing aside at the carpet. “If they gave it up, do you think they would have made the right decision?”

You paused for a moment, eyeing the shadows nearby branches cast on the library windows. “It think it depends on the person and what they’re sinning for. Whether they were doing it for their own self interest, or to protect a loved one-”

“What if they were doing it because they loved someone?” Jimin interrupted, eyes widened in curiosity.

Your eyes left the window as you turned to face him. “I would admire their dedication. And it’s not as though they lose their abilities when they fall from grace. I only wish that person would be worth it, and that they’re happy.” 

You smiled wistfully. “An angel losing their wings to love someone for the rest of their life. What a sad, beautiful thing. ’Tis the plight of being human, I suppose. They’re really not that different from us--besides the celestial gifts, of course.”

Jimin grinned and hummed in agreement. 

As always, only you could understand them perfectly.

You stood up from the couch and brushed off the back of your skirt. “Uh, Jimin, could you please tell me where the bathroom is?”

He smiled. “Yeah! You just make a left at the corner, then a right, then another right, and there should be a guest room with a bathroom in it.”

You zoned into and out of your thoughts momentarily and blinked, smiling and nodding at him. “Thanks.”

——————————————————————

Perhaps Jimin told you the directions incorrectly, or you made a left when you should have made a right, but there was no doubt about it. You were lost. There was no bathroom where he stated there was, and you’d been wandering around the third floor for several minutes now with no clue as to where it was.

“Damn this house.” You muttered under your breath. “Only seven people live here, why is it so big?”

You finally came upon what looked like a guest room, one that hopefully had a bathroom inside, when you heard two voices speaking from the behind the partially open door. 

“Seriously. You need to be more careful with these sorts of things.” The first voice said, deep and mature.

You stopped in your tracks immediately.

“It’s not like I wanted this to happen.” the second one spoke. Their voice was much lower and raspier than the first. 

“Of course you didn’t. That’s why you should pay more attention when doing your work.” The first voice nagged and you heard someone hiss.

“Ah, it’s fine. It was worth it. Still, thanks for patching me up, hyung.”

You were stuck near the crack in the door, too afraid to move in fear of being heard. 

“Whatever. You’re too reckless. Maybe this’ll teach you a lesson.”

“Oh, come on. How was I supposed to know that the kid would make such a-”

“Stop talking.” The first voice stated, sounding much lower than it had before. 

Your eyes shook at the sudden silence and you whipped around to look at the hallway, quickly searching for a place to hide.

About two steps behind you, there was a five foot long indent in the wall, courtesy of the prominent display of a large painting.

You risked it and threw yourself backward, stepping as quietly onto the wood as you could before throwing your back up against the indent, facing away from the room. 

And not a moment too soon, as you heard the door fly open the second you were hidden from view. You sunk to the floor in a crouch.

“What’s wrong, hyung?” You could hear the younger’s voice sound from the room much clearer now.

You sucked yourself as tightly into the corner as you could.

There was no response from the older and you strained your ears for a sign, a hint, anything.

Breathing felt too loud, swallowing felt too loud, the brush of your clothes against your neck as you turned your head felt too loud. Everything was deafening.

Please don’t find me, please don’t find me, please don’t find me-

There was the slow, soft padding of feet on the wooden floor. You trembled as it got closer and closer to where you sat. 

In the corner of your eye, you could see a socked foot, inches away from where you hid.

“Jin hyung!”

Your savior, none other than Jimin, appeared at the end of the hallway, yelling in excitement.

You know he saw you, of course he saw you. It was impossible not to coming from his direction. You cast your eyes down, praying he wouldn’t reveal your presence.

He grinned as he ran towards the man. 

“You came back early!” The younger boy tackled him in a hug, wrapping his legs around him. 

The force drove the man back several steps and he grunted, his foot disappearing from your sight. “Jimin, you’re getting a bit too old for this, don’t you think?”

“Yes, but I know you’ll always carry me, hyung.” You heard him giggle. 

“What are you doing up here?” The other voice asked, joining the other two in the hallway. You remained where you sat, not moving an inch. 

“Yoongi hyung! You came back too!”

He scoffed. “Of course I did.”

“Answer his question first, Jimin ah.” You heard the elder comment in a much warmer voice than the threatening tone you heard behind the door. 

“I was in the library working on a project with my classmate. She had to use the bathroom but she never came back, so I came looking for her.”

You blinked rapidly, staring at the wooden floor in front of you.

There was a pause. 

“Have either of you seen her?” Jimin asked.

“...No, we haven’t.” The deep and mature voice, which you now matched to the eldest brother, replied. 

“I’ll just keep looking, then. But you should head downstairs. Father will be home soon, he’ll be pleased to know you’re here!”

Due to the series of complaints you then heard, it sounded as though Jimin took both of his brothers by the wrist and led them to the stairway down the other side of the hallway. 

You waited in that spot for several moments, until you couldn’t hear anything but the wind blowing up against the walls. Once you ensured that they were gone, you ran back down the hallway you came, bladder be damned.

Of course. How could you have possibly forgotten Mr. and Mrs. Kim’s two eldest children?

Kim Yoongi and Kim Seokjin.

Had you not moved when you did, and had Jimin not interfered when he had, you might have...no, you surely would have lost your life in that instant.

——————————————————————

You made it back to the library, quickly and quietly opening the door before rushing in.

Jimin still hadn’t returned, so no one was there to see you fly over to the couch and plop down to sit. You tried to catch your breath to slow the pounding of your heart.

Kim Yoongi and Kim Seokjin. You were almost caught eavesdropping on their conversation.

You had never wanted to purge your memory more than in that exact moment.

What if they suspect I heard everything? What if they have the Augustuses’ people capture me for it? It couldn’t have been that important--it sounded like they were just patching up wounds. Maybe one of them got into a fight? Surely this wouldn’t be enough to warrant such violence. Even they have limits, yes? Then again, when did they ever need a reason to-

The library doors flew open and you flinched, looking up at them only to sigh in relief.

“(Y/N), there you are! Did you find the bathroom alright?”

Jimin’s eyes twinkled playfully as he smiled at you. You restrained yourself from cursing at or hitting him in anger and relief, choosing instead to let out a deep sigh.

“Yeah,” you stated quietly. “It was fine.”

At that moment you received a text from your mother stating that she was downstairs.

"My mom says she’s here. I guess it’s time for me to go.” You stated, beginning to pack your laptop and notebooks away.

“Sure! I’ll come downstairs with you.” He smiled and turned away from you to return The Word of the Lost to its proper shelf.

“Thanks,” you whispered, then zipped your bag up.

Jimin was already gliding away toward the back of the library, the leather bound book in hand, but he still managed to hear you. He didn’t respond, but he smirked triumphantly.

You accepted his silence as a “You’re welcome” and took the moment to fix your composure. When you were both ready, he led the way downstairs.

“My eldest sons have finally returned home!” You heard Kim Moonsik cheer from the living room. 

His tone, usually melancholic and oily, was much lighter today. You surmised that even his mood could be improved by the sight of his family.

He sat on one of the two settees while his two oldest sons perched on the long, gray couch in front of him. 

They both had black hair and dark eyes, like their brothers and parents. One was casually dressed in a large black hoodie and black sweatpants, while the other looked comfortable in a neutral toned sweater and slacks.

The one sitting on the left rolled his eyes. “I don’t understand why you had hyung drag me here a week earlier than necessary, Father. It isn’t that big of a deal.”

Kim Yoongi was notorious for his rebellious attitude. You had heard that since his days at Ichabod Academy, he never listened to authority figures--his classmates were afraid of him and his teachers let him do as he please. The only time he would adhere to rules and tradition was at the required monthly meetings, for obvious reasons.

“On the contrary,” The older man chuckled. “Every time you come home is cause for occasion, my prodigal son.”

“Have some sympathy for me here.” The eldest drawled with his arms crossed. “I get a headache every time I’m forced to drag you home with me.”

Kim Seokjin, on the other hand, was an entertainer. He would lower people’s defenses with a friendly expression and a joke. The citizens of Ichabod found him much more agreeable and respectable as Mayor Kim’s eldest son. They thought him harmless. They fawned over him and Namjoon, praising the mayor for how well he’d raised them in terms of respect and diplomacy.

They were fools. For even now, you could see it as he lounged back relaxedly in his seat: Kim Seokjin may be considered kind and polite, but he was by no means harmless. 

“Do you want me to bring you some medicine?” Jimin piped up from beside you on the stairs, drawing the three’s attention. 

You could feel the college students’ gaze burning into the side of your face.

You kept your facial expression neutral and descended the stairs behind Jimin, who skipped down the rest of them. 

“Who’s this?” You heard Yoongi question.

“This is my classmate, (Y/N). She’s the person I was looking for earlier,” Jimin said, seating himself in between his older brothers.

You bowed toward them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

Seokjin smiled and reached out his hand. You extended yours, expecting a handshake. 

He held it, turned it over, and pressed his lips to the back of it. “The pleasure is all ours.” 

Yoongi smirked as you took your hand back, fighting a blush. “How lovely it is to make your acquaintance.”

“Thank you, you too. It’s nice to see you again as well, Mr. Kim.” You addressed the older man.

“You also, (Y/N) dear. I’m simply ecstatic you took up our invitation.” Mayor Kim said, the usual, passionate fire in his eyes blazing. 

You fought back a shudder. 

“You know the entire town needs to be present, Yoongi ah.” Mr. Kim continued the conversation from before. “You’re no exception.”

“I never said I was,” the second oldest retorted. “I just prefer to spend less of my break here.”

“How’s everything at school, Jiminie?” Seokjin asked as Jimin wrapped his arms around his midsection, skillfully redirecting the subject matter.

“Strange, as usual.” He mumbled, hesitantly looking up at you. 

“I heard the police finally found the Pierre boy,” Mr. Kim added, and you suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable in the presence of this conversation.

Where’s my mother? Weren’t we supposed to be leaving?

“Yes, we heard about it at lunch.” Jimin said. His tone when speaking to his father wasn’t as clipped or standoffish as it was when he was speaking to his mother; rather, it was more lackadaisical. “Right, (Y/N)?”

All four heads spun to you, still standing in the middle of the living room. 

“Why are you standing there looking so stiff?” Seokjin sent you a sinister smile. “Come join us.”

This was the last place you wanted to be, but you had no choice in the matter. You smiled awkwardly and shuffled to the empty settee. 

Before you could sit down, however, Jimin jumped up and pulled you to the couch, seating you in his old spot between his brothers. He then claimed the spot on the other side of Seokjin.

You stiffened and relaxed in a second, praying to everything that you didn’t look as uncomfortable as you felt.

The atmosphere was stifling. You couldn’t breathe.

“It’s a shame what happened to him, truly.” Mr. Kim continued, humming in sympathy. “I sincerely hope something like that doesn’t have to happen again.”

How dare he sit here and act as though he had nothing to do with it? What happened to Chance Pierre was his fault! You unconsciously balled your fist in your lap.

“I’m sure everyone will take this lesson to heart, Father.” Seokjin consoled him. “May they never underestimate the power of Wylynne’s grace again.”

“She is holy and forgiving, but some actions need to be punished, yes.” Yoongi added from your right with a cruel smirk. “Praise Wylynne.”

“Praise Wylynne.” Jimin nodded, eyes twinkling with amusement.

It suddenly occurred to you that you were the only one left who had not spoken. When you raised your eyes to meet with the others’, indeed, they were waiting for your response.

“...Praise Wylynne.” You smiled. False religion or not, there was no way you would be testing your luck in front of the divine priest and his sons.

Mr. Kim nodded in approval, then broke out into a laugh. “Wise, hardworking, and devoted; like mother, like daughter. Wylynne surely smiles upon the women of the (L/N) family.”

You laughed awkwardly. “Thank you, Mr. Kim.”

“Will your mother be arriving to get you soon?” Mr. Kim asked you.

“It was to my knowledge that she was already here-”

“(Y/N)!”

Your head spun toward the sound of your mother’s voice and found her standing in the entryway next to Kim Eunbyul. She wore navy blue scrubs today and her hair was pulled back into a bun with a few loose strands in the front. 

You had thought right. The two were a vision next to each other.

Mrs. Kim walked over, bringing your mother with her. “I apologize for the wait--(M/N) and I were having the most delightful conversation. (Y/N) my dear, how are you?”

She sat next to her husband on one settee and your mother took a seat on the other, empty one. 

This was your second time seeing Mrs. Kim, yet you still could not get over her beauty. She wore another silk housedress, a muslin scarf draped behind her back and over her inner arms. 

Her elegance was neither ostentatious nor arrogant. She demanded respect but gave it in return. 

She had what Aemilia desperately sought after but could never possess.

You nodded with a smile, bowing slightly. “Good evening, Mrs. Kim. I’m fine, thanks for worrying. And thank you so much for the sandals, I really appreciate you going out of your way for me.”

The former actress waved her hand lightly as she laughed. “It was no trouble at all!”

She took your hands in hers and looked down at her feet. “Besides, we match!” Following her gaze, your eyes widened. Indeed, you both had the same style and brand of slippers on.

“Thank you so much for the welcoming her so warmly, Mrs. Kim.” Your mother smiled. 

“Of course.” She assured. “Think nothing of it. I already think of you both as family.”

Your heart warmed a bit and you smiled in response to her words, for you already greatly admired Mrs. Kim. To think that she had taken a liking to both you and your mother...

It was then that the rest of the brothers trekked downstairs in curiosity, then heartily grinned once they realized their oldest brothers had arrived.

“How about we let the kids step aside so us adults can talk properly, hmm?” Mrs. Kim suggested, taking her husband’s hand.

Mr. Kim grinned and squeezed her hand in response. “A wonderful idea, love.”

The boys then quickly pulled you away from the main couches, moving your discussion toward the glass windows. 

You looked back at your mom a couple of times while the brothers greeted each other before focusing on the conversation at hand.

The eight of you stood in a circle near the windows, and you were currently stuck between Jungkook and Seokjin. 

“The other day, (Y/N) said she really liked your interior designing, Jin hyung.” Hoseok piped up. “She said she thought the living room was lovely.”

“Did she? She must have impeccable taste.” He playfully winked at you.

You smiled weakly. “Thank you. I really admire what you’ve done with the space.”

Yoongi, across from you, leaned against the glass. “How is everything at the academy these days?” He asked. 

You hesitated to answer then directed your gaze to the floor thinking the question was not meant for you. When you didn’t hear any of the other boys speak, you looked up and found six sets of eyes on you.

Their gazes were so focused and intense, as if you would break or disappear the moment they looked away. You shifted your eyes.

“It’s not the easiest, but isn’t that what high school is like for everyone?” You grimace-smiled.

“(Y/N)’s being bullied.” Taehyung revealed, draping himself over Jimin’s shoulder. “Aemilia Augustus and her lackeys won’t leave her alone.”

