#draw them making out sloppy style probably but that's beside the point

[n0anix]

terrified of starting chapter 21 of CoS genuinely not ready for it to be over

I'm about to draw so much shepnax fluff to cope i fear

[thunderheadfred]

🐈‍Aizawa HC’s🐈‍

I dunno if people will care for this; I suspect my HC's for Aizawa are a little off the fandom norm. Still. I tried. Things get approximately NSFW under the cut. Minors do not interact.

- - - - -

General

He has like, one discernible change of clothes per season. There is no distinction between hero outfit, casual wear, and pajamas. That fabric used to be black. It is now an exhausted shade of ‘please stop washing me.’ If you suggest that he buy new clothes, he will stare you down like you have three heads, and none of those heads have a brain.

This man does not spend money. He has a mind-blowing amount of savings, but no one will ever know until he dies and wills it all to a random animal shelter in the middle of nowhere. Has a secret scholarship fund for UA students. Again, this is completely anonymous. Only the principal knows.

He's a startlingly competent sketch artist. Nothing fancy, and he never took an art class in his life, but his quirk innately lends itself to spacial reasoning and feature recognition. He has sketch books brimming with sloppy but pin-point accurate life drawings. He can capture your soul in three strokes of a dried-up ballpoint pen. It's eerie.

Given his schedule, you’d expect him to prioritze convenience first, but junk food makes him cross-eyed. His body is a temple and he eats like a fucking monk.

He’s a wine snob. Well, a liquor snob generally. He knows the name of every regional sake-maker in Japan, and can tell you exactly which bottle is the best, down the the month of production. Assumes everyone possesses such laser-focused knowledge.

Tea drinker. Yeah, he has encyclopedic knowledge about that too. Apparently everything this man drinks comes with a bibliography.

Technically he’s supposed to live in the UA dorms part of the time. He sleeps poorly there, and goes home whenever he has the opportunity.

His house is old, but not valuable. Probably inherited. Traditional style with very few modern updates. He keeps it meticulously clean and does repairs as needed, but the age is still obvious. Everything creaks. You swear the place is haunted but won’t dare admit it aloud - he WILL laugh you out of the house.

There’s a garden but he doesn’t have time to keep it up. He has a lot of memories of the plants in full bloom. Letting it go to seed upsets him more than he lets on.

He has zero personal possessions aside from household appliances, which he meticulously researches and keeps in perfect condition.

Reads an insane amount of books. These mostly come from the library. There’s always a stack near his bed. You have no idea how he finishes them, because every time you see him with a book, he’s asleep with it on his face.

He doesn’t adopt cats so much as just leaves his doors open and lets them freely colonize the place. It’s not his house, it’s theirs. Somehow there's not a single cat hair on anything.

Most of these cats are cuddly little angels; you've never met nicer. But there’s a few beasts in the mix, with battle scars and three legs and a craving for human meat; these are Aizawa’s special favorites.

- - - - -

Dating

Falls for you when he stumbles across you taking care of one of the hideous strays he usually feeds on his route. Doesn’t approach you at first (definitely tries to hide) but the cat is like "mrrr?" and brings you over to him, giving the game away. Traitor.

Will make you pay for your half of everything, down to the last yen. So what if you’ve been together for ten years? You have your own income.

One exception to the above: he’ll never buy you presents but he WILL treat you to lavish meals in dark restaurants with hand-written menus. Don’t mistake this for romance, he just likes the quiet atmosphere and excellent service.

He cleans every day; there’s an unwritten five-dimensional schedule and that schedule is EXACT. Zero time wasted. He’ll never actually ask you to help with any of it. He’ll never directly thank you, either. But if you learn how to take over certain chores and do the daily upkeep while he’s away, he’ll love you forever.

Not the type to talk about his day; he’d rather sit with you outside. He values silence. Not because he doesn’t want to talk to you, but a lot of the time he doesn’t have the energy to give you his full conversational attention. Physical contact is easier, and more comforting besides. Just... hold his hand a while.

His scalp gets tingly and sore from overusing his quirk. If you run your fingers through his hair he will pass out instantly.

He will cozy trap you. He’s touch-starved and was definitely a cat in a past life. Will hang all over you if you don't give him enough attention and constantly falls sleep in your lap. Hope you don’t need to get up anytime soon; he’s not moving.

You don’t exactly ‘move in’ with him. He never wants to spend a night without you, but his living space is already exactly how he likes it. He will never move out of that old house, but he’ll give you some rooms to yourself. Your stuff and his... complete absence of stuff... stay pretty much separate. Do NOT clutter up the bedroom.

The kitchen is the exception. That's a warm and cozy shared spot, the heart of the home. You’ll always be stepping around a cat.

He LOVES when you cook for him (so that he doesn't have to take the time). Will shower you with praise and encourage you to make huge earthenware vats of old-timey tsukemono that the two of you cannot possibly eat by yourselves. He’ll help with food prep and knows his way around, but he insists you’re the better cook (even if you aren’t).

Big on actions over words. Makes an effort to be present with you as much as he can.

Will stare into your eyes until you look away. When you look back, he's still staring with a rare warm smile on his face.

God, he loves you. You will never, ever know how much. He doesn't tell you often, but he shows you every day.

- - - - -

Somnophilia???.........

ACE ACE ACE ACE

This man is A-fucking-sexual. He’s not sex repulsed in any way, he’s just not personally invested.

Aromantic too. Deadass doesn’t get the hype. You are the most important person in his life and he’s deeply commited to and comforted by you. Just don’t expect to be seduced; it will literally never happen.

If you are allosexual, he will still be devoted to your sexual well-being. At first, that means buying you a DELUXE toy and encouraging you to use it on your own.

His voice is too damn sexy, even when he isn’t trying. He’ll give you all the phone sex you want; he thinks it’s sweet how you unravel for him. Edging you for ages is a fun little power play, but he’s definitely grading papers while he does it. Don’t be offended. Toshinori has overheard some THINGS.

When your relationship gets sufficiently serious, he’ll help out with his hands. He’s VERY SKILLED AT IT. He likes to lay down next to you and whisper encouragement in your ear. Eventually he gets possessive about your orgasms, and will make you ask for permission.

Sometimes the stars align, but his arousal is a rare bird. He'll take a whole afternoon to prepare. It’s love-making, full stop. Always slow and intensely emotional. He'll cherish every inch of you but might not cum at all; you can’t force it.

[yeongalaxy]

Long time no see

a/n: Yeonjun smut

Warnings: Contains mature stuff, 18+, Passionate lovers, Relationship, Tour, Sex, dom!Yeonjun × sub!Reader

Word count: Hella long and interesting

You were lying in your bed, scrolling through Instagram and desperately waiting for that one call you've been waiting for the whole day.

But you were not getting it.

You got to your calling history to see that last time Yeonjun called you was yesterday evening, before you went to sleep.

He usually always calls you at least two times a day if he's not so busy with his schedule. He and the boys are currently on the tour and you haven't seen eachother in a few months now.

It's the longest you went without seeing him or having any physical connection with him and you were beyond desperate for his touch and his pressence. But it was merely your fault that you refused to come along with them on the tour, saying that you'd be way too bored at the dorms all alone and all the flights and driving.

Yeonjun and you are together for a quite some time now. It was really hard for you at the beginning, with all the 'dating a celebrity' shit going through, but you somehow managed to get used to it.

But you're still uncomfortable with him wanting to show you to the public, because you know how much hate both you and him would get, and you for sure didn't want to make him regret his choice to be with you, so you just managed to keep your relationship private.

You're happy with him. You really are.

You miss him so much that at this point, you started hugging his pillow while going to sleep, imagining it's him.

You were so sleepy, but you waited for him to call you.

You're not sure how much time passed, but you dozed off, and the sound of your phone immediately woke you up because only one person had that ringtone saved when they call you.

And it was him.

Yeonjun.

You immediately picked up. "Hey" you say, half asleep. "Hey baby, did I wake you up?" he says, his voice soft and sweet. "No, I was waiting for you to call" you smile, resting your phone right next to your head, putting him on the speaker.

You hear him chuckle. He clearly knows you've been waiting for his call and probably went crazy while doing so, yet you were so tired and still managed to wait for him, what made him feel a bit sorry for you, but you understood that he had business to do.

"How was your day?" he asks. You could feel his soft smile while he's resting on his bed, one hand behind his neck while he's starring at the ceiling.

"Very boring, as any other day. Went to work, came home, ate, watched movies, did a spa evening and that's all. Nothing new" you say in half asleep voice.

"And yours?" you add after a short silence.

"Busy. As always. I'm so tired and I miss you so much" he says. You smile to yourself, hugging his pillow.

"Jjunie?" you say after some more silence.

"Say baby"

"I need you so much"

"I need you too sweetheart"

"No baby, like, I want you so much. I want you to touch me, kiss me. I need you here, I'm so desperate. I can't wait for you to come back home"

"I know baby, I know"

You don't respond to his words. "Baby? Are you asleep?" his voice goes through your phone, but you don't hear it anymore. You fell asleep pretty fast due to how tired you actually were.

He chuckles to himself. "See you soon babygirl" he whispers and hangs up the call.

---later that night---

Yeonjun quietly opens the door to your shared bedroom and finds you peacefully sleeping on his side of the bed, hugging his pillow tightly while half of your body wasn't covered and your belly and legs were perfectly showing off to his eyes.

"So cute" he mutters to himself, then leaves his stuff in one corner of the room. He comes to the bed, gently covers your body and removes a strand of your hair from your face. You slightly shift, but don't wake up.

Yeonjun gets out of his clothes and puts on some shorts and a plain black T-shirt, then quietly joins you in the bed. He gently hugged you from behind, what makes you shift more and you lashes slowly open.

You feel a very familiar scent and slowly turn around just to see your favorite pair of eyes starring right into yours. "Jjunie? Is that you?" you whisper, rubbing your eyes.

"Hey baby" he mutters, a little smile leaving his lips. You touch his face to make sure that you're not dreaming, and the next thing you know is, you're hovering over him, hugging him tightly around his neck, while your whole tiny body rests over his muscular one.

He giggles as you shower his face with multiple little kisses, stradling him with your legs on the either side of his torso. "I missed you so much" you say cupping his face in your palms, looking straight into his eyes.

He sits up, holding firmly on your waist with his hands. He moved your hair from your face, studying your face like he never saw you before. He wanted to savor every little thing about you right now.

He's looking if you changed, lose or gained weight in your face, but nothing seems to change. He carres your cheeks and you melt in his touch immediately. "I missed you too babygirl" he says softly, making eye contact with you.

You smile and give him a passionate, long kiss on the lips. He hugs you around your waist and pulls you closer to him, wanting to feel every inch of your body. You back aways just enough to catch a breath, and touch yoir forehead with his.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming home?" you half whisper, drawing invisible circles on his chest with your hand. "Surprise" he says, doing the same thing with his hand on your lower back.

"I was worried why you and the boys weren't answering my phone calls" you say, leaning against his shoulder. You finally felt happy, feeling his presence right beside you.

"I saw you were calling Beomgyu too" he smiles.

"At least 10 times. Soobin too. I called you all, and none of you responded" you pouted, while hugging him tightly.

"Because we were on the plane baby, I saw you called me at least 20 times" he kisses your forehead.

"I was so worried that something happened to you" you say.

He doesn't answer, you both just enjoy each others company for a moment.

After what seemed like a whole hour of silence, Yeonjun speaks up.

"Baby?" he half whisper. "Hm?" you muffle, enjoying him caressing your back. "You still up for that 'I need you soo much' stuff?" you look at him and see the playful smirk on his lips under the shinning moon.

His hands went down to massage your thighs as he bites his lip while looking directly in your eyes. You slowly nod, and in the next moment, his lips were connected with yours.

His kisses are so slow, so passionate, like he wanted to savor this moment forever. You slowly start to straddle his lap, feeling him already hardening underneath you and a small moan escapes your lips.

"God, I missed this so much" he whispers against your lips, then kisses you again, this time with a little more passion that before. He wasn't gentle, yet, he wasn't rough. He was just perfect.

He slowly turned you over so you were laying on your back, while he moved from you just to take off his T-shirt. "Wow" you gasp once you see his body. "You've been working out a little, huh?" you smile, touching down his chest to the hem of his shorts.

You tug at them, signaling for him to take them off. He does so, taking his boxers off along with his shorts. You take off your T-shirt, which was actually one of his, revealing your bare chest to him.

You tug at your panties and he helps you pull them down, while chuckling. He pumps himself a few times, then hovers over you and kisses you.

"You're really impatient, aren't you?" he whispers, his long fingers teasing your core.

Your only respond could be a moan escaping your lips.

"You're so wet for me baby" he growls in your ear, making you shiver, while he positioned himself at you. Suddenly, you feel a hurricane of pleasure go through your body as his shaft fills you and streches you just perfectly.

"Oh God, so tight" he moans, stopping once he was fully inside of you. He looks in your eyes, then kisses you passionately as he starts to move his hips.

You moan against his lips as you hug him around his neck and gently tug at his yellow blondeish hair. "Faster Jjunie, please" you plead to him, half moaning, half whispering against his ear.

His movements become faster, more passionate and stronger with every thrust. He was hitting that one weak point of yours so perfectly, you couldn't help yourself but strach his back with your nails as you moan loudly.

"Fuck y/n, you feel so good" he moans, kissing and biting your neck. Your bedroom was filled with hot moans, the sound of skin slapping and your passion for each other.

"J-jjunie, I'm gonna c-cum" you moan loudly and throw your head backwards as the feeling takes over your body. "Me... Too baby" you hear him, and with the few more fiercefull thrusts, you both come at the same time.

"Fuck" he moans and gently pulls out of you, looking at your dripping core with satisfaction. "How beautiful" he mutters, then closses the gap between you with a sweet, sloppy kiss.

He lays down next to you and you firmly hug him around his upper body, resting your head on his chest. "I love you" you softly say, drawing circles on his bare chest. "I love you too baby" he kisses your forehead.

You both lay there for a while, then he gets up, picks you up in brid style and takes you to take a shower together.

"Let's get you cleaned up, sweetheart"

A/N: Weeellll, my first one is here! I sincerely hope that you like it hahahaha, it's heeelllaaa aasss long but I hope it's not boring🤭

[xxanimecoolgirlxx]

@threateningkahootmusic Prejudice and Fame belongs to them.

Vickie sat at the bar, mindlessly looking at her drink. Another long day at work as a news reporter/ investigative journalist, this time something about a corrupt company. Now normally this wouldn’t be an issue.

Except for the fact that she wished she could legally punch in a couple of individuals teeth without immediately facing assault charges.

Among other things, the company was facing allegations of workplace harassment, discrimination, unequal pay of workers based of sex, and an hostile work environment. And from her experience for working undercover there, it was, indeed, true. In fact, she’d say that the allegations weren’t telling enough! The amount of sexist and racist remarks made at her by staff and management alike would be enough to ensure that no new hires would be daring enough to go there. Even Vickie was surprised at herself for getting this far without snapping at someone. Not that it would’ve made a difference if she did.

All of this evidence through recordings and screenshots would make this seem like an open and shut case, right? Not quite. Even with the damning audio recordings, the camera feed, the multitude of paper documents and such, she knew it wouldn’t be enough for anything to really change. She needed something bigger. She knew that as it stood right now, at the very worse the company would blame a few lowly managers as scapegoats, fire them, and then say that they will do better in the future while knowing good and well that they had no plans on doing anything. Hell, even if they did get any legal repercussions, they could just settle out of court and be done with it. No, Vickie would need something bigger.

Right now she would be doing more research into the company had her work friend not dragged her to this self proclaimed “high end club”. Apparently her friend had been assigned to do an interview to this celebrity, Fame, at least that’s what she hoped his stage name was. She didn’t see a point in drawing needless attention to herself to she opted to stay at the bar and subtly watch from afar. Not like she was dressed to be here anyways, her black knee length form fitting dress was too professional to be in a function like this, her black hair wasn’t styled up to anything fancy and her dark skin wasn’t adorned with any makeup too flashy. It looked like she was at a job interview more than a nightclub. She was more worried about her case than anything else.

“Come on now, I know your defining character quality is being a square, but lighten up a bit, let yourself have some fun.”

Vickie’s eyes wondered over to the ghost that seemingly followed her everywhere, Helena. Seeing that Helena was invincible to everyone but her most of the time, she couldn’t outright face her or talk to her in public without looking odd to say the very least. She raised an eyebrow at the ghost. Like hell she was going to let herself get sloppy drunk and make a complete fool of herself. Maybe that was some other’s tastes to get so blasted that the next morning they don’t know where they were, but it wasn’t Vickie’s taste.

Helena could see the look in Vickie’s eyes

“I know what your thinking. I’m not asking you to behave like an absolute moron. But just chill it. You’re not on the clock right now, you’ll always have time to do this tomorrow. But for the love of god stop worrying yourself.” Helena then crossed her arms

“I promise you if you burn yourself out and pass out from pulling an all nighter again, let me you tell, you will not hear the end of my lectures in the morning.”

Vickie sighed. Although she didn’t say anything, she did make it a point to relax her shoulders and let herself slightly slouch a bit. She finished her drink before ordering a new one when commotion could be heard from the other side of the club behind her. Even with the loud music, Vickie could tell something was going on. Helena looked over and moved closer to see what was going on.

“Oh goddamnit, Prejudice, this is the 5th time this month you’ve crashed the party!” Fame grumbled as Prejudice smirked, snatching a drink out of the hand of Vickie’s coworker.

“Yeah, and I’ll do it again. Besides, I like how you get all p!ssy about it.” Prejudice said as he took a drink from his stolen beverage.

Helena moved back over to Vickie

“Don’t look now, but I think that’s the CEO of that company you’re looking into.” Helena whispered despite knowing she couldn’t be heard by anyone else. Vickie stole a glance to confirm what Helena was saying before looking away just as quickly as to not accidentally get unwanted attention.

“The hell’s he doing here? Shouldn’t he be more worried about saving his company’s face by discrediting the allegations?” She muttered quietly to herself as she took a sip from her Bloody Mary. Helena glanced over

“It looks like him and that other fellow know each other.” Helena said. “I’ll keep watch.” Helena said as she floated over to the crowd. Vickie’s grip on her glass tightened. Maybe this could be the chance she’d been looking for to get solid concrete against the company. Since her coworker, besides from an obvious camera crew, had a recording pen on her, maybe the pen might catch something incriminating, maybe embezzlement, tax fraud, something that really couldn’t be ignored, something that could ruin this business and its corrupt ways.

As she took another swing of her drink, she started noticing the feeling of eyes burning into the back of her head, like someone was staring at her. At first she thought it was Helena, until the ghost floated back over and the feeling didn’t go away.

“Did you catch anything?” Vickie whispered subtly.

“No, but he’s been staring at you. I think? He may be looking at your general area but he’s definitely been looking intensely at the bar area.” Helena said.

Vickie wanted to test that theory. She got up from her chair and walked around, acting as though she was merely stretching. The feeling of being watched didn’t fade no matter where she went. Even well after she sat back down in her chair. Ok, he definitely was staring at her. Did this guy somehow know who she really was, what her goals were? She didn’t think so, she’d done a good job hiding it.

By this point, the amount of people in the club dwindled down a bit, at least in the area she was in. Fame had moved to a different spot of the club and so did a large group of the crowd there. Everyone else around her were either drunk or leaving. Vickie was mid drinking her beverage when she felt someone approaching. Great, just great. She didn’t look over as she just wanted to be left alone. But alas, her luck for the night turned to be Jack sh!t as Prejudice sat down in a chair next to hers at the bar.

Vickie didn’t look over, just remained silent and indifferent as Prejudice pretty much ordered the bartender for some hard liquor. Helena looked like she wanted to intervene but Vickie signaled her not to with some cleverly hidden hand signals the two hand memorized over the course of their friendship/ her being tethered to Vickie. It was quiet for a moment, before Prejudice slammed his shot glass. He glanced over at the bartender.

“I’d suggest you take your fat ginger freak a$$ out of here before you also get a taste of what this little dumb bimbo is going to get.” Prejudice said, in this almost joking way, though she could tell by his voice that He at the same time sounded serious. Either way, it was enough to get the bartender out of there.

Vickie didn’t even have time to get up herself when she felt a hand grab her by the hair and slam her face down onto the counter. She felt her arm being twisted behind her back, the grip getting tighter when she struggled. Helena tried to help, to pull the man off of her but she was swatted away like a fly, which set off all alarms bells in Vickie’s brain. This man clearly wasn’t human.

“Now what do we have here? You know, looking at you, I’d think you’re just another dime a dozen mortal sl/t with less brains than a mutt, it took me a bit to discover what you were actually trying to do.” Prejudice said in casual voice that somehow sounded threatening at the same time. Even then, it was how he said theses things that started grinding Vickie’s gears. He said these things like he was entitled to say them, like it was owed to him.

“You may have fooled my dipsh!t employees, you dumb b!tch, but I’m not exactly as easy to convince. I know you plan on finding whatever evidence you can to ‘ruin’ me or whatever you want to call it. What, you plan on cancelling me? You seem like the type to type essays on Twitter on inequalities or whatever nonsense about equality like anyone will give a damn. At least nobody important will care.” He grinned.

“Oh go f*ck yourself you pompous little sh!t!” Vickie growled. She let out a loud hiss of pain as he twisted her arm more as a result.

“Oh, a little feisty? Good, I’ve been wanting something more entertaining than some obedient little pets. So please, go on. I’m going to break that jaw of yours either way but still, I want to hear more.” Prejudice goated on. She felt his hand slowly leave her hair and travel down to her waist.

“You know, if you really wanted to make yourself useful, doll, than you should stop worrying about whatever job you work in and start worrying about wearing something nice. You dress like a sl/t that acts like they’re someone of any respect. Really you’re not fooling anyone ” Prejudice said, the cockiness in his voice was what sent Vickie off to a boiling peak.

Using the mobility gained by his hand not being holding her head down, she stomped on his foot with her heel, as hard as possible, the man let out a curse but before he could really do much she took a shot glass from the table, spun around and smashed it right in his eye. Sure, this did result in her held arm getting twisted even more and probably dislocated, it gave her the opportunity to get free from his grasp as he stumbled back.

She then took this opportunity to start beating him with pretty much everything and anything in sight, fists, heels, a wine bottle she smashed over his head, chairs, anything in sight. All whilst calling him every name in the book, every swear and curse she could think of, hell, she was pretty sure she set a record. But even all of that didn’t really do much, not when immediately after she was backhanded to the ground when he finally got his footing. She didn’t even have time to recover as he grabbed her by her throat and slammed up against a wall, several times. By the time he stopped her head was spinning and blood was dripping from the back of her head. He then held her up off her feet, hand still firmly on her neck and then he squeezed down, hard.

She desperately scratched at his hand, tried to take gasps of air. But his tight grasp cut off her airways, leaving her attempts useless. Even worse, there didn’t even look like she laid a scratch on him, as any and all injuries or bruises inflicted on him had somehow already healed.

Prejudice’s smirk became wider as he squeezed tighter, his free hand yanking out any remaining glass from his eye.

“God, aren’t you just a fidgety little spazz? Hmm? Did you really think you could fight off a god? Though you’ve been great entertainment so far, it’s been a while since someone’s actually tried to fight me. Good to know not every mortal nowadays are p/ssies.” He spoke.

Vickie could see her world starting to turn dark as Prejudice kept talking

“Let’s just get this part over with. You WILL delete whatever ‘evidence’ you have against my company, and you’ll drop this case. If you don’t, we’ll, I’m sure you don’t have many options here, unless you wanna have a meeting with Death.” He said.

“Then, I want you to meet me in my office as soon as you enter the building. Don’t try quitting now that you won’t be able to do that little expose thing. I can ruin you in so many ways I’m sure your pretty little brain won’t comprehend. It’s alright. You don’t have to think, just do as I say and I won’t have to hurt you.. too much, sweetheart.” That ‘sweetheart’ was said in the most patronizing tone that it would’ve made Vickie said had she not been on the brink of passing out from lack of oxygen.

That was when Prejudice finally dropped Vickie, leaving her on the floor taking greedy gasps for air, her lungs burning from the lack of it. Prejudice just smirked at her once more before checking his watch. He took him longer than he thought. No worries, he didn’t have too much planned for today’s anyways.

Vickie laid there weakly on the floor as Prejudice just walked away, as if he didn’t just do what he just did. Helena by this point finally came too and quickly picked up Vickie, getting her out of the club and into her car.

“Vickie, Vickie. Don’t pass out on me, Vickie just try and stay awake! I’ll get help!” Helena said as she dashed over somewhere as Vickie fought to keep her eyes open before exhaustion finally hit and she felt her eyes close, her body forcing her to rest for the sake of recovery.

[eirabach]

Steady As You Go [2/3]

The further adventures of Gordy’s leather trousers for @olliepig and @mrmustachious and @badthingshappenbingo. TW: Implied Drugging / Spiking, Drinking, and the aftermath of violence. 

It’s actually not as bad as it sounds, honestly, I’m just cautious as fuck.