This little-

You whipped your head around to see if your mother had heard anything. Thankfully, Taehyung’s voice was lowered at the time. She seemed engrossed in her discussion with Mrs. Kim. 

“The Augustus princess?” Yoongi asked, interrupting your thoughts. 

“She’s what?” Jin started in surprise, his polite smile turning into a displeased frown. He glanced at Namjoon. The student council president simply nodded in response.

“She has the other kids pester or steal from (Y/N).” Hoseok added, glaring out the window. “The students can hardly stop talking about it.” 

Jungkook gently tugged on your shirt sleeve to get your attention. “If she’ s bothering you--” 

“It’s alright.” You assured them before they could really give Aemilia and her people a reason to go after you. “I’m working it out.”

“And how well is that going?” Namjoon snorted, giving you a knowing look.

You grimaced, locking and unlocking your phone. “...I’m working it out.” You repeated, suddenly fascinated by the wooden floor.

“If she ever gives you a hard time, you let me know.” Yoongi said, holding up his fists. One hand was wrapped in bandages and the other hand was bare, knuckles covered in torn skin and still-healing scabs. “I don’t get these from just lying around, if you catch my drift.”

You gaped at his hands and at the offer. Kim Yoongi? Offering to beat someone up for you? Where had his famous apathetic attitude gone?

“Violence is never the answer, Yoongi ah.” Seokjin replied before you could. He gently took your phone from you while it was unlocked and swiped around until he found your contacts. “If you ever need help, just give us a call. Don’t be afraid to reach out. We’ll always be there.”

You opened and closed your mouth in distress. 

Seokjin pointedly ignored the glare Namjoon was sending his way. 

He was jealous of his younger brothers, who got to see and speak with you every day. Earlier, he’d been in the middle of healing and wrapping Yoongi’s injury when he saw your shadow outside the door. 

He’d barely been able to hold himself back from ripping you out your hiding spot and pulling you into his arms. But then all of their progress would have been for naught. 

So he allowed Jimin to drag him away. 

But not anymore.

He understood that you needed your time and space but, really, their angel shouldn’t be so stubborn around them. 

He held the device out to you and you took it back, observing the six newest additions to your contacts list. He’d taken the time to add not just his number, but the rest of the brothers’ numbers as well.

“Thank you,” You confided with a rare, genuine, and small smile, “really. But I can handle it myself.”

On the outside, some of them nodded while the others frowned at the floor.

On the inside, however, they collectively sighed inside their head, tired of your age old response.

They just wanted you to be able to lean on them, to see them as another option that was always available to you, and only you.

How long was it going to take for you to trust them? How far would they have to go to capture the object of their desire?

Whatever the obstacle, they would surely overcome it. 

Your mother called your name once more and you shouldered your bag, replacing the nude slippers with your school shoes.

“I hope you have a pleasant night,” You said to the brothers, fumbling with your shoes. “I’ll see you in school tomorrow.” 

“See you tomorrow!” Jimin waved you off with a smile and his brothers and parents chorused farewells behind him.

You both bowed once more to the Kim family and descended the stairs, making as hasty but collected an exit as possible.

“I swear, (Y/N), I lose years off my life every time I come to this house,” your mother murmured once you both sat in the car.

“You know what, Mom? So do I.” You exhaled, slumping down in the front seat. “Drive slowly, won’t you? I might be the one throwing up once we reach the edge of the woods.”

Your mother barked out a laugh and nodded in thanks to Mr. Bin as he opened the gate. 

As you drove away from the Kim family home, you opened your messages and texted Mana, updating them on how you’d nearly lost your life this time.

That night, you ate dinner, cleaned up, finished other assignments, and had an hours long conversation with Mana about Brooklyn and your latest visit to the Kim residence.

The way their eyes bugged out of their head when you told them about how you’d nearly gotten caught made you laugh. Of course, it hadn’t been funny in the moment. Even thinking about it now made you slightly nauseous.

But you went to sleep that night all the same, dreaming once again of haunting, magnificent black wings.

——————————————————————

Once the front door of the Kim household closed, Jimin’s cheerful face dropped into a scowl. 

And he was not the only one upset. All seven of them glowered around the room in the aftermath of (Y/N)’s departure.

Kim Eunbyul and Kim Moonsik sat deathly still on the couch, unprepared for whatever was coming.

When someone is explosive with anger, they are destructive. One might break things, they may say harmful words, but for the most part, one takes their anger out in that single moment.

The seven men behind them were different.  

When they were angry, they plotted. The harder it was for them to get what they wanted, the harder they fought. They made sure there would be nothing that could possibly be in their way. 

“We told you to be patient, hyung.” Namjoon broke the angry silence. “Don’t ruin all of our plans with your ineptitude.”

“Isn’t that a little harsh?” Seokjin scoffed. “I put your number in her phone, too. Try being a little grateful.”

“Don’t disrespect your elders, Namjoon.” Hoseok chided, shoving his hands in his pockets. “We told you to put your dog on her leash.”

“You weren’t complaining when Aemilia’s antics gave you opportunities to help (Y/N),” Namjoon sneered. “I loathe her very existence as well, don’t misunderstand me.”

“You should hear the rumors going around at school, Namjoon hyung.” Jungkook frowned. “People are placing bets on how soon Aemilia’s going to destroy her.”

“I know you’re the brains of this operation but if (Y/N) gets hurt, this is not going to end prettily.” Yoongi stated solemnly.

“I won’t let it get to that point.” Namjoon assured.

“Get it together. And keep that girl in line.” Seokjin nodded.

There was a significant reason Eunbyul was so receptive of the (h/c) haired girl and her mother. 

Despite the fact that she really did enjoy your company and was happy to welcome you into their home, she knew what would await her if she ever dared to mistreat you.

You precious thing. You precious, hardheaded, stubborn thing. Why did you not give in to what they wanted? Could you truly not see how much they how much they longed to protect possess be with you?

Perhaps you’ve already started picking up on it, and this was why you wanted to distance yourself from them before it was too late.

You beautiful, foolish thing. It was already far too late.

Eunbyul quivered, squeezing her husband’s hand. Moonsik wore a stony expression on his face, but he squeezed his wife’s hand back with surprising strength. 

When she looked up from her lap, she gasped, for Jungkook was squatting directly in front of her. She felt as though his dark gaze was piercing her soul.

The probability of that very thing happening in this instant was high.

She exhaled and carefully avoided his gaze.

“Mother, Father,” he hummed, “is everything alright? You’re shaking like leaves in the wind.”

“Oh dear.” Taehyung replied, resting his arms on the back of the settee behind them. He tilted his head and frowned down at the two as if they were insects, scurrying around in an attempt to escape their deaths. “That doesn’t sound very good.”

“I’m sure it was just a result of them working so hard.” Seokjin smiled at Moonsik. “I must say, I was impressed.” The elder simply nodded and avoided his gaze.

Namjoon strolled over to Eunbyul’s side of the settee and gently pat the woman on her back. “Your performance today was especially moving, Mother.”

“At least she wasn’t trembling in front of (Y/N) like she did last time,” Jimin kissed his teeth. “Useless woman.”

Hoseok bent over in laughter, the outburst shortening into a light giggle as he joined them by the couches. 

“They work diligently, why not praise them once in a while?” He suggested, suppressing another laugh.

“Like I’ll ever.” Jimin rolled his eyes. “I really hope you know what you’re talking about, Namjoon hyung. I’m going to bed before I feel the need to hit something--or someone.” Jimin glared and bounded back up the stairs.

“It’s alright. We’re fine.” Eunbyul forced out. “Thank you.”

“Yes, you should be. If you weren’t, it would imply you did something wrong.” Yoongi smiled.

“And if you did something wrong,” Jin continued, “...well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

She stiffly nodded. 

“Of course not.” Taehyung grinned and pat her head condescendingly. 

“Of course.” Moonshik repeated, willing his hands to stop trembling.

He had never expected this to happen. He never thought he would be living the life that he did.

He had called for power, and he had surely received it, but not in the way he thought he would.

Was the insurmountable power worth the treatment he received in his own home?

Yes. And if he had to repeat it, he would have made the exact same decision. It would surely be worth it. That was what he told himself day in and day out, the prayer he spoke to his god in an attempt to convince himself of the lie.

It would surely be worth it.

“We’re trusting you, Mr. and Mrs. Kim.” 

——————————————————————

The Augustus residence was a fairly old building, a beautiful family manor transformed into a modern, affluent home. It stood in the center of the city, as their family used to be the epicenter of society. 

Aemilia found both her home and its location extremely fitting. 

As unfortunate as it would be that she would have to move from this stately home to one in the middle-of-nowhere woods, she was willing to deal with it. She would follow her future husband anywhere, everywhere, if need be.

Usually, the esteemed Augustus home was silent. 

“How could you?” Brooklyn shouted in anger.

But today, those grand old walls whispered in the wind through quite the ruckus.

“The people that work for your family dragged Constance’s little brother out of his home in the middle of the day! They tortured him for two weeks! You knew where he was the whole time, and you didn’t say a thing!” Brooklyn gestured toward their friend. “She came to you for help, and you slammed the door in her face!”

The blonde had stopped talking long ago. She curled herself into a ball and tucked her head into her chest, looking well on the verge of a panic attack. 

The three girls had arrived at Aemilia’s house earlier, prepared to do the usual: finish some homework, study, and binge watch some shows. 

But (Y/N) (L/N)’s words had been ringing inside of Brooklyn’s head all afternoon. 

A means to an end. 

Disposable goods.

A useful little puppet.

She couldn’t take thinking it anymore, so she finally voiced the dreaded question. Brooklyn asked Aemilia what she and Constance meant to her.

The strawberry blonde tilted her head, staying quiet for several minutes. She then grinned and replied,“My ladies in waiting?”

For Wylynne’s sake. She could have at least been less direct than to compare them to literal servants.

Brooklyn erupted at Aemilia, asking her if that’s what she thought years of friendship had amounted to, thus leading them to their current argument.

For whatever reason, it had never occurred to the brunette that Aemilia may be using her. She thought she had broken the barriers the callous girl held for her long ago, but after Constance showed up at Brooklyn’s house in tears, combined with Aemilia’s response to Chance’s disappearance...

Perhaps it was time she seriously reevaluated their “friendship”.

“Don’t you think you could have reassured her that he was alive? Even police officers tell family members when people have been arrested.” Brooklyn glared at the other girl.

“Get real, Brooklyn. This isn’t a stupid police station. This is Ichabod. It’s because we live in Ichabod that Chance broke the law, and received his due punishment.” Aemilia justified coldly.

“A fourteen year old boy in laying in his bed, covered in bruises and permanently blind in one eye. But I need to get real because this is Ichabod, and that somehow makes it okay?” Brooklyn raised her volume, disturbed by how convicted Aemilia was in her reasoning. “How could you possibly think that makes it okay?” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Aemilia sneered, “I wasn’t aware that I needed your opinion or approval for my thoughts and actions.”

“That’s exactly the problem! This is about you playing us, using us through your actions! I honestly thought we meant more than that to you!” She snarled in response.

“I don’t see a problem with it,” Aemilia shrugged. “You and Constance used me for popularity and safety, and now you come crying to me, claiming that I can’t use you in return?” She barked out a laugh. “That hardly seems fair. How ungrateful.”

The brunette couldn’t deny the benefits that came along with being close to the strawberry blonde, but for her to twist their entire history and friendship into one of utility? She was beside herself with anger.

“Used you? You think we used you? For what?” She roared. “Your money? Your status? Don’t you think we have those exact same things?” 

Brooklyn Hayes and Constance Pierre were not one’s normal, run of the mill best friends. In fact, they were in extremely similar situations to Aemilia, for their families were also members of the old city elite. 

The Hayes and Pierres had lived in Ichabod for nearly as long as the Augustuses. They may not have had the same amount of prestige that Aemilia lay claim to, but they certainly were not far off.

“You grew up with us and thought we were nothing more than what? Walking labels that strengthened your social status? People you could use to do your bidding?” Brooklyn deadpanned. “We were nothing more than pawns in your game, weren’t we?”

“We didn’t befriend you because of your title or your family, Aemilia. We befriended you because we admired you and your personality. We weren’t the ones that twisted your perception of us into toys, or puppets, or ladies in waiting.” She gave a mirthless smile. “That was all you.”

Aemilia paused, reminiscing on her younger days. In every interaction she ever experienced, she was treated like royalty. At some point, she simply assumed it was natural for everyone to bend to her every whim.

Everyone...except for those two.

They had approached her for some childish reason like playing dolls or tag or other, but it was all genuine. 

“I honestly can’t believe you.” Brooklyn shook her head at her silence and stormed around the room, collecting her and Constance’s materials and shoving them into their respective bags. 

“All these years. All these years, and I was that clueless, that hopeful.” Brooklyn muttered as she gave her a cruel smile. “I can’t believe (Y/N) (L/N) knew you better than I did.” 

Aemilia’s face flushed bright red. 

“Your ladies in waiting are going to relieve themselves of their position now.” Brooklyn carefully dragged the non responsive blonde to her feet, holding both of their bags and contacting her personal driver. She curled her lip. “Please feel free to march your way to the throne by yourself, your highness.” 

The door slammed shut behind them, and for a moment, the residence was silent once more.

Then, with an anguished cry, Aemilia picked up whatever textbooks were nearby and vaulted them at her walls.

First, her future husband. Next, her friends. What would that (h/c) haired bitch steal next? Her life?

“No. No. I won’t let it get that far. I would never let you get away with it!” She screamed, hurling another book. 

Her bedroom door swung open and her father ducked the incoming textbook. “Aemilia! What on earth is going on? Brooklyn and Constance just left looking extremely upset, did you three have an argument?”

She dropped the rest of the textbooks, raced to her father and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Daddy, I need you to call up the special squadron.”

Aloysius Augustus held his daughter’s hands and warily pried them off of him. “Whatever for?”

Aemilia flashed him a maniacal grin. “Namjoon just texted me. He says his father believes he’s found in another soul in dire need of discipline.”

——————————————————————

Ever since engaging in this battle of wills with Aemilia, you tell yourself that there isn’t anything that could surprise you anymore.

Yet the actions of your classmates the next morning were strange. Stranger than you could possibly anticipate.

You entered the classroom and found a group of girls standing in a huddle around a desk, whispering to one another.

The room was strangely empty. Neither Mana nor Jimin had arrived yet, nor had some of your other classmates known for coming to school relatively early.

The girls noticed your entrance and quieted immediately. You found this suspicious, so you decided you wanted nothing to do with them. You shifted your gaze away from them and kept on walking to your seat.

That is, until you heard one of them scoff loudly in your direction.

“I mean, just look at her. She walks around the school as if she’s better than us, just because Ms. Diivi had Jimin sit next to her.”

You froze but their tittering only got louder. 

The girl that scoffed before, a classmate of yours named Seph, left the group and stood in front of you with crossed arms.