Prompt Gordon + Caught in an Explosion + Penelope (+ jealousy + disaster bisexual)

Gordon doesn’t bring the next bottle to the table, nor the one after that. They just seem to appear, dropped from the darkness by a large, calloused hand to be poured into glasses and down throats at a rate that would make even the most rum-hardened sailor of Gordon’s acquaintance quake with nauseous horror.

Well, some throats.

One throat. Probably.

Penelope, for her part, tips the glass to her lips often enough but her eyes are sharp, her bursts of laughter far too perfectly timed to be anything but by design.

Gordon's playing it a little more -- fast and loose.

Playing is probably the operative word.

He really can’t drink any more of this stuff though, because otherwise he’s likely to fall right off his perch on the arm of the sofa and Penny -- Penny will be mad. Penny kinda already looks mad. Huh. She lifts the glass to her mouth again, narrowing those over-dark eyes as she does so. Mr Gonna-Be-Arrested turns to beckon at one of the two giant goons that are lingering at the edges of Gordon’s vision, and Penny tosses the majority of the glass over her shoulder where it lands - presumably - in a puddle of other sticky, liquidy stuff that some poor sap will have to mop up in the cold light of day. Her eyes flick to Gordon’s own glass and one tightly drawn eyebrow ticks up. Oh. Oh.

He flicks his wrist.

It’s uh. It’s the wrong wrist.

Mr International-Crime jumps up, shaking little sparkles of champagne from his hands. The goons move in closer, fists tight in the flashing lights.

“Oh dear,” Penny sneers. “What an awful mess!”

Gordon would stick his tongue out at her, but there’s a soggy guy blocking his view and anyway it was her idea.

"Oh, whoops!" He pats at Marc's -- because that's his name, apparently, and apparently he thinks Gordon ought to use it -- freshly dampened trouser leg, "Oh man, gosh I'm so sorry boss! Uh --"

“Now, now,” Marc tuts, and one sticky hand covers Gordon’s. Holds it there, against the damp heat of his thigh. “That wasn’t very nice was it?” He smiles, leers, and half of Gordon knows that this is not at all a good thing. The other, somewhat tipsy, half thinks it looks like quite the promise. He might be Penny’s mark, with all the associations that Gordon’s spent several months trying not to think about,  but it’s Gordon who finds himself caressed by one of those sticky hands. Marc’s cool fingers step down his throat, tilt his chin up, and this -- this really wasn’t the plan at all, but Gordon is nothing but adaptable. In every sense.

Either way, he’s gotta get this guy out of this club somehow.

He licks his lips, sends a silent prayer up that Scott never ever hears about this. “Maybe I just want to get you out of the suit.”

“Oh, is that --”

It’s not the first time he’s had a demijohn of very expensive alcohol poured over his head. 

At least it’s not televised this time.

Gordon splutters in shock, shuddering as leatherette sticks uncomfortably under the unexpected shower. Marc for his part, is staring at something over his head, mouth agape. Gordon twists around, but his protest dies on the tip of his tongue.

“As entertaining as it is watching you flirt with the lower orders, we have business to attend to.” Penelope tosses her wig over her shoulder, and drops the empty bottle onto the couch beside him. Gordon blinks champagne out of his eyes and tries to catch hers, but her focus is entirely on Marc, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol she hasn’t drunk. “Or is my money not as interesting as this -- “ her eyes finally flick down to meet his for half a second. “Boy.”

“Hey lady,” Gordon snaps, “it’s the twenty first century, don’t get jealous.”

Penelope’s cheeks flush a little darker. 

“Marc?”

“Of course -- I --” Marc pushes a damp curl off Gordon’s forehead and honestly it’s kinda a shame that he’s a bad guy because there would have been a time -- still. Marc pulls a keycard from his pocket, pushes it into Gordon’s hand. “Here, go upstairs. When I get back we can have a little chat about your career prospects.”

He bites back the FAB, but doesn’t quite manage to restrain himself from a sloppy sort of salute as he half staggers to his feet. There’s an unpleasant squelching as he does so, and he must have drunk a lot more than he thought because he sways on the spot, the room blurring in and out of focus. Someone, a large, calloused, someone, takes hold of his elbow. 

“‘K, I -- hey, I can -- I can --” Penny and Marc fade into the shadows at the edge of his vision, and then he’s outside, released to slide against the rough brickwork of the alleyway, the night air freezing against his exposed skin. “Hey!”

The dark mountain of a man who’s dropped him outside pauses, but doesn’t turn around. 

“Where’s -- where’s the stairs?”

“If you can find ‘em, up you go,” grumbles the mountain, “Otherwise, I suggest you watch out for the wildlife.” 

A door opens into a world of light and sound, slams behind him, and Gordon thinks -- Gordon thinks --

“What the bleedin’ ‘ell happened to you? Get that bloody thing off!”

Gordon squints into the darkness. Something grey and grubby looking floats in front of him. Two somethings. One and a half. There’s a sharp pain in his neck, and his vision clears enough for him to see the grubby grey things coalesce into Parker, his face screwed up in disgust, a clear bit of plastic hanging from one gloved finger. Gordon rubs at the sore patch and glares up at him.

“What was that for? What’s that?”

“What’s --” he rolls his eyes. “For a group of smart young lads you ain’t ‘arf sheltered. Someone took a shine to you, did they?”

Gordon’s never been ashamed of who he is, never, but he finds the thought of coming out to Parker while wearing wet leather in a grubby alleyway is just a little bit beyond his comfort zone. 

“Uh, he --”

“Take an old man’s advice, lad. Don’t go on a second date,” Parker says sagely, and taps his nose. Then he stands, peers out toward the main road. “Where���s ‘er Ladyship?”

A sharp drill seems to have started up right behind Gordon’s right eyebrow and he forces his fist into his temple as he gets to his feet.

“Leaving, I think. Deal’s on.”

Parker drops the square of plastic to the floor and crushes it beneath the heel of his boot.

“Grand.” He claps his hands together, and shrugs off the battered old overcoat he’d been wearing. “I’ll be orf, then. You ok lad?”

Not really, is the answer, but Gordon has Marc’s keycard in his pocket and he knows that if Penny’s operation is to come off she’s gonna need all the evidence she can get. After all they know from hard experience that catching them red-handed rarely seems to be enough.

“Yeah, sure.” Parker holds out the coat, but it smells kinda funky and Gordon shakes his head. “S’ok, I got -- got a plan.”

Parker peers at him, then sighs. “If you say so. Miss Kayo nearby?”

“Totally,” Gordon assures him. “Go. Penny will need you.”

Parker hums, hesitates a moment longer before grabbing at a nearby rusted shopping trolley filled with more of the funky smelling grey fabric. As Gordon watches the fabric shifts, falling away to reveal a complex looking piece of flashing, bleeping electronics. God, his head hurts. 

“Don’t you fret, Mr Gordon,” Parker assures him as he pulls a remote control from the machinery. “I’ll see to her.”

From high, high above them comes the whine of engines, and they both look up to see FAB1, black as the sky above, hovering over the alleyway. Her VTOLs fill the alley with an unearthly blue light, and in it Gordon sees the carefully cut staircase that leads up and away and into the shadowy building above. 

“Right,” he says. “Right.” 

--

He’d lingered long enough to see Parker and his fancy machinery safely away in FAB1, waiting until he’s sure that he’s alone before approaching the staircase. His head is pounding and his legs are still feeling strange, but he presses upward regardless, keeping one hand on the brick wall to steady himself as the ground falls away. He doesn’t even see the door at first, only the flash of a red light then the green as his keycard passes over it, and he’s not beyond admitting the relief that he feels as it opens inwards and he half falls in.

How long do arms deals take, exactly? He could use a nap.

Except -- Except, oh. Someone may have beaten him to it.

“Hello?”

The feet at the end of the hallway don’t move from where they’re pointing up to the vaulted ceiling. Smart shoes, but not over polished. The cuffs of a pair of dark trousers just visible over navy socks.

When they were kids John always used to say that Gordon was too stupid to feel fear, and sometimes, sometimes that was probably true. Sorta. He's always been more about the rush, the adrenaline, fear to him has rarely been a baseline negative anyway. It works for him. Mostly.

Thunderbird four surveys the corridor. Spots the darkly spreading stain on the wooden flooring. Slows his pace to a stop. The air smells like rust and sulphur, the silence is thick as blood.

There’s an old style umbrella stand just beyond the door, and he takes hold of it, grips the central pillar tight as he takes another step forward.

“My name’s Gordon,” he calls. “I’m here to help. Can you answer me?” 

He reaches the end of the corridor, umbrella stand extended like a rapier and the answer -- well, the answer is no.

The man, or what’s left of him, lies sprawled on his back, glazed eyes and mouth wide in a silent scream, russet dried in thick rivulets around the gaping wound in his chest and where it had poured from him to pool around his feet. There’s a gun still loosely held in one blue hand. Safety off. One in the chamber.

He’d been prepared, but too slow on the draw. Poor bastard.

Gordon drops his umbrella stand and reaches down to peel the stiff fingers away from the gun, He clicks the safety back on, and stuffs it, as best as he can manage, into the waistband of his trousers. Unsure of what else to use under the circumstances, he unbuttons his sticky, sodden waistcoat and lays it gently over the staring, screaming face.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I really am.”

He has to bodily force himself back up to his feet, his body aching something rotten, but it doesn’t matter, not compared to the spark of absolute dread that burns through him as he looks around the apartment proper.

It's wrecked.

Every drawer, every table is tipped over, their contents scattered far and wide and battered by what looks like several pairs of boot prints. There's gunpowder streaked up the walls, smatterings of red brown across overturned sofas, and maybe Gordon ought to give his dead guy a little bit more credit. 

Maybe he's just a shit shot.

Glass crunches underfoot as Gordon cautiously pushes on the closest, half shut door. Behind it lies the bedroom, simple enough with bare brick walls and a grey coverlet on the king size bed, but it's not much better than the rest of the place, not really. The wardrobes are open, contents spilling all over the floor, a pair of handcuffs and a sheet of those funny little bits of plastic hanging from the bedside cabinet -- and wires, dozens of wires, pulled from the ceiling, from the walls and amongst it all, the only life in the whole godforsaken place, a tiny, holographic image of Penny with the words sale agreed flashing above her dark head and beside her, scrawled on a light type by another hand:

That damn girl.

And half drunk and half naked, sticky and cold and yeah, probably coming down from something, with a dead body in the next room and in the middle of a gangland battlefield, that’s the moment Gordon Tracy finally, truly feels fear.

[ozymandiascezn]

schrei es in die winde ||1|| chapter one

fandom original pairing original oc x original oc warnings potential/references to depression and dark thoughts - “What are you staring at?” “You.” “Why? You see me every day!” He can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips, his eyes remain on her, on the dress she wears and how she twirls in it. How she smiles when she’s wearing it. She’s the air that he breathes. “I know.” She’s so drastically different than him, smaller, petite, but filled with so much fight. Brown hair curls around her shoulders, long and wavy, eyes doe-like and brown, filled with love that only she could harbor for him. The dress is red, a compliment to her pale complexion and dark eyes. It’s his least favorite color, but when she wears it, his whole world topples upside down and robs him of his breath.

He remembers the red dress vividly, the last dress she had worn. He despises it now, he despises every color, but not nearly as much as he hates red. It was the last thing he saw her wear. He doubted he could ever look at a single thing of hers and feel the love and adoration he once had — it’s all replaced with voices that say it’s his fault. The study is quiet, the room is dark. The curtains cover the windows and not even the lanterns are on. It’s the only comfort he can afford himself, the only grief he can allow himself to feel. The tears he has cried so far burn, denting his skin with their bitterness. They followed the creases in his skin, leaving a trail of fire. The saltiness of his pain burns, it burns far more than he ever wanted it to. Papers on his desk draw his attention; business papers that need resolving and responses. A textile factory and several printing presses are all under his name and they need funds, ideas, plans on where to go next. What new clothing pattern is “in”, what is going on in the world, all of it belongs to him. And all of it needs him to be at his best. There’s no time for grieving, no time to just sit and wonder how it all fell apart. “She’s all settled into her new room.” The voice startles Andrej more than he’d care to admit, but when he recovers and notices Victoria standing in the doorway, he relaxes. “Lovely,” he coughs, returning his gaze to the papers before him, “can you take a look at these samples for me? The factory wants to know what to go with for the summer styles.” She approaches, quietly, staring at him as if he’s lost his mind. “You just suffered a great loss and you’re working? I’m sure all this can afford to wait.” “The world doesn’t wait for those who grieve, we just accept our fate and move on.” He replies gruffly, and though his heart shatters a little more at his own words, he knows he’s right. The world continues to move, he can’t afford to stop while everything else carries on. Weakness makes him easy to prey on. “I appreciate your concern, but work must continue. Now, which sample should I send back?” Frustrated, Victoria just points to one of the samples and watches as he tosses the other two away. She can tell he’s hurting, it’s in the way his hands shake, it’s in the way he won’t meet her gaze, and it’s in the way the room is so dark. “At least take some breaks, okay? The world needs you, but we need you more.” She sighs softly, eyeing him for a moment longer. “You should come down to dinner. Get acclimated with the things shifting around.” He looks up, eyeing her suspiciously for a moment. “Vic, I appreciate whatever it is you’re aiming to do, but I just want to be alone. Please.” “Okay, okay, just… just remember to look after yourself. I’ll be up to bring you something to eat around dinnertime.” She leaves, the door clicking shut behind her. He’s alone again and it’s something he hasn’t felt in such a long time. The loneliness is soul crushing, especially when you know just under this roof is someone you once held so dear. But he’s done what he can do, now he must work. Ink meets paper, twirling to meet words that fall from his fingertips like a lie falls from the lips of an experienced thief. He’s done things like this a million times that it now all feels so natural to him. It’s clockwork. If the amount of fabric exceeds the amount of money they have, he siphons money from Engelbrecht Printing to pay for whatever they can’t, and vice versa. Though people could afford to go without the newspaper, but clothes were a much needed necessity. Sometimes people needed favors, be it through opening a tab or sharing information. On occasion this information has aided him in freeing many mutants from a fate worse than death. They were a hunted species, one whose only crime was being born with powers beyond the general public’s understanding. Time and time again he had witnessed his brothers and sisters be murdered in their homes, in the streets, anywhere they were found. You could be accused of being a mutant and if you had no means to silence such

accusations, you would be. Andrej was the Jack of All Trades. There wasn’t a thing he couldn’t do — though it all comes at a great price. He’s learned long ago to keep everything under wraps, but the randomness of his mutant ability comes in handy when he rescues others like him. Especially when he smuggles them across the border into Canada. Though he isn’t lucky enough to decide what ability he gets to use, it is still a useful tool regardless. Oftentimes it’s set at the ability to control the final destination of a bullet. It’s what he’s known for. He’s grown tired of it — reasonably so. He’s been fighting the fight for mutants ever since he was old enough to understand the severity of existing as a mutant. He fought to protect mutants in Germany, now he has to do the same in America. But after the fall of New Tech after the twenty-first century, having to constantly monitor what goes into the daily paper before it’s put out has its toll. He controls what the people see, typically only making sure everything is propaganda free, but oftentimes, something slips by. To the untrained eye, the things that slip by are just jumbled messes, but to Andrej, they’re threats. They’re hints at where to find bodies, where they’re going to strike mutants next, etc. All of which has puts a large burden on his shoulders. The papers can wait, he decides, heading out of the study and downstairs. Papers like that can always wait. He’s never been one to enjoy the sights they had to offer anyways. She’s down there, with Victoria, and the paperboy he often uses to deliver most of his messages. Elizabeth, Victoria, and Philip. They’re playing a game of chess with Philip watching, but the moment he enters the room, they look at him. “Oh! I got a letter for you, boss!” Philip is on his feet, rummaging through his pockets to produce a slightly crumpled letter. “Came all the way from Germany, Sir! Just for you!” Andrej eyes him with suspicion before taking the letter. “Have you had coffee today, Philip? It’s not healthy for you. You get too hyper.” Philip is a little over a foot shorter than he is with golden hair and dark green eyes. He’s freckled, but his face is covered in dirt from his run to the shared home. He’s content with fulfilling his duties though, sparing Andrej a sloppy grin. “Maybe, Sir, but it looked tasty!” He retorts, keeping his lopsided grin. “Whatcha gettin’ letters from Germany for?” “It’s nothing of importance,” he tucks the letter away, “most likely in regards to my sister, but I’ll read it later.” “Sister? You have a sister?” Elizabeth perks up and he tenses incredibly. She’s beautiful, a lot more than he ever seemed to recall. But he forces his mind to think of her as average. She has average brown hair, average brown eyes, average voice. Nothing outstanding about her. He purses his lips, as if deciding whether she was worth talking to or not. “I do. She writes often.” “Then shouldn’t you read it and respond to her? I’m sure she’d be eager to hear your response!” She’s bright and happy, a complete opposite to everything he’s become. To everything that stands in Old York. She doesn’t belong here. “When I read and respond to my mail, is not your concern.” He returns, sharp and quick with his words. “She can wait a while until I have time. For now, there’s stuff to be done.” “Not more work is it? You’ve been working way too much for someone who lost the love of his life.” Victoria warns, eyeing him suspiciously. “I guess we’ll never know what I’m up to, then,” he retorts, returning her warning gaze, “I have to go drop by the factory and after that a trip to the main printing shop. I’m looking at buying more property, a bar, maybe. Can never have too much alcohol, besides, people talk when they’re drunk. We need that information.” Victoria leans back, brows raised. “Don’t make any quick decisions on the bar, then. We should look at locations that’ll provide a higher chance of accurate information.” “I’ve got a few places picked out, they’re in a folder on my desk somewhere. You’re welcome to look through

them,” Andrej nods, distracted almost, “and while you’re at it, there’s a few pages I pulled from printing that mention some young mutants. I’ve found where they are, just bring them here so we can get them set up.” She watches him curiously. “Can I take Elizabeth? Show her how we roll around here? Philip can come too, they’ll probably trust him more if they’re near his age.” “Take who you like, Vic. Just keep an eye out. Things have been getting rough all around.” He pulls out a watch from his vest pocket, opening it to check the time. “Three hours. I’ll need you back in three hours. Not a minute later unless you’re looking for trouble. I’m short staffed already, I don’t need more.” Philip lets out a small whoop of excitement much to Andrej’s utter dismay, but at least someone was enjoying themselves. He’s only thirteen so Andrej can’t quite fault him for the excitement, even if it’s a little false and wrong to feel such an emotion in a time of great turmoil. Not like people were dropping like flies every day. “Andrej, you’re doing the thing again,” Victoria snaps her fingers in front of her eyes, “you zoned out again. You should see someone about that, you’ve been doing it pretty often recently.” “It’s just stress, I’ll be fine. A little rest is all that can cure stress, I’m afraid, and right now I can’t do that.” He shakes his head, though, every part of him whines for him to just stop and rest. He can’t let his mind wander to darker spaces, not when there are still people who need to be saved. If he falters once, he might not come back from it. “I’ll rest when I can, okay? Just give me some time.” “Alright,” Victoria relents, smiling, “you should take a stop by O’Conner’s when you come back. Pick up some of that good bread, and maybe, just maybe some sweets? We all deserve it.” He snorts. “Yes, yes. I’ll bring back some good bread and sweets. You’re all a bunch of addicted fools, but I’ll do it anyway.” He can feel Elizabeth’s eyes on him, but he shakes the uneasy feeling as he finally heads out. He doesn’t like being looked at like that, nor was he a fan of her, really, but the staring made him feel like he was in some sort of freak show. It robs him of everything in one fell swoop, as if he’s nothing but a freak to throw things at.

[alloftheimagines]

billy hargrove | heaven-sent | part three

masterlist | series masterlist | part two

words: 2.6k+

warnings: drinking, Jonathan being kind of an asshole, hints towards death, swearing and spoilers

disclaimer: i in no way support the actions of billy. i just find his character interesting and want to explore it more with my oc. takes place from season 2. OC is hopper’s daughter. this chapter takes place at the halloween party from st2 but some stuff probably isn’t accurate because i haven’t watched it in a few months.

summary:  she’s an angel. he may as well be the devil. one would not exist without the other.

The cul-de-sacs are bustling with groups of trick-or-treaters as Jonathan parks outside the house. Frances sits beside him, touching up her makeup simply to busy her hands so that she wouldn't have to acknowledge the awkwardness between the two of them. Her father had decided to lift her grounding on account of it being Halloween, though he thought that she and Jonathan were taking Will trick or treating, not rocking up at a house party full of drunken teens.

Even from the car she can see the party already in full swing, with familiar faces loitering in the front yard, drinking from kegs upside down and vomiting in the bushes. Reluctantly, she pulls her camera from her neck, knowing it would only get damaged otherwise. "You mind if I leave this in here?"

"No, of course not," Jonathan says, hands still gripping the steering wheel despite the fact they were no longer moving.

"You sure you don't wanna stay with Will?" she asks, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. "I don't mind, honestly. I know this stuff isn't usually your thing."

"Didn't used to be yours, either." There is no venom in his voice, though he says it under his breath as though it's something he's trying to suppress.

Frances takes a deep breath, focusing her attention on the waning moon above them. Despite the laughter and music outside, the car felt too quiet. "If you have something to say, Jonathan, you should say it."

"You don't think things have been weird between us lately?" he says, finally loosening his grip from the steering wheel and turning in his seat to face her. "You seem distant. We barely talk. I don't even know if we're ..."

"If we're what?" She blinks, though she knows what he wants to say. Together.

"I don't know, Frannie," he sighs, pressing his back to the seat and looking up as though maybe God could help him spit it out. "Are we okay?"

She pauses, knowing that if she says yes it would be a lie. "Look, it's no secret that things have changed between us. I just have stuff going on, okay?"

"Like what?"

"Just stuff. Nothing you need to worry about."

"You used to tell me everything," he mumbled. It's true and Frances knows it: Eleven hiding out in her father's cabin is the first secret she's ever kept from him in their ten years of friendship and two years of romance.

Something else catches his eye, drawing his attention away from the car and what's happening inside of it. That Something is Nancy Wheeler, walking hand in hand with Steve Harrington across the lawn. They stop to greet a few of their friends before disappearing into the orange glow of the hallway. Only when they're out of sight does Jonathan focus on Frances again.

"If you want an out, take it," Frances says passive-aggressively, placing her hand on the door so that she can make a quick escape if necessary. "If you don't want this anymore—"

He frowns. "Who said I didn't want this?"

"Do you?"

"Do you? You're the one pulling away from me."

Frances scoffs. "Don't put this all on me, Jonathan. You just spent a solid minute watching Nancy walk into a house while I was sitting right next to you."

You see his muscles twitch with tension and he straightens up. "We're gonna do this again?"

"No," she rolls her eyes, opening the door, "we're not."

Without another word, she steps out, slamming the car door behind her. Jonathan is motioning to her in frustration, but she ignores him, marching into the party and getting pulled into a current of bodies. The bitter stench of beer lingers on sweaty clothes as she pushes through them, waving at a few people who are sober enough to recognise her.

She heads straight for the punch bowl, grabbing herself a plastic cup and pouring it carefully. Halloween music is blasting through the speakers in the corner and she sees Steve and Nancy bobbing along to it, though Nancy's expression is tense as always. A year ago, Frances would have been dancing with them. A year ago, Barb would have been there, too. Now that she was gone and Jonathan was constantly ogling Nancy when he thought she wasn't looking, they had no reason to stay friends.

"Look at that," a voice shouts from behind Frances. "Our little grasshopper made it to the party. It's been a long time since I've seen you at one 'a these things."

Frances grimaces at the nickname, turning around to find Tommy standing so close that she has to press herself to the kitchen counter to avoid his hot breath hitting her face.

"Byers taken you off your leash?" Carol chimes in from behind, an arrogant smirk playing on her lips.

Behind them stands a beer-stained Billy Hargrove, his torso bare beneath his leather jacket. He gives Frances the once over, his tongue swiping across his lips the way it always does before he takes a swig of his drink.

"Don't you ever get bored of yourselves?" Frances questions monotonously, gulping down her own drink quickly.

"Come on, Frannie, we're kidding," Tommy laughs, pulling Frances into the living room where the music is deafening, but not as deafening as the laughter and shouting. "You gonna dance with us or what?"

"Don't be stupid, Tommy," Carol shouts over the music, looking smug. "Her boyfriend is lurking over there in the corner."

Frances follows her point and finds that she's right: he is standing in the corner, but he isn't looking at her. He's looking past her at Nancy, who's pouring herself a drink in the kitchen. "I don't think he's gonna be my boyfriend for much longer," she says without thinking.

Her view of them is intercepted by Billy, who is skillfully juggling four cups in his hands. He holds one out for Frances and she takes it gratefully, chugging it down and wincing at the burn it leaves in her throat. "Trouble in paradise, angel?"

"No paradise," she retorts. "Just trouble."

"You need to let go. Enjoy yourself," he smirks. "Or is 'fun' not in your vocabulary?"

"It is," she hits back, finishing her drink before Tommy and Carol have even started theirs. "My definition is probably just a little different than yours."

"Come on," Tommy urges. The song changes as he's speaking, Duran Duran earning a cheer from the crowd surrounding them. Carol throws her arms around Tommy, her drink spilling from her cup. Tommy doesn't notice the stain it leaves. "It's a party. Dance."