“You’re not anything special, (Y/N). You shouldn’t mistake yourself.”

The others seemed to agree with her as, soon enough, they left the desk one by one to surround you.

“It’s really pathetic how you practically beg for Jimin’s attention.”

“The other day, when you made him give you his sweater? It was really embarrassing.”

“Yeah, I could hardly stand to watch.”

They imitated your shivering as they laughed, making it look as though you were having a seizure.

“You used to be tolerable at the least, but Jimin transferred to our class and you finally decided to take the opportunity to climb the ranks, huh?” Another sneered.

You could hardly move. You were stuck in place, the words swimming around in your head.

Externally, you stared down at the ground in confusion, but internally, you were shocked. You couldn’t believe the accusations the girls were coming up with.

Even after everything this town had been through, the Kim brothers still had some sort of deluded fan club...and now they were coming after you.

“What the hell?” You finally said, lifting your head to look each of them in the eye. “Why would I go begging for his attention?”

“Don’t try to deny it, bitch.” Seph snarled. “You used to keep your head down and mind your business like the rest of us, but now, all of a sudden, you’re relishing in the spotlight.”

“We’ll see just how much Jimin likes you soon enough.” One of her lackeys snickered.

They left you where you stood, turning their attention to the doorway.

You could see Jimin from the glass window in the door, waving goodbye to Taehyung as he headed off to his respective classroom. He reached down to twist the knob and pulled the door open.

Had you blinked, you would have missed the entire thing.

Seph pulled a bucket out from under the desk they were all crowded around and threw its contents all over Jimin.

He closed his eyes and opened his mouth in shock as he was doused in water from head to toe. His uniform was soaked and his hair lost its floofy nature, flattening down over his eyes.

One of the girls ripped the bucket away from her and shoved it into your hands. They moved back in tandem, shocked gasps hiding their deeds as Jimin wiped water out of his eyes, which landed on you holding the bucket.

“(Y/N)...?”

You were just as shocked as he was, mouth agape. The evidence was completely against you.

He looked up at you with teary eyes. He looked hurt, so angry, you figured there was no way you were going to get out of this.

“I didn’t do it, why would I?” You protested.

“Jimin, are you alright?” The ringleader picked back up, skillfully concealing a triumphant smirk with an open look of concern. “(Y/N), how could you do such an awful thing? Especially after he’s been nothing but kind to you...”

Wow, does she get lessons from Mrs. Kim or something?

You dropped the bucket in surprise. “No! Jimin, it wasn’t me, I promise, they just grabbed the bucket out of nowhere-”

This is it. My mother is going to have to bury her daughter young. I failed to provide for her, or thank her for everything she’s done for me. Your thoughts couldn’t stop racing. 

“Even for a prank, that’s a bit much, isn’t it?” They continued behind you.

“She’s been acting all this time. I’m not surprised.” 

“He treated her so well and it all just blew up in his face.”

“That’s just like her.”

“She’s lying directly to his face, how fake.”

“Disgusting.”

They continued spouting lies in front of Jimin, telling him about how you were only using him, how you would curse his very existence behind his back. 

Jimin approached you, his wet shoes squeaking on the tile floors.

You backed up, intimidated, bumping the back of your leg against another desk and falling to the floor.

...Would begging help? 

When you finally looked up at him, begging felt like an appealing option.

Jimin’s eyes glistened, chocolate colored irises now hardened and flashing gold.

They were even colder than the ones you’d seen in your dreams, and you felt the temperature around you drop considerably.

You must have been going crazy with terror, something that wasn’t completely amiss in your town. The girls behind you were feasting on the fearful expression in your eyes.

Then, right as you were about to stand, Jimin gently put his hands on your elbows and guided you up.

To their surprise, he tugged you to your feet, wrapped his arms around your shoulders, and pulled you in for a hug.

“You must have been so scared, weren’t you, (Y/N)?” Jimin whispered in your ear. “Those rats dared to mess with you. They tried to come between us with petty rumors and tricks. It’s okay, I’m here now. I believe you.”

He rubbed his hand up and down your back, the water from his uniform seeping into the front of yours. “I’ll make sure you have nothing to fear.”

Jimin pulled away from the hug, smiling at you. He then turned to face the girls, and with that same chilling smile, spoke.

“You all enjoy playing pranks, yes?”

The girls’ expressions changed in a matter of seconds, from snickers and taunts to tearful pleads.

Seph could hardly pick her jaw up off the floor. “Jimin! It was (Y/N), we all saw her-”

“Ah, ah, ah.” You heard a low chuckle sound from the doorway and whipped your head towards the sound.

“I saw everything with my own eyes.” Hoseok stood in the entrance, his arms crossed as he leaned against the door frame.

When had he gotten there?

“And quite frankly, I don’t take too kindly to you lying about what happened to my darling little brother.” His famed smile slipped from his face as he stared down the girls with more hatred than you’d ever seen him possess.

“Jimin...” you reached out to get his attention, but he couldn’t pry his gaze away from the detestable scum that stood before him.

How quickly the tables had turned, you thought as you watched them cower.

Jimin calmly walked toward her and tucked his hand underneath her chin, yanking her ear to his mouth.

He directly whispered into Seph’s ear, but everyone in the room besides (Y/N) heard the same thing, the message pulsing loud and clear inside their heads.

“I’ll make you wish you had never done that.”

He left the group huddling against one another in fright.

“You’ll have to try harder than that.” Hoseok smirked and kicked off the door, walking off with his hands in his pocket.

You stood, incredulous at what had just happened.

“Jimin.” You lay your hand on his shoulder and he covered it with his, turning to meet your gaze. His eyes were wide with expectation.

“Let’s go see your brother, we can get you some new clothes.” You said softly. He smiled serenely and nodded, dragging you to the door by the hand.

Before you could step out, however, he turned around to face them and glowered. “Clean this mess up.”

Seph whimpered and knelt down to pick up the bucket. The other girls scrambled to collect paper towels to dry the floor.

You watched them, trying to conjure up some form of sympathy. That could have been you, cowering beneath him. Moments ago, that was you.

Frighteningly enough, that familiar, heart-strengthening feeling made no appearance. There was no hatred, no remorse. You felt nothing as you were dragged away to the third floor.

Jimin knocked on the door to the student council room, smiling as he spotted his brother. Namjoon, on the other hand, raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“Hyung! I need a new uniform.”

He stepped back to let the two of you enter. Jimin released your hand and beelined for the atrium, grabbing a new shirt and a pair of pants. He then stepped into the bathroom and loudly shut the door.

“Do you mind telling me what that was all about?” Namjoon looked down at you for a moment before his eyes flew up and he stared at the wall with newfound interest. “Feel free to grab a change of clothes as well.”

You followed his gaze and jumped at just how wet the front of your shirt had gotten. “Thanks,” you muttered, desperately hiding your blush.

I’m seriously finding myself back here too often.

You got another polo from the closet and left the door open as you changed, praying that Jimin wouldn’t leave the bathroom and that Namjoon wouldn’t walk around the corner. To keep him busy, you filled him in on what had happened moments before.

When you were finished, you stepped out into the main room with your wet shirt folded over your arm. Namjoon leaned against the wooden table with his arms crossed. His eyebrows furrowed and he looked as though he didn’t know whether to laugh or punch someone.

You glanced at Namjoon and thought back to the way he looked at the people around him.

It quickly dawned on you how bothered you were by Namjoon’s view of everyone around him as some sort of game. 

He always wore an amused smile on his face: when he was looking at his mother in his family home, when he heard what Constance did to you, when he saw all of the students worrying over Chance, and whenever Aemilia and her antics were brought up.

He probably thought he was so clever at hiding it, at being the misfortunate yet accomplished gentleman that everyone perceived him to be, but you saw right through his act.

“The audacity they have to dare make such a ruckus on school property,” He clenched his jaw. “Don’t worry. They will surely receive proper punishment.”

You nodded, eyes glazing over with indifference.

You were too grateful that it was not you or Mana and too exhausted to be concerned with the affairs of other students.

They should have been prepared for this, at the very least. You were only worried about the well being of you and your loved ones.

Did that make you incredibly selfish? Did that make you just like...them?

A hot flash of anger rose in you and died as quickly as it had appeared.

Perhaps Namjoon’s act angered you because it was so similar to, no, better, than your own.

Your face twisted in response to your thoughts. “Thanks for the help. I’ll be sure to pay you back. Tell Jimin I’ll see him in class,” you muttered and bowed then left, needing to separate yourself from them as soon as possible.

Namjoon watched you leave, intrigued by the sudden look of displeasure you wore. “...She noticed,” he chuckled to himself.

"She must not have liked it,” Jimin said as he walked out, fully changed. His hair was still a little wet, but it was nothing he couldn’t take care of later.

Namjoon scoffed.

His little brother subsequently seized opportunity of your absence to explain to Namjoon just how delightful you looked in front of him.

“She looked as though she were about to beg, hyung. As gorgeous a sight as it was, those lower beings had the nerve to send her to her knees.” Jimin growled. “They terrified her, made her think I was going to hurt her.”

“What would you like to do with them?” Namjoon asked him as he leaned against the wooden table, a familiar smirk on his face.

By the end of homeroom, those girls were removed from your section. By the end of lunch, they had left your class and the school completely.

——————————————————————

The final bell rang and you lifted your head off your desk. You’d been trapped in your thoughts since earlier today, but your class schedule had given you no time to focus on your inner monologue.

Someone’s finger tapped your shoulder and you snapped out of your thoughts, directing your attention to them. 

A freshman stood before you nervously and passed you a folded piece of paper. 

“Thanks,” you muttered.

The kid nodded and scurried out of the classroom.

You unfolded the paper, reading the slightly disorganized handwriting. 

You and me, (L/N). Show up alone. Rooftop. 4 pm.

You didn’t even need to ask the kid who it was from.

“This is the game you’re going to play?” You mumbled to yourself. “You still can’t even confront me face to face.”

Unfortunately for you, you already were alone. Mana never came to school today, as they had gone with their father to visit their grandmother at her nursing home, and Jimin was going to be in robotics club for the next forty-five minutes or so.

Then again, Brooklyn and Constance didn’t look like they were attached to Aemilia’s hip today either. The brunette spent all of lunch sending her a bunch of particularly nasty glares from across the cafeteria.

You eyed the clock. fiddling with your phone. After several minutes of deliberation, you opened it to text your mother that you would take yourself home today. 

Let’s get this over with.

Approximately thirty minutes later, you shouldered your back pack on and made your way to the school staircase. 

You texted Mana an update on where you were going and what you were going to do, just in case. After a second thought, you also texted Jimin.

They must not have had their phones on them because they didn’t text back immediately, so you locked yours and put it in your pocket.

When you finally arrived to the rooftop, you saw Aemilia standing near the edge, strawberry blonde ponytail swinging in the autumn breeze.

You already weren’t feeling well and wanted to go home several hours ago. Alas, you were here. 

Your school rooftop was moderately large; appropriate, considering the size of the building. There was nothing up there but a few stacked, forlorn chairs, scattered materials, and blocks of concrete that functioned as storage spaces.

“What do you want, Aemilia?” You asked tiredly. 

She didn’t say anything, nor did she turn around. You walked a couple steps closer to her and stopped. “Hello?” 

“Did you enjoy yourself, (Y/N)?” She asked, her back still facing you. 

You squinted in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Did you enjoy taking everything away from me? Everything that I deemed mine?” Aemilia finally turned to face you. 

On the outside, she looked no different than she had a couple of days ago, but her eyes seemed...hollow.

“I didn’t take anything from you.” You pointed out. “Though, it sounds like you finally realized how skilled you are at pushing people away from you. That has nothing to do with me.”

“Don’t lie to my face.” She croaked out a laugh. “Don’t you dare claim that you haven’t stolen anything of mine.”

Her gaze turned malicious. “I thought you’d be a bug. Small, easy to crush. I wanted to make you even more insignificant than you already were. Unidentifiable.”

“But the harder I tried, the more I failed to crush you. I wanted to rub you into the dirt, but you kept on escaping unblemished.” She gazed in bored ire at her own two hands as though there was something on them that only she could see.

“So I realized, if I can’t crush you, then I’ll just have to destroy you. Completely.”

Foreign hands grabbed your arms with a vice and you started, immediately fighting to pry them off. 

“Are you fucking serious? What are you doing?” You voice was a mixture of fear and disbelief.

Had your greatest fear finally come true? Were the Kims actually going to make an example of you?

“I’m simply executing my right as an Augustus. I am removing anyone who is a threat to the Kim’s empire. My future empire.” She calmly remarked, nodding tonce o whoever was behind you. 

No. She was doing this for her own purpose. Her sense of order, of what was right in the world.

“Aemilia! You can’t do this!” Your voice raised in pitch and your breathing increased, your blood pumping faster and faster by the second. The hands on your arms were growing tighter and tighter.

“Oh, (Y/N). I tried to warn you several times. You didn’t listen.” She chided with false disappointment. “You did this to yourself.”

“Are you scared? Have you now realized your wrong doing? What a shame.” You watched in horror as a deranged smile crept its way onto her face and Aemilia threw her head back in laughter. “It’s already too late!”

There was no time for her descent into madness.

You stilled for just a second, then rocked your head back and successfully slammed it into your captor’s. There was a low grunt from behind you and the person let you go. You took off without a second thought.

You didn’t even bother trying the school door, as you knew it would be blocked. 

Instead, you ran past Aemilia, shoving her aside as hard as you could, in the direction of the roof’s edge.

The strawberry blonde fell, but her laughter didn’t pause--if anything, it only rose in volume. 

You realized the person had regained control of themself, as they came barreling after you.

Yet you also knew that one floor below you, there was a balcony informally used by all the students as a multipurpose space. To your knowledge, it consisted of old blankets and furniture.

I’d rather take my chances with an old table or couch than these bastards, you thought as you ran towards the eaves.

The closer you got, the harder your heart beat in your chest. You were terrified. But somehow, under all the fear, you were able to rationally think and suppress your fears. 

You willed yourself to keep running and, before you could think about it, threw yourself over the edge.

You were in the air for about three seconds before your captor grabbed you by the jacket and stopped your descent. With surprising strength, they yanked you up and backward, tackling you to the floor. 

Your body met the concrete with a harsh slam and you yelled out in pain. Hopefully, you had received nothing other than a few nasty bruises. 

Aemilia’s laughter had quieted by now and she stood on her feet. She brushed her clothes off with a pleased grin.

“Nice try, sweetie. Mr. Byun, why don’t you give dear (Y/N) here a reminder on what happens should she mess with the Augustus family?” She crooned.

Your captor pinned your hands behind your back and shifted so that they were kneeling on your arms, bones digging into your back. He grabbed you by the hair and slammed your head repeatedly into the concrete.

It hurt.  

It hurt more than when you sprained your ankle that one time walking to a monthly meeting and had to continue walking on it for the rest of the evening. 

It hurt more than when your mother healed a particularly deep cut of yours by stitching it up herself because she couldn’t afford to take you to the hospital.

It hurt more than seeing your mother’s face whenever you asked about your father. 

Everything hurt.

You couldn’t even cry out in pain as it would take up too much of your effort, effort that you didn’t have to spare.

“Thus, I declare myself the victor of our little battle of wills.” Aemilia chirped, not at all disturbed by the violence occurring in front of her.

There was something hot running down your forehead. After a couple of blinks, red crept into your eyes, falling down your face with your tears. 

“Your pride’s going to be the death of you.” You choked out, then winced as the Mr. Byun kicked you harshly in the stomach.

“Should my time arrive, at least I will go out in a blaze of glory.” She said brazenly, beaming with triumph. As she bathed in the light of the afternoon sun, her strawberry blonde hair turned a shocking red.

You blinked blood out of your eyes and squinted up at Aemilia, not that it helped as your blurry vision kept her form shifting in and out of focus.

“Yet I can’t say the same for you.” 

Then the grip in your hair tightened and your face met concrete for the last time, your entire world going dark.

Halfway across the campus, Kim Jimin turned his phone on and felt his heart drop to his stomach as his eyes landed on your text message.

——————————————————————

hey y’all! whew this is a long one--i’m sorry for taking longer than normal to update! thank you all so much for your enthusiasm and love! i adore reading your theories and comments :D i hope you all enjoy this chapter! feel free to let me know what you think will happen next~

~taglist~

@melaninkpops​ @loserwithapen​ @hellaspookystudent​ @ecillartto​ @omgsuperstarg​ @ace-angel-judas​ @jjamsbangtan​ @lovinggalaxies​ @lovesick-heart0​ @ksxmpoison​ @girlmeetsliv3​ @thedarkwinterrose​ @purpuravm​ @oneweirdbean​ @hopelessfountainjoonie​ @mazmaz30​ @enigmaticlove-03​ @uppiespuppy​ @queenceline22​ @kokofikats​ @taeyohonic​ @creatorspalace​ @supertweetycherry​ @anachikartadze​ 

[catty-words]

on the school dance fallout or, a thorough examination of the boys’ apologies to julie

full disclosure, i used to take serious issue with 1.06 for what it did to julie’s righteous anger in light of the boys letting her down, and my gripes haven’t fully gone away. but i have spent some time thinking on the fallout since my first (several) viewing(s) of the show and i finally noticed some emotionally nuanced storytelling that i needed time to come to appreciate. so, if you’ll indulge me another gif-filled meta post...

everyone knows that a good apology demonstrates an understanding of how you wronged the person you’re apologizing to, otherwise the words i’m sorry end up being fairly empty. and luckily for the boys, julie does a good job of immediately and effectively communicating her hurt feelings:

the first part is directed at luke specifically as her main co-writer, while the rest is about how all three of them let her down. it couldn’t be more clear that the reason she’s so betrayed is that a) they’ve made her feel like julie and the phantoms is less important to them than sunset curve and b) they’ve failed to consider her point of view or empathize with how important the show was to her.

which is why singing sorry a bunch of times, though charming, leaves her unmoved. and it’s why booking another gig actually makes her angrier. a gig the boys have deemed important enough to show up for is not a present or an olive branch to her, it’s a slap in the face. and if the boys had actually been paying attention to what she’d said the night of the dance, they could have anticipated her reaction.

but they clearly haven’t listened, so they haven’t learned how to do better or make things right. which is why this is such an important beat in the scene in the studio:

hounding julie to rejoin the band, even with such nice sentiments as “you’re the best thing that’s happened to us since we became ghosts”, does nothing to address how undervalued julie feels getting stood up because, as she points out above, their ability to do what they love is very limited without her. that makes her a powerful and essential member of the band, but it doesn’t prove that they care about her, julie, the person. and you can see in the reaction shot how the truth of her words lands for all of them.

their remorseful silence gives julie the opportunity to reiterate one of the points she made the night before, and it’s important to note which part of her hurt feelings she chooses to revisit.

the fact that they made the choice to pay more attention to their old music in spite of the music they were creating together is the thing that hurt her feelings the most. and, of course, her open hostility and her imagined reasons for why the boys picked sunset curve over julie and the phantoms (i.e. selfishness) puts luke on the defensive and ends with everyone leaving the scene dissatisfied.

great! okay, so here’s the part that’s bugged in the past (and the present, just. a little less so.) — in their attempt to deescalate the situation, alex and reggie give julie, and the audience, the all-important luke backstory. but like asking julie to rejoin the band with a shinier gig than a school dance flies in the face of actually making amends, so, too, does asking julie to empathize with luke’s emotional journey when the boys failed to take julie’s into account when they hurt her. only this time, it works as an olive branch.

now, i’m not saying that julie’s acting out of character in being sympathetic to luke’s pain, quite the opposite is the case. and i’m also not saying it’s bad that she does find sympathy for his situation — again, i’d argue that the opposite is true. it’s just, at the same time, it’s not a good look to force aside the young woman of color’s hurt in service of the white dude who hurt her feelings in the first place’s tragic backstory. the narrative is asking julie not to be mad at the choices luke made in the past two episodes because he’s really sad, actually.

and sure that’s an ungracious read of the moment, but i stand by the fact that it’s present in the text of the episode all the same, even with a little more nuance than i’m currently giving it credit for.

all that being said, alex and reggie do a bit to win back this highly insensitive maneuver with another stab at an apology.

alex addresses julie’s comment about them knowing “how tough it’s been for her to play” by reiterating that not showing up let her down and they get that that’s a crappy way to feel, while reggie takes a crack at julie’s “our songs were good” by emphasizing that they all love being in a band and making music with her. it’s a slight step up from their sorry in the garage, but not a complete fix because they’re all still sitting with the fact that they need julie to make the most of their music and how that complicates their declarations of loyalty.

the thing that makes this attempt at reconciliation different than those prior, of course, is this line:

the acknowledgement that things haven’t been fixed + the politeness + the implication that they’re willing to put in the time to earn her trust back so long as she lets them makes the apology a good enough one to accept. well, that, and:

one gets the sense that if rose could actually speak to julie in that moment, she’d be reminding her the value of grace. and, of course, we know that this also serves as a reminder to julie that good things are fleeting, loss is around every corner, and holding close what you care about is important. so she does just that by letting go of her (righteous, righteous) anger and reuniting the band.

still, even though alex and reggie have had their chance to make amends, luke doesn’t get the same moment to show he’s actually paid attention to julie’s needs in 1.06. so, naturally, he starts immediately in their first scene together in 1.07. 

i mentioned in my exhaustive list for “finally free” that julie picking a sunset curve song for their reunion number is a lovely, understated way for her acknowledge luke’s lost musical legacy, and i have similar feelings about the fact that luke suggests “edge of great” for their follow-up gig. it’s his first step in proving to her that he does care about the music they’ve written together with actions instead of empty apologies and misguided gestures.

by the end of the episode, though, the three of them take a step back (reggie gets points for his being, like, half a step) when they learn that, in addition to letting down julie, one of the consequences of their night chasing revenge is a ticking clock on their existence.

though i understand the urge to protect julie from the alarming news that their power is going out, there’s also a lot of selfishness behind the decision. julie loses them in the end no matter what, but lying to her about it and planning to leave without an explanation shows a disregard for her emotional journey in a similar way standing her up did. in fact, this plan is basically to stand her up for eternity. not cool, guys.

naturally, since it’s luke who’s the one proposing the terrible plan and it’s luke who never officially demonstrated his understanding of how he hurt julie’s feelings by not showing up when it mattered, it’s fitting that he’s suddenly more in tune with his own feelings. and, with that, comes a new awareness of how his and julie’s feelings interact, starting with this moment in 1.08.

you can see his conflict over her declaration. she’s worried without knowing just how much there is to be worried about, and that makes him sad because it’s confirmation of the fact that he’s important to her. that losing him will mean a lot of pain for her. but instead of cluing her in, he makes a conscious choice to continue withholding the information of his imminent departure. and maybe it’s such a weak deflection because he’s already starting to come to terms with how unfair he’s being to her, but even so, he’s not being a good friend when julie is showing up for him in big, unexpected ways he’d never even thought to ask for.

and again, here — 

— just after they’ve acknowledged that there’s a something and not a nothing between them, you can see him sober with the thought that she doesn’t know they’re about to lose each other. but it’s still not enough to move him to share. maybe because he prefers that she live with the possibility of that something when he no longer can, maybe because he’s too caught up in his own feelings about how crappy this hand they’ve been dealt by the universe is. but in any case, he keeps tight-lipped.

UNTIL.

it’s seeing her excited about a future their music can’t have that finally pushes him into coming clean. and i love how subtly this demonstrates that he has been paying attention, actually, and he knows that what hurt julie the most was the feeling that their music took a backseat to his past. if he crosses over without telling her the whole, ugly truth about the mistake he made by standing her up, then he crosses over stuck in that mistake. because part of that whole, ugly truth is the beautiful realization that no music is worth making, julie, if we’re not making it with you. and he’s not quite at that particular aspect of his truth yet — he still has to experience the what if of caleb’s club to be able to make the declaration with the conviction he does — but when he finally does tell her that and means it, she’s given the catharsis she’s needed since the dance. because he’s backing up his apology with action (i.e. being willing to literally no longer exist instead of making music with someone else) and providing her with the same consideration she showed him when she rejoined the band because his loss felt more important than her anger. and reaching that level of give and take in their relationship, physically represented in their hug, finally sets them free.

so, yes. even though 1.06 is clunky and a little tasteless at times, i can acknowledge that the story manages to win any missteps back. quite poetically, honestly. all’s forgiven.

[scriptaed]

...cause i like you?!

genre: fluff/crack; e2l!au;

pairing: jin x reader;

length: 2.1k;

synopsis: just the thought of it, no, the mere possibility of it boggles the ever so egotistical mind that belonged to kim seokjin. him? and... her? his arch enemy? his sworn nemesis whose incessant badgering he simply refuses to surrender to? struck with a capricious cold, jin’s teapot of a mind attempts to conceal its steam fall short when you pay an unexpected visit and all mayhem is set loose. when did it happen? how did it happen? no... no, it can’t be... he can’t... possibly... like her?! 

You [4:05 P.M.] are you sure this is the right address????

Dipshit Tae [4:05 P.M.] yes for hundredth time

Dipshit Tae [4:05 P.M.] why would i give you the wrong address??

You [4:06 P.M.] you mean why WOULDN’T you give me the wrong address..

You [4:06 P.M.] is that loser even home? 

Dipshit Tae [4:06 P.M.] yeah, he should be. he was texting me about how bored he was just a while ago.

You [4:06 P.M.] wait.. he was texting you?? I THOUGHT YOU SAID YOU WERE WORRIED CAUSE HE WAS BEDRIDDEN AND WASN’T RESPONDING???

Dipshit Tae [4:06 P.M.] uh… yeah, he was :) I swear :) which is exactly why you’re there because YOU have a car and I don’t! 

Dipshit Tae [4:06 P.M.] aren't I a good wingman? :)

You [4:06 P.M.] I DON'T LIKE HIM 

Dipshit Tae [4:06 P.M.] awww I can see you blushing through text you

You [4:06 P.M.] I hate your guts also why isn’t he answering the door

Dipshit Tae [4:06 P.M] he’s not?? try ringing the doorbell

You [4:07 P.M.] you think I haven’t, dumbass? 

Dipshit Tae [4:07 P.M.] hold on, let me call him 

"God," your breath marks the air in white puffs as you pace in place before his house, "hurry up—"

—swoosh, the door opens magically and, lo and behold, there stands the devilish man himself, Kim Seokjin… except unlike the formidable foe, this skeptical phenomenon stands before you, lips gaping and doe-like eyes widening in utter shock rendered by your presence. You only manage a quick scan of his donned baby pink bathrobe matched with pink bunny slippers until the both of you practically jump back into an ephemeral moment seemingly frozen in time. 

Just as his phone rings, Jin quickly slams the door on you. His efforts prove fruitless, however, once you somehow manage to stick your foot in between his doorframe and the merciless force of his, which fortunately comes to an abrupt stop before your potential stop to the emergency room. There are trivial incidents like these—when he ignores the itch to tease you on the days you wear a frown or when he reluctantly chooses to lose an argument although you are very clearly in the wrong—that you bestow him the honorable badge of consideration… but the stubborn part of you theorizes he’s just trying to avoid a hefty hospital fee. 

“Ahem, ahem,” the boy feigns a cough into his phone, “Taehyung, can’t you tell I’m sick?”

Scoffing into the air, you call out loudly, “sick enough to slam the door so hard—”

“—ahem,” he shoots you a death glare, “sorry, I’m just so very sick. Can’t talk. Need my beauty sleep. Bye—”

“—beauty sleep?! You? Beauty?” 

It’s almost impossible to hold in your cackles; in fact, it takes you only a split second to surrender to the crackling fireworks of your laughter. The quip’s effect is shortly lived, however, when his unusual lengthy silence has you gradually settling into the cold winter air beside him. With his eyes glaring at you from underneath the dampened locks of his bangs clearly fresh out of the shower, it’s nearly impossible to deny the tiniest thought that flashes across your mind.

Sometimes, just sometimes, Jin’s pretty damn hot. 

“Are you here to tease me or what?” he retorts, burying the phone into the fluff that is his robe. “I’m not in the mood.”

“What? Pshhh,” you wave a dismissive spare hand, “silly, no!” 

“Then?” he quirks a brow whilst slowly guarding himself behind the door. “Are you here to watch me wither on my deathbed?” 

“No, will you please just let me in? I’m freezing here. I heard you were sick and classes just became too quiet without you—” and when the boy remains unconvinced by your pleas, you let out a loud sigh as your hand raises to reveal a bag of much needed warm soup “—I have food.”

He immediately swings the door wide open, “come right on in.”

“Wow, so you’re not in the mood for me but you’re in the mood for food?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Rolling your eyes at his 90 degree bow, you march your way into his halls and directly to the kitchen as you have done so in the many times you had unfortunately been paired with the most self-absorbed classmate for a group project. At this point, you know his everything like the back of your hand. From his house and his obsession with pink to his hobbies and his quirky dialogue, you, his sworn nemesis, probably know him even better than his friends… and oddly enough, you take pride in that—although you’ll never admit it. 

“So,” you say nonchalantly as you set out the utensils on his kitchen island, “what could possibly be going on in that peculiar mind of yours?”  

“Peculiar? Aw, did Y/N just call me unique?” he snorts. “I said I wasn’t in the mood for you, not anything else.”

“Okay, so,” you gesture for him to dig in despite the evident hesitation in his eyes once he seats himself across from you, “why me specifically?”

“Cause—” he stares at you confidently but struggles to spill before playing with his spoon “—cause something’s been on my mind.”