"Yeah, Hopper," Billy repeats, grinning as he laces his fingers, clad with leather, finger-less gloves, through Frances's. "The world won't end if you dance. Promise. No one has to know you actually had fun at a party."

She glowers but, after one last glance to find that Jonathan is no longer standing in his earlier position, lets Billy tug her about. Laughter spills from her as he twirls her under his arm and throws her into a less than graceful dip. Dizziness causes her to stumble as the alcohol makes her feel suddenly light. She falls into his bare chest, her hands brushing against his hot skin, sticky where the beer had dried.

"Look at that," he says, grinning at her as they begin to sway. "She laughs."

"Don't flatter yourself," Frances responds, smiling despite herself. "It's the spiked punch. Has an adverse effect on me."

"Then I'd better get you some more. I'll be right back."

Frances nods, taking a seat to catch her breath. Tommy and Carol are no longer in sight, and she searches again to see if Jonathan has noticed her dancing with Billy. Instead, she sees Steve marching through the crowd, his face pale. He walks straight out of the door, but not before his shoulder collides with Jonathan's, who she now sees standing against the wall, looking lost. His eyes follow Steve's retreating figure, and in a moment, he's walking the other way.

Frances searches the room again to see if Nancy is anywhere around. She isn't, and even in her drunken state, Frances thinks the likelihood is that she's the reason for whatever just happened—which means she is the person that Jonathan is looking for.

Without expecting it, Frances is pulled from the couch by two forceful hands, and she finds it difficult to get her bearings as she's spun around through the crowd. The hands belong to Will, one of Tommy's friends and someone she sometimes talks to in class. He looks more wasted than her, yet is somehow steadier on his feet. Feeling numb, she let's herself be dragged around like a rag-doll and nods as though she can hear what he's saying as he leans into her ear to whisper something. Her eyes are still on the kitchen, though, waiting for Jonathan's return. She hasn't even noticed that Billy is dancing without someone else now, their drinks long forgotten.

"Stop," she whispers as nausea begins to crawl in the pit of her stomach, pulling herself away from Will and away from the crowds. Her forehead is damp with sweat, her chest tight. She's about to head into the kitchen for some space to breathe when Jonathan appears from the hallway, propping an intoxicated Nancy up. He walks her out of the back door without so much as looking in Frances's direction. She follows them slowly, stumbling to the window so that she can watch them leave. When they get onto the lawn, Jonathan picks Nancy up, carrying her to his car bridle style. He's never done that for Frances, not even when they were nothing more than friends. He despises her drunken self too much, despises how stupid and sloppy it makes her - and yet clearly it works in Nancy's favour.

Her heart sinks as he drives away, realising that not only is her boyfriend in love with someone else, but he's left her with no way of getting home, either.

A voice in her ear causes her to jump. "I haven't forgotten about our drinks. Just got distracted."

Billy is holding two cups, wearing a stupid smirk that makes her scowl. She knows it's weak, though, when she realises that her cheeks are damp. His smile falters when he sees, too.

"Woah, what's wrong?"

Nothing," she mutters. "Forget the drinks. I need to go."

"Go where?" He puts the drinks down on the counter, following as she dodges a few drunken people crowding around the punch bowl. The cold October air hits her all at once as she steps out, and she shivers, her ears beginning to throb in the sudden quiet of the night. "Hopper?"

"Don't call me that," she spits, crossing her arms over her chest to keep warm as she trips across the lawn. "Everyone calls my dad Hopper, not me. My name is Frances."

"Alright, Frances." His fingers wrap around her arm, stopping her in her tracks. "You wanna tell me what's going on?"

"No," she replies bluntly, pulling her arm from Billy's grasp and looking around disconcertedly. Only now does she realise that she has no way of getting home. "Just leave me alone, Hargrove."

"That's not gonna happen. You're drunk."

"Everyone's drunk," she spits back. "It's a fucking party. That's what you wanted, isn't it? For me to loosen up, have fun? Am I having enough fucking fun now, Billy?"

Billy frowns, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. He doesn't seem cold despite his exposed chest. "Jesus, what's your problem?"

"I don't have a problem," Frances says, her voice quietening as she realises how crazy she must seem to everyone else. If she wasn't still buzzed, she knows would have been embarrassed and blushing by now. "I just need to go home."

"Okay, fine, he nods, his blue eyes gleaming in the moonlight as he focuses on Frances. "Is your boyfriend drivin' you home?"

The mention of him causes tears to sting her eyes again and she looks away sadly. "Not my boyfriend anymore."

"Jesus Christ, how long was I gone?"

"He took Nancy Wheeler home. He ... he left me. We're over." Saying it out loud, her breath visible against the cold, makes it feel real. "That means we're over, right?"

"He left you stranded and drunk at a party to take home some other chick." He shoves his hands in his pockets, tightening his jacket across his torso. "Doesn't sound promising."

She nods, inhaling shakily. "It's been over for a while. I just thought he cared about me more than this." Realising her own vulnerability, she straightens up, wiping her cheeks quickly. "Not your problem, though. Sorry."

"I can give you a ride. I haven't drank anything for a while. I'm sober enough."

"No—"

"C'mon," he points at his blue Camaro behind you, "my cars right there. The party's shit anyway. I don't plan on stickin' around."

"You don't have to do that, Hargrove."

"I'm not gonna leave you here. I'm not a complete dick."

Frances purses her lips at the jab, but follows him to the car anyway. "Could'a fooled me."

He's about to unlock the passenger side door when he pauses. "You wanna walk?"

A shadow of a smile graces her lips and he shakes his head, holding the door open for her to slide in. "Just don't puke."

Frances is surprised by how well-kept the inside of the car is, though the smell of cigarette smoke clings to leather seats and causes a tickle in the back of her throat. Billy slides into the driver's seat, turning on the radio. Danger Zone blasts through the speakers, and he turns down the volume until it's nothing more than a low hum before slipping the key into the ignition.

Despite the company, Frances relaxes into her seat as she puts her seat-belt on and the car groans into motion beneath her. It's warmer in here than the party, and her numb hands begin to tingle with feeling again.

"Where do you live?"

"The trailer by the lake," she replies tiredly, pressing her head against the cold window pane. "You know it?"

"Yeah, I know it."

She watches as his restless, ringed fingers tap against the steering wheel. There isn't much else to say between them for a few moments, and a silence falls between them, concealed only by the music. It isn't uncomfortable, though Frances can't help but feel weary of Hawkin's newest wannabe bad boy—maybe because the alcohol-induced buzz is now more of a distant hum in her veins, weighing her down rather than making her feel light.

"No camera tonight," Billy points out when the road thins and the trees thicken, signalling that they were almost home.

"Shit," Frances curses, holding a hand to her head. "I left it in his car."

"There goes a clean break, huh?"

"That was never gonna happen, anyway," she sighs. "I don't even think he knows it's over yet."

"What do you see in him anyway? Isn't he kind of a loser?"

"Let's just ... not have this conversation."

"Alright," he agrees, parking up as they reach the trailer. The lights are off, but that isn't surprising. It's barely lived in now, only used so that nobody gets suspicious and finds out about El. "Your dad home?"

"No. He's working," she lies, unfastening her seat-belt. "Listen, thanks for this."

"You still think I'm insufferable?"

"Depends," she responds, laughter glistening in her eyes. "Did you do this just so I'd take it back?"

He shrugs. "Guess you'll never know for sure. You good from here?"

"Yeah, I'm good." She opens the door, stepping out unsteadily. "Thanks, Hargrove."

He gives her a wave of dismissal, winding down her window to call her back. "For the record, angel, I think you can do way better than Jonathan Byers."

She turns back, rooting through her purse for her keys. "Yes."

"Yes?" he repeats, looking up at her through his eyelashes as she gets further away.

"Yes," she says. "I still think you're insufferable."

If Billy replies, this time, she doesn't hear it.

part four

[morganweir]

whiteboard skywriting

ship: erica/sarah/ethan/benny/rory

tags: established polyamory, roommates/housemates 

Read it on ao3

@ericajonesweek​

The whiteboard is kinda how they communicate in the house right now. Sarah has clinicals and Rory is in the middle of some video game development that his team thinks might hit it big this time, and Benny is on an on-week for his paramedic job and Ethan is doing whatever Ethan does. He does something in politics, but Erica doesn’t really understand it, but he seems to enjoy it? He gets to protest against the military and systemic oppression of First Nations people, which is what he wanted, so Erica guesses he’s alright.

It’s a bit lonely around the house. 

She’s home most of the time, as a commissions artist can sometimes be, but there are reminders of her housemates everywhere. Sarah’s socks never make it to her bedroom, tucked under Erica’s desk instead when she comes and drapes herself across Erica’s shoulders, easy as you please. A drawing Rory had done for her hangs above the desk, pinned to the wall with one of Rory’s Hello Kitty themed push pins. Benny hung a good luck charm from one of the shelves above the desk, hanging down in Erica’s eye level to remind her of the spellcaster. And, well, Ethan had been the one to find her desk at all. He had touched it and even though his eyes hadn’t turned white, hadn’t rolled back in that terrifying way that always makes her want to reach out to catch him, he said he saw her doing really good things at this desk. It still makes her smile to think about it. 

And then there’s the whiteboard. 

There’s a green marker for Rory, purple for Erica, red for Sarah, orange for Benny and blue for Ethan. There’s purple marker, smudged slightly, scrawled proudly across the top of the board; it’s the only thing that’s ever written on the board in her color. It just says “Have a good day and be your best!” 

They make her a lot more positive than she once was. 

She wears Sarah’s class ring on her left hand, and maybe that’s a reminder of why she’s more positive now too. 

She remembers picking who would get what colors. There’s a black marker that never get used, but it was the one that Erica originally picked for herself. It’s how she feels sometimes, compared to the rest of her perfect partners and the way that they care so loudly in ways that she’s never been able to articulate so perfectly, but Benny had said no. He had taken the black marker out of her hand and told her to pick out of the colors first, so long as she didn’t pick that. At first, she had thought he just wanted it, but he grabbed orange before she could even blink. You don’t like orange anyway, he said with a grin before pointing her at the colors again, telling her to pick. Ethan had picked for her eventually. He said that she feels purple, that she feels like violet and pretty and perfect and dangerous. She had kissed his cheek and punched him in the shoulder, but she had taken it in the end too. 

This morning, the whiteboard has three colors on it, besides the purple: orange, green and red. Ethan must have been in a hurry this morning, a theory that is supported by his tie still hanging from the door of the laundry room, his cereal bowl in the sink even though he hates to leave things for Erica to do (despite the fact that she’s made it quite clear that she doesn’t mind a bit). She reads the notes instead of heading to the sink immediately, tucking her hair up into a bun sloppily. She doesn’t go for the sharpness that she once tried to project anymore; it takes up so much of her that not much else is left.

Can you make sure one of my dress shirts is clean? says the board in Benny’s sloppy orange scrawl, a crude heart and an even cruder drawing of a begging Benny there to further persuade her. Erica laughs, leaving the words. She wants to let Sarah see. She takes a bite of the apple in her hand before moving onto the next. 

One of my coworkers wants to commission you! Text me when you wake up, please! says Rory’s excited handwriting, single exclamation points more like seven and stars littering the space around it. Erica bounces on her heels excitedly and slides her phone out of her pocket, texting Rory for the deets. The three of them, the vampires of their fantastic fivesome, don’t need to sleep, but they do anyway. Benny and Ethan get creeped out when the three of them stay awake in bed with them, but they also don’t want to miss out on anything, so they pout when the vamps get out of bed too. Their seer and spellcaster would have conceded to it eventually, but she, Sarah and Rory had just decided on sleeping instead. She would probably miss it anyway. 

She reads Sarah’s last. 

Her girl always manages to make her blush. 

Don’t work too hard. I love you, it says in Sarah’s clear handwriting, half cursive and half print and all beautiful. The artist in Erica wants to study it like Monet, to grab a coffee cup full of blood and hold it in both hands, sip at it and just look, just wait there until something clicks and everything makes sense. 

Like everything makes sense around Sarah. 

Like everything makes sense around all four of them, now. Even when she’s alone in the house, it’s still bumbling with all of the energy they have, all of the love and the laughter and the million other things she could hardly name, let alone describe. Rory’s empty coffee cup (deep red stains and all) on top of the TV stand. Benny’s boots sitting outside of his doorway like that’s where they go. The scrupulous way that Ethan always tries to pick up after himself and the hilarious way that he always fucks it up. Sarah’s socks and the hair ties wrapped around every cylindrical thing that Sarah can get her hands on and the locks of dark hair that litter everything in this house because Sarah sheds like it’s fucking going out of style. 

Erica feels awfully large and awfully small all at once. And awfully like she loves every single moment of it. 

She leaves all three of the notes on the board and picks up Rory’s coffee cup, setting it in the sink with Ethan’s bowl and Benny’s plate and Sarah’s cup too. The five of them barely make enough dishes for two people, let alone the five they actually are, so it’s not like cleaning up after them is any trouble anyway. 

She doesn’t think it would be if they dirtied enough dishes for a hundred people, maybe. She’s someone’s perfect little housewife, something she promised she would never be, but. It’s not so bad. 

It’s not bad at all. Especially, when she can be the housewife of four people who think she’s the best. 

Rory takes her to Single Tear concerts, since they’re the only ones who are into it. He lets her rave and roar and they get into mosh pits together, completely unafraid of the damages they’ll take on or give. He’s her person when she just wants to go fucking feral, and that kinda rocks. 

Benny takes her on fancy dates. He told her about how he used to want to marry her but now he kinda wants her to marry Sarah or maybe Rory just so he can be there, how he wants to give her away since her Dad has never been that great. He takes her to dinner and takes her arm to escort her and acts like a complete goof the whole time and always makes sure she has a good time. He never treats her like she’s stupid. 

Ethan shows her things. She doesn’t know when he finds the time to go adventuring on his own, doesn’t know when he finds the strange haunts and weird places he takes her, but he does. A hole in the wall sandwich place in the next town over or a house that’s half falling apart that he’s already taken pictures of so that she can draw it, Ethan always knows what she needs to see. He always takes care of her. 

Sarah… Sarah does something different every single time. A Great Lakes beach at midnight. Niagara Falls on a Tuesday. Waking her up with breakfast in bed and a finger to her lips, careful to not wake up their boys before they go out and go on an adventure. Sarah surprises her, no matter what, and keeps Erica on her toes. Sarah keeps her from getting bored, keeps her happy, keeps her. 

It’s not so bad at all.

[sunkissedpages]

We’re Only Kidding Ourselves- Part Nine || Tom Holland x Reader

A/N: sorry this part is hella short but this week has been hectic and I wanted to post something anyway! Also sorry there’s no smut in this part bc sex when one person is fucked up and the other isn’t is not cool (also I didn’t feel like it was the right time but that’s besides the point) but it will happen! Eventually!

Prompt: Enemies to lovers au (from @marvelellie‘s 1k writing challenge!!)

Summary: You work as a production assistant for the Spider-Man: Far From Home crew, or rather as Tom Holland’s handler. The two of you don’t get along very well to say the least, but you won’t quit and he can’t fire you so you’re stuck with each other.

Warnings: swearing, angst (but when isn’t there), mentions of sex, vomit (sorry y’all)

What I listened to while writing: beerbongs and bentleys + the Black Panther Soundtrack bc parties...ya know

Word Count: 1.7k sorry it’s so short (title of ur sex tape)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight

You were already on board to get tipsy, but after watching Tom’s dance moves, you were ready to get shitfaced. The best word to describe his dancing was: white. But he was making an effort, and you respected that.

The bartender looked pleased to see you again. “Another round?” he asked, already reaching for the rum.

“How’d you know?” you teased.

“Lucky guess.” He grinned. His smile was equally as dazzling as the diamond studs in his ears. He poured your drink, capped the rum, and slid the glass across the bar, western movie style. You caught it with ease. “So you’re here with the group that rented out the bar?” You cocked your head at his accent. He was American and it made you wonder why he was all the way across the world working in a club in Italy.

“Yeah that’s us unfortunately.”

He made a face. “Why unfortunately?”

“The event’s mandatory for staff.”

“At least there’s free booze.”

You shrugged. “I’m not sure if I’m actually supposed to be drinking,” you admitted and flashed him your PA pass.

“Well I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

“Thanks,” you raised your glass to him and took a sip. You struggled not to make a face. Shit was strong.

“I don’t think I got your name,” he continued.

“It’s y/n.”

“D.J., nice to meet you.”

You grinned. “Likewise. It’s kind of ironic that you’re behind the bar.”

“Never heard that one before,” D.J. chuckled with a smirk. “So how long are you in Venice for?”

“Until the 5th.”

“Hey, if you’re not busy after this-”

You were distracted from whatever D.J. was saying by a cold hand on the small of your back and you jumped, but relaxed when you saw it was just Haz.

“Did you get the drinks?” he asked expectantly. You were confused. He hadn’t asked you to get him any drinks. He’d abandoned you at the door like ten minutes ago. He was smiling at you warmly, but it didn’t meet his eyes.

You stared at him blankly. “You didn’t ask me to get you anything.”

Haz looked at D.J. and chuckled. “She’s already had too much to drink, going and forgetting why she came over here. I’ll just take this one from you, love.” He took the glass from your hands and brought it to his own lips.

As soon as Haz called you ‘love’ D.J. stiffened. Sure was an English saying, but D.J. didn’t know what context Harrison was using it in. Haz didn’t call you love very often and it was the worst possible time he could’ve. Now things were awkward.

“Do you want another one?” D.J. asked you.

You opened your mouth to speak, but Haz went ahead and answered for you. “She’s good, thanks mate.”

You took a deep breath to keep yourself from exploding on the spot and dragged Harrison by the sleeve of his jacket back into the crowd out of earshot from D.J..

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Are you serious?” Harrison asked, equally angry.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?

“Please, y/n, he’s a bartender in one of the biggest tourist destinations in the world. He’s only looking for a quick fuck.”

“And who says that’s not what I’m looking for?” you demanded.

Harrison looked embarrassed. “It’s just not like you.”

“Why, because women can’t have one night stands?”

“No that’s not what,”

“And I need you to fight my battles for me?

“No, y/n-”

“Listen, I haven’t been laid for months because I’ve been working for your best friend, a twenty-two year old child, who takes up my entire fucking life! Do you know what that does to a person? So maybe when I get the opportunity to have my brains fucked out by a stranger I want to take it!”

“Can you lower your voice?”

You let go of his arm. “Yeah, whatever. But next time you ditch me at the door don’t interrupt me when someone starts acting interested.”

You stalked past him, bumping his shoulder and made your way back to the bar where you ordered another drink for yourself. D.J. didn’t hesitate to pour it for you.

It wasn’t the first time Harrison had done something like that and you always figured he was just a protective friend, but his timing was terrible. You didn’t let his weird behavior throw you off for too long though, because the alcohol was finally starting to take the edge off and Zendaya was beckoning you over to dance with her and who were you to deny her?

Z grabbed you by the hand and twirled you around making the world spin around you. You giggled and stumbled into her but she was there to steady you. You danced side by side to the beat, conscious of all the eyes on Zendaya and D.J.’s eyes on you. Light refracted off of the sequins on your dress like a disco ball bouncing all over the room, drawing attention. Zendaya was a much better dancer than you. Hell, she was professionally trained. Maybe you should have been intimidated, but you were having too much fun.

You couldn’t really think straight, but if you could you’d probably be in disbelief that you were having the time of your life with Zendaya in a club in Venice. You were a lucky bitch.

Everyone at the party was absolutely cleaning out the bar. People lost their shit for free alcohol and had zero regard for the inevitable hangover they’d all have tomorrow. Tom was going at a steady pace, tipsy, but not quite drunk yet. You weren’t sure if he was trying to avoid getting sloppy at a press event, or if he was just unaffected by what he’d already drank. You knew the boy could drink. He and Haz were the opposites of lightweights, unlike yourself. Their English blood allowed for them to consume enormous quantities of alcohol with little to no consequences, which meant that they must’ve really gone buckwild in Prague. You were supposed to be keeping an eye on Tom, but at this point you were more gone than he was.

“Aye, might want to slow down,” Tom advised, taking a glass out of your hands somewhere around round four.

“And you might want to fuck off,” you slurred.

“Yeah, I’m not giving this back,” he scoffed and brought the vodka cran to his own mouth. What was it with these boys and them taking your drinks for themselves?

“Wait no, Tom-Tommy,” you pleaded “please?”

Tom paused the glass at his lips and raised his eyebrows at the nickname, but you weren’t even aware you’d said it. He chugged the rest in one go and you gulped as you watched him. You stood in front of him with your arms crossed. “Wanna dance?”  

“Not really,” you pouted.

“Come on,” he laughed and pulled you to the dance floor.

“Tom!” you protested, but he swung you around by the hand, spinning you out and back to him. He caught you with his chest, bringing his other hand to your hips as he swayed you to the beat.

“What if people take pictures?” you whispered.

He shrugged. “They won’t. And even if they did, people can dance with friends.”

“But we’re not friends,” you reminded him.

“Right,” he amended through a tight lipped smile. “Well, people can dance with strangers.”

You let him sway you to a few more songs in the dim light. It was kind of pleasant. He did all of the work. His hands were soft and gentle on your body. If only he wasn’t such an asshole.

“The silver looks nice on you,” Tom whispered into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine despite how hard you fought it.

“Is this your way of saying you’re always right?”

He smirked down at you. “Just take the compliment.”

After the third song you started feeling sweaty. The room was spinning- and not in a good way anymore. You laid your head on Tom’s chest and closed your eyes, willing it to stop.

“You okay?” Tom asked, pulling back and gripping you by the shoulders.

“I don’t feel very good,” you said and watched Tom’s face go white as a sheet. “Mr. Stark.”

“That’s not even the line,” Tom rolled his eyes and chuckled at your bad attempt at a joke, but stopped laughing when you actually gagged. “Okay, let’s get you out of here,” he urged and pushed you through the crowd out into the fresh air.

As soon as you were outside you beelined towards the bushes hunched over them, retching. Tom winced, came up behind you and twisted your hair back between his fingers, rubbing your shoulder soothingly. The action surprised you, but you didn’t push him away.

He stayed with you as you hurled. Tears were streaming from your eyes, but he just spoke to you softly saying it was okay, you’re going to be okay, and that everything would be okay. You straightened and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” you groaned.

“Don’t worry about it,” he shrugged. ”Happens to the best of us.”

“God, I was supposed to be working tonight, not getting plastered.”

“Why...did you get so wasted?” Tom asked hesitantly. You didn’t answer right away. “Was it to get enough courage to sleep with that bartender?”

You whipped your head around so fast it made you nauseous all over again. “How is that your business?”

“We share a room.” He had a point.

“I mean, I don’t know. Maybe? Why does anyone drink?” you weren’t sure why you were admitting all of this to him, but you couldn’t say it didn’t have anything to do with the alcohol. 

“To forget,” Tom said casually, catching you by surprise. 

You didn’t know how to respond so you just cleared your throat. “You should get back inside, Spider-man.”

“I’m not leaving you out here by yourself, y/n.” He watched you sit on the edge of a brick planter, arms crossed.

“Then send Haz or Harry out, you have to go back to the party you’re the, the-”

“The golden boy?”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Absolutely not,” he smiled. “They’ll be fine for a few minutes without me. Here, let me get you back to the room.”

“No, Tom I need to stay,” you argued weakly.

“You’re in no condition to.”

“Why are you acting like you care about me?”

“Who said I didn’t?”

UM YOU DID TOM!! but that’s for next week. Sorry again that this part is shorter than usual but lmk what you think I always appreciate feedback!

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[papa-rhys]

Benevolence - Preview

Here’s Chapter One of my novel for your viewing pleasure. 

It’s only my first draft so it’s subject to change! Enjoy!

The papers have spelled my name wrong again – damn mess that they are. 

It ain’t like “Olivia Sullivan” is difficult and if they was strugglin’ so damn much, they coulda just used “Black Olli” like everyone else. They say I got some Indian in me, that it’s what makes me so “savage” in nature, but I don’t know if that’s true or not and I don’t reckon the press knows a damn thing they’re talking about when it comes to Indians. To be honest, I don’t know how much of anything them papers say about me is true, these days.  

Probably most of it. 

When you live the kinda life I live, you get in the habit of forgettin’ all the awful things you do. All the dead faces you leave behind ya tend to blur into one, and after a decade or so, the papers can say anything they damn well please about you ‘cause you can’t remember enough of what you’ve done to confirm nor deny it.  

Readin’ through the paper feels like I’m reading a Penny Dreadful, only I’s the subject of it. I ain’t got the foggiest idea whether or not I killed that man like they’s sayin’, just like I ain’t got the foggiest whether or not I got Indian blood tricklin’ through my veins. But I guess there could have been a point between the seventh and eighth shot of whiskey a few nights back where I did indeed bounce that man’s head off the edge of the bar and kill him. I suppose it does align with my reputation. 