You flash a cheeky grin, “you mean I’ve been on your mind?” 

“What?!” he almost springs from his seat in absolute denial, leaning forward across the counter enough for you to take a step back. “No! Wooow, that’s just… that’s… preposterous!” 

“Alright, alright, I was just joking,” you raise two merciful hands but leave the latter half of the sentiment to yourself—because who even uses the word preposterous nowadays? Your silence, however, rightfully ends when you notice him constantly probing around at the congee, as if looking for something lurking in the soup. “Don’t worry, Jin, I didn’t poison it.” 

“Ah,” he nods, thereby confirming your completely accurate reading of his mind. 

When another second passes and you’re finally at a loss for how to prolong a conversation with Jin, you subtly join in on his silent nods; but with each succeeding nod, you begin to notice his cheeks gradually burning a flush shade of pink much stronger than his robe. 

“Jin,” you frown, “are you okay? Your face is turning really red—”

“—it’s probably the steam from the bowl,” he blurts, eyes quickly averting to his bowl before downing a big spoonful of soup into his perpetually ravenous stomach, leaving you little to no time left for you to retort. An unsettling silence follows—an undeniable rarity between the rowdy atmosphere between you two—and you begin to wonder what exactly are you staying silent for. 

You can’t possibly be… waiting for his reaction to your cooking, are you? Why does it even matter to you? Why did the flow of things become so awkward? And why is he so… jumpy? Something must be definitely off today, but, oddly enough, you don’t exactly mind this change of pace from your usual bickering comedy duo selves.

Whatever it is, the silence is deafening and you swear he can even hear you gulp. 

“Did you…” he scrunches his brows and sets his spoon to the bowl with a clink, “...did you cook this?”

“Yeah, I did,” you follow suit with a frown, “is there something wrong with it…?”

“Yeah, no, of course you did,” he leans back into his seat with a loud huff and a cross of the arms, “you added too much salt.”

“Hey! What’re you imply—”

“—but,” he cocks his head, frowning as he drowns himself deep in his nonsensical thoughts, “it just doesn’t make sense…”

“Hello? Earth to Jin?” you wave a hand across his lost gaze that remains affixed to his mystery of a meal. “What are you going on about now?” 

“There’s too much salt in this soup. So, theoretically,” his two parallel hands tap the table sequentially, as if marking some sort of a complex timeline, “this should be a terrible meal… but…”

“But…?”

It takes everything in Jin to squeeze the grand reveal out of his zipped lips and very reluctantly so. 

“But… why does it taste so good?” The utter concentration in his dartlike eyes and sheer conviction in his nearly convincing albeit silly argument makes it almost sound like he’s questioning himself, especially when he continues rambling without your response—although, really, you had nothing but a flabbergasted look. “Everything you make should theoretically taste bad but why, when it’s you and only you, does it taste… so good? It makes me—” he clutches his chest dramatically, but noticeably on the opposite side of where his heart should’ve been, and locks a quizzical, almost desperate gaze with you “—so warm and fuzzy inside?”

“You mean your heart?” you point at his chest. “It’s on the opposite side, Jin.”

“And why,” he gasps for breath like a mad man, an emotionally mad and a mentally mad man, “why do I always let you tease me? Why do I let you win? I’m Jin, Kim Seokjin, for God’s sake! I never lose! And the most confusing part of it is: why do I always supposedly smile whenever I argue with you?!”

“Oh, can confirm, you definitely do that.”

He points an accusatory finger at you, “you do, too!” 

“What?” you gawk. “Do not!”

“Taehyung said so!” 

“I do?”

The both of you challenge the other in a stare off, eventually and silently admitting a mutual defeat to the subtle nagging side of you that had always taken note of that true albeit irking fact. 

“It just doesn’t make sense…” he begins pacing back and forth with a finger to his pursed lips. “I never had problems with my beauty sleep until I met you… I never lowered my food standards to such devastating levels until you started feeding me… I never enjoyed having someone trying to get under my skin until you came into my life… it all doesn’t make sense. The only possibility I can narrow it down to is—”

“—wait, Jin, are you—”

“—is it all cause I like you?!”

The both of your jaws drop open, possibly to the floor, staring at the other as if whatever had slipped from his mouth was the most preposterous thing he had ever suggested! In retrospect and to the general public, you know you should have seen this coming from a mile away. It’s impossible not to acknowledge the several times the lines between a vigorous argument and a flirty quarrel became blurred; but to you, the offensive enemy participating in a never-ending duel with the infamous Kim Seokjin, there’s nothing you could’ve done to anticipate this confession pulled out of thin air. 

Did you like it? 

The possibility of being something more than a fervent pair of enemies and a questionable pair of friends? 

Your mind says it’s unsure, but your smile says much more. 

You have to get out of this house, anywhere but here before the opposing enemy catches onto his advancement.

“Hey, hey, hey, what’re you smiling at? You’re the reason I’ve been losing sleep!” he warns sternly, pointing a finger at you whilst you gather your things. “Hey, you must be the reason I’m sick right now! Take accountability!”

“You mean I’m the reason why you’re lovesick now?” you stick a tongue out as you head out the kitchen and you can’t help but laugh at the way he follows like a lost puppy. “What? You want me to make more of my terrible food in return?”

“What? No, shut up! Hey, hey, hey!” he stutters over his own scramble of words, watching you pacing around his front entrance and calling out to you from the hallway. “Where are you going? I think I just confessed to you? No, I’m pretty sure I just did!”

You shrug, “and?” 

“And what’s your answer?” he throws his hand in the air, as if his mental stability depended on your very response. “Is it a yes or no? Do you like me, too?”

“Umm… I don’t know,” you hum, “I’ll let you know over dinner? At 6?” 

His eyes glimmer with hope, “d-dinner?”

“Yeah,” you reply with a cheeky grin before quipping, “hey, why’s your cheek so red?”

A loud huff of his follows your series of cackles and you can hear his last remark that has you undeniably smiling from ear to ear even through the closed door behind you. 

“Damn it, you know it’s cause I like you!”

[stonefreeak]

Revenge of the 5th and also I am SO SORRY it takes me so long to update these days. Who knew having a job and living during a pandemic could be so bad for fic updates?

Anakin can't sit still. He finds it hard to think, hard to breathe sometimes.

Palpatine got convicted on corruption charges.

Sure, not as many and not nearly as serious as those Mas Amedda was convicted of. Instead it seems like Amedda was running a lot of corruption in Mr palpatine's favour... But the fact that Palpatine was involved in even just some corruption, the acceptance of bribes and...

It means Anakin was wrong and Obi-Wan was right.

He can't stand it. He can't believe it. It's not fair!

He fought for Palpatine with Obi-Wan. He pushed Obi-Wan away, raged and screamed at him for being distrustful... And it turns out that he was right not to trust Palpatine. That he was right not to trust in Anakin's trust in him.

And it hurts.

Especially since he'd seen it on Padmé's face when the conviction came. She was pleased. She thought it was right.

She must have been hiding something from him, something about Palpatine, and he almost hates her for it. How could she keep things from him when they promised never to lie to each other? Never to keep anything secret from each other considering how much they must keep secret from everyone else.

It feels like a betrayal and he doesn't know how to handle it.

Not for the first time he wishes that Master Hestish hadn't died. That she was still here to help him get a grip over his emotions, help him think things through.

He knows that Obi-Wan or Padmé would do their very best to help him if he only asks, but when they're the object of confusion... They can't help. If he's angry and upset with them, how can they possibly help him sort his feelings out?

Master Hestish and he had a good relationship, Anakin thinks. She was helpful, kind, and she never judged him. She helped him get himself under control sometimes, and because they only met during his sessions with her, because they didn't have a relationship outside of those sessions... She was always an unbiased and completely separate person. She was never entangled in his duties or his relationships or his school work... She was only ever there to be a rock in the sinking sand, helping him climb to safety until the Tatooine winds calmed themselves and the sinking sands could be traversed again.

He knows that if Obi-Wan knew he's feeling like this, he'd tell Anakin to find a new mind healer to talk to. Find someone else who can help him, but... Anakin doesn't want anyone else! He wants Master Hestish! He wants Bharani Hestish... In her white robes and with her so very odd appearance—like nothing Anakin had ever seen before, completely impossible to mistake for anyone else—and her calm acceptance of whatever he told her.

It's not fair that Anakin has to lose everyone! It's not fair that apparently he can't trust anyone he loves, because sooner or later they keep something from him. They lie to him.

Or they die.

He can only hope that Ahsoka hasn't lied to him too. That she isn't keeping secrets and going behind his back. He's not sure he could take it from his Padawan as well. Well... he knows that she didn't talk to him about her concerns that it might be her fault that Obi-Wan got caught in the blast, but... That's not quite the same thing, right?

He doesn't like it though. He doesn't like the fact that Ahsoka will keep something as important as her fears from him. He's her master and it's his duty to help guide her through her journey to becoming a Jedi Knight, and how can he do that if she keeps secrets and won't ask him for help when she needs it?

He should probably talk to her about that... But later. Later. When he's not as upset as he is now. He doesn't want to risk getting angry at her when it's not really where his frustration and anger is targeted right now.

He should...

He doesn't know what he should do.

He can't talk to Obi-Wan. He just can't. After all the things he said, all the accusations and assertions he did... That he was wrong about Palpatine, even just slightly... Of course Palpatine isn't as bad as Obi-Wan seems to think he is, Palpatine is a good man, isn't he? But...

Yes. That's it.

He feels it like a soft caress in his mind. Of course Palpatine is a good man who's made a few mistakes. Even the court didn't think he'd done anything bad enough to warrant prison or anything like that. He just got some fines and a warning to be careful with what sort of contracts he enters and favours he does for others and asks for for himself.

It's... It's not ideal, of course. But Palpatine is still trustworthy.

After all, he had more power than anyone else in the galaxy for years and he wasn't corrupted. He was still on the whole careful with his political power. Just a few mistakes doesn't just somehow make someone a bad person.

Not when there's the likes of Dooku or even just Mas Amedda out there—people who actually hurt others and cause destruction and chaos. Palpatine isn't anything like them.

Anakin lets out a frustrated breath. Even now that he's managed to sort himself out and his thoughts regarding Palpatine, he still feels restless and like he can't sit still.

He wants to talk to Obi-Wan... Wants to apologise for some of the things he said, but... No. He can't.

He should probably talk to Padmé instead, shouldn't he?

After all, Palpatine has been a mentor to her too. It must have been a harsh blow to her even though she thought it was deserved after she heard the evidence. Maybe they can comfort each other and then visit Palpatine together so he knows that they still support him, that they still know that he's a good person despite what has happened.

Nodding to himself, Anakin gets to his feet and rolls his shoulders. He needs to act swiftly, who knows when he'll be sent back into the field again. It's likely not far away considering how much better Obi-Wan is doing... Anakin knows he got extended leave due to that—which was really nice of the Council, really.

But he wants to make sure he's talked to Padmé so they've sorted everything out before he needs to leave Coruscant again.

Obi-Wan... Obi-Wan can wait.

Some distance will probably do them good.

Regardless of how much Anakin wants to apologise and for everything to just go back to the way things were when he was a child, before Obi-Wan got busy—before the saboteur took Obi-Wan from him—it's probably for the best if they have some distance now.

Obi-Wan probably wants some anyway, he's like that isn't he? He thinks that distance and letting your heads cool is always a much better idea than just getting out and aired immediately...

Ugh. Whatever.

Anakin'll go talk to Padmé instead of driving himself crazy with all these thoughts.

He leaves his room and heads out of the Temple. He considers sending Ahsoka a comm message to let her know where he's gone... But it's probably for the best if he doesn't. At least then he'll have some plausible deniability if anyone tries to suggest he went to see Padmé for anything but platonic reasons. They won't even be able to prove that he specifically went out to see her!

He hates that they have to keep their marriage secret, but...

No, he can't think about this now. He pushes the thoughts away, they'll have to wait for later.

Now he just wants to see Padmé.

—

(Supreme Chancellor Obi-Wan Kenobi masterpost)

[offbrandhange]

hi! are you accepting requests? if so can i request a fic where levi and the reader are secretly seeing each other and their little interactions spark up the interest of hange, so hange tells the rest of the levi squad and they all try to find out whether theyre dating or not? thank you!!

Yes, I am!!! Tysm for this idea I had so much fun writing it!!!

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: ~1.4K

a/n -- I really hope this isn’t bad HHHHHHH

The mess hall was rowdy as always for a Friday night; all different regiments and ranks joined together—just to drunkenly blow off steam.

At the higher-ups’ table, a loud thud was heard; Hange had slammed down their beer-filled mug, laughing as they slightly splashed it on the man in front of them.

“Sorry,” They hummed cheerfully, despite knowing it was likely they would get berated for getting beer on him; He scolded them every chance he got.

Hange smiled stupidly while waiting for harsh words, but there were none. The man said nothing, his eyes completely elsewhere. He had no idea there was an ale stain on his white cravat.

“Levi?” Hange blurted in confusion, hiccuping while they did so. 

It was beyond uncommon for Levi to be spaced out and uncaring about a mess. He hated anything he deemed unclean—and he was picky about it, too. 

Hange was knowingly alarmed by their colleague’s strange behavior, and so, they curiously turned their head to see what he was staring at. 

His eyes were locked on a cadet belonging to the Scout regiment—one that Hange scarcely recognized as someone often around the Titan shifter, Eren Jaeger.

“That’s odd,” Hange murmured to themself, lifting the beer to their mouth to sip.“Wonder if this’ll work.” 

Mischievously, Hange ran their hand on the underside of the wooden table, getting a good heap of dust and dirt to stick to their palm. Afterward, Hange lifted themselves from their seat, leaned over the table, and softly flattened their hand on the top of Levi’s head; he didn’t move an inch. 

A booming “Woah,” escaped their lips, and in the typical Hange way, it caught everyone at the table’s attention—everyone except for Levi.

“Hange,” their co-worker called, a member of Levi’s squad; it was Petra. “What’s wrong?”

“He didn’t even flinch—I touched him with dusty hands!” Hange exclaimed, making dramatic gestures in disbelief. 

Petra raised an eyebrow and turned to look at Levi, who was now not only wearing a stained cravat; but also dust particles covering his usually impeccably shiny raven hair. 

Hange let out another scream in amazement; once again catching everyone’s attention—but not just those at the table. This time, the cadet noticed as well.

You began your strides over towards Levi—leaving behind your other members of the scouts. The closer you came towards him, the more his face began to change from pale to pink.

Hange watched in disbelief as you smiled at the short man, who now met your eyes with a softened gaze. 

You reached to his cravat; pinching the corner lightly to look at the stain Hange’s beer left. “Oh,” you scrunched your eyebrow. You weren’t sure why he hadn’t been freaking out over the stain.  “Do you want me to wash this for you? It’s dirty.” You asked,  pulling your hand back.

Levi’s gaze diverted from yours as his face changed from blushing pink to cherry red, practically ripping off his cravat to hand to you. “Sure.” He quickly replied.

Both Petra and Hange stared in shock. The usually strict, grumpy, short-tempered Levi was completely gone. Instead, he was now a wide-eyed, innocent virgin—who seemed to have not known what a woman was.

As you walked out of the mess hall with Levi’s cravat—to presumably wash—his focus was finally back to normal.

“What?” He growled, meeting Hange and Petra’s bewildered eyes with his violent ones.

They paused for a moment, saying nothing, until Hange deftly answered, “You got dust on your head.” 

Levi’s eyes widened, and he immediately started swatting at his head, disgusted by all the particles surrounding him.

“I need a shower.” He stated, rising from his seat, speed walking awkwardly out of the mess hall. It was clear he was very close to freaking out--grime was one of the only tame things in life that scared him.

After he left, Petra and Hange both silently sat, trying to comprehend what just happened. 

“Is Captain....dating?” Petra questioned, turning to look at Hange.

“Levi? Dating? No way.” Hange answered, not completely convinced of their own conviction.

There was another long silence between Petra and Hange—and then Hange opened their mouth to speak.

“We’re definitely investigating, right?” 

“What? Isn’t that an invasion of his privacy? I don’t think he would like it—“ Petra pleaded, but it was to no avail—Hange had already risen from their seat.

“Get the rest of Levi squad, then meet me outside of his office.” 

Petra sighed as she watched Hange leave the room; She was not too keen on snooping in on Levi’s personal life—mostly because she valued his opinion of her—and did not want to lose his trust. 

Hange, however, was giggling to themselves, bouncing as they walked to Levi’s office. 

The walk didn’t take long, since his room was relatively close to the mess hall; but picking the lock certainly would. Once they arrived at Levi’s door, Hange pulled a hairpin from the bird’s nest that rested atop their head—poking and prodding at the lock best as they could. 

When the lock had broken, Hange turned to see that Petra and the rest of the Levi squad were standing beside them.

“Good, you’re here.”

“Is Captain Levi really dating? He doesn’t seem like the type to get involved with others.” Eld questioned.

Oluo scoffed before he replied. “Of course not—he’s way too busy.” 

Petra rolled her eyes. “Like you’d know.”

“Of course I would—are you implying I don’t know what it’s like to be busy? My kill count—“ Oluo stopped, accidentally biting his tongue.

Gunther just sighed and made his way into the room; the rest following along. 

Hange and the Levi squad searched for what seemed like forever; they looked for anything they could find—a love letter, gifts, anything out of the ordinary that their Captain would not normally have—but they found nothing.

Eventually, Gunther sighed and slammed the desk drawer shut. “This is pointless.”

“And an invasion of privacy,” Petra added, sounding slightly annoyed.

Hange was starting to tire themselves—pushing up their glasses and rubbing their eyes, they spoke. “Fine, let’s call it a night; we can try and pair them up tomorrow during training and see then.” 

Everyone left the room, dragging their feet. Their mission failed, and everyone was beyond tired; They certainly weren’t going to stay up any later than they already had.

Goodbyes were exchanged, and they headed their separate ways; Hange specifically towards their dorm. 

And that’s when they turned the corner—and saw Levi talking with you in the deserted hall.

Hange hid, pushing their glasses back down to see clearer. Excited, they screamed internally.

Levi stood with the straightest posture possible; you could tell he was nervous. His hair was pushed back out of his face, still wet from his shower, with a towel draped around his neck. 

You handed him his cravat, teasing him for getting it dirty. It was exactly what you expected to see from two lovers.

Once you leaned in to kiss Levi on the cheek, Hange jumped out from the corner, revealing themselves.

“HOLY SHIT! YOU ARE DATING!” Hange screamed, standing strangely, pointing at you and Levi.

The short man went flying as he threw himself away from you—he was now flat against the wall, with an expression that mimicked a frightened cat.

Slightly spooked yourself, you turned to look at Hange. “Oh. Squad Leader Hange.” 

 “ARE YOU DATING?” Hange screamed down the hall—you could hear an angry cadet in their room yell back, “shut up.”

Levi peeled himself off the wall, walking down towards Hange angrily—you followed.

“What is this.” He sneered, glaring at his colleague.

“ARE. YOU. DATING.” Hange repeated, putting a lengthy amount of space between their words.

Levi turned bright pink again—and said nothing. Annoyed, you sighed and spoke for him. “Yes, we are.”

“HOLY SHIT!” Hange yelled, dragging out the o.

“Keep your mouth shut, four eyes.” Levi spat, returning to his typical grumpy demeanor.

You pat him on the shoulder, resting your hand there to represent a small, “be nice.” His face grew even more in color; instantly melting at your touch.

“Don’t go around telling people,” you said, trying to clarify what he meant. “I don’t want others to think I’m getting special privileges.”

Hange sucked in a long breath, trying to calm themselves. “Sure, sure, yep, yep, yep. I got you.” They smiled politely, beginning to walk off.

You and Levi watched as they turned to corner—and all of a sudden you heard them scream.

“PETRA!” 

Levi charged after Hange—and you muttered to yourself, “oh my god” before following along.

It was going to be a long night.

[potionboy3]

► basics:

Full Name: Elyan Goldcrest, goes by Elian in more recent years and sometimes by Wren as a nickname from his last name (Charles Tennyson Turner's short poem, The Gold-crested Wren, 1868)

Birthday: August 13, 1241 (I imagine it was friday) Pronouns: He/him Sexual Orientation: Bi Hogwarts House: Slytherin Blood Status: Pureblood Nationality: English Personality type: ENTJ

► personality: Elyan is cunning, clever and a talented wizard but gets greedy and often jealous of other people’s success. At times he can be manipulative and control others, even the ones he cares for the most, thinking that he’s helping them be the greater version of them self by doing so. Elyan’s greatest wish has always been to be brilliant and worthy and he does achieve his goal in a way, being one of the most powerful wizards of many generations,  only to have to hide this from everyone in order to protect himself and his brother. Behind his hard shell, he’s lonely and graves for affection but doesn’t show it too often to other people besides his brother and friends and loved ones. He is very loyal to his friends and often surprises them by being helpful unexpectedly.  His values in life change through the years as he is from the Slytherin family and was wealthy. His family didn’t support muggleborns and only after falling in love with one he starts to change his own views about it. In general he stays neutral and absent from politics in order to keep his identity and true nature as a secret.  ► magical info:

Wand: Snakewood (blood wood to be specific), dragon heart-string.

Snakewood had magical properties, and could be used as a wand wood. Garrick Ollivander did not use the wood, but Mykew Gregorovitch did, selling at least one wand using the wood in his wand shop. Salazar Slytherin crafted his wand from snakewood. Some magical snakewood trees resisted attempts to prune or kill them, and their leaves had powerful healing properties. 

Patronus: Dragon

One of the most powerful and formidable creatures of the magical world, dragons are ambitious and dominant. With the ability to breathe fire, they quickly assert themselves, garnering both fear and respect from those around them. They are unafraid to take risks and prefer to live by their own set of rules. They are quick to lead and do not back down from a challenge. Dragons are strong in their convictions and will stand for what they believe is right. Those with a dragon for a Patronus are sure to be fierce fighters, and the Dementors better be ready for a challenge!

Patronus Memory: Before waking from the spell it was his father showing him love and being proud of him after a won practice duel but after waking up, it was seeing his brother there with him and knowing he’s not alone. After meeting Henry it was always a moment with him. 

Boggart: Seeing himself die, changes with time to seeing his brother dying with him. Eventually in long distance future it changes completely and it’s him, being alone alive forever.

Specialized/Favourite Spells: Fire spells, such as Incendio, Firerope and Fiendfyre

 ► background:

Place of Birth: His family castle

Home: Family castle, multiple flats around London and other around the world

Pre-Vampirism:

Elyan was born to a prominent medieval wizarding family. He was the oldest son of Aegar the uncrowned king, who’s story was later mostly lost in the history. Elyan was a skilled wizard and a warrior, often brutal in action wanting to prove his worth in the family. He made a lot of decisions in battles that his father didn’t approve, finding him too intense and savage. Aegar traveled a lot and left Elyan and his mother Kerina in control of ”castle” while he was gone.  Post attack years:

Elyan and his younger brother Theo were attacked by a group of vampires, who broke into their house. The target of the attack was Aegar in an effort to halt his political ambitions. Aegar, however, was travelling and the vampires only found his family and their staff. The brothers were turned during the attacked and their mother was killed trying to fight them off. Once Aegar returned, he was distraught and the family was plunged into chaos. Aegar couldn’t kill his sons so he decided instead to attempt to find a cure. For a while he tried to hide his sons’ vampirism but as young vampires, the boys were out of control and dangerous. Eventually he decided to put them under enchanted sleep while he worked on the cure. Years passed, then decades, and he failed to find a solution. Aegar passed away before he could get to his goal and the boys were left under his spell.

Legacy era:

Centuries passed and the brothers remained under the powerful spell their father had cast, until one day in the late 1800s, they were suddenly awoken by their distant relative from the Gaunt line. Disoriented and extremely thirsty, they attacked their rescuer, killing him. The following years were spent constantly on the move, trying to understand the new world they found themselves in and learning to control their vampiric urges. Every time the body count started getting too high, they would pack up and find a new place to lay low in. After five years, the boys wanted to return to Hogwarts to finish their education and re-enter the society. They chose their grandfather’s nickname “Goldcrest” as their surname and hid their vampirism from everyone, pretending to be descendants of their house.

► physical:

Faceclaim: Gijs Blom

Eye Color: blue/grey

Hair Color: light brown

 Height: 178cm

 ► relatives:

 Mother: Kerina of Archensheen Kerina was the great granddaughter of Salazar Slytherin, one of the famed founders of Hogwarts. She was a powerful witch on her own right, and wielded great influence in the medieval wizarding community. She married Aegar on her father’s behest but the two developed a loving relationship. Elyan loved his mother who he was the closest with in the family. She saw a lot of her own family’s traits in Elyan and treated him in a way Elyan wished for everyone to treat him, like he was magnificent. They agreed on things and Kerina trusted his judgement. She wanted him to be the head of the family in the future. Kerina was killed as a result of the attack that turned her sons into vampires. When Kerina died, Elyan mourned her greatly and felt more alone than ever. Faceclaim:  Claire Forlani

Father: Aegar son of Elyris Aegar, called “The Uncrowned King” by his supporters, had inherited great ambition from his father. He wanted to unite all the known Wizarding world and rule as its king. He dreamt of a Goldcrest dynasty that would span centuries. He experimented on magical artifacts and created a proto-deathly-hallow called the Crown of Might. Its properties and creation has been lost to history and it is said that it was destroyed long ago. Elyan was the first born of Aegar and the obvious choice to be his successor but after Theo was born it all changed and his father thought of Theo as the superior choice. He did plan great things for Elyan as well but not as great as for Theo and it bothered Elyan a lot as he felt it was his birth right to be his fathers favorite. Aegar and Elyan drifted even more as he grew up to remind Aegar a lot of his own father who he had a troubled relationship with. Despite everything Elyan always wished for his fathers love and wanted to prove himself. Faceclaim: Peter Franzén

Brother: Theo Goldcrest by @gaygryffindorgal

Theo’s birth in 1243 coincided with a comet lighting the night sky. Aegar took this as a sign that Theo was destined for greatness and suited his purposes wanting to rule over all wizard-kind.

Because of his fathers affection for Theo, Elyan distanced himself from his younger brother, seeing him as a thief of his destiny. After he was old enough to understand his father’s favoritism, Elyan didn’t want to spend time with Theo anymore than necessary and rarely showed any emotion towards him. On rare occasion he felt pity, if Theo failed at something their father expected him to better, since it was something he himself was very familiar with. Only when the two became vampires, he started to care for the younger again. Suddenly they were both stained from their legacy. When Aegar pulled away from Theo, Elyan started to feel for the boy and was there for him and even made him a lucky jewerly to cheer him up and show that he’s not alone. After being put to sleep for centuries and waking up with only Theo left from the world he once knew, he grew an even closer bond with him and felt the need to protect his little brother. Theo struggled greatly with the new world at first but Elyan forced himself to power through so he could keep both of them alive.He went too far with it sometimes and even starved himself so that Theo could get enough blood.  Faceclaim:  Spencer MacPherson

Grandfather:

Elyris was a medieval wizard who earned the name “Goldcrest” for his Patronus, which took the form of the little bird but was unusually powerful against Dementors. Elyris was politically ambitious and strove to become the first king of the known Wizarding world. His ambition never came to be but was passed on to his son Aegar. Elyris was not a warm man, and was often cruel to his son when trying to shape him into the strong man he wanted him to be. Elyan admired him greatly as a child and learned a lot from his grandfather. Elyris didn’t show the same type of favortism for Theo as Aegar did, even though he agreed with him about Theo being destined for greatness. He was still very impressed by Elyan’s skills and character.

Faceclaim: Clive Russell

Others: Salazar Slytherin, The Slytherin family, The Gaunt Family, The Peverell family, The Potter family, Voldemort,

   ► relationships:

 Allegiances: Slytherin, the house of goldcrest, slytherin family previously,

 Love Interests:

Henry of Alderly (HPHL)

Elian met Prince Henry at Hogwarts during his sixth year (also his first year in school after waking up from the spell). They started a secret relationship while still in school and it continued through the years. They fell deeply in love and even though they couldn’t always be together or be seen publicly, Elian always came back for Henry until his death.  They had their ups and downs like during The Second World War, they had a drift that caused Elian to decide on joining the muggle war as a spy and he got hurt badly and kept hallucinating Henry like he used to know him. After the war they did reconcile.  He was very different with Henry from anyone else and showed him sides of him no one else knew. Faceclaim:  Harrison Osterfield

  Gabriel Grimm (somewhere after golden era and HPMA) @gaygryffindorgal​

Elian began to run into Gabriel on multiple occasions and they worked together after The Second Wizarding War to find the Goldcrest family artifact, which was familiar to Gabriel. They started a fiery relationship which included lots of betray  from both sides. From time to time they were enemies and then again the opposite.

Faceclaim: Cody Fern

Best Friend: 

Malcolm Stolberg-Burke Elian was popular among other slytherins but didn’t really enjoy their company. To his own surprise he grew to like the Gryffindor boy Malcolm who sat next to him in charms class. They shared a similar since of humor and became really close friends. Elian shared his secret with Malcolm and he accepted it.  

Malcolm Stolberg-Burke @gaygryffindorgal Faceclaim: Calahan Skogman

Friends: Primrose was Henry’s childhood friend and important to him. Elian didn’t like her during school years but after she found out about his relationship with Henry he decided to tolerate her. At first he loved to irritate her on purpose but they became friends eventually. After Primrose married his best friend Malcolm, they got even closer. Elian also saved her life once. Malcolm and Primrose were the first one’s outside Henry to learn that he was a vampire. 