I close the paper and fold it in half, slapping it onto the wooden bench beside me and getting to my feet. It’s a painfully hot day in El Santo, New Mexico - hotter than usual, even. The black shirt and jeans I’m wearin’ ain’t helpin’ matters, but us Sullivan’s always did value style over comfort. Stupid, really. Good fashion sense never did much to help ‘em when The Law came chargin’ into camp. The thought makes my skin flush even hotter and I shake it off. God, I’m achin’ for a little rain. 

Folk around town are busying themselves, taking advantage of the sunshine overhead. Cowboys mosey on by, dipping in and out of the saloon despite it only being just past ten in the morning. The ladies are dressed in their cotton dresses and holding their lace parasols, chatterin’ to each other about their god-awful husbands. 

Ma ‘n’ Pa always reckoned I’d make some feller a fine wife. And I suppose I would. If I wanted to. But I reckon I’m built for the life I got. I can shoot, I can brawl, I can lie, and I can damn well rob a feller blind. The Lord didn’t design me for cookin’ and cleanin’ and watchin’ babes in their cradles. I ain’t no damn maid and it’d be a waste of all I’m good at if I settled for bein’ one. I don’t gotta be cooped up in no farm house in order to show a man I love him.

I head for the general store and pick up a few supplies for the road. Baked beans, jerky, some cartridges for every one of my weapons, and a few carrots and corn cobs for my horse, Monty. It’s a long day’s ride ahead of us until we get into the next town over and I reckon we’ll both be beat by mid-afternoon and dyin’ for a good bit of grub. 

“Hey there, boy,” I coo, patting him on the side of the neck as he huffs. There’s a funny lookin’ guy standing outside the saloon a little ways up the street that’s been eyeing me since I went into the general store and I reckon I’ve been made. But I ain’t too keen on letting him know that I’m aware of him, so I keep my head tilted down as I fuss over Monty a little more. “We should make a move, I reckon,” I tell him, earning a shake of the head from him. “Yeah, well I’s the boss, not you.” 

I untwist the reins from the hitching post and mount up, keeping my head forwards as I bring Monty around and keeping my eyes off the man outside the saloon. I observe him from the corner of my eye on the way past – black hat, long black coat coverin’ a brown shirt, and gold capped boots. Ain’t no mistakin’ who he is. 

He’s a Red Wolf. Hell, I’d bet my life on it. 

I dig my heels in and Monty starts into a trot; his hoofs thudding rhythmically against the dirt road. I don’t want the Wolf to know I’s made him, but I sure as hell do want him to be able to catch up with me farther along the trail that leads outta town. He’ll follow, for certain. He wouldn’t be able to resist a young woman  and besides, he knows exactly who I am and Red Wolf creed says he’s gotta kill me soon as he recognises me. Here’s hopin’ he abides and manages to catch me.  

Otherwise, how else will I be able to kill him? 

I pull the reins steady and Monty comes to a stop at the side of the trail just before a winding tree. We’re about two miles outta town now and it’s one of the last few trees around before the scenery fades into open land, offering nothing but sky and half-dead grass either side of the trail.  

I’m outta my saddle in a split second, hopping down onto the dirt and securing Monty’s reins to the tree. He gets skittish around gunfire. Not all that useful for an outlaw, but he’s a good boy and does what he’s told, so I’ve kept him all these years regardless. He gets antsy as the man from town appears a ways down the trail and I lean against Monty with my elbow rested on the saddle and one boot crossed over the other, waiting for him to reach me. 

It takes a few minutes for him to catch up to me and for a moment I think he’s gonna keep ridin’ west, following the open road into the next town over; which would be a shame ‘cause I’m really in the mood for killin’. But he stops just ahead of me and drops down off his beige Arabian; his spurs clinking with the impact. 

He’s a few years older than me – maybe 30 ish – and his jaw is shadowed with a scruffy stubble that looks more than a few days overdue for a trim. There’s wrinkles in the corners of his eyes as he scowls at me and what’s visible of his cheeks between the wide-brimmed hat and the previously mentioned stubble is littered with scars. He makes his way towards me with his hands on his hips - flicking his coat open to flash me a glimpse at his twin pistols - and I turn to face him, lowering my arm to my side where my Colt sleeps, cradled against my hip. 

“Mornin’, Miss,” he says, nodding his head. He seems friendly enough but I know who he is. I know it’s feigned. That friendly neighbour act might work on cowboys and workin’ girls, but he ain’t foolin’ me and there’s no way he’d expect to given who I am and the history our clans got with each other. 

“Why don’t you go ahead and stop right where you stand, partner,” I tell him, stopping him in his tracks a few feet away. “I don’t reckon you’s as dumb as to not know you I am.” 

He smiles and his crooked, blackened teeth make my stomach churn a little. “I know’s exactly who you is, Miss Sullivan.” 

He dares to take another step – his hands still on his hips and his chest puffed out – and I draw as fast as the thought flits through my mind. Raisin’ a gun to a man is second nature to me. He chuckles and raises his hands, but not high enough. His chuckle stops and he draws too and in the blink of an eye, we’re both starin’ down the barrel of each other’s weapon.  

I fire first, but I don’t got any use for him if he’s dead, so I aim for the hand that holds his gun and blow a hole in his thumb, earning a roar from him. The pistol falls to the dirt and he stumbles and I’m on him in seconds; pouncing on him like a rabid dog. I’m straddling him now and he fights back until I clock him around the jaw three times with the butt of my Colt and he finally gives up. 

“Alright, alright, you made ya damn point,” he hisses, spitting a mouthful of blood into the dirt beside us. 

I grip him by the collar of his shirt, curling the fabric around my fingers and pulling tightly. “Who named The Sullivans?” I ask him. “Who told The Law where we was campin’?” 

He smirks up at me. “Your gaggle of inbred yeller-bellies had quite the bounty on yer heads,” he says. “Happens y’all just got sloppy.” 

I hit him again. “You know as well as I do that that ain’t true, so cut the shit ‘n’ give me the name of the Wolf who tipped ‘em off.” 

“I ain’t got –“ 

Another smack should do it. 

This time I angle my strike downwards and get him in the nose and the crunch it makes under the impact of my Colt is enough to damn near echo. It’d surely turn my stomach if I hadn’t done it a million times before.

He yells and his head flops back and for a second I’m worried I’s killed him, but he starts shakin’ his head and I reckon he don’t think his buddy is worth dyin’ for.  “Jacob Dixon,” he breathes, his head rolling on his shoulders and his eyelids fluttering. “Goes by ‘Dix’… he’s the feller who ratted ya damn gang out. Just… enough with the damn hittin’, girl.” 

“Where’s this feller at?” I ask. He shakes his head and swallows hard. “You tell me where he is ‘n’ I won’t bleed ya like a stuck pig,” I spit, my face inches away from his. 

“Don’t go pokin’ around for him,” he tells me. “You’ll only find stuff you didn’t wanna know.” 

“I swear to the heavens if you don’t tell me the location, I will kill you.” 

“Alright, alright… But if I tell you, you’ll let me go?” he asks, blood trickling into his mouth from his nostrils and spitting back up at me as he talks. 

“Sure, I’ll let ya go,” I tell him. “If you give me the location.” 

“We’re camped before the Arizona border. I don’t know the name of the place, just that it’s inside the boundary of the New Mexico Territory.” He coughs and splutters and spits another mouthful of blood. “We’s been there a few weeks.” 

“How many of ya?” 

“I thought was gonna let me –“ 

I’m runnin’ real low on patience and the thought of a bullet carvin’ a path through this guy’s skull is lookin’ real temptin’. “How many?” I roar. 

“Five of us! The rest of the fellers is spread out in different states. Boss wanted us coverin’ the way from here to California. Said you was gonna be comin’ for him ‘n’ didn’t want ya to get closer than he’d like.” 

I push myself up onto my feet and dust myself off, smacking the dirt away from my knees as he flops onto the floor. “What’s ya name?” I ask him, fixin’ the position of my hat. 

“Tommy,” he croaks, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and looking at the blood smeared across it. 

“Thanks for yer help, Tommy,” I tell him, raising my Colt and bringing the sights flush with his forehead. “But I never liked folk who grovel.” 

“No, wait, I –“ 

With a squeeze of the trigger, there’s one less Wolf in the pack. One less name on my list. Tommy’s blood seepin’ into the dirt of the trail beneath him, the liquid poolin’ around his head and creepin’ its way towards the spot where his Arabian had stood before takin’ off at the sound of the gunshot. His eyes are still wide with fear, his arms and legs sprawled out in every direction, and I feel damn good about it.

I wipe my mouth and then raise my neckerchief to my forehead to mop up the beads of sweat I’d earned in the sun-doused scuffle. Stuffing my Colt back into its holster, I head for Monty, who huffs and stomps at the gunshot that surely rings in his ears as much as it does in mine. “There, there, boy. It’s alright,” I tell him, placing my hand to his nose and soothing him. “I’s got us a lead on that rat of ours.”

[jimlingss]

The Truth Between Us | 03

[!!] Co-written with @gukyi​

⇒ Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 [Finale] || epilogue

⇒ summary: a book deal should be the most exciting time of your life, but there seems to be a constant and omnipresent damper on your mood in the form of a certain min yoongi, who you would just cut out from your life, if he weren’t your editor. but then, the world shifts beneath your feet, and you begin to wonder if maybe you’ve always been looking at life from the wrong angle. 

⇒ enemies to lovers au with various other au’s thrown in there

⇒ word count: 15.6k

⇒ genre: fluff, angst, drama

⇒ warnings: uhh...teeth-rooting fluff and a ‘little’ stabbing angst. very little.

⇒ a/n: part three woo-hoo!! As usual, please hit @gukyi up and shower her with that praise. the first portion of this chapter is honestly all on her and i bow down to her as the master of that au. anyways, please enjoy this chapter!! it gets a lot more intense from here on out!!!

Color fades in and out, vivid hues and vibrant shades sucked away like a vacuum, reverting a children’s coloring book into its previous unmarred state. And in the instant that a blinding brightness sears into the back of your eyeballs, the world slams into you once more.

『The universe has formed.』

Matter weaves together, buildings and forests created, growing underneath the white sky that ripples to a baby blue. Pigments and stains rush to fill objects, assembling right in front of your irises. But as castle walls and towers begin to surround your body, you know there’s something different in this place.

The tingling in your fingertips tells you so.

“Wake up, Y/N.” Someone’s shaking you and immediately, you jolt awake, eyes opening towards an intricate canopy and long hair prickling at your nose. “You’re going to be late for breakfast.”

Your friend giggles, moving away to sit at the vanity mirror and you slowly rise from the comfortable bed, hair in a disarray and eyes weary. “What the—” But you’ve been through this enough times and you clear your throat, scanning the premise. “Where are we?”

It’s a circular room that’s relatively spacious. Ten beds follow the round walls, each of them obviously belonging to a specific person with the way it's decorated. There’s a broomstick by one, royal blue bed sheets spread on another, and you blink hard when you catch the inside of a poster moving. But your attention is stolen away by a rattling trunk to the bed next to you.

“What do you mean ‘where are we’?” She frowns, turning around with her rosy powder cushion still pressed against her cheek.

You recognize the female as Irene and while last time, she had been shaking in front of the conference room under your stare, this time she’s more at eased and relaxed. It wasn’t uncommon for you to use similar characters and celebrities in the little stories you used to write.

“I...uhh..” Your vision strays off to an owl sleeping by a wooden stand nearby, an oozing vial on someone’s nightstand but more importantly, by the wooden stick beside you.

“Boy, your head must’ve taken a real hit yesterday after Yoongi zapped you with that aguamenti charm.”

“....Yoongi?”

“I know you guys like ‘hate each other’,” She makes air quotations with her fingers and exaggerates her voice, rolling her eyes to add onto the theatrics as well. “But like, can you not flirt in front of everyone? It makes my single-ass feel bad and you guys can be so cheesy, it’s pretty disgusting.”

“What?”

“You don’t remember?” Her face scrunches up, and she turns back, sprinting floral perfume by her neck. “Why are you making me re-tell your damn love story? Ugh. Fine, you were pretty knocked out anyways. Yesterday, we were in Charms practicing the water-making spell, and I was trying to be a good student but of course, you were giggling with Yoongi behind the class and before everyone knew it, you were drenched from head to toe. Apparently, he blasted your skull with the end of his wand, hard enough for you to fall over and hit your head on the ground.”

Although you barely have an inkling of your location or the realm you’re in, hearing the story, makes your blood boil and you scoff. Everything that transpired a few seconds ago, the little ‘confessions’ of yours retreats into the hollows of your kind. You're once again reminded as to why he's so goddamn annoying.

“Excuse me?! That doesn’t sound like a love story. Why is he such an ass?!” Even in this universe Yoongi is just as unbearable as he used to be.

“Uh-huh. You said the same thing yesterday but tell that to Yoongi.” A smirk appears on her lips, and she stares at you through her mirror, a mischievous glint in her irises. “He was the one who kept apologizing, looking like he was gonna cry, and he carried you to the infirmary...like ‘princess style’ in front of everyone. And he skipped the rest of his classes to be with you, dinner too. There was sherbert lemon pie for dessert, and he missed that shit for you. If that ain’t love, I don’t know what is.”

“And look,” she suddenly points next to you and your eyes follow, finding a cute bouquet of sunny daffodils lying on your bedside table, held together with a single red ribbon. “He even transfigured flowers for you as an apology. It’s so romantic, it’s disgusting.”

Your mouth draws open but before you can retort or your tongue can stumble out any incoherent words, she beats you to the punch with a scoff of her own, “Enemies, my ass.”

“W-Where is he?”

It’s all that you manage to utter from your frozen lips and her smirk grows. “Your lover boy? Probably in the Hufflepuff common room. Why?”

Before she can get another word out, you’re darting out of bed, scrambling to put on the right uniform over your shabby t-shirt and pajama shorts. Hopefully, you remember the films well enough to figure out what the uniforms are supposed to look like. There’s not even enough time to ogle at the world around you—finally, a chance to be a witch, like you’ve always dreamed of!—as your slipping into your shoes, your socks two different lengths but you hardly care. Irene looks practically speechless as she watches you fumble around your desk for your various possessions, not even bothering to take off your pajamas as you change.

You start to bolt out of the dormitory, hand rubbing at your eyes in a desperate attempt to rid them of any sleep gunk, when Irene calls after you, “And you always said you didn’t care about him!”

You’re out of the common room in a flash, barely enough time to say hello to whoever is calling your name by the fire. Stumbling through the hallways, you finally allow your brain to catch up with your feet as you stare at the surrounding castle. You can hardly believe that you’re in Hogwarts, magic at the tips of your fingers, surrounded by something you had only thought was make-believe. You’re itching to try something out, say any spell your mind can muster up with the wand in your pocket, but you know that you’d better avoid that, at least until you find a certain Min Yoongi.

“Y/N!” Someone calls.

You dart your head around to find a nameless Gryffindor, a boy who looks to be only a year or so younger than you.

“Feeling any better?” He asks as he jogs up to catch you, books pressed against his chest by a single arm.

“What?” You ask before you remember the story Irene had told you. “Oh, yeah, just needed to sleep it off, I guess,” you say awkwardly.

“Good. That was a real fall,” the boy says. “I’m surprised they didn’t punish Min harder.”

“Have you seen him?” You ask, almost too excitedly, at the mention of his name. God, when did you get so damn desperate?

“Who? Min?” The boy questions, an eyebrow raised in confusion. “Not since this morning. I heard he’d been acting strange, though. Like he’d lost his memory, or something. Probably do best to ask Jung, though, since they’re pretty close.”

God, what shenanigans could Yoongi get up to now? You’re pretty sure you remember him saying something about how he never got into the Harry Potter franchise, so you can only imagine his surprise at being spontaneously thrusted into the universe.

“I’ll find him,” you say, shrugging off your concern. “Gotta beat him up for doing that to me. Thanks, though.”

“Hope he gets what he deserves!” the boy calls out to you as you rush off in the opposite direction.

There’s no time to waste as you whip yourself down corridors and through courtyards, struggling to navigate the maze-like campgrounds of the castle. You ask a few professors for directions, and they just manage to tell you which way before you’re off again. They scold you for sprinting around and you have barely half a mind to shout an apology.

Students slowly shuffle to breakfast, ghosts yawning from their naps but you dive head first into groups and cliques, ignoring the complaints and dirty looks. It’s only when you’re out of completely breath, lungs ready to shrivel up, chest heaving up and down that you notice a familiar head of black hair.

“YOONGI!”

You scream his name with the remaining air left in your raw throat and the boy darts his head over, his eyes lighting up, and he wobbles forward with a stupid grin plastered on his face.

Like you, the person approaching looks sixteen or seventeen. It reminds you of the previous High School Yoongi that was on the tennis court. But this time, his exterior is more disoriented. His dark hair is curled into a soft cloud with strands sticking upwards, round glasses on the tip of his nose and his robes hang off his shoulders in a sloppy manner. His face is tender again, chubby cheeks pinched pink, and he looks irritatingly adorable.

“Y/N?!” He grins happily and you’re caught off guard by his rare enthusiasm. “What is this place?!”

“It’s Hogwarts.” Your lips curl against your will. “You know, the world that Harry Potter is from.”

Yoongi blinks at you and then shifts to scan the surroundings. A long time ago, he called you a nerd and ‘basic’ for being a fan of the Harry Potter series. Apparently it’s too ‘mainstream’ for his liking and now, you’re preparing yourself to face more of his whining but-

“This is amazing!”

Your eyes widen. “It is?”

“Are you kidding me?! This is so fucking cool!” He leans over the open window archway, pupils lighting up at the vast valley landscapes. As he takes in the scenery, he then pulls a wooden stick from his sleeve and bounces on his toes back to you. “Look, I have a wand too! And I saw moving paintings before I got here, like the pictures move, and I even talked to them! Did you see the staircases? They move too! The architecture is so beautiful and I don’t even think you could see this kind of thing even if you travelled abroad, Y/N! Like not even New Zealand's landscapes are this gorgeous. This is the best fucking universe I’ve been to, hands down.”

There’s a pause and then uncontrollable giggles spill from your lips.

Yoongi pouts, watching you completely lose it, and he pokes your arm. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You wipe your eyes, smile ever growing. “You’re just a dork, that’s all.”

There’s no way possible way he can refute, so, he only lets out a half-heated, “Psh.”

As a few groups of students pass the pair of you, ghosts moving through the brick walls, the whomping willow swaying to the warm breeze, you take a moment, stepping back to gaze at your companion. The yellow and black of his tie inherently rips a gasp from your throat.

“Oh my God, you’re a Hufflepuff?”

Yoongi stares down to where you’re pointing, and he frowns. Quirking an eyebrow, he asks: “What?”

“Why are you a Hufflepuff? The hell? You should be in Slytherin or something,” you inform him pointedly, wondering if it was you that made the male lead a Hufflepuff or if this is just a practical joke pulled by the Gods that got you trapped in this universes in the first place.

Yoongi is, to put it simply, the last person you would ever think to be in Hufflepuff. Sure, he might be dedicated… and hardworking, but that’s it. And those are qualities that match every house, you swear. You can’t remember the last time you heard the Sorting Hat’s little rhyme about each of the houses, but you swear that Yoongi and Hufflepuff do not mix. Maybe, if you were being particularly generous, he could be considered loyal. After all, he’s stuck with you for so long. But he was far from patient… and kind, wasn’t he?

Upon his blank expression, having absolutely no clue to what you’re talking about, you pinch the bridge of your nose, explaining yourself, “Hogwarts has four houses that you can be sorted into. Slytherin for the cunning, Gryffindor for the brave, Hufflepuff for the kind and Ravenclaw for the intelligent. Obviously, I’m an intellectual, so, I’m in Ravenclaw. The main color of the house is blue and bronze. See?” You point to your own tie and then to his. “Apparently, you’re in Hufflepuff.”

Yoongi snorts at your incessant rambling, his lips twitching into a slight smirk. “And you’re calling me the dork.”

With one more glance at you, he spins around on his toes, black robes swishing in the air. You barely manage to catch up to his large strides. “Where are you going?”

“Exploring.”

Yoongi doesn’t ask for the ending of the story or how to escape this universe and you’re not complaining either. It’s wondrous and surreal to be in the world that you’ve read about as a child and seen through theater screens. Not to mention, this isn’t an amusement park either or a re-creation. It’s the real thing, or at least your version of it.

This story was written as a guilty pleasure like the previous one too, one that you created mindlessly in your university years. There was no way you could publish an actual novel when JK Rowling had ownership of the franchise. So, it was your little secret, filled with embarrassing fantasies of hot celebrities as your wizard classmates. Except now, you were sharing it with Yoongi.

“Is that…?”

He squints, meagerly being able to make out the blonde man approaching from a distance but by the stiffening of your body, your sharp inhale and the back of his mind ringing a bell, he knows this person is familiar.

“Oh my God.” You tug on Yoongi’s arm, and he flinches when your tone moves up to a teenage-girl screeching pitch. “Oh my God, oh my God.”

It’s motherfucking Kim Taehyung again. You feel your heart soar.

And as Yoongi scowls, you practically swoon on the spot.

“How’s my favourite Ravenclaw doing?” The older, seventh-year prefect strides up to you, throwing his arm leisurely over your shoulder and pulling you close. Yoongi swears you almost combust right then and there.

Taehyung gives you a light and playful noogie before his hand reaches up to pet your head. An incoherent string of syllables slip off your tongue, steam practically rising out of your ears. The actor, that was now a Hogwarts Gryffindor, releases you and sends a mischievous look at Yoongi.

“Min, you better not be harassing my favourite Ravenclaw. I heard what you did yesterday,” Taehyung warns with a pointed expression. It’s obvious that Yoongi and Taehyung’s relationship, whatever it may be, isn’t on the best of terms. “I better keep an eye on you, Y/N. Make sure he isn’t hurting you.”

You don’t recall writing that into the piece.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Yoongi’s eyes narrow, arm reaching out and his hand captures your wrist. Yoongi tugs you in towards him and you’re caught off guard, stumbling until your head meets his hard chest and his arm has snuck around your waist, holding you close. “I can take care of her perfectly fine.”

Taehyung cocks a brow, crossing his arms in amusement and sends a knowing look towards Yoongi, one that you can’t decipher. You’re already bewildered at Yoongi, blinking up at him and wondering why this sixteen year old Yoongi was taller than you. Maybe he hit his growth spurt quicker than Tennis Yoongi.

“Well, I’ll leave you both to your own devices. I have a Herbology assignment to submit.” Taehyung begins to walk away and you whimper, hands twitching to reach out to your all-time crush. However, you don’t get the chance, not when Yoongi takes the opportunity and smoothly interlaces your open fingers with his. “Don’t get up to any trouble, you two, or else I’ll have to write you up for detention.”

The gorgeous, glowing angel sends one wink towards your companion before he turns fully and disappears. You begin to sulk, having yet again lost the opportunity of getting an autograph from him but no sooner are you being hauled into the opposite direction.

Yoongi’s palm is still clasped around yours, his hand firm and somehow comforting. You’re too preoccupied with meeting his quick steps to question it. “W-where are we going? We have classes to go to, Yoongi! And there’s breakfast in the Great Hall—”

“Y/N.” He quirks his head over to stare into your eyes. “You know you’re not really a student here, right?” There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes.

He’s not wrong.

Soon, your footsteps are synchronized with Yoongi’s as you scour the castle together, peeking in every nook and cranny, skipping classes and running in the other direction when professors are walking past. The pair of you snicker and giggle like children, hiding behind shelves and pillars before the coast is clear, and he takes your hand once more, tugging you along.

You’ve never seen Yoongi so childish and excited before. He’s practically a kid, himself, and it makes you giddy too.

“Y/N, Y/N, look!” The two of you were in the East Wing courtyard, alone while the students were in their classes. Yoongi’s got a book he’d stolen from the library earlier under his arm, one copy of a Standard Book of Spells. He’d almost nabbed one about flowers, too, but it was absurdly heavy and not worth lugging around.

“Yoongi, it’s dangerous! Don’t—”

He looks down into his hand holding the textbook, and he flickers his other wrist in two gentle motions, letting the wood of his wand dip down slightly in the second movement. “W-Wingar…dium Levi...Leviosa…?”

Suddenly, a rock a few meters away is lifted into the air, levitating. Your jaw drops. Yoongi bursts from enthusiasm and hops up and down. “Look Y/N, look!”

“Holy shit! How did you do that?”

“Try it!”

Magic doesn’t come as easily to you as it does into Yoongi. It’s unfair since you were a fan first but no matter the different pronunciations you try or the ways you move your hand, it doesn’t work. Your frustration multiples until Yoongi sighs, walking up and grabbing hold of your wrist again.

“It’s Levi-O-sa,” Yoongi stresses, hand gripping yours tightly as he guides your want movement. “Emphasize the ‘O’ part. Not the ‘A’ part,” he instructs dutifully.

You try to ignore the way your chest shakes as Yoongi teaches you the spell, instead hoping to focus on the anger that should be bubbling up in your core from how unjust the fact is that he’s better at magic when you’re the one who even got him into this universe in the first place.

Together, Yoongi coaches you through the spell, until your voices are soft and your movements are natural as you say, hand in hand, “Wingardium Leviosa.”

“Oh my God, it’s working.”

Albeit, you’re lifting a feather instead of a goddamn rock, it’s still levitating mid-air and laughter breaks from your mouth. Yoongi matches your grin. “We should try the fire-making spell next.”

He lets go of you, moving to sit on the grassy lawn and flip through the old pages. You frown but you continue to make the feather float. “What if we accidentally set the school on fire, and we alter the story too much, and we can’t leave?”

“Relax.” His finger lines the endless sentences. “This is a grade-one book. If eleven year olds can do this, so can we.”

“But we’re not really wizards or witches, Yoongi.”

“In this world, we are.” He’s much too eager. You’re not even sure if Yoongi wants to leave this universe. But you let him have his fun, watching as he draws a flame with his wand and mutters ‘Incendio’, setting leaves into an orange inferno. Yes...for once, you let him have his fun.

That is...until he figures out how to white sparks and begins to zap you with it.

“Yoongi! Stop it!” You’re running as fast as you can while he’s hot on your tail, laughing maniacally like the evil, little bitch that he is. “This isn’t funny!”

“I’ll stop running if you stop running!”

Even if the white sparks don’t hurt you in any way, shape or form, it still freaks you out. The sparks are like mini-explosions or fireworks, and they way it crackles is loud. Not to mention, when he keeps flickering them at you, the fog makes it difficult to see and breathe.

“I swear I’m going to kill you!”

He shoots another one towards your feet. “I’d like to see you try!”

You cackle, spinning around and zapping one at his face. “Ha! Take that!”

He barely manages to dodge. “Oh, it’s on now, witch!”

“Yeah?” You stop by a tree, sticking out your tongue and mocking him. “Is it now?”

Yoongi’s preparing to launch another attack on you, maybe tackle you down onto the soft bed of grass as well. All you do is squeal and shut your eyes, preparing for another white firework eruption but-

“HEY!”

There’s a bloodcurdling shriek from the open corridor and you both, simultaneously, crane your heads around. There’s a mysterious professor with a gold pendulum hanging off his neck, robes a dark blue and hair a stark carmine. His brows are so furrowed, it almost looks like the wrinkles will permanently crease into his skin. From his age, you could probably assume they already have.

Oh God, you hope you didn’t write Professor Snape into this piece. Imagine the horror.

“What are you doing?!” He squawks and begins to march up, Yoongi taking a step back in fear. It’s unusual since he’s never really afraid of anything but completely understandable at the same time. The professor looks like he’s about to have a hernia. “Don’t you have classes to attend? I’m immediately docking forty points each off of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw because of your irresponsibility and buffoonery!”

Maybe if you were actually students here, you’d feel a little bad. From what you can gather, at least you are a well-liked individual here at Hogwarts, whereas Yoongi, not so much. You wonder what your make-believe peers would think if they found out you were the reasons their houses are in last place.

You can only grimace guiltily as the professor drones on about responsibility and ‘being mature’ and other nonsense that neither you nor Yoongi seem to care about. Even though he’s hidden his wand up his sleeve, it’s clear that he’s itching to get to try something else, cast another spell or see another magical moving object. You wonder if it’s Quidditch season yet—maybe you can take Yoongi to a game. You know he’ll enjoy it more when he’s not the one engaging in the sport. Besides, he’s always been a basketball fan—you remember him mentioning the fact offhand during one of your meetings. Quidditch is like, basically the same thing. Except on brooms. And with three balls. Two of which fly around on their own accord.

Shrugging, you hope that this universe’s you doesn’t have a penchant for mischief, because you’re about to ruin that reputation very quickly.

“Professor,” you say, voice sickeningly sweet as you interrupt his spiel, “can you tell me about Harry Potter?”

The professor seems taken aback. “Harry Potter? Why?”

“I just want to know more about him. Is it true that he survived the Killing curse?” You ask, feigning interest. You already know everything there is to know and more about The Boy Who Lived.

“Well, there’s not really much to say,” the professor says. “Four years ago, He Who Must Not Be Named tried to murder him, but he survived. We know very little about what happened to him, but I believe he is being taken care of by Muggle relatives.”

Aha! So this universe is before Harry Potter’s time. Thank God, really. You don’t know what you would have done if you had to deal with getting yourself and Yoongi out of this universe while at the same time having to fight off the forces of Lord Voldemort. There’s a limit.

“Oh, thank you Professor!” You say as though the man just cured cancer. “I had heard they were just rumors. Well, we best be off to class, goodbye!” You cry quickly before grabbing onto Yoongi’s hand and dragging him away from the professor before he can berate you for anything else. Yoongi’s cackling the entire way back to the castle, unable to stop laughing at the façade you put on in front of the teachers.

“Wow, are you sure you’re not Slytherin?” Yoongi asks, very obviously pleased with himself that he’s finally getting a grasp on the magical jargon of this realm. You have to admit, it’s kind of cute, how satisfied he looks with himself.

You purposely bump into his shoulder, a rather playful movement that has him grinning. “Please, if I was a Slytherin, with my beauty and brains, this world would be doomed. You’d never make it out alive.”

Come to think of it, there are so many goddamn dangerous things in the magical world of Harry Potter that it’s as if death waits around every corner. Suddenly, you feel much more responsibility to make sure Yoongi doesn’t trap himself in a Devil’s Snare or bump into the Whomping Willow by accident. Knowing him, of course, he absolutely would.

“We should probably stick closer to the castle,” you tell him as you begin walking down the open hallway. “Just in case we get caught. I could probably lie about something. It seems like everyone likes me in this universe,” you say happily. “Well, everyone except you.”

You poke Yoongi in the chest as you walk along, nodding hello to the ghosts that pass you by. They don’t give a shit about whether or not you’re in class, thankfully. He curls into himself adorably, like one of those pillbugs, soft smile growing on his face.

“Hey,” he says indignantly, pouting. “I like you. Everyone thinks that, at least. And I mean, I think so, too.”

“How many universes did it take?” You joke, holding out your fingers to count. “Five? Six?”

Yoongi frowns. “You can’t even remember how many universes we’ve been through?”

You cross your arms in front of your chest as you turn a corner, nearly knocking into a statue that would probably shout in surprise if you did. “Can you?” You ask as a rebuttal.

Yoongi keeps his eyes trained on the ground. “I lose track of time when I’m with you,” he mutters under his breath. It’s so quiet that you almost don’t hear him. Almost.

You pause as your mind processes the words, like it requires so much brain-power to comprehend and turn them into a thought you can coherently respond to that you need to come to a full-blown stop. Yoongi seems so distracted that he nearly keeps going, leaving you behind, but notices at the last second that you’ve strayed away.

“Did you… did you say something?” You ask, blinking, as if that’s going to help.

“Me? No, no,” Yoongi says, shrugging. Strange. You swear he did. Maybe you’re just fucking with yourself. There’s no way Yoongi would ever flirt with you. “Hey, what’s that closet over there?”

He manages to distract you easily, pointing towards a wooden door with a black sign plastered over it that reads: NO STUDENTS ALLOWED. Well, that’s practically got your names written on it. As you scurry over, you can hear a familiar monotonous voice from the room next door, and that’s when it hits. This is the Potions closet.

Oh God, if Snape catches the two of you, you’re dead meat. Maybe you can pull the Herbology card if desperate times call for desperate measures. Lord knows Sprout’s always been quite the gullible professor.

As you approach, you can clearly make out Snape berating what sounds to be a first year, if the crying on the other end of the conversation is anything to go by. Oh, classic Snape. Thank God you’re skipping all of your classes today. And for the rest of the time you’re here. Hopefully, his voice is so loud that he won’t be able to hear you and Yoongi sneaking into a closet that you will definitely get detention for being in.

“Quietus,” you cast, vaguely remembering the spell from one of the books. You point your wand at your footsteps, hoping the charm will silence them as you near the closet. “Alohomora.”

Easily, the door opens. Damn, Snape needs to work on his door locking techniques if it’s so damn simple for two students who know very little about Hogwarts to get inside. You shush Yoongi as you tug him inside by the collar, quickly shutting the door behind you and hoping that nobody saw.

“Lumos,” you say, allowing light to pierce the end of your want (and your retinas) so you can scan the shelves, glancing at anything that catches your eyes.

There are vials filled with sparkling purples, deep matte blues, bright yellows, lime greens, and everything in between. A few of them ooze and give off strange fumes, others foaming and frothy. Some of them have labels, and some of them don’t. Yoongi mimics your actions until his wand also starts to glow, excitedly peering in every nook and cranny. It seems that he doesn’t want to miss a second in a world like this.

“Don’t touch anything,” you advise Yoongi, knowing well enough that you are unfamiliar with most, if not all of these potions, and that consuming any one of them would be more than just a terrible idea. It would be straight disastrous.

“What’s Amortentia?” Yoongi asks as he plucks a small bottle from the top shelf. It’s gleams a mother-of-pearl type sheen, soft and pink, and when Yoongi removes the cap, it emits steam in the shape of spirals. “Smells good.”

“Yoongi, don’t—!” You cry out softly, but it’s too late, as Yoongi is already downing the entire bottle like a dehydrated madman and stuffing the emptied glass into his pocket for safekeeping. Your eyes widen at the sight of him as the color seems to drain right from his body for a mere few moments before returning, his lips colored a dusty rose.

“It didn’t do anything,” Yoongi says, disappointed. “I don’t feel any different.”

“God dammit, Yoongi,” you exclaim to yourself, shaking your head as you reach over to grab his hand. “Thought I told you not to touch anything.”

“You don’t understand, Y/N. It smelled amazing. I can’t—I can’t figure out what that scent was, but it was perfect. I want to take that scent and turn it into a personalized Febreze bottle, so I can have it for the rest of my life,” Yoongi says. He leans in close you to, pressing his head into the crook of your neck for a solid five seconds as you freeze up at the touch. “Come to think of it, it smells like you.”

“Me?” You ask, shocked. You push his head away instinctively, unsure how to feel at the touch. It was foreign and familiar, all at once. Yoongi seems to have that effect on you. “Why on earth would it smell like me?”

“I don’t know,” Yoongi says, shrugging. “You smell like… paper. And ink. And new books. You know that new book smell, when you go to Barnes and Noble and buy a brand-new novel and you’re in the line for the cashier and you just sniff the pages because they are so crisp and untouched and perfect? That’s what you smell like.”

“You have a good nose,” you point out.

“It’s easy to distinguish,” Yoongi says in return. “But there’s something else I spell that I can’t put my figure on,” he mumbles but then shrugs it off. “What was Amortentia even supposed to do? It’s like I drank it and then nothing happened. You’re still you and I’m still me. No body-swapping, or anything. Boo.”

“I really don’t think that’s what Amortentia is supposed to do, unless it goes horribly wrong,” you say warily, eyes wide at the thought. This universe business is enough, imagine if you had to go through it trapped in Yoongi’s tiny frame! “It’s a love potion, as far as I remember.”

Yoongi looks as though he’s seen a ghost. A real one that’s meant to spook you, not like the ones that parade around Hogwarts greeting you. “A… a love potion?”

“Yeah,” you say, nodding to yourself. “Except maybe this one was just faulty, since nothing changed when you took it. I mean, who were you even supposed to fall in love with, then?”

Yoongi’s silent. Guess he doesn’t have an answer.

You grab onto his hand, directing your illuminate wand towards the door to the closet. “We should probably get out of here before Snape finds us and skins us alive,” you say, hoping classes haven’t finished yet and the hallways are clear for you to continue fooling around.

Yoongi nods, eyes glinting in the light from the spell as you shine the light close to him, just to make sure he hasn’t drifted off somewhere. The door creaks ever so slightly as you peer out, making sure the coast is clear. When there’s nobody in sight, you and Yoongi slowly tiptoe out, Yoongi’s hand held firmly in yours as you lead the two of you from the closet and hope that nobody catches you.

Once you’re down the hallway, safe and sound from any trouble, you and Yoongi make the executive decision of camping yourselves on one of the benches as you wait for whatever’s next.

“Are you sure nothing changed when you drank that potion?” You ask as you lean in close, just to make sure Yoongi’s eyes haven’t turned an ominous red, or anything. You swear, that’s the only reason you’re staring into them. Seriously.

Yoongi looks himself up and down and shakes his head. “I feel the same.”

“Huh,” you say to yourself, positively perplexed. You doubt Snape would keep a faulty love potion in his closet full of things that are strictly prohibited from students, but you can’t think of any other explanation for the lack of change in Yoongi’s behavior. Maybe potions magic didn’t work on you since you were actually a muggle. Still, that doesn’t explain your ability to cast all the charms you have. Unless…

No, you must be going crazy. There’s absolutely no way.

“What next?” Yoongi asks as he stares out into the little courtyard that rests right next to you, a single tree growing out from the ground in the center. The campus seems so quiet when you two are the only ones making noise.

“We figure out what we need to do to get home,” you say.

“Mr. Min! Miss Y/L/N!”

The unfamiliar voice of a female teacher catches the both of you off guard. It’s no McGonagall that’s approaching you. Instead, it’s the vaguely memorable face of who you believe to be the Muggle Studies teacher that’s sauntering towards both of you, hands firmly planted on her hips.

“What are you two both doing out of class?” She asks, but she doesn’t seem particularly threatening.

“We were just taking a break,” you say, truthfully. “I don’t really understand what’s happening in class right now, and I was hoping Yoongi could explain it to me.”

You sweeten your voice, batting your lashes back and forth in order to alleviate the situation. In the meanwhile, Yoongi stares at your profile and stifles back a snort. Unfortunately, however, the professor isn’t as susceptible to your cunning charms as much as the other one.

“Well, you two certainly have some chemistry,” she comments. Even the teachers are in on it? Damn, maybe you’re more popular than you thought. “I’d suggest going back to class before someone punishes the both of you. You have Defense Against the Dark Arts right now, correct?”

She knows your schedule better than the both of you, so you nod. At least you appear to have escaped any sort of punishment. You can hardly imagine how disappointed your house would be if they found out that you were the reason that you lost all of those house points, because you were traipsing around the castle with Yoongi. Irene would never let you hear the end of it.

“Well, move along then,” she says, motioning to the door across the hall. “Don’t want to see the two of you out here during class time again, understand?”

You and Yoongi firmly shake your heads, nodding like the diligent and respectful students you apparently are as you awkwardly approach the thick wooden door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Like fate would have it, you were conveniently right beside it the entire time. Hopefully nobody will think too much of two students sneaking into class halfway through it. You’ve lost enough points already.

Luckily, you and Yoongi manage to find your seats—right next to each other—without drawing too much attention to yourselves, opening your textbooks immediately and pretending as if you were there the entire time. It doesn’t look like the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher—whoever they are, since you’re before Harry Potter’s time—pays very much attention to the class at all.

Sometime during the lecture, Irene whips her head around from where she’s sitting and spots the two of you. She gives you this incredulous look, like a sort of “What the fuck are you doing and where the fuck did you come from?” kind of expression, one that has you smiling guiltily in return with Min Yoongi’s head resting in the crook of your neck.

“The Patronus charm is one of the most powerful defensive spells in a wizard or witch’s arsenal. But, it is also one of the most difficult,” you catch the professor saying, paying minimal attention since you just so happen to know most of the information about it. “The corporeal Patronus takes the shape of a guardian spirit, typically an animal. They are often animals with which you share a strong bond with, whether it be physical or emotional, but the guardian’s form can also change should you experience an unwavering, eternal love of some sort.”

Just at that moment, Yoongi’s hand brushes over yours. You pay little attention to it, instead choosing to focus on the professor.

“Today, we will be practicing it, just so that you can all get a feel for the spell. I want an essay of two rolls of parchment on its uses and its history on my desk in exactly a week, though,” the professor instructs, whipping out his wand. “In order to conjure it, you must think of the happiest memory you have, one that brings you nothing but the biggest of smiles, as you say the words: Expecto Patronum.”

You hear Yoongi next to you, muttering the spell under his breath. Is he actually going to try to cast it? You recall The Order of the Phoenix—you remember how difficult it was for Harry to teach everyone how to cast it. And those were skilled wizards, too. Not just any random human, plucked off of the street. Like Yoongi.

“You will make a circular motion with your wand and say the incantation, but be careful not to point your wand at anybody, as the light that the spell emits is quite bright,” the professor warns. “Watch.”

With a simple twist of his wand, he says, “Expecto Patronum.” From the end of his wand bursts forth a simple white light before it morphs into the shape of a fox, bounding from one end of the room to the other. The students are mesmerized—and so is Yoongi—as they watch it leap around the room, a trail of white dust following it until it disintegrates into the air.

“Now, for your turn. Remember, circular motions,” the professor advises, stepping off of the platform to begin inspecting students’ techniques.

“What’s the incantation, again?” Yoongi asks as he stands up, readying himself.

“Expecto Patronum,” you repeat from memory. Prisoner of Azkaban was always your favorite book. “What memory are you using, Yoongi?”

“Uh…” Yoongi says, pausing. “When I was six. And I won my school’s spelling bee. Yeah, that’s it,” he quickly tells you.

“Born to correct other people’s spelling errors,” you joke, nudging him slightly.

What Yoongi doesn’t tell you, though, is how his happiest memory is merely from the prior universe. It’s seeing you, standing in front of him in a jumpsuit that brings out the deep color of your eyes, telling him that there’s nobody you’d rather be with than him. Even though the confession was only so that you could move onto the next universe, you didn’t really mean what you said, it is something that Yoongi will cherish for as long as he can, for as long as he knows you and more. He knows that once you are freed from these universe travels you will go back to hating each other, so he savors every moment by your side.

“How about we cast them together?” Yoongi suggests. “Just to see.”

“We are probably the least qualified sixth years to be doing this spell, just saying,” you point out as you stand up next to him, wand at the ready.

Yoongi chuckles. “I think that makes this even better.”

“Okay,” you say, breathing out, thinking of the happiest memory you can. You try and tell yourself it’s when you graduated from high school, or had a 3AM bonfire with friends during the summer of your junior year of university, but what seems to cover them all is Yoongi’s face. Memories with him are limited but overwhelmingly present, like your brain is insisting that your happiest moment has occurred with him. And that’s when you realize. Your happiest moment is right now, is every universe before this and every universe after because you don’t think you’ve ever had as much fun in your life. Maybe you’re trapped with Yoongi but that’s alright, because you can’t help the smile on your face when you see who each universe has turned him into, a little different but still the Yoongi you know so well. You’re living through your happiest moments because you are next to him every step of the way, every world you enter and every world you leave. He is your happiest memory.

Together, the two of you follow through with the movements of your wands and say, gazing at each other the entire time, “Expecto Patronum.”

Yoongi’s is the one you notice first. It materializes from a collection of white dust, sparking under the firelight of the classroom as it travels around the room, slowly forming the shape of a cat. It’s calico—you can tell from the clear markings that decorate its fur—and it meows, just for good measure before running back to Yoongi’s wand and disappearing.

And then you see yours. It’s a poodle. Of all things, a poodle, barking happily as it jumps around the room, the dust circling you and Yoongi excitedly before vanishing in front of your eyes. You and Yoongi are speechless as you stare at your wands, wondering what your patronuses mean. You can’t say you’ve ever felt connected with a poodle, of all animals.

“A cat?” Yoongi asks loudly, sort of in shock. “Why a cat? I don’t even like them.”

You scoff. “Cats are my favorite animal, alright? Back off. I mean, mine was a freaking poodle, of all things, so it’s not like you’re the only one who got snubbed.”

“I had a poodle when I was little,” Yoongi points out randomly. “His name was Holly.”

“You did?” You ask, turning to him. “I didn’t know that.”

Before Yoongi can say something else, Irene begins laughing. She bursts into giggles from her seat across the way, having forgotten entirely about the Patronus charm as she doubles over. You and Yoongi look her way, equal amounts of bewildered. The rest of your classmates have also turned to stare, their wands dropping, none of them yet able to create a patronus like you and Yoongi. Even the professor, himself, is amazed at your magical abilities.

“Are you guys serious?” She asks between laughs. “Seriously? You don’t even know?”

“Know what?” You ask, an eyebrow raised.

“Oh my God, you guys are crazy. Are you seriously that blind?” She asks like you’re missing the elephant in the room, like the answer is staring you down but you can’t even see it. “You guys wouldn’t know love even if it punched you in the face.”

Love? What’s love got to do with it? You furrow your brows in an attempt to increase your understanding, hoping to figure out why Irene looks so incredulous, why she’s acting like you and Yoongi are in a constant state of beating around the bush. The professor had said that the Patronuses are only affected when you are in an eternal love, but what does that mean for you?

Immediately, your mind drifts back to the Potions closet. The Amortentia. Yoongi drank it without experiencing any effects in return, but maybe he didn’t need to. Maybe the love potion wasn’t going to do anything anyway. And now, you’re standing here with Min Yoongi casting his patronus as your favorite animal, and you’re casting his, and suddenly it seems fairly obvious.

“You don’t think…?” You ask, unsure if you’re directing your question at Yoongi or at Irene.

Irene rolls her eyes. “It’s high time the two of you realized that you were in love!”

A few of your peers are snickering at the exclaimed proclamation and the professor smiles discreetly, turning away to help a few struggling students.

It’s one thing to have this feeling under your skin, this subtle awareness of the fact, and it’s another for a fictional character to blatantly spell it out for you. Now that you’re hearing it out loud, coming from someone’s mouth, it suddenly feels easier to argue against. Like it’s easier to disregard, to disprove, only because everyone’s acting as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“We’re not in love,” you say defensively.

Maybe it’s just your characters. Maybe you’re just embodying the protagonists that you had created for this universe, maybe they are the ones that are supposed to be in love and you and Yoongi are just mimicking their actions, their personalities. That would explain Yoongi’s placement in Hufflepuff. Your mind rattles as it tries to grab onto any semblance of logic, of reasoning, any explanation for the strangely romantic behavior in this universe other than your true emotions. It’s almost like you refuse to accept the end result for what it is. Like you can’t ever comprehend the idea of Yoongi actually caring for you, or vice versa.

You swear, if you were back in your own world, you’d still hate each other. It’s just the Universe Effect™.

Irene scoffs. “Yeah, I’ll believe that when You Know Who comes back.”

“Actually—” You begin.

“Just kiss him already!” Another boy calls out in exasperation. He earns a chorus of agreement.

Yoongi looks like he wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole, and you have to admit, you’re with him on this one.

“Min Yoongi, can you explain this?” You inquire, turning to him.

He’s silent.

It’s just this universe. It’s the magic that’s making your brain delusional, tricking you into thinking Min Yoongi, of all people, is in love with you. Sure, through each universe you’ve retained your core personalities, but maybe this world has just placed you more firmly into the shoes of the characters you created. The characters are supposed to be madly in love, not you and Yoongi. That would explain the Amortentia. And the Patronuses.

You and Yoongi aren’t in love, right?!

You grab hold of Min Yoongi’s collar, staring him dead in the eyes. Everyone around you begins to cheer, to chant, but all you can see is him. Even as the world begins to twist and turn, to morph into an indistinguishable blob of nothingness, he is the only thing your gaze rests upon.

Once more, like all the other times before, the world is ripped away from your fingertips.

Your surroundings wash away, your vision being blinded by light and your body floating like a feather in an empty abyss, just waiting to be placed in a different galaxy. The tingling sensation of magic, of a wondrous supernatural wizardry is torn from your blood and bones. But instead of feeling hollow and barren, something else has shifted inside your chest. Although you cannot forth spells or charms with the flicker of your wrist or enchant another being with syllables rolling off the tip of your tongue, you are far from feeling desolate. The magic has simply moved elsewhere.

And you only feel it when you think of Yoongi.

『The universe has formed.』

“Y/N. Wake up.” The voice is more urgent this time around, a note of panic ripping through the sweet and soft timbre. “Why are you sleeping?”

“W-what?” It’s difficult to peel back your eyelids. You haven’t felt so weary and exhausted in such a long time. It’s as if your muscles have been overly-exerted and your bones are brittle, the feeling of being famished embedded into your flesh. You are weak. You are weary.

“My wedding is tonight. Hurry.”

You sit up from your spot on the floor, having curled up into fetal position in the corner of the room. And once your rise on your trembling legs, you are met with the most gorgeous woman on the planet.

She is the same stature as you but the lady stands taller from her wealth, radiating the confidence that you do not have. Her skin is smooth and polished, hair perfectly combed back into braids that build beautifully at her crown, multiple jeweled hair pins sticking from her locks. Her lips are two daffodil petals, cheeks pinched into a roseate shade, gown made from the finest silk fabrics, red skirt imprinted with black swirls and intricate loops.

“Heo Yeonhwa…” The young lady’s name is already rolling from your tongue without a single thought.

She is one of your most memorable characters. She was the first fictional being that you ever cried for. She is someone that has always been real inside of your mind, someone who suffered her entire life and even in the end, found nothing for her future. Yet, she embodies the person you’ve always wanted to be.

Dignified. Fearless. Beautiful.

Her brow lifts from your impolite speech, directly calling her name without any sort of proper title attached to it. But she allows it to pass, pacing until she meets the murky vanity and sets herself down on the seat. “Re-do my hair. It’s hurting my scalp.”

“O-okay.”