Primrose Gray @endlessly-cursed​ ​Faceclaim: Anna Popplewell

Cora Hastings

Eventually it became a time for Henry to get married due to his status as a prince and a duke. Elian was supportive of the idea and encouraged him on it. He married Cora Hastings and eventually opened up to her about his relationship with Elian and Elian wanted to get to know her. He liked her right away and the two became friends. 

Other friends: He was talented in school and it granted him some popularity and friends among the other Slytherin’s. Mostly the most annoying and awful one’s and he found them really boring but liked to keep his place in hopes of having useful connections in the future. UP FOR MORE AND FOR DOORMMATES

Pets: He had a gold-crest bird back in the day, a gift from his father. He also had a bond with the Basilisk living inside Hogwarts but hated his brother’s rat. 

Enemies:

Adam Brynn (1800s) Adam was a member of a radical movement to eradicate all magic in Britain. He saw how unjust the Wizarding government was and became embittered. He was a squib from a family of wizards and felt shunned by them. Despite being justifiably angry, Adam and the rest of the movement soon begun using questionable methods in their quest for justice and revenge. Their actions lead to the deaths of many innocent bystanders. Elian became face to face with this group when he returned to Hogwarts in the late 1800s. The school was a big target for the group, as it housed most young witches and wizards in the same place. Faceclaim: Darren Barnet

Others: Vampire hunters, Gabriel Grimm sometimes

► misc;

Hobbies: Duelling, fencing, archery, metalsmithing, reading and learning everything he can  Extracurriculars: Doesn’t take part on many extracurriculars, wanting to keep his identity hidden Favourite Subject: Defense against the dark arts

[aenaxes]

PANSLALSOKAAOOSKWOAMSNA CONGRATS ON 200 BESTIE!! YOU DESERVE ALL THE LOVE, SUPPORT, AND EVEN MORE!! YOU ARE SO TALENTED NOT ONLY WHEN IT COMES TO WRITING BUT ALSO YOUR ART TOO!!! If you wouldn't mind, I would like to request a sfw to nsfw with Hardcase? The song that makes me thing of him every damm time, I have no clue why, is Ribs by Lorde. For pronouns would be she/her and if you would like to know, I'm about 5'2" with blue eyes, mid back length half dyed hair, the colors I have dyed my hair are purple, blue, and pink!! Even if you don't do this, just know that I wouldn't mind and I'm always happy with seeing you write whatever you want because you are so talented and keep me very well fed 😌🤲💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

we'll make it (divine)

[hardcase x f!reader] loving hardcase is something akin to falling in love all over again and again every time he knocks on your door and pulls you into his arms.

warnings: nsfw, outdoor sex, mushy gooey feelings

w/c: 3.0k

a/n: sage my darling 🥺 ily bb mwah <3 i'm going to be completely honest writing this made me fall so so so much more in love with hardcase (bless u for that)

event details here! requests will be open until july 4th!

“Hey!” Hardcase greets you with that very specific sort of glee only he knows, breathless and bright-eyed as your door slides open.

The durasteel parts to reveal him and a shiny keyring lifted eye-level to the blue ink arcing over his temple. The sparse assortment of bronze and silver speeder keys jangle against a polished leather keyfob as he shakes his fist with boyish, giddy joy. It’s one that, you might add, isn’t exactly fitting of Hardcase’s rough-and-tumble style—ergo, keys that don’t belong to him—and one that begets a few questions as you raise a pointed brow in his direction.

Hardcase only grins wider.

But before you can ask if those are—and they definitely are—the keys to Jesse’s planetside speeder, Hardcase shoots his other hand forward and wiggles his fingers between yours, tugging you into the glare of the fluorescent hallway lights and squeezing snug.

“Don’t have much time,” he nods earnestly. “You ready to go?”

“Go where?” you laugh as he stuffs the keys into the pocket of his bomber, tearing his attention away from you if only to shoot a hasty glance over his shoulder. But you’re stepping forwards anyways, crowding up against his side as your door slides shut behind you.

“Out, duh,” Hardcase says with a scrunch of his nose, the telltale twitch of his left cheek that you immediately recognize as a silent, animated, ‘isn’t it obvious?’ He punctuates his response with a quick squeeze over your hand, and his smile grows wider when you tip your head back and laugh.

“How much of a head start do you have on him?”

“I have about a hallway lead,” he says, sheepish if not for the excitement in his voice. “C’mon! He’ll beat my ass if we don’t get moving!”

You might not exactly know what’s going on, because for all the spontaneous and oftentimes questionable visits from Hardcase that you’ve come to expect as part of your regular routine, Hardcase carried with him some mischievous ingenuity to surprise you each and every time. But you can’t help but mirror the contagious delight in his grin as you squeeze his hand and take off behind him.

And it’s the natural thing to do, the ebb and flow of alternating surprises: Hardcase poking into your room well past lights out with Tup’s holo and a bootlegged movie, and you meeting him with two glasses of single malt whiskey before both promptly gagging on your first sips. It had always been like that ever since you had, quite literally, knocked heads with Hardcase in the corridors of your first jedi cruiser assignment, running a bit too fast a bit too far.

A bit of carefree joy, a bit of light, you think as you run past a loose group of shinies, the squeak of your boots blending with your stifled giggling. And when Hardcase turns his head to check if you’re still there (as if he’s not squeezing your hand tight), you see him as he is, a sturdy piton to keep your hold against war’s steep shear.

“Hurry, hurry!” he laughs as you run through the open blast doors. His voice rises above the motions of the hangar bay like the sweetest song, hoarse and free.

You open your mouth to say something along the lines of ‘I’m trying!’ but your mouth fills with the cool air of the Ansion night, sweet with the fragrance of grass, organic and good over the labored exhaust of the base. And instead of words, laughter, bright and loud, bubbles from your chest.

As soon as you’re entering the hangar bay, you already find yourself at its opposite end. Hardcase’s fingertips dig firm into the soft curve of your waist as he hurriedly but no less gently lifts you off your feet and onto the back of Jesse’s bike. With one final look over his shoulder, Hardcase clambers on after you, jamming the keys into ignition and revving the engine to life.

The low thrum of the bike drowns out Jesse’s muted yelling from across the landing as you peel away from the bay. But above Jesse’s fading shouts, above the rumble of eight durasteel cylinders underneath you, all you can hear is Hardcase’s whoops of pure joy when you wrap your arms tight around his waist and press your ear behind his beating heart.

The recycled hangar bay air gives way to something earthy and warm. You breathe deep, even with the speeder ramped up as fast as you think it could possibly go, and your lungs fill with the fading ghosts of sunlight and Hardcase’s cologne as you squeeze your arms around him and imagine the floodlights of the base blinking out behind you.

It’s only when the bike beneath you sputters to a halt and the roar of the engine gives way to the broad silence, curling over the hilltop on the rich and cool midnight winds, that you turn your head and see Hardcase without the giddy thrill of impromptu adventure.

Hardcase hops off the speeder, wobbling once on his feet with a breathless laugh as he hits solid ground. You watch from your perch on the back of the bike as he dusts off his jeans and shoves the keys into the pocket of his GAR bomber. It’s the one that fits one size too small, pulling at the edges of his shoulders as he rises to his full stature under the glow of twin moons.

But when Hardcase turns around to face you, all wind-kissed cheeks and rosy glow that reaches his eyes, the playful tease dies on your tongue.

“Your hair’s a mess,” he says softly as he tilts his head to the side to flash you a smile. He saunters forwards, eyes gleaming with starlight, and finds home between your thighs with a sigh you almost lose to the rising wind.

He shrugs off his bomber, his face scrunching up in the way that makes you both laugh when his arm catches on the tight pull of leather, and he sweeps it behind you to set it snug over your shoulders. And when you’re snug under his jacket, he lifts his hands to your temples, fingertips ghosting over your skin as he gently pushes your tousled hair behind your ears.

You let your eyelids flutter shut, relishing in the careful touch you know he only reserves for you, nothing like the playful roughhousing and loving shoves he exchanges in the barracks. It’s a slow deliberation, callused fingertips tracing over your scalp, sending shivers down your spine as he strokes from your hairline and arcs over the crown of your head, fingertips giving way to his warm palm cupping at the apex of your neck.

And it doesn’t take wide eyes to know that when his motions stutter to a pause, when you hear him inhale through his nose, that he’s watching you with that unnameable warmth: the one that settles deep and wide in his dark eyes, fingertips hovering just close enough over your skin that you feel the heat radiating across that small breadth between you, wondering how he got so lucky, reveling in how he got so lucky.

You know the feeling. (You feel the same.)

You open your eyes, and Hardcase is there. He is there, bathed in the endless starscape above, but all he can see is you, reflected back at you in fond eyes you commit to memory each and every time.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Hardcase whispers. He lifts one hand to rub over the back of his neck and brings the other flush over the curve of your knee with the boyish shyness of twinkling eyes and starstruck joy that had roped you into his gravity the first time he’d stumbled into your path.

“You’d better be,” you snort, tugging his jacket close to your collar as he shifts his palm higher. There is playfulness, just a flash, but it soon gives way to something warm and low in your belly.

The small, slow movements of his thumb over your thigh strike a warmth that chases the midnight wind’s cold, spreading in thrumming waves over your chest. It emboldens you like a neat shot of whiskey, thrown back at once, swallowed down with raucous laughter, the noise and the lights faded away under the open sky, warm, warm, warm, and you reach up to curl your fingers over the hand at his neck, pulling him close.

You lean forwards, touching your brow to his, and just before you slide your eyes shut, you catch the look in his deep brown eyes. It reminds you of the first time you bore witness to the ghostly blue lights of a hyperspace jump, entranced in honest wonder as he stands between your thighs.

Because it’s you. It’s you, it’s you, it’s you—a warm and bright place to call home. It’s always been you. And Hardcase melts into your touch as you brush close.

“‘cause I think I’m in love with you, too.”

He laughs, and it’s a new sound in the night. It’s not quite relief, nor is it that exuberant glee from your sprint down the base halls. When you think back on it, it was understanding, your secret for two.

“I love you,” Hardcase says again, stronger, convicted, something closer to an earnest prayer than words alone as he looks up at you and greets you with the galaxy bright in his eyes. Not a soldier, not one of millions, just him; firm muscle between your thighs, breaths ghosting over your collar, fingertips pressing warmth into your ribs as he snakes his palms under your shirt and pulls you close.

Just yours.

You’re not sure who kisses who first, too full of a rapturous swell that blooms through your chest. But it doesn’t really matter. Not when Hardcase’s lips curl close against yours, wind-chapped and dry but so, so warm as he presses his fingertips into the skin of your back and pulls you close against him.

When his kiss is broken by the cold air, bitter in comparison to his touch, you let a whimper roll from your tongue. Brief as the interruption may be, it’s an interruption all the same.

Hardcase humors you with a quick peck to the corner of your mouth. But he’s quick to make up for that split second of lost time as he throws his leg over the side of the bike, his knees knocking against yours as he takes a seat before you. In his lovestruck daze, he sweeps his arms wide, letting that brief moment of giddy glee pass over his cheeks before he brings his hands over your waist and gently tugs onto his lap.

“Isn’t this Jesse’s bike?” you sigh dreamily when Hardcase thumbs over the crease of your thighs and noses up against the edge of your jaw, sending want snaking up your spine.

“He doesn’t need to know,” Hardcase says with a noise somewhere between dismissal and apathy as he shrugs and rolls his eyes.

“Oh, gross,” and you stick out your tongue as if you aren’t already aching at the thought of straddling his lap and letting him stretch you open under the starscape above.

Hardcase simply shrugs and brings his hand to his chin to offer you his best glamour face in return.

You make quick work of your slacks, kicking them off to the side while Hardcase fumbles with his fly. It’s awkward, if only by the fact that you’re balanced atop each other on the delicate wobble of the hover generator, elbows bumped close in a gentle fumbling that’s simply too genuine to be embarrassing anymore. You’ve done this too many times, shoved up in dark closets and hidden spaces of cruiser corridors, never truly satiated, never having taken your fill.

It’s not awkward—just endearing, you decide as you shift your hips forward and feel the blunt head of his cock dip up between your thighs.

As you sink down onto his lap, the speeder wobbles beneath you, and you fling your arms around him with a half-squeal half-moan, dropping down onto his cock in one smooth movement that sends a shudder through you both.

There is some solace in knowing that if the bike did tip over, that Hardcase would go down with you, his arms tight around your waist as he nuzzles into your chest and laughs. Commitment, you think as your heart bangs up against your ribs, a bit silly and very much dangerous, but commitment that warms you to your core.

“It’s all you, baby,” Hardcase whispers as you finally peel yourself away from him and lean back just enough to catch a full view of his face.

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to it. How could you? How could you assign to the mundane the sweet ease of trust sloped over his brow as he looks up at you like you’re the only thing in the midnight sky, the only thing in his universe?

“Lazyass,” you snort, and he laughs.

But clever quips and snarky remarks are forgotten for the night when you carefully lift your hips, knees quivering over the hard press of the bike, and rock back down onto his lap.

Hardcase fills you in the way only he can, toeing that fine line between easy comfort and the satisfying burn of being split open and squeezed breathless.

You sink down with a whimpering gasp, toes curling when you feel him buck up into the soft spot inside you that whites out your vision. Choking on your own moan, you let your head drop down onto his shoulder, already rendered boneless and pliant around him. You fist tight into the soft fabric of his shirt, cunt spasming around him, and you hold tighter when his hips jerk up again.

“I got you, baby. I got you,” Hardcase mumbles into your shoulder, trailing his lips to the base of your neck and kissing sweet. His arms squeeze around your waist once and anchor you close. And he is there, curled everywhere around you, holding you close as the wind rises broad and far between the grassy plains and the universe overhead.

Where else could you ever want to be?

You want to laugh when you remember Hardcase leaving the pace to you as you feel his palms knead into your hips. But it comes out as a soft sigh when he hefts you halfway off his cock and fucks you down onto him again. All you can do is wrap your arms around his neck and hold as he starts a steady pace.

You won’t last long like this—neither of you will, not when you’re bared to the open sky and yet the closest you’ve ever felt to each other in a long while.

Hardcase breaks your dreamy longing with an uneven jerk of his hips. He’s close, and like muscle memory, he immediately drags one hand over the curve of your thigh to find the soft skin where you part around him. But you’re quick to react to him, grabbing his wrist as you sink down onto him with a soft moan.

“Already feels good,” you gasp, meeting him through the blurry haze of the tears dotting your lashes. You can just make out his wide eyes, and you choke out an unsteady laugh. “Hold me, ‘Case. Just hold me.”

“Okay, yeah,” Hardcase babbles, holding you flush on his lap and coaxing a soft sob from your lips. He brings his arms around your ribs, nestling his cheek against your chest, right above your beating heart. “Anything for you, baby.”

And that’s all it takes.