As you approach, you catch your reflection. You are nothing but a lowly maid, face permanently dirtied and sunburnt, cheeks hollow and outline of bones visible, hair matted down and tucked into a low ponytail. Your clothes are of dull colors, browns and soiled whites. You are nothing in this world. And that makes it all the much harder to accept the ending to this story.

An ending that you know like the back of your hand.

With gentle fingers, you carefully undo the pins and clips, letting her braids fall before you unwrap them. Against your will, your hands begin to tremble as you brush her soft, long hair. Guilt and remorse begins to envelop your being. Facing your own character makes you wonder why you used your pen on paper, why you let your fingers tap against the keys, to make her destiny so horrible. Maybe it’s true after all that writers are the most evil of them all.

For the first time, you truly feel like the villain.

“Why are your hands shaking, maid?!” Her tone is clipped, sharp and venomous. You wince, and she rips her own strands away from your grasps with a huff, doing it herself.

“I-I’m sorry.” You jump back, grabbing fistfuls of your skirt and downcasting your head, bottom lip quivering. You lack the courage to look her in her eyes, but she does not.

“—Your highness,” she corrects.

“Your highness.” You nod. “I’m sorry, your highness.”

A sigh spills from her pretty lips and her fingers work her locks, braiding it tightly without a single piece loose. “Soon, it’ll be princess. And one day, you’ll have to call me Empress.”

There’s a silence. She gazes at you through the mirror and her body softens. “Y/N,” the lady calls you quietly, “look at me.”

With hesitance, you lift your chin, locking your gaze upon her.

“You don’t have to be afraid. Be at ease.” A tiny smile graces her lips, and she nods at you, gentler and becoming almost a maternal presence. “There was no need for you to apologize.”

“I—”

“And there’s no need for you to call me such a title, at least when we’re alone.” Supposedly, you grew up together, practically sisters at this point. But you feel like you know her on a deeper level. You wrote her, you know all her emotions and experiences, you created her.

In a way, you are her.

“I’m sorry if I’ve been harsh to you.” She drapes her braids behind her back, hands folded into her lap. “Things have been getting out of hand at the palace. I haven’t been feeling well.”

“There’s no need for you to apologize to me, your highness.” You’re compelled to speak to her as delicately as you can, afraid that the fragile girl will shatter in your hands. She is no less than your age but has lived through more than five lifetimes worth of pain. At least, that’s what you’ve written her as.

You step forward, raising your hands to do her hair again, at least to the best of your abilities.

There’s a quiet and peaceful moment, the morning air seeping through the open window, the birds swooping across the azure sky and chirping their lively lullabies. The sun gleams down, rays pouring through the paper walls and a sort of serenity fills your soul.

“Do you think he’ll ever love me?”

Lady Yeonhwa stares at you carefully through the mirror. It’s a test, a deliberate question. But her gaze tells that she already knows too much about your own inner feelings.

“The crown prince.” She clarifies, “Min Yoongi.”

You swallow down the thick lump in your throat. “I’m not sure.”

“Love is fickle. At least that’s what my mother told me all my life. It’s what she told me before we came here.”

You don’t know what to say to her, how to make things better, how to lessen the agony that is to come. Sure, you’re not attached to this universe, you don’t shoulder any real responsibilities, there’s no need to feel any guilt. But you cannot bear to hurt her, the person who is all too real in front of you.

“So are humans,” you add on hesitantly, wondering if it’s right to speak up when she’s in the middle of voicing her own worries. “A-are you ready?” Your cotton-filled mouth manages to stumble something coherent out, though you wince at the next words. “To marry Min Yoongi.”

“I don’t have a choice, ready or not. It is my duty to marry him.” Anything less of that would ruin her reputation, soil her family name. After all, her own family was the one who forced her into this position, and they would never accept her back if anything else happened. It’s a life of suffering. “I cannot run away.”

You speak nothing, uttering no syllables. Merely, you force your fingers to stop quivering and you fix her up-do as best as you can before she takes over, polishing the flyaways and sitting back when you place the pins back into her tightly knotted strands.

Once it’s complete, you step away.

Lady Yeonhwa is the one that parts her lips to whisper first- “Y/N, have I wronged you in any way?”

Your blood runs to ice. “Pardon?”

The young girl turns in her seat, eyes desperately reading yours. “I’ve been gracious to you since the day you set foot into our manor. We lived together, grew up together. I shared the same bed as you for many years, and we learnt how to read, write, together. I love you like a sister born from the same parents and I know lately, lately, we haven’t been as close. I’ve been distant to you, cold, but let me make one request.”

She drops down to her knees. Your eyes widen. If you knew anything about this girl that you created with your own hands and thoughts, it’s that she never begged anyone.

“Lady Yeonhwa—”

“I have no one.” She faces the ground. “My parents, my brothers, they’ve all left me. I’ve been sold to the royal family and I know it won’t take long before I’ll be thrown away again. He’ll find a million other concubines in place of me. I’m nothing but a pawn, but…but, Y/N, I—”

There’s scattered footsteps outside of the door, rattling the frame. “The Crown Prince awaits.”

The doors burst open and it’s Min Yoongi, the person you’ve been waiting for.

Except, this time, you don’t want to be taken away by him. Still, he marches forward, without giving the other woman in the room a single glance, grabbing onto your wrist and leading you outside. “W-wait—” you stutter, but he stops you.

“We need to talk, Y/N. Like, now.”

The four guards don’t ask any questions, even if he’s of royal status, personally talking to a lowly maid like you. In the story, he’s the prince and his word is final. And as you’re dragged away, you turn your head one last time, catching a glimpse of Yeonhwa, how she’s still bowing on the ground and how tears have begun to trickle from her lash line. The doors shut.

“Thank God you’re here.” Once he’s lead you to the secluded gardens, Yoongi turns and embraces your body, pulling you close until your chest is pressed against his. A broken gasp spills from your lips and your hands tremble, lifting to return the touch, grasping at him.

You clutch him close, like he’s your only lifeline. Your nose digs into the crook of his neck and you hold back a heart wrenching sob. One question rings inside your mind: why is it so difficult to have him close to you?

“I missed you,” he murmurs and you nod, weakly humming a single note.

You were taken away so abruptly from him. One moment, his eyes had grown wide when you grabbed a hold of the collar of his shirt, and the next, you had dissipated from his grasps. As disappointing as it is to Yoongi for leaving the wonderful world of Hogwarts, there are more pressing matters at hand.

“I missed you too.” It stings when you pull away, an itch underneath your flesh that screams for you to hold onto him before he’s taken from you.

You both face each other and a smile finds its way up your lips when you see how well he is in this place. He looks healthy, dressed adequately, hat and blue robes with the emblem of a dragon on his clothes. In contrast, you are the complete opposite, weak and feeble. Yoongi could feel your bones when he hugged you close and to see you in such a state, it’s painful.

“Y/N—” He holds your hand, his furrowed brows marring his face. “We…..I...I’m getting married in a few hours.”

You suck in a breath, swallowing down the thick lump in your throat. “I know.”

“Well, we need to think of something now. Fictional or not, I can’t marry someone I don’t know.” His voice is quiet but urgent, stressed with a hint of panic. He sweeps your blank features, confused as to your strange composure. “We need to run away.”

You and Yoongi, it would never work. At least, not in this universe. It was far too forbidden.

You tear your gaze away. “We can’t.”

“What do you mean we can’t? What are we supposed to do then? What is the ending supposed to be?” When you don’t respond, he begins to piece it together himself. In his historical setting, if you’re a maid, and he’s a prince-

“I’m right, aren’t I? We need to run away together.”

You shake your head, letting go of him to ball your fists together. “I...can’t do that, Yoongi.”

Yoongi shakes his head. “Give me a good reason why not.”

“This entire time, we’ve been doing things without any major consequences. We had no responsibilities, not attachments, no empathy but that girl in there.” You stare into his eyes, unwavering and you point back to the small home. “That girl that you’re supposed to marry, I can’t hurt her like I’m supposed to.”

He doesn’t understand. “What?”

“She...she’s important to me.” His gaze becomes too much and you turn away, facing the endless sky that seems more like a prison and less like freedom. “I..I wrote her after my first breakup. She is everything that I’ve always wanted to be. She’s the reason why I became serious about writing. She is the first character that my heart ever ached for and I...I can’t hurt her like I planned.”

“So, what are we supposed to do? Are you going to watch me marry her? Are we going to be stuck in this universe?” His stare bores holes into your skin. Yoongi’s voice nearly gives out as it drops into a murmur. “Are you going to give up on me so easily?”

You sigh. “Yoongi.”

“Y/N, I...I—” His features are contorted into distress. It seems like there’s something he wants to say, something that he’s been craving and aching to let loose, but he’s unable to let it tumble out. “Never mind. Just...think about what to do then. We still have some time.”

Without much else, he spins around and leaves. His entourage of guards and other servants soon follow and you watch as his silhouette fades into the environment. For some reason, your chest twinges in a dull pain.

It seems like no matter what choice you make, it’s bound to hurt someone.

//

Anger pulsates through his veins. Each of his strides carries a heavy weight, booming against the gravel and then the floorboards. The servants bow their heads lower, affected by the darker aura of the crown prince. Min Yoongi does not understand you and he never will.

After all you’ve both been through, the countless realms and circumstances, the strife and fight to return to reality, you were so ready to throw away. But he finds himself less furious and more frustrated—the expression written across your visage is one that he has never witnessed before.

He has known you for years, pulled apart the meaning of your earnest words written in the most lonely of times, been by your side through lifetimes, but he does not know you. Truly.

The man has never known your tears, your sadness, your suffering. He only knows of your rage and the small glimpses of happiness. And to see you in such a state, broken and weary, tired and drained, he is frustrated to the point of ire. There is nothing he can do, no way to mend your wounds.

“Your highness,” a croaking voice interrupts his trance, and he turns towards the elder speaking. The guards stand down and Yoongi supposes the stranger must be a royal advisor of sorts. “Why do you appear so grim? Do you not know today is your wedding celebration?”

He scoffs. “No, it isn’t.”

An amused smile takes place on the old man’s lips, and he settles down on the stone bench by the tree of the courtyard. “But it clearly is. Tonight, you will wed to Lady Yeonhwa and the country will be united again. Eventually, she will become your empress and bear a son who will someday be crowned Emperor as well.”

The way this elder smiles, a mischievous glint in his irises, the corners of his lips turned upwards, it reminds Yoongi of his boss, Jeon Jungkook. But the latter man was never this eloquent and astute despite having a full time job as the head of a publishing company. The young kid was always a bit erratic and panicked, rather than composed. Even so, the man before Yoongi just seems to echo his boss uncannily.

Yoongi doesn’t care about this universe. Unlike you, he has no connection or attachments to these people and as unprincely as it may be, he continues to himself, brash and angry.

“I won’t marry her, whoever she is. Why should I?” He inhales a sharp breath. “I don’t love her.”

The advisor stares at him. “Then who do you love?”

There’s a silence.

“Love is indeed fickle.” The elder says, looking up towards the cirrus clouds and soaking in the sunlight through his wrinkled skin, skin that has touched thunderstorms and hurricanes, blizzards and scorching droughts. “It changes and alters with time. You can grow to love someone, fall out of love with someone, learn to utilize love as a weapon. How do you think it’s possible to that matrimony can unify countries, make one stronger and prevent warfare?”

“You will learn to love Lady Yeonhwa. Over time, the partnership can easily alter into affection and infatuation. It’s your duty to marry her — for the better of our people and the kingdom.” The elder smiles at the grimacing prince whose patience is running thin. “You are no ordinary boy. You are the prince. Your selfish wants must be sacrificed.” He chuckles and somehow it oddly reminds Yoongi of someone familiar, “You’ve probably heard this all your life, haven’t you?”

“But child, to me, you are not simply bounded to your noble title. You are a boy I have tended to since the dawn of time. You are Min Yoongi.” The call of his name has his attention snapped back into focus. In the short time he’s been in this place, no one has called him directly, except for you and now, this old man who stares directly into his eyes in an unwavering and unsettling manner.

“And if you make no mistake and truly bear the feelings of love towards another, take it before it’s gone and hold it close to you. While love cannot overcome all barriers, it makes it easier to uphold to suffering, and only the universe knows how much suffering there is.”

For the most part, Yoongi is unfazed by the inspirational pep-talk by some random man that is apparently like his adopted grandfather in this realm. But there’s still a part that resonates within him, tugging his chest, and he clears his throat. “Are you suggesting I run?”

“I would never, your highness. The Emperor and Empress would immediately skin me alive and boil me upside down if I urged you to go against your duties.” There’s a playful sparkle in his irises. “I am merely speaking about your innermost feelings, am I not?”

A noncommittal noise leaves the back of Yoongi’s throat.

The advisor continues on with a mindless ramble, “There is no fault with feeling. Sometimes we are the most human when we are devoid from thought and simply feel.”

“You’re pretty wise, aren’t you, Jungkook?”

“I am,” the old man quips back at him playfully and stares at the profile of the prince as he settles down beside him. Yoongi isn’t sure which part of the question the man is responding to. “And you aren’t the boy I taught, are you?”

Yoongi’s caught off guard and the elder merely chuckles, saying nothing else.

//

On the other side of the palace grounds, your fingers are quick at work, knees bruised from kneeling on the ground. “Will you hurry up?!”

The head-maid barks and you fumble, tugging the fabrics tighter to hug against the lady’s body. A pained exhale leaves her lungs and you wince apologetically, trying your best to quicken your pace. The wedding attire is gorgeous, silk reds and golden flowers imprinted into the skirt and sleeves. Compared to your own clothes, you are nothing.

There are other maids, younger and older, who are swarming Yeonhwa. They fix any loose strand of hair, keeping her locks wrapped tightly against her skull with heavy pins digging into her head. Jewels and rings adorn each of her fingers, precious stones hanging off her ears. The clothes begin to drown her frame and although she is otherworldly beautiful-

“Take it off!”

She screams and shrieks, beginning to cry in front of the full-length mirror. The younger girls are startled, stepping back and immediately, the middle-aged head maid comes over in hasty steps. “My lady, we mustn't. The wedding is in a three hours, and we have to prepare.”

“I don’t care!” She begins to hyperventilate and without further instructions, you begin to undo the layers and layers. The young girl continues to have her meltdown, crying and weeping, heaving in breaths. “I need to get out of this! I need to!”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you mutter, attempting to placate her. The other woman is baffled and watches as you undo the efforts of the past half-hour, calming Yeonhwa as you slowly begin to untie the laces of her corset. The court ladies try to approach you again, but know better than to go against your actions as you slowly remove layer by layer of satin and silk until Yeonhwa is left in nothing but a simple white slip dress. You even release her hair from the tight knots and braids, pulling out clips and ribbons, jewels and the daffodil flower hair pins. It helps - at least visibly, she seems to have stopped shaking.

Once she’s completely freed, she turns around to snatch your hand within her own. “I need a bath. Y/N will accompany me, do not bother us.”

None of them argue, not when they’re afraid of upsetting someone who will soon be crowned Princess, then Empress. So, she turns towards the bathhouse and you barely have the time to bow your head slightly towards the other women.

In silence, you draw her a warm bath in the wooden tub, filling it slowly, bucket by bucket. You hold her hand, coaxing her into it, and she eases, a shallow exhale spilling from her lips with the temperature of the water. As you dip your fingers in, you hiss, the heat scorching and soothing all at once.

“Are you feeling any better, your highness?” You ask gently, reaching over to dip a soft hand-towel in the water. The fabric slowly absorbs the water, and you gently drag it along the skin of the princess.

She frowns. “Don’t call me by that title,” she orders sternly before becoming gentler. “Please, not here, Y/N. If no one else, I can at least be straightforward with you.”

You nod, but she isn’t even looking at you, so you hope she takes the silence as acceptance. You don’t really know what else to say, know if bringing up the wedding, Yoongi, anything, is appropriate. It feels wrong to want to mention him. So, you keep your lips pressed firmly together as the water sloshes around her body and the tub. You lightly scrub, admiring the suppleness of her youthful skin, but at the same time, there’s a kind of pity inside you that is inerasable.

Almost, you think that the remainder of her bath will be spent in silence, but then she speaks up. “I’ve always envied you.”

It’s no slip of the tongue. It sounds like a confession, an earnest secret hidden in the depths of her mind for as long as she could muster before letting it slip out, tumbling from her mouth like vomit. She sounds pained.

You freeze. “What?”

Yeonhwa sighs, like she’s regretting ever opening her mouth. “You have everything that I don’t,” she tells you sadly. “Freedom. Hope. Love.” The final word sounds as though it’s being wretched from her throat. Sounds like a plea, a cry for help.

Coming from the soon-to-be Princess, of all people, it catches you off guard. They are words you never thought you’d hear. At least, not from her. To you, she has everything. Even Yoongi.

It’s absurd. It’s ridiculous. “But… but Yeonhwa… you’re dignified. Confident. You’re…” You’re fumbling for the right words. Yeonhwa is everything you’ve ever wanted to be, and more. “You’re beautiful.”

She scoffs bitterly. “And you think that means anything? My grace, my beauty, they are meaningless. I have no one.” You feel like you need to say something, tell her anything, but she continues without ceasing. “That won’t change. I live alone, and I will die alone. I am alone.”

It’s strange, chilling. It’s as if she’s already aware of her destiny, aware of the ending you’ve written for her. Like she knows that you’ve created her only to abandon her in the end, leave her in favor of the protagonist you’re meant to care about.

Without even realizing it, your vision has begun to blur. You find yourself kneeling on the hard stone floor as if you’re begging for her forgiveness, atoning for your sins. It’s peculiar. Strange. You feel as though you’re having an out-of-body experience, like you’re watching a mirror image of yourself. Because in a way, you are. You’ve written Yeonhwa to reflect yourself, your beliefs. That was the whole damn point. She is you, and you are her.

You had always thought you’d die alone. But watching it now, seeing your thoughts play out in front of you, it feels different. It feels like there’s something that needs changing.

“That’s not true,” you say softly, even if you can’t believe it yourself.

“How is it not, maid?” Her voice is cold, distant, emotionless.

For years, you had thought this way, felt as though you were hopelessly lost, hopelessly alone. Nobody would love you, nobody would help shoulder your hardships, your pain. No matter how many stories you create, how many characters you build and come to know, how many fantasies you construct, how many universes you see, you have always woken up alone, nothing more than a laptop beside you or a pen in your hand, the static of your screens the only noise other than the thumping in your head.

You have always been alon-

“You’re wrong,” you find yourself saying, mustering up as much courage as you can. She turns to you, a doubtful look lacing her expression. “You have me.”

You were never alone. You aren’t alone. You’ll never be alone. There has always been someone there for you, time and time again, a certain someone who broke down your door with wine in his hand, who invaded your space with minute smiles and sneaky grins, who knew you and your writing, your words, better than you ever have, who has travelled with you across galaxies, across timelines.

His name is Min Yoongi.

And you had never been on your own. Yoongi would never have let you. He’d always be there, bothering you every step of the way.

You could hardly imagine a world, at this point, where he wouldn’t be by your side.

“Y/N…” Yeonhwa says softly, trailing off into nothingness.

“And you deserve love, Yeonhwa. More than you know,” you tell her firmly, blinking away the water in your eyes as you reach over to embrace her, pulling her in tight. The droplets on her back seep into the thin fabric that covers your body but you can’t find it in you to care. “Never give up on that. It’s waiting for you, you know? It’s out there. You have me, so don’t think, for even a second, that you’re alone. I’ll always be here.”

She grins softly, mostly to herself. “And what happens when you leave?”

Yeonhwa knows.

“I’ll still be here,” you promise, and it’s a promise you can keep but only because you’ve hand-stitched this world together, built it brick by brick. You know it like the back of your hand, have walked through space and time in these universes. Even though you’ll vanish, watch your surroundings disintegrate before your eyes, you know she’ll never forget you. You know that your presence will remain, long after you do not.

“No matter where you or I go, I’ll always be right by your side,” you tell her.

Yeonhwa chuckles to herself softly, shaking her head. “How is it that I can believe you so easily?”

“Because it’s true,” you solemnly vow. “I’ll never leave you.”

Yeonhwa hums to herself, like she’s thinking of what to say next. Maybe your characters, Yeonhwa and this maid, have grown up together, watched each other mature into the young ladies you are now, but you, you as a person, as a traveller, you feel like you have a greater connection. You forged her out of your own insecurities, molded together a character that is everything you’ve ever wanted and everything you’ve ever been. Being with her is like being with you, a version of you that you are slowly beginning to realize, has it all wrong. You wish you could go back in time, tell yourself that you aren’t alone, that there will always be somebody by your side. Being with her is like watching your insecurities blossom into a real human being, a girl who is just as scared as you once were, and now, you want to fix that.

“Then go.”

“What?” You inquire, looking into her deep brown eyes. “Go?”

You pull away from her, but not because you’ve been repelled, or because she’s told you to. You can recall the original ending—remember how Yeonhwa is supposed to turn bitter and resentful, hatred overwhelming her once forgiving being, but in present time, her soft smile says nothing of the sort. In fact, it appears to be the opposite.

“There’s no one I would rather be happy for than you,” she admits. “You love him, don’t you?”

You don’t even have to say his name to know who she’s talking about.

Slowly, you find yourself nodding.

“If what you say is true, then I suppose I have no reason to be lonely,” she tells you, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly. She’s letting both you and the only person she once believed would ever grow to love her go?

That wasn’t part of the original script.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” you mutter out, unable to formulate something better to say. You feel as though you at least owe her an apology for writing her like this, for letting her turn into someone who can hardly see the color in a rainbow. You have no other words, nothing but sympathy for her, for a girl that once was meant to mirror you but no longer does.

She shakes her head. “No need to apologize. Go to Yoongi. He must be waiting for you.”

“Don’t you want help with draining your bath?” You ask, a final offer for any extra help. It’s sort of like a last request, like the last line in this chapter of your life.

She sighs, perfectly content with wading in the water until someone else comes and orders her return. Finally, she is at peace. “I’m alright.”

You nod, getting up and dusting off your cotton dress. There are no more words left to say, not as you open the door to her room to begin your a new quest to find him.

“Y/N?” She calls out. You turn around, meeting her eyes for a final time. She beams. “Thank you.”

It sounds like she’s not only thanking you for teaching her to love herself, she’s thanking you for being there. For creating her, for allowing her to live truly and freely and independently. You grin in response before walking from the room, letting the door shut softly behind you.

It turns out, finding the man in question isn’t as difficult as you thought it would be.

The grand palace grounds are a maze in and of themselves but nothing far from Hogwarts and it isn’t confusing to navigate considering there’s a horde of people surrounding the crown prince. They’re all trying to placate him, following along like tiny minions as he paces the courtyard, refusing to put on any wedding attire or even nibble on any of the food that’s to be served in the evening.

“Your highness,” one of the men bows his head and speaks gruffly, “the Empress will not be happy if you don’t begin your wedding preparations.”

“I don’t care,” he growls out, snapping back at them with the stringency of Mafia Leader Yoongi that you still remember. The memory brings a slight smile to your face and you take a step forward from the shadows.

“Yoon—”

Before you can even call his name, you’re being yanked back. “What do you think you’re doing, maid?!”

A man has ripped you back, practically screaming in your face and his spit splattering on your skin. Once the guard takes a good look at you, his grip loosens. “Wait a minute, aren’t you the personal servant of Lady Yeonhwa? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be somewhere else?”

“I..uh—”

You’re scared, a little stunned and unnerved that you’ll be taken some place elsewhere that someone of your status would belong, dragged far from Yoongi who’s waiting for you only a few paces away. But there’s not a chance to make a squeak in front of the looming guard or plead your case, not when there’s a ear-shattering shout.

“Y/N!” He saw you. There’s no reason to be afraid. It’s okay to trust him. “Let her go this instant, you idiot!”

The guard is shocked from the prince’s vulgarities and immediately jumps back, releasing his hold on you. The parade of attendants and officiants barely get to trail after him as Yoongi marches up to you, a stupidly happy grin spreading across his face. “Y/N! Finally! I was waiting for you. Is everything alright?”

“It’s fine.” You smile meekly, lowering your head as the crowd of men are staring daggers into your form. Yoongi seems to sense your unease almost instinctively, and he turns around with narrowed eyes.

“Why are you all still standing here?!” He hisses with his ultimate pissed-off-bitch-resting-face and it causes you to stifle back a laugh. It seems like Yoongi’s ran out of patience with the overbearing servants. “Can’t you see I’m trying to have a private conversation?!”

“But your highness,” one of them pipes up out of desperation, “We really, really need to get you prepared for the wedding. There’s a lot to do and you haven’t even gotten dressed—”

All it takes is for Yoongi to glare.

His dark brown eyes almost turn black, a muscle in his cheek twitching, his jaw clenching and teeth grating together. They scatter immediately, some reluctant and others out of fear.

Finally, you’re left with alone with Yoongi.

It takes a second for you to regain full consciousness of your surroundings. You’re gazing at him with a new-found perspective, a sort of appreciation for his presence even if he annoys you to no end and likes to provoke you for his enjoyment. You have an urge to reach up and kiss his cheek. But of course, you haven’t lost all your brain cells…yet.

“Is there something on my face?”

“No.” You shake your head. “It’s just your ugliness is really showing today.”

His eye twitches and you hold back your giggle, ultimately failing. “Don’t blame me if I end up punching you in the face.”

“Hey, I’m just kidding, you know.” You hit him in a playful manner, one that would probably get your hand severed off by a guillotine if anyone else were to witness in this universe. But alas, this is not a poor maid and the crown prince. It’s you and Yoongi.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes and grinning. The pair of you are put at ease for the first time since being in this place. It finally feels like its return back to normal, the little banters and quips, the endless teasing that feels more playful than before when malice was laced in every other syllable.

“Did you think of a solution yet?” Yoongi asks. “These people are really insistent and it’s driving me up the goddamn wall. I really don’t want to marry someone, Y/N. I know it’s fictional and all that but it still feels weird. If I get tied to them, I swear if they come back to our ‘reality’ and they haunt me, I’m seriously going to kill y—”

“Let’s run.”

“Run?” His infamous gummy grin returns, plastering across his face like the fool that he is. “Are you sure? Thought you were against my idea. So, I guess this is my chance to say ‘I told you so’?”

You snort, beginning to pull him along, opposite of the courtyard and into an empty hallway. “Shut up, dork.”

“Do you even know where we’re going?”

“Nope.”

He laughs but still trusts you to lead the way. It works for a while, navigating the grounds and deflecting any of the noble guests who have come for the ceremony. You even catch the Empress at some point, a distinguished older woman that is supposedly is Yoongi’s mother in this realm and you make sure to sprint in the opposite direction.

“We just need to find a horse or a carriage or something.” You vaguely remember the details of the ending, just that you needed to escape but going by feet would certainly be futile. “Do you—”

Suddenly, Yoongi tugs you in towards his chest, hugging you close and spinning his body around to hide behind a wooden pillar. You make muffled noises against the palm of his hand, something along the lines of ‘what the fuck’ but he reaches down, shushing you against your ear and his breath against your nape has you sealing your lips.

“Have you seen the crown prince?!”

“No! Where did he go?! The Emperor is calling for him!”

“He was just talking to the maid girl, and then they both disappeared when we turned around!”

“What the—” There’s a pause and their steps get closer. You gulp, trying to steal a peek but Yoongi doesn’t let you, shuffling your bodies away from the naggy attendants. “Well search for him quickly and quietly! If it gets out that the groom is missing, there’s gonna be big trouble!”

“Oh dear, oh dear!” There are notes of panic within their voices but it thankfully fades off.

Once it becomes silent, Yoongi wraps his hand around yours, lacing his fingers together. He takes one glance both ways and the two of you book it. You do your best to keep your steps quiet, huffs leaving your mouth as you rip down hallways and the outside, hiding in the shadows, past guards and guests alike. There’s already music being played to welcome the nobility, drums and a wooden flute, a singer using their powerful vocals in a trot style.

And eventually, by sheer chance and luck, an opening is seen.

“Hey, Y/N,” he whispers while you’re both hidden behind a tree. “Can you ride a horse?”

“No.” You look at him. “Can you?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “Nadda.”

Well shit. But there’s no other choice, no possible solution, at least not when he decides there’s no more discussion needed and begins to pull you out into broad daylight.

Instantly, a guard is hopping onto the scene, shouting, “Hey!”

The two female aristocrats gasp. “Is that Prince Yoongi?!” And they’re more appalled that he’s touching a dirty, lowly maid like you. But there’s no time to think.

It’s absolute mayhem.

One second, you have a fistful of your dress, sprinting full speed and the next, Yoongi’s lead you to climb on top of the horse. The coachman was shoved to the ground, landing with an ‘oof’ and saying no more as he watched the prince struggle to clamber up after you.

“Hee-yah!” The man behind you whips the reins but the horse doesn’t move, still munching on some grass that he found on the side of the dirt road. “Hee-yah! Move, you fucking animal!”

“Yelling it is not gonna help!” You shout back at him in panic and pet the creature with a gentle hand, attempting to coax it. “Giddy up, horsey.”

Still, the pony tortures you both, standing as still as a statue, fluffy tail whirling in the air like the blades of a mini-helicopter

“Prince Yoongi!” There are more shouts, guards who rush over with spears and the entire horde of stubby servants and minion attendants are hysterically chasing after the two of you. “Prince Min Yoongi! Crown Prince Yoongi! Please! Your father is looking for you! The wedding! The wedding—!”

“Come on, come on!” Yoongi says, trying his very best to egg the horse on before the palace staff catch up. “Move, goddamnit! Move!”

The servants are shrieking. The attendants are scampering. They get closer and closer while the guests are still shell-shocked from his vulgarities, merely watching the chaos. But as the guard with their pointed weapons approach, suddenly, the horse puffs out air through its nose.

A fingertips reach away from snatching you, the horse begins to dart.

You nearly break your neck, getting whiplash and Yoongi screams behind you, holding the reins and his other arm wrapping around your waist to keep you from falling. The old horse on the other hand is free from dragging along a two hundred pound carriage and tears through the dirt roads, past guards and servants who shout after Yoongi on the top of their lungs.

The wild animal kicks down the small red gate doors and bounds towards the empty, open road towards the forest.

The palace is left behind you.

A giggle spills from your lips and eventually, you have the courage to loosen your grip from the animal. The wind weaves into your hair, kissing against your cheeks and reddening them with the rush. It’s glorious.

Yoongi doesn’t seem to think the same. “Wh...at t..he f-fuck—” He’s let you take the reins, instead, holding you with both his arms, his eyes shut tight in fear and his head hiding in the crook of your neck.

You cackle and shout above the whistling winds, “Should we go faster, Min?!”

“No!” He cries softly into your skin, “Stop teasing me!”

“I think we’re gonna need to go faster!” You whip the reins, laughing and taking a look back to make sure a new mob of guards aren’t hot on your heels. Thankfully, it seems like you’re safe for now. “I just robbed the groom from the alter, I want to make sure I don’t get caught!”

He lightly pinches your side, causing another fit of giggles from you. “I’m seriously going to kill you when I get off this thing!”

“I’d like to see you try!”

Who knows how long you’re galloping into the wilderness for, horse’s hooves marking into the dirt, causing a puff of dust to be left behind in your trail. The forest becomes thicker until the path has diminished into grass and the trees are all you see, canopies covering the evening sky and orange light filtered through the lush greenery. You eventually slow down, stopping to a halt a little ways off.

You jump off the creature, barely with Yoongi’s iron grip still around you. With a hand held up high, he pouts before he takes it, hopping off too. You pet the horse, running your fingers through its mane and thanking it for taking you so far. It even nuzzles into you, causing a snickering laugh to leave your chest and Yoongi watches, waiting patiently.

“What’s the plan, princess?”

It’s an ironic pet name considering your current status but you don’t mind. Hand-in-hand, you’re walking through the bushes on the forest floor and you take a moment to steal a glimpse of Yoongi, smiling. “We run a little bit more before they can catch up. You trust me?”

He returns the smile. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

There’s one more exchanged laughter and then you’re leaping through the forest, following lights and listening to the birds. Any sounds created by other humans fade into nature’s background and soon, you’ve found yourself at a clearing, an open field that will lead you to the border of the country.

It’s freedom.

Yoongi clasps his palm tight against yours. You intertwine your fingers together, laughing and making the last sprint. He follows alongside you, giddy with excitement and holding you close to him. While he abandons his dutiful matrimony, a new promise of marriage is on the horizon.

The ending to the story is finally fulfilled and the universe morphs to white.

Writers notes: Once again, please feel free to message me or gukyi at any time!! Any message is worthwhile. The next part will be posted over at gukyi’s blog, so, check out her awesome-sauce stuff!

CO-WRITTEN WITH @gukyi

[mitchmarnier]

semi charmed life | chapter five | 4.5k | mature-ish?? |

“You guys have kept in contact this whole time?” Bill asked, brow disappearing underneath hair line as he looked like his old friends in amazement. “And you guys are.. what? Room mates?”

Eddie avoided looking at Richie as he answered. “Yeah, uh… room mates. Something like that.”

[or: the adult!losers reunion, done 2000s sit-com style, just like we all deserve.]

PREVIOUSLY ON SEMI CHARMED LIFE: “I applied to some museum job in New York on a whim earlier this year”. “ “I meant to turn it but every time I went to I… I just couldn’t.” “ I think you’ll find the most sudden of changes are sometimes the best ones.” | . “You and Richie adopted two kids? Two actual human children and this never came up?”” “Is your and Eddie’s invitation for a place to stay still open?” |  Be in your seat at 7 am on Monday morning or don’t bother showing up again .  | . “I did some shit that I’m not proud of. My best friend… I… I was so desperate to get away from this place, and I kind of betrayed him.” 

Richie rolled over, smiling at the smooth comfort of his large duvet, as he pulled the sleeping form of his husband closer to his chest. He knew that starting just next week, he wasn’t going to be able to enjoy the long known comfort of slowly falling asleep next to Eddie, something he’d gotten overly used to within the last ten years. Ever since moving into that simple, rat-ass New York apartment that housed them only for a few months before they realized how much money they were wasting on a two-bedroom place, Richie and Eddie had spent every night side by side. There was, of course, always those few exceptions- when Richie’s parents had divorced, and Eddie hadn’t been able to go back to Derry as a support system because of his work, or when Eddie had gone out of town for a weekends for car shows and Richie couldn’t follow him like a trophy husband- but the couple had spent the majority of their adults lives sharing their bed.

At the start of next week, Richie would be switching over to the late show at his radio station. It was going to mean many more late nights, working until 2 or 3 in the morning depending, but it was huge raise and Rich Records finally moving onto his own show, run and controlled completely by himself. His music, his words, all his choices. It was an absolutely amazing opportunity, something that really pushes Richie’s career. He’d been offered the position almost half a year earlier, but when it had put in front of him he and Eddie had been in the process of adopting Marty and Richie had turned it down without question. There was no possibility of Richie switching over to working nights with a newborn baby in the house. The DJ they’d hired when Richie turned the job down hadn’t worked out, and when Richie received the offer once again he and Eddie had been in agreement: you didn’t turn a career altering promotion down twice.

As his start date loomed closer, Richie thought on it more and more. Wondered if he made the right choice, giving up his nights with Eddie. They were going to be saving a bundle on childcare- what with Beverly staying with them now, and Richie now being home during the day- but Eddie’s baby-leave from work was ending around the same time Richie was starting on nights… and with sleeping Eddie in his arms now, Richie was already mourning something he hadn’t lost yet.

Even asleep, Eddie Kaspbrak would gravitate towards Richie’s touch. The second Richie’s arms had tightened around him, Eddie had nuzzled into Richie’s neck and shifted his legs so they tangled together in the sheets. Richie felt almost as though his heart was vibrating, marvelling at how after twelve years in a relationship that Eddie Kaspbrak could still make him feel like a thirteen year old with a crush.

Eddie let out a small huff, blinking up at Richie and smiling sleepily. “How long have you been up?”

“Not long,” Richie hummed, rubbing soft circles into Eddie’s back. “Seems like our little babies gave into the subliminal messages I left them to bother Bev in the mornings instead of us.”

Eddie laughed. “Baby, I love you, but I don’t think you’re smart enough to just plant subliminal messages into the minds of our children.”

“Childs minds are very vulnerable,” Richie said wisely, leaning in to press feather light kisses to just below Eddie’s ear.

Eddie hummed, the small conversation about their children’s possible mind control long forgotten as Richie’s lips trailed lower. His arms came up to wrap around Richie’s neck and pull his husband closer, pressing their lips together and pushing their chests flush to one another. Richie would almost be embarrassed at how quickly he was reacting, but he could definitely reason it out to himself that they hadn’t had sex since before leaving for Derry… and it was a scarce enough occasion then, as well. A fussy newborn was twice as hard when you also had a hyper-active toddler to chase after all day long. Sex definitely became something that was put on the back burner, but never forgotten.

Richie gripped Eddie’s hips and rolled them so Eddie was settled on top of him. Eddie leaned onto his elbows, grinning almost wolfishly down at him. “Oh? It’s like that today, is it?”

Richie blew a kiss and rocked his rapidly hardening cock against Eddie’s thigh. “Let’s be real, isn’t it always?”

Eddie laughed breathily, leaning down to lock his teeth against Richie’s pulse point. Richie’s smothered a moan, and started rocking his hips upwards faster as their bedroom door banged open. “Rich- shit!”

Beverly cupped her hands over her mouth and turned away quickly. “Oh my God, I’m sorry. Jesus fucking- I am sorry.” Eddie was already rolling off of Richie and Richie couldn’t hold back his groan. “I just… I wasn’t sure how to do Marty’s bottle and I… I’m sorry, you can… finish, I-“

“I think it’s safe to say this is finished,” Richie said as he tumbled out of bed. Eddie let his gaze travel down his husbands body as Richie moved from the room, then muffled a loud groan into pillows that smelled like them.

 →  →  →

Mike walked behind his supervisor who was talking a mile a minute. It was only his first day, but it certainly felt as though they thought he’d been here for years on years. “I know it’s only your first day,” the supervisor whose name Mike had either forgotten or had never been told in the first place. “That’s why we’re putting you in with Spencer. He usually does the tours for the high school students, which you’ll be tagging along on today.”

Mike nodded, having to wonder if was the normal fashion in which a high price train their new employees: by dropping them completely on their heads and hoping no damage comes to them. Mike saw the high schoolers then, standing around in groups and talking amongst themselves. There was no sign of leadership outside of the teachers who stood around with them, openly more excited for the class tour than the students were. Panic prickled at Mike’s chest as he approached. “Hi, I- I’m Mike,” he said, not knowing what the appropriate term of introduction would even be. He thought to himself once again at how completely untrained he was for this job, thinking on how this must be what a baby birds were like- tossed out of the nest whether they knew how to fly or not.  

A sandy-haired boy who, admittedly looked too old to be in a high school field trip, stepped forward and flashed Mike a quality smile. “What are you going to be showing us today? Like, why should I even give a shit about this tour?”

Mike stalled, eyes going wide, as whispers moved through the group of students. He knew he was supposed to be professional in this sort of situation- explain the tour, explain the great interests of history, the importance it held in the lives they were living now. The issue now, of course, was that Mike had no idea what tour he was supposed to be giving and it made it quite hard to be professional when he was thrust into a job he didn’t know how to do.

“We, uh-“ Mike cleared his throat, feeling his whole body begin to go hot. His heart raced in his chest and he was about thirty seconds away from dropping this job, and going back to Alexander and Derry right then. “We’re doing our tour on… Uh-“

“You don’t know?” The guy sneered, stepping towards him. Mike’s stomach twisted up uncomfortably and he truly thought for a moment that he might throw up everywhere. “What kind of tour guide, are you?”

“It’s…” Mike swallowed harshly. “It’s my first day, I don’t… I wasn’t told that I’d even be doing a tour until about thirty seconds ago. There’s supposed to be higher up, but they’re not here yet or they’re late…”

“No,” the guy smirked. “They’re not late.” He walked from the crowd and moved to stand beside Mike. “Hey guys, I’m Spencer. I’m going to be your guide today, you already know Mike, and we’ll be visiting our Mesopotamia exhibits today. You’ll have an opportunity to do some group searching everywhere, however-“

Mike watched his partner lead the groups of high schoolers off with his mouth dropped open.

 →  →  →

“I could go back to school,” Beverly said mildly, tapping a sloppy heart cut from red construction paper to Richie’s nose. Richie raised his eyebrows at her as best he could with drawings taped all over his face.

“Go back to school for what?” Eddie asked, his head resting in Richie’s lap and grinning up as his husbands’ face quickly became invisible beneath colourful paper. Frankie was half hung over Beverly’s shoulders, pointing out the exact places that Bev should be placing the drawings on Richie.

“I don’t know,” Beverly admitted. “But I’m twenty seven years old, probably soon to be divorced and unemployed. I can’t just live here forever, mooching off my high school friends.”

Eddie frowned at Beverly. “You can stay here for as long you want, Beverly, you know that. But I would suggest maybe, finding even the simplest of jobs. Wait tables, work in some customer service. Yeah, it fucking sucks but… when was the last time you worked, Bev? You certainly made it sound like your husband ties together everything.”

Bev nodded. “I had a part time job in college, but when Tom and I decided to get married, I dropped out of school and from the job. Tom made more than enough money to support the two of us, he was good that way. I could focus on my art and clothing… it’s still something I want to do, honestly, but-“

“Then do it.” Richie said fiercely. “You think anybody except Eds supported my ‘I want to be a DJ’ pipedream? Of course not. I mean, failing to graduate high school really made people realize that an academic world wasn’t really for me, but…”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Bev and Eddie said together, Eddie with old-bitter anger still in his voice but Beverly as though it was simple fact of life. Something that couldn’t be helped. Richie supposed it was closer to what was true than the anger Eddie held, the resentment that had rebirthed itself in Richie. Eddie continued speaking, however. “And you went got your GED. You graduated, Rich. Anybody who wants to act otherwise isn’t good enough to be part of your life.”

Beverly pressed a small yellow circle that might have been a sun to Richie’s still-freckled cheek and smiled at him. “You went and got your GED?” The last time Beverly had spoken to Richie before their reunion had been a twenty minute phone call on Richie’s twentieth birthday, where he’d ranted on about the corruption of the education system and how he’d never go back.

A small bashful smile came over Richie’s face, and his eyes flittered up to the little girl who was falling asleep on Beverly’s shoulders. “Three and a half years ago, when Eds and I first started talking about adoption. I wanted our baby to have two parents they could be proud of.”

Beverly’s heart panged painfully in her chest, glancing down at where Eddie was staring up at Richie with burning eyes. Unwelcome and unwanted, thoughts of Tom came into her mind. How for as long as she’d thought she’d love her husband, there had never been a love between them like she was seeing between Richie and Eddie in this simple moment. Never mind the moments that she hadn’t looked at growing up, but couldn’t help but see now. She wasn’t sure anybody had ever looked at her like that, not even Richie when they were together, but there was a small tingle in the back of her mind. A forgotten poem, a crush that carried years… But what was forgotten wasn’t quite remembered just yet, and the burning in Beverly’s heart didn’t yet have a known source.

 →  →  →

Ben Hanscom had decided that if he walked any farther, he may collapse and never get back up. Sighing, he sat down on the white marble steps and looked up at the sky. The sun seemed redder than normal, and he wondered if he could stare at it long enough it would give him the answer to finding happiness in life.

“Ben?” A voice that was familiar but all so random carried over to him. Ben whipped around and saw Bill Denbrough walking towards him, hand-in-hand with a beautiful dark haired girl. “Why are you sitting on the side of the road?”

“I’m considering quitting my job and moving here,” Ben said, only half joking. “But it’s not very comfortable.”

Bill raised his eyebrows at the woman who could only be Audra, and Ben allowed himself a moment to be happy that his friend had worked things out with the woman he loved before reverting back to his resolution to feel as very little as possible.

Then Bill was crouching beside him and resting his chin on his fist. “How you doing, buddy?”

How was it that Ben Hanscom could have lived in the same city as Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak and Beverly Marsh for the last five years and not run into them once but Bill Denbrough had moved here only less than a week earlier and he was already finding Ben sitting on the street, at his lowest?

Ben let out a soft puff of air. “I think Derry broke me.”

Bill nodded as though no sentence had ever made more sense in the world.

 →  →  →

Mike stuffed his belongings into his bag, knowing how aggressive his posture was but not being able to find it in himself to give a damn about it. If this was his first day, then he suddenly wasn’t so confident in his decisions to uproot his entire life to move here. At least at the Derry Library, he hadn’t been being treated like utter shit.

“First day?” A female voice carried over to him, startling Mike out of his funk. A beautiful dark-skinned woman was smiling sympathetically at him. “You’ve got the they paired me with Spencer on my first day look all over you.”

Mike sighed and rolled his eyes. “So, he treats everybody that horribly?”

The girl chuckled. “I’m not sure what he did, but I still feel safe in answering with a yes. Spencer Pearsons doesn’t believe in easing people into it. He’s more of a sink or swim kind of dude.”

Mike shook his head, rubbing at his cheeks. “Yeah. I got that much. Dude’s a dick.”

The girl patted him on the shoulder, still grinning. “You’re still here.” She pointed out, nodding towards the clock. “ You made it through a day with Spencer Pearsons, which is more than can be said about the mass majority of new hires. So what’s it’s going to be?”

Mike shook his head, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“Are you going to sink… or are you going to swim?”

 →  →  →

Richie pulled back the shower curtains, pressing a hand to Eddie’s mouth before his husband could let out the scream that Richie knew was bubbling up in his chest. Richie slid in behind him and pulled Eddie’s back flush to his chest. Eddie let out a small sigh, hand coming up behind him to tangle in Richie’s damping hair.

“If I recall…” Richie whispered against Eddie’s cheek. “We got interrupted this morning.”

Eddie whimpered as Richie’s hands moved down Eddie’s stomach towards his rapidly growing arousal. Eddie tugged at Richie’s now-full wet curls, and squeezed his closed. Just as Richie’s hand moved to curl around Eddie’s member, they both jumped apart at the sound of the bathroom door smashing open.

“Pops!” Frankie’s little voice carried over to them. Their daughter knew enough about privacy not to pull back the curtain- the same way she now knew to stop trying to take her pants off in public, no matter how much she hated them- but didn’t keep Eddie and Richie’s hearts from launching into their throats. “Pops, are you almost done? You promise we would make cookies today and it’s already 4 on the clock!”

Eddie sighed, leaning his head against Richie’s shoulder and giving his husband an apologetic frown. “Yeah, Frankie. Almost done. I’ll be right out.”

“Okay…” The little girl said, pausing for a moment. Then. “Daddy, do you wanna me to bring you your ‘pecial curly shampoo? You weft the new bottle in your room.”

Eddie covered his face with his hands, and tried to ignore the way his husband’s body was shaking behind him with laughter. “Nah, Franks, that’s all good. Why don’t you go find Bev and get her to help grab all the ingredients for the cookies, yeah?”

Little footsteps padded towards the bathroom door. “Don’t call me Franks!” Came the shrill shriek of laughter before the door slammed shut. Eddie likely would’ve sunk completely to the shower floor if Richie’s arms hadn’t been holding him up.

“That’s it,” Eddie said dramatically. “We are never having sex again, we’re going to traumatize our daughter.”

Richie giggled. “Nah, we’re just going to traumatize her just enough that she’s funny. She doesn’t even know enough about the world to think of what’s happening here. She’s just a born cock block.”

Eddie slipped out of Richie’s arms and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “To be continued?”

Richie rolled his eyes. “In eighteen years?”

“If we’re lucky.”

 →  →  →

Ben slammed the shot glass back down on the bar table and turned to point at Audra. “Your boyfriend is a dumbass.”

Bill made a loud, offended noise while Audra let out a high pitched, almost angelic giggle. “Oh, I’m aware. Definitely aware.”

“Wow,” Bill muttered under his breath, taking another sip of his whiskey despite the fact that he was already swaying in his seat. “Some friend you are, Hanscom.”

Ben laughed, signalling for a  refill from the bartender.  “Did he ever tell you about the time he broke his collar bone? Bastard was lucky he didn’t die. Richie Tozier and Bill Denbrough were a force of idiocy to be reckoned with back in high school, couldn’t stop them from doing stupid shit. Didn’t help when Bev and Stan were always- hiccup- encouraging them.”

Bill hummed to himself. “Richie Tozier was the biggest dumbass I’ve ever met. Now he has two kids. Fucking wild how shit changes.”

Ben blinked and crinkled up his nose. His brain tried for a moment to process the information Bill had just dumped on him before deciding that he was just a little too drunk to do that, and it pushing it from his mind. “Stanley Uris was the king of truth or dare.” Ben rambled on after giving up on Richie and his apparent children. “He managed to never do or say anything embarrassing, but always got the best stories.”

“Sent my ass to the emergency room more than once,” Bill nodded along. “Think the bastard targeted me.”

“Course he did,” Ben snickered. “We all did. You’re very easy to take advantage of. You only had to look a drink to get tipsy, Denbrough.”

“That’s not true!” Bill exclaimed, swaying and nearly falling from his seat. Audra raised her brow at Ben, who grinned cheekily at her.

“Anyway, his collar bone…” Ben said, mind unhazing enough to remember what had started his conversation. Being drunk at 4:30 in the afternoon was something Ben Hanscom hadn’t experienced since his college days, but with Big Bill Denbrough by his side, he couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about it. “Stan dares Bill to jump off Richie Tozier’s roof into their back yard pool right… and the Toziers have this three story house, it’s really… and Billy here, is a dumbass. So off he goes, fucking misses the pool and cracks himself right against the cement around it.”

Audra pressed a hand over her mouth, eyes going wide.

“It’s fucking mayhem.” Ben cackles. “How Bill didn’t die on impact, I don’t think we’ll ever know. Some sort of higher being was looking out for him but his collar bone.. God it was gross. Eddie Kaspbrak was crying, Richie just like… screaming absolutely nonsense. Bill’s drunk ass is laughing, and I think Stan… I don’t know I think Stan went home the second Bill hit the ground-“

“I still say it’s because he didn’t want to be found at the scene of his crime,” Bill said, eyes closed and swaying in his seat.