You come with a whimpering cry, and pleasure, luxuriant and warm, floods through your core as you bow forward and clutch tight to Hardcase’s neck.

It’s too much but only in the best of ways. Hardcase gives you little time to breathe, shedding the last dregs of restraint to press you down hard onto his lap and fuck as deep as he can go. Feeling your own high, Hardcase takes his fill and bends you to his pleasure, fucking into you for himself. And you swear you feel it in your throat as he lifts you up to the blunt ridge of his tip and brings you back down all at once.

“I love you,” Hardcase chants, breathy and low as he spills into your pulsing cunt. Your soft moans twine with his own as a second orgasm shocks through you, pulled over the edge again by his words alone. “I love you, I love you.” And he crushes his lips against yours and swallows your honeyed confessions with his tongue.

You feel him come down from his high with you. Your breathing blends as one until you’re gasping softly against each other, having long since parted and pressed your heads close, brow-to-brow, nose-to-nose. You vaguely remember it meaning something to the good brothers of the GAR, and while you can’t quite place a finger on what it was, all you know right now is that it’s closeness beyond physicality alone. And you feel Hardcase’s breaths level out and fan over the sweat on your collar, all you find yourself able to do is press even closer.

And when the ringing in your ears subsides, when you no longer feel your chests heaving against each other, you slowly open your eyes and find Hardcase already there, dopey-eyed and blinking slowly as he meets your gaze.

“Hey,” you whisper, drawing back.

The wind rises again, cool and sharp as it curls and eddies around you.

“Hey,” he replies. Gingerly, immersed in the sudden stillness, Hardcase lifts his hand from your back and brings his knuckles to your cheek to brush soft over the sweat and bliss over your skin.

“I love you,” you say, and the words curl over your tongue, shy and true all at once, like it’s the first time all over again.

“Yeah?”

You can’t mistake the spark that alights over Hardcase’s eyes as anything but breathless joy, genuine and raw and perfect because no matter how many times you said it, the simple power remained. The vastness of a night sky, stars exploding to life, with no clear centre but him and his soft smile that puts the moonlight to shame.

You love him.

You do.

“Good,” he grins. “‘Cause I love you, too.”

[mostly-marvel-musings]

3. Make-up sex with Thor? If it hasn’t been requested that is. Love your writing 😍❤️

Recon

Pairing: Thor x Reader

Smut Drabbles Masterlist

Thor Taglist: @raspberrymama @bitchycherryblossomlove @jennie22feona @innerpaperexpertcloud @thorfanficwriter

Everything Taglist: @godofplumsandthunder @ladyacrasia @agustdowney @swaggysposts @littlegasps @little-baby-vixen @another-stark-sub @supraveng @kahlanmars @marvelgirl7 @disappointmentofthefam @pandaxnienke @tom-hlover @just-the-hiddles

...

“The whole point of this mission was to remain inconspicuous, thanks for blowing my cover.” You muttered angrily, pacing around your motel room, trying to ignore Thor’s gaze.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He stated quietly, head bowed down.

“What makes you think I’m not okay?”

“Going on dangerous missions like these without backup? Those mortals could’ve easily harmed you my l—, (Y/N).”

Your eyes flitted over his large form for a second, rage still being the emotion you felt strongly at the moment for being ‘rescued’ from a mission you had total control over before it was taken over by the God of Thunder, your celestial ex-boyfriend who felt you were too weak to hold your own.

The last time you saw him was on TV when he’d returned to Midgard, London more specifically, during the convergence that occurred every five thousand years according to the various articles you found on the net about cosmic events. 

He had left for Asgard without saying goodbye and to say you were pissed would be an understatement. 

“I’m sorry I left without a goodbye.”

“I’m going for a shower.” You shook your head and left him staring after you as you stormed into the tiny motel bathroom.

After contemplating for a few minutes outside the door, Thor knocked and waited for your reply, when you didn’t say a word, he pushed his luck and creaked it open to step in.

There you were, your back to him, standing under the hot jets of water that streamed down your body in hopes that they’d take your anger away. You didn’t need to turn around to find him standing right behind you, devoid of his clothing, his large towering figure looming over yours.

“You don’t give up, do you?”

“Not until you forgive me.”

“Maybe I won’t...” you lied.

“I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Thor stepped closer, you could feel his arms aching to wrap themselves around your body and pull you close. Your sigh gave him the push he needed to do exactly that as his lips ghosted over your ear, one arm around your shoulders, the other over your waist, holding your back flush against his chest.

“Please allow me to apologize...” his whisper sent shivers down your spine even though you stood under steaming hot jets of water. Anger lifting off your body just like the steam as Thor placed soft kisses along your shoulder while a hand travelled down to knead your breast and pinch your nipples before dipping lower.

His large hand cupped your sex, slowly rubbing circles over your bundle of nerves, smile evident on his lips as you felt it against your skin when your legs involuntarily parted for easy access.

“God I hate you.” You panted, your hands gripping over his arms as he ravished your body.

“No you don’t.”

You gasped out loud when he pushed a finger inside, your walls immediately clenched around his thick digit. He pressed his growing erection against your hip deliberately as his finger crooked inside your walls. Pushing his hand away in haste, you finally turned around and brought his face down to your level to crash your lips against his.

Thor wasted no time in plunging his tongue into your mouth while his hands explored every curve and dip of your skin as if for the first time. He picked you up and pinned you against the tiled wall of the bathroom and began teasing your folds with his cock, making you pull on his now wet golden locks.

“I hate you...” you repeated, conviction completely lacking this time as your pussy dripped in anticipation as his teasing drove you mad.

“No you don’t love.”

Thor aligned his cock to your entrance and pushed in, groaning at the contact while you held onto his shoulders, nails digging in his skin. His cock stretching you out deliciously, walls stinging as you hissed.

“You left.”

Your eyes held all the hurt and anger as you grabbed his face, making him open his brilliant blue ones to gaze at your beautiful face, his hips beginning to move gradually, making it difficult to stay mad at the God.

“I made sure you were safe love, I had Heimdall watch over you in my absence.” Thor breathed against your neck, as his fingers dug into your thighs, picking up pace of his thrusts.

Reconnecting your lips with his, the coil in your belly dangerously close to snapping, when it did he swallowed your moans riding out your orgasm, hips never faltering as your walls fluttered and clenched around his cock.

As you came down from your high, he held you close, still hard inside you, waiting for you to say something as the only sound that echoed was that of the water running and shallow still uneven breaths.

“Do you still hate me?”

“Maybe not.”

[one-boring-person]

Too Bad, Sweetheart. (Part One)

The Expendables x reader

Warnings: swearing, death, gun use, injury, alcohol consumption

Context: after an incident on a job, the reader is "let go" from the team, only for them to realise they want them back.

A/n: I hope this isn't as bad as I think it is 😅

This reached the "long post" limit thing, so I'm uploading it in two parts

Masterlist

After having spent years in a profession where I often have people trying to kill me in my own home, my mind has easily become attuned to when something is wrong, and right now, something is definitely off. Standing before the door of my dingy apartment, I feel a frown crease my brow as I look over the battered door, my hand instinctively moving to the small of my back, where my pistol is tucked into my jeans, as it always is, the other hand going to take hold of the door handle. I pause where I am, uncaring of how stupid I must look, listening closely to the area around me, tuning out all external sounds except the telltale ones of some person coming towards me. 

There's nothing, only heavy silence.

Not quite trusting the thick quiet, I try the handle, only half surprised when it's unlocked, the door cracking open with a soft noise. Cursing internally, I push it open completely, making sure no one is stood behind it as I wait just before the threshold in case there's someone on the other side. Nothing happens, so I step inside, drawing my gun and holding it by my side, cocking it with one hand.

Swinging the door closed behind me, I stand in the darkness for a moment, allowing my eyes to swiftly adjust, sweeping the room as I do so, easily locating the intruder. A figure is sat, facing away from me, on my worn old couch, the silhouette easily recognisable to me, even from the little I can see. Instantly, I feel the low burn of anger bite at the back of my throat, my face falling into a state of blankness as I make my way over to him, having made sure the rest of the room is safe, my steps slow and soft, though I know he is aware of my presence. To my surprise, however, he doesn't move. Not even when I press the cold muzzle of the gun up against his skull.

"Get out." I order him, keeping my voice level and cold as I hold the gun to his head.

"And "hello" to you, too." The familiar voice snarks back at me, his British accent as thick as the last time I heard it.

"I'm not gonna ask again." I ignore his greeting, pushing lightly with the gun until his head tips forwards slightly.

Slowly, the man stands, turning to face me, my gun pointed directly at his forehead as he trains scrutinizing eyes on me.

"You ain't looking so good, (Y/n). Out of work?" He questions, reaching over to flick on the desk light on the coffee table, casting us both in a warm light. Lee's features seem softer like this, though there's a harshness behind his eyes.

At his comment, I feel a poisonous scowl etch itself onto my face, my anger flaring up now. My grip on the gun tightens.

"Get out." I repeat, my voice strained now as I hold back my seething fury.

"Or what? You'll shoot me?" He scoffs, stepping away from my gun and going over to the wall, turning on the main light.

"That's generally what a gun is used for." I reply, keeping the weapon trained on him.

Lee shrugs, leaning against the wall.

"In my experience, it's always more of a scare-tactic." The mercenary remarks, before he gestures to the room around us, "This is a bit of a downgrade."

Again, I feel myself start to seethe, my muscles going tight, his comments starting to rile me up.

"Get. The fuck. Out." I snap, nodding to the door, clenching my jaw tightly.

"Easy, it was just an observation." Lee furrows his brow, "We need to talk."

"Like hell we do." I scoff, scowling harder.

"Yeah, we do actually."

"What makes you think I want to talk?" I practically snarl, fed up with his pestering.

"Not much, doesn't mean we're not gonna." He shrugs again, a smirk playing briefly at the corners of his mouth, "We need you back on the team."

Silence settles on us. A look of disbelief crosses my face, followed by outrage, then anger, before settling on cynical amusement. I can't stop the sharp, dry laugh that escapes me.

"Do you, now?" I roll my eyes, trying to suppress the rolling anger in my gut.

"Yeah, we've got a job that we're gonna need your expertise on. We thought about others, but Barney insisted it was you. I know you left and all-" He starts, watching me hopefully, only for me to interrupt him.

"Hold on, I left? Last I checked, you assholes fired me." I growl, unbelievably angry now.

"Err, well, yeah, but we made a mistake. We need you back, (Y/n), we've gotta do this, and we need you to help. Barney wants to take you on again. He regrets letting you go, and so do the rest of us. We miss you, (Y/n). Please come back." Lee nearly pleads with me, stepping forwards.

"Give me a break, Christmas. What makes you think I want to go with you? After what you all did to me?" I bite back, gesturing around myself, "You think you can break into my "downgraded" apartment, tell me I look like shit and ask if I'm "out of work" after everything that happened? Jesus, Christmas, did you guys get gassed or something?"

He's speechless. Blinking, he stares at me, fumbling for words.

"Sure, at one time, that might have been banter. Maybe we'd have joked about it, and we'd have teased each other. But now?" I laugh wryly, "Not in your wildest dreams, Christmas."

Again he struggles to find words, an occurrence I remember being scarce, the Brit always having something to say.

"Now, get the hell out of my apartment before I shoot. And no, I won't hesitate." I order him, nodding to the door again.

With a sigh, Lee casts me one last look, before he goes to the door and steps out, clearly defeated.

*

Gunfire pelts the air around me, my own gun spitting back at my attackers as I peek out from behind the fallen crate, my ears ringing from the barrage of sound. A wound at my hip bleeds profusely, a bullet somehow having managed to get past my body armour and to skin, leaving me with an injury that'll most likely scar.  At this moment, I don't care, my attention focused on the targets across the room, adrenaline making it impossible to feel too much pain in any case, allowing me to take out the enemies with relative ease. To my left, I can hear Toll and Caesar shouting at each other, the latter bringing out one of his heavier guns as they chase a unit of soldiers only a nearby hallway, leaving me alone in the room with the other killers.

Gritting my teeth, I feel the clip come to an end, meaning I have to drop back behind cover and reload, swiftly unfastening the magazine. Throwing it aside, I go to take up a new one, only to realise I'm totally out, leaving me with my pistol and a couple of knives. I swing the rifle onto my back, taking out my pistol and cocking it, before I lean back out of safety, shooting a couple of shots.

All of them hit, leaving me in an empty room, my breathing hard and ragged as I try to recover. Leaning back against the crate, I nearly have time to catch my breath again before the gunfire starts again. 

This time, it's only from one gun, a handheld pistol of sorts, probably like mine, the owner not shooting at anything in particular. Frowning, I glance around, my eyes widening as I see who it is.

It's our target, Pierce Fenwick, the rogue mercenary stepping into the centre of the room with a smirk, his eyes on mine. Confused, I raise my gun, ready to shoot if he does, painfully aware of my orders to keep him alive. They'd stressed this: keep the target alive, he's needed for questioning. I had no problem with this, but I'm still wary of him.

The final shot ricochets off of the walls, leaving the room in silence again, the report ringing out around the space. 

"I know you're there. You might as well come out." Fenwick calls out, his smirk evident in his voice, "I'm not gonna shoot."

Not quite believing him, I wait a couple of minutes, unsure of what to do.

"Come on, I know you need me, so I'll go quietly." He tries again, his conviction finally persuading me to hesitantly stand and face him.

"Ah, there you are." He grins mockingly, "Here to get me?"

Staying quiet, I edge forwards, my gun aimed at his head.

"Too bad, sweetheart. I don't intend on going anywhere. At least not in this life." With that, he lifts his own gun, pressing it against his forehead. 

I have time to widen my eyes before the gunshot tears through the quiet, leaving me standing in front of a collapsing body.

Instantly, horror fills me, dread and despair flooding my being as I step forwards, only to hear a pair of sharp intakes of breath behind me. Spinning on my heel, I see Barney and Lee standing there, Toll, Caesar and Gunnar quickly joining them. All of them carry shocked faces.

"What the fuck have you done?!" Barney finally manages, his tone low and laced with fury.

Confused, I glance between them and the body, only now realising what it looks like. Eyes widening, I turn back to them, raising my hands.

"I didn't shoot him! He shot himself!" I try to argue, but it's already too late.

The boys shoot me foul looks as they file past, heading to the body to see if there's any way of recovering him. Finding none, they turn to me, scowl in place.

"Nice one, (Y/n)." Gunnar growls, walking away.

"What? I didn't do anything!" I try to reply, only for the others to step past me, all except Barney, who stops before me.

"We're not blind, or stupid. You've just cost us the entire job, and that's a lot of money. We had specific orders to keep him alive, and you disobeyed them." Barney sighs, his expression furious, "We'll fly you back, but once you're there get your stuff from the hangar."

My mouth falls open as he leaves me there, not quite able to understand what just happened.

Part Two