“Yeah,” Ben nodded seriously. “But yeah- then Richie just… he fucking just… punches Bill’s collar bone into his chest. Just closes his damn fist and goes for it. BANG. Then Bill’s screaming, the neighbours are definitely going to call the police. It’s basically, stay there with Bill and get caught under aged drinking… or make a fucking run for it.”

“SO OF COURSE THESE BASTARDS!” Bill shouted suddenly, eyes wide with memory. “They just take the fuck off. Even Tozier! At his own fucking house! Mike Hanlon and little Elii Tozier were the only people worth a damn that day.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Mike and Elii were only people sober. It’s not that deep.”

Bill scowled but a small smirk was still tugging at his lips. “I could’ve died.

Ben shrugged and knocked back his entire glass of high end whiskey in one go. “Yeah. But ya didn’t. Would’ve been Stanley’s fault anyway.”

A dark look came over Bill’s drunk face. “Wasn’t everything?”

Ben put his empty glass down and turned to look at Bill with a serious, sober face that didn’t match the amount of alcohol he’d drank at all. “No.” He said firmly. “In the years I knew Stanley Uris, he only ever did one thing seriously wrong- and we all just decided you know, fuck that guy. That guy’s a piece of shit. But it was, you know, it was one bad thing. One bad thing in seven years. You knew him longer. The only person who gets to hold it against him is Richie. The rest of y’all need to get the fuck over it.”

Bill blinked, frowned, opened his mouth, then frowned again. Then broke down into giggles. “You said y’all.”

Ben rolled his eyes, but found himself laughing, too.

 →  →  →

Mike picked up the freshly set up home phone in his apartment and stared at the numbers. He started punching in the number he knew wasn’t a Maine area code and tried to ignore the guilt in his stomach. The phone rang once, twice, then just as Mike was thinking of hanging up, the line picked up.

“Hello?” Stanley Uris’ voice carried through the line and Mike felt that old calming sense settle over him.

“Stan? It’s Mike.”

“Mike? Mike Hanlon?” Stanley sounded understandably confused but Mike was pretty sure he could hear the smile in his voice. “What’s up?”

“I just…” Mike sighed. “I guess I’m starting to question some stuff, and you were always the most reasonable person I ever knew.”

Stan laughed slightly on the other line. “I don’t know if I deserve that title, man.”

Mike was shaking his head. “Nah, yeah, you do. You can’t let one bad call decide your entire worth. Nobody gave Eddie a final call when he keyed Greta Bowie’s new car back in junior year, or Bill when he put that hair killing shit in Richie’s shampoo after he dumped Bev.”

“I don’t know if those are really on the same level as what I did,” Stan said slowly. “But I appreciate the effort, Mike.”

“No, Stan, they were.” Mike said firmly. “They were actions of stupid teenagers, stuff we would never do know because we know better. If it’s the hill Richie wants to die on, then let him. Don’t bury yourself there with him.”

Stan cleared his throat on the line, his voice sounded watery when he responded. “You know, I think you have a talent for saying exactly what people need you to say. Always have.”

“Yeah,” Mike said. “But you have a pretty similar talent. So, please, set my head on straight.”

“Well…” Stanley chuckled. “Don’t know if I can do that miracle, but I can try to help you out of whatever this situation is.”

Mike’s entire brain stalled, drawing a small noise of him. “You… You know, then?”

Stan sighed. “Yeah, I… I guess I always knew? Maybe not even we were kids, but in high school? Yeah. I just never said anything. Figured it was your place to tell us, especially in a town like Derry.”

Mike was nodding even though he knew that Stan couldn’t see him. “Did you do the same with Eddie and Richie?”

A moment of silence then: “What about Eddie and Richie?”

“Uhh…” Mike coughed awkwardly. “Nothing, I- Nothing. I started my job at the museum today and it was pretty shitty. My partner is dick and everybody just thinks its fine. That I’ll either get the hang of it or quit and-“

“They’re right,” Stan interrupted. “You’ll either get the hang of it or quit. So, Mike Hanlon, I guess you gotta chose. Are you going to at least try to stick it out or are you going to go back to Derry with your tail between your legs?”

Mike huffed out a breath. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

“Usually am. But thanks for noticing.”

 →  →  →

Eddie returned from the grocery store and looked around his silent, and mostly dark house in wonder. “Richie? Bev? Where are you?”

Richie wandered out from the living room, wearing the grey pair of sweatpants that Eddie had a preference of slung low on his hips and nothing else. “Baby,”

Eddie trailed his eyes down Richie’s visible torso. “Hey… uhm,” his throat was suddenly so dry it made it a little hard to talk. “Where is everybody? The girls?”

“Got Bev to take ‘em,” Richie said softly, scratching at the back of his neck and looking slightly nervous. “Because I… I start my overnights next week and you go back to work, and we’ll be opposite schedules and I was hoping to spend some time together before then but if you’re mad that I sent the girls away for the night I can… I can get Bev back here and we never have to- I’m sorry-“

Eddie crossed the room quickly and pressed his and Richie’s lips together. He pulled back and stroked at Richie’s cheeks. “Don’t apologize. I absolutely trust Bev with the girls and you’re right, we need this.”

Richie nodded, their faces so close together that his nose dug into Eddie’s cheek. “Okay, well, then… In that case…” Eddie could feel him grinning. “Why don’t you take me to bed, my love?”

[theolddarkmachine]

desert smoke & aries rising

There was something about weed and starlight that was inherently romantic to Keith. Maybe it was the way those very stars he looked up to seemed to burrow their way into the spaces between his ribs with each inhale. Maybe it was the combination of the constellations with the heady scent of musky floral.

Most likely, it was because if he was sitting on the roof, tracking the likes of Andromeda and Scorpius with a joint between his lips, he wasn’t alone.

“I wonder what everyone would say if they knew my supplier was the Takashi Shirogane,” he mused, each word carrying a cloud across his lips. It had never escaped Keith that the biggest joke of all was that the Garrison’s pride and joy was also the one with the best bud on campus.

It’s medicinal, Shiro had once said when Keith didn’t know better.

Medicinal, my ass, Keith had said, because he’d always known better.

Warnings: Rated T for Teen for making out and getting high.

Word count: 2k

AO3

A/N: I CAN NEITHER CONFIRM OR DENY MY OWN EXPERIENCES WITH MARY JANE. However, if I did so happen to have any, my favorite strain would probably be called Space Queen. This was partially inspired by @acatnamedskai ‘s smoky Sheiths ( x // x ) that originally got the idea of Sheith and weed stuck in my head. And also somehow partially inspired by a drive home from volunteering and shuffle hitting me with some Panic! at the Disco. yall i just dont even know either okay

*********************************

There was something about weed and starlight that was inherently romantic to Keith. Maybe it was the way those very stars he looked up to seemed to burrow their way into the spaces between his ribs with each inhale. Maybe it was the combination of the constellations with the heady scent of musky floral.

Most likely, it was because if he was sitting on the roof, tracking the likes of Andromeda and Scorpius with a joint between his lips, he wasn’t alone.

“I wonder what everyone would say if they knew my supplier was the Takashi Shirogane,” he mused, each word carrying a cloud across his lips. It had never escaped Keith that the biggest joke of all was that the Garrison’s pride and joy was also the one with the best bud on campus.

It’s medicinal, Shiro had once said when Keith didn’t know better.

Medicinal, my ass, Keith had said, because he’d always known better.

A shoulder pressed playfully into the meat of his arm as Shiro leaned in close, plucking the spliff easily from between his fingers as Keith marveled at the way the contact was interpreted through his skin as a gilded thrum. He would never admit that he was a quantifiable weed lightweight, but if he did, he would say that a couple hits was all he needed to turn simple touches into painted colors that left his mind reeling.

Good thing he wasn’t admitting it.

“No one would believe you, bad boy,” Shiro laughed darkly around the moniker before pinching the joint between his thumb and forefinger, bringing it carefully to his lips before he sucked in a deep breath. For a moment, Keith let himself get lost in the way his cheeks hollowed around the inhale.

For another, he recalled how Shiro’s cheeks had hollowed the same way earlier around a different kind of suck.

Seconds past as the older cadet let the smoke settle into his lungs, coating it with the earthy sour taste of their favorite bud. All the while he held Keith’s gaze, waiting until he knew good and well that he was truly seeing him before dropping a deadly wink.

Heat rose up from the forest fire in his chest and flooded to his cheeks, turning them a light pink that he’d be embarrassed about if he didn’t already feel the buzz of the smoke that shook all his other shames away.

“You make being a bad boy sound hot,” he hummed thoughtfully as he Shiro offered him the joint again. While he knew he probably shouldn’t, the bright shock of the cherry was oh so inviting.

Almost as inviting as the lips that had just kissed it with more life.

A smirk twitched at the corner of Shiro’s mouth before he exhaled a near opaque curtain of smoke that masked all but the sharp spark of his silver eyes.

“You are hot,” he said simply with a shrug as if it was the most natural and obvious thing. Of course, to Shiro, it probably was. Keith didn’t have any qualms about how his boyfriend felt about him. He knew, just as much as Shiro knew how he felt. They were vocal enough about it, and when words just weren’t enough to capture the way their veins burned with want, they translated it through touch.

That didn’t stop the way those three simple words made his stomach flip and his heart jolt.

Some would call it sappy.

Keith would call it love. With a side of some Space Queen.

“Shut up,” he said without heat before he pushed the filter between his teeth and knocked his shoulder against Shiro’s in soft retaliation. Dragging in another long breath of hazy burnt earth, he focused on the way it twisted and burned its way down his throat. It sent a rush to his head in the most satisfyingly dizzy way as he turned his eyes towards the sky, not missing the way the pinpricks of light dragged into lines before his vision could catch up.

They really were beautiful. Not that they weren’t always.

There had been two reasons why Keith had come to the Galaxy Garrison. The first being that he really didn’t have any other option. Iverson had plucked him from a holding cell in the local jail after he’d stolen the man’s hover bike and “shown him some of the best racing style he’d ever seen.”

Get in a simulator, and I’ll drop the charges, the man had said in a commanding voice. If anyone asked, Keith would have told them that it was nothing more than a good business decision.

Really, it was the second reason, which was the never ending stretch of stars that littered the desert sky each night.

There hadn’t been much that Keith could depend on in his life. Other people were always a letdown, and life always seemed to like to remind him of that, but the stars? They had always been there for him in a way that no one else had been and the Garrison stood like a shiny and chrome beacon trying to help him finally find a place amongst them.

Of course, then he’d been a dumb kid with a chip on his shoulder and some pointed, bony fists.

Now?

Well, now he was still a dumb kid with hard fists, but he’d also found someone as reliable as the inky night sky.

Takashi Shirogane. Noble silver. Just like the starlight they both shared a deep rooted love for. Keith hated to say it felt like fate.

But…

“The bud has you thoughtful tonight, babe,” Shiro’s voice was a purr at his ear as his nose brushed against the soft waves around it, sending a shock of neon tickles racing down his spine and eliciting a sharp laugh that expelled smoke upwards towards the heavens. Fingers brushed over the bow of his lips as they gently pulled the blunt from between them.

“No,” Keith said in a hush, violet gaze painting itself over the shape of Aries above them as he raised a hand to gesture to it. “It’s just—”

Words escaped him as he tried to string together the proper sentiments to explain to Shiro just how beautiful he thought it all was. Beautiful, gorgeous and devastatingly magnificent just didn’t seem to sum it up. If he could, he would just something about how the pinpricks of faraway light gave him the same feeling of awe as the bright polished silver of Shiro’s eyes and then maybe he would get it.

Only everything he wanted to say was a swirl of haze and lightning that ran through his body, unruly and unattainable.

“I know,” Shiro breathed, leaving a shock of heat burning across his cheek before he soothed it away with a gentle kiss. “We’re going to be up there one day.”

It was another simple statement that painted Keith’s insides bright yellow. We’re going to be up there one day. Simple and easy, and as obvious as the sky being up and the sea being down.

He could have said as much, but even the three letters of ‘yes’ stuck themselves to the inside of his throat. Instead, Keith turned his head quickly, capturing Shiro’s lips with his own. It was a sweet thing, tinged with the edge of sour smoke that still hung on their tongues. Without preamble, and without breaking the contact, Keith rolled over his hip, deftly crawling into Shiro’s lap and wrapping his arms around his neck.

The sweetness was quickly chased away by something much more sloppy, and much more natural as he opened into the kiss, pressing forward with his tongue and licking the back of Shiro’s teeth. He felt the steady slide of his boyfriend’s hands as the skimmed up and over his ribs, the soft poke of the joint still clutched in the v of his fingers drawing a ticklish line along the heat that spread with them.

“Keith.” His name was a moan that he swallowed as he ground his hips down, the sensation of it cracking his lips into a devilish smile. Behind his sternum, he could feel the expanding formation of a whole new universe that was sure to burn him alive if he wasn’t careful.

Gently, Keith pulled back.

“Baby,” Shiro said in a hush as he chased after him with half lidded eyes and peony petal lips. The sight of him pushed the solar flare closer to being as Keith pushed his fingers up the nape of his neck, catching the growing hair hair there between their spaces. He was always beautiful, but like this, he was stunning. A paragon of everything Keith could have ever hoped to dream for, except even then his dreams never did line up just right.

There was no way he could have ever been creative enough to come up with a dream like Shiro.

Holding his sterling gaze within the amethyst of his own, Keith reached his other hand towards his side to pull the still smoldering joint from Shiro’s fingers. It didn’t have much left, maybe a hit or two, but they had never been a pair to let anything go to waste. Silver turned molten as Shiro watched Keith take the shallow hit, trapping the smoke within his mouth before he pressed the cherry into the roof beside them, snuffing it out.

Gently tipping his head back with the tips of two fingers, Keith leant down, brushing his nose against Shiro’s in silent question. Recognition sparked as the older cadet parted his lips just as Keith exhaled, trapping the smoke in the minute space between them as Shiro breathed it in.

Then he was pushing forward, swallowing the tang of it and the small sound Keith made. Coated with the smooth brush of smoke, this kiss was slower. Gentler. It caressed every inch of his skin was the soft blushing glow of everything sweet.

Everything that Shiro was.

The world tilted as he slowly laid out beneath him, pulling Keith down on top of him with the grace of feigned sobriety. Catching his sigh on the tip of his tongue, Shiro returned it with a wet brush against his lips.

Keith’s body thrummed with the feathery weightlessness of the weed coursing through his veins until he was certain the only thing keeping him tethered to Earth was the halo of Shiro’s arms.

Pulling away slightly to catch his breath, he pushed one soft peck to the corner of his boyfriend’s mouth. Then another.

And then another.

It pulled a slow chuckle from deep within Shiro’s chest, which raised a warm balloon within his own as he finally rolled off him and nestled into his side. Cheek pressed to his shoulder and smile hooking his mouth upwards, Keith returned his slightly shaking gaze back up to the heavens that twinkled and winked above them.

“Shiro?” He said after he finally found his voice buried beneath the burning sun of happiness in his chest.

“Yeah?” The word rumbled against his skin as Shiro’s fingers began to track lines across the arm splayed across his waist. Each stroke left a shimmering hum that effused from the boundaries of each touch.

“We’re going to be up there one day,” Keith said slowly. Even with the way it slurred and swayed at the edges, the meaning of it stood open and bare between them.

I love you. As if he hadn’t said it before. But somehow, saying it this way seemed to get the point across better. Of course, maybe that was just the weed talking.

“Yeah, baby,” Shiro breathed before he dropped a soft kiss to the top of his crown, sending a shock of Northern Lights scattering down through his body and curling at the tips of his toes.

I love you, too.

“We sure are.”

*******************************

[musicaldoodlebug]

The Paris Princess and The Pastry Prince- Chapter One

Marinette Dupain-Cheng had grown up like every other normal girl.

Okay. That was a lie. Most girls hadn’t been modeling since they could walk, could play the piano practically perfectly, and were fluent in Chinese.

These were perfectly normal to Marinette. After all, when your mother is the head of Cheng Designs, you’re also expected to uphold those standards.

——//——

Marinette had grown up in Paris. Her home was full of so much love. Her mother sewed and drew, weaving beautiful works of art. Her father baked, making treats, and cooked, creating the best dinners in the world. There was never need for a chef in the Dupain-Cheng home.

Marinette grew up so loved. She was daddy’s little girl, playing in the kitchen, helping him ice cupcakes to take to mummy’s office. But she also loved drawing. Her mother had been thrilled to discover her daughters interest in fashion.

And so the flour covered girl became polished with glitter. She began modeling for her mother, designing her own clothes in her spare time. She filled sketchbook after sketchbook, receiving critiques from her mother. Her designs began to appear crisper, more of what was expected of someone much older. And when Marinette was only ten, she began sewing her own clothing.

It started off sloppy, sure, but Marinette was proud. She gave homemade presents to everyone. Chloë, Marinette’s best friend, even asked for her clothes. So, Marinette made them. And each stitch got better. Each hem became straighter.

And by the age of twelve, Marinette Dupain-Cheng had released her first clothing line. Under her mother of course. And she continued to model. She had also picked up ballet along the way. Something that her mother suggested to “make her more graceful.”

Hey! She did kind of need it. But Marinette’s life was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

There was a break in. Sabine was off on a business trip. The alarms weren’t working. And that was how Marinette was found, locked in the embrace of her father. He had taken a bulletin for her.

The cameras of course had caught everything. And Sabine became frightened. She was terrified for her daughter’s safety. So what was the best option?

Send her to live with Sabine’s family in China.

Marinette was sent away immediately following the funeral. Sabine stayed in Paris, rebuilding her fashion empire. She cleaned up the messes, and made herself stronger. But in doing that, she pushed her daughter away.

Of course, Marinette still continued to model. After all, her mum had fashion locations all throughout Europe and Asia. But she was lonely. She behaved, did what her mother asked of her. Picked up the piano and let her grandmother homeschool her.

After all, public school was no place for a famous designer’s daughter.

——//——

Marinette had to keep a pleasant smile on her face. She was raised better than to squeal. Squealing was for pigs, not young ladies.

“Yes Mother. I understand Mother. I will see you soon. Have a wonderful day.” She kept her voice nice and even. /She was going home!/

A year was a long time to stay in China with her grandma. Not that she didn’t love her. Oh no. She was someone Marinette wanted around all the time. But her mother would never approve of some of the things she was allowed to do here.

Looking towards her grandmother, she saw she was finished with the phone. Grabbing it, she placed it back on the stand. Then she turned to await what her grandmother would say.

“Of course you can go home, Mari!” the old woman responded to Marinette’s stiffness. “You are not a tree, you don’t have to be so straight. Go ahead, up to your room, and gather your things.” The old woman chucked when her granddaughter burst out a huge grin. She heard the door fling open, and then another door.

Oh that girl was something.

——//——

When the day came for Marinette to go back to Paris, her grandmother went with her. The old woman seemed to have something planned. But as to what it was, Marinette had no clue. It didn’t bother her either. She was bouncing with anticipation of going home.

Security was a breeze, and both made it to the gate together with an hour to spare. They sat down, and Marinette straightened her outfit. It was from her mother’s new line, just released. She had to look presentable when arriving in Paris.

Her pink jeans were warm, but not overbearing. They were styled with a white shirt, a dark grey jacket, and her favorite flats. She looked presentable, and it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Finally, the intercom announced the boarding, and Marinette spring out of her seat. She gave her grandmother a hug, kissed her cheeks, and grabbed her bag. She began to walk towards the door.

“Marinette wait!”

Her grandmother beckoned for her. She hug in her pockets, before pulling out a box.

“This is a sacred family heirloom. I want you to wear them all the time. You’ll find that they really are special. And you don’t want to lose them either.”

“Yes grandmother. But-“ she looked at her grandmother with her eyebrows risen, “if I don’t want to lose them, maybe I shouldn’t wear them?”

“Oh you must! You have to wear them! Oh-“ she lowered her voice, “Marinette. Only try them on when you are alone.”

And with that, her grandmother walked away. Marinette watched her, definitely confused. She was a crazy old woman.

Oh well. She couldn’t dwell on it now. She had a plane to board!

She was going home.

——//——

“Today’s news is exceptional. There is...” the television droned on. Adrien sat at the table, eating one of his mother’s fresh baked croissants. He heard footsteps running up the stairs, turning just in time for his mother to kiss his forehead.

“I’m gonna be running the bakery today. Your papa has been baking so many cakes for that one delivery, I swear we’ll never get the fondant out of that apron.” She stopped her running around the kitchen, shooting Adrien a warm smile. Adrien just grinned back. He really loved his mom.

“Oh, Adrien. When you finish eating make sure to get the laundry folded. And don’t you even try folding the clothes they way your father does. There is only one way clothes should be...” she continued ranting, finally finding her apron and running back downstairs.

Adrien heard a grunt and a hiss. His mom often missed a few steps going back down. He just smiled.

His croissant had gone slightly cold, but that didn’t stop him from shoving the whole thing into his mouth. He heard running footsteps again, and waited for the sweet sound of his mother’s voice to tell him to do something.

He wasn’t expecting the weight of another body slamming into him, knocking him off of his seat.

“Hey! What’s the big idea-mmmpph-“ the mop of red-brown hair put her hand over his mouth.

“Oh my goodness Adrien! Guess what!” Adrien’s good friend, Alya, asked. Or more like stated. Adrien knew by now to let the Girl continue talking. She often answered her own “questions.”

“Adrien! Do you remember the Cheng fashion incident? Like about a year ago? Oh of course you do! You listened to me ramble about it for a week. Well, Sabine Cheng’s daughter is coming back to Paris!”

Alya was always obsessed with celeb drama. Of course, any of it that didn’t include Chloë. Adrien didn’t even fight as Alya dragged him over to the couch, where the news was already playing. She browsed around a few channels, finally settling on one and pointing.

“Good Morning Paris! I’m Nadia Chamak, bringing you some breaking news. Paris’ own fashion princess herself, Marinette Cheng, is rumored to be returning to Paris. After the death of her father, the girl went to stay in China with her family, causing many to speculate that-“

Alya hit mute, and turned to Adrien with a huge grin on her face. “She’s coming back! The Paris Princess is coming back!” Alya continued chanting, bouncing up and down in her seat.

“And why is this so important, Alya?”

“Well, duh!” She looked at Adrien like he had no clue what was going on. “It means more gossip for my blog!” Adrien rolled his eyes. Of course.

Alya nudged him. “I’m kidding. Okay. I’m mostly kidding. But you forget, sunshine, I used to know her.”

“You didn’t Alya.” He received a elbow to he ribs for that one.

“First off, you need to eat more. Like you live above a bakery, and you are skin and bones. And second, uh, pretty boy, I took dance with the amazing Marinette Cheng.”

“Alya. You took the hip hop and tap classes that were always after hers.”

“Yeah, but...” she seemed lost for a moment. Then the fire sprung back in her eyes. “But I actually talked to her. And I shared a shoe cubby with her.”

Adrien could only roll his eyes. He began picking himself off of the couch, and went to the kitchen to wash his dishes. Alya trailed him like a sad puppy. She was going on and on about how Marinette would be an awesome friend for her.

“Look Als. You know I love you, but isn’t she friends with Chloë?” The nod he received was more than enough to continue. “Then she’s probably just another stuck up rich kid. And besides, we won’t have to deal with her. So, let’s just enjoy the last day of summer, ok?”

Alya, looked disheartened, before a grin lit up her face.

“Bet I can frost more cookies than you!”

“Oh you’re on!”

——//——

[benyavin]

your favorite breaking benjamin album!!

MARIA!!! How dare you??? (I love this I love you but w h y would you EVER ASK ME?? TO C H O O S E ?????? Between ALL SIX (((SIX!! There’s a new one!!))) BEAUTIFUL BREAKING BENJAMIN ALBUMS WHEN LITERALLY ALL OF THEM ARE SO BEAUTIFUL WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME)

Clearly you must have known you were asking for an essay on Breaking Benjamin albums. So I shall humor you, as there is nothing I love to talk about more.

Saturate - 2002Okay okay okay if I had to pick a /least/ favorite it’s probably this one. BUT THAT DOES NOT MEAN I DO NOT LOVE IT OR THAT IT ISN’T AMAZING. Ahem. Disclaimer over. This was the first album, figuring stuff out and getting their name out there. It doesn’t have the polish of more recent recording techniques or the wisdom from years of experience of what’s going to resonate with people. It’s young. It’s raw. It’s reckless and edgy in that I’m-in-my-early-20’s-and-trying-to-be-grown-up way. It’s mouthy and sexual at times (Shallow Bay, No Games). It’s strange and weird at some points. (Skin, Sugarcoat, Natural Life, Polyamorous, I’m looking at all of you). But it has a lot of strength. From | out of the ground, I rise to grace; nobody knows it’s just a phase | to | come and take my breath away, look me straight in the face | to | what I want from this world, what I want to resolve: well, I want you to stay, so I want you to wait | to | you said you’d love to see the end; the long, hard road that I have been | to that soaring triumph at the close of shallow bay, | you live, you learn, you’ll live | as the guitars fade and the strings sing for the last few seconds. The building rumble and screeches and melody of Natural Life. The long slow hand drum intro to Phase. The cheery pace and melody of Skin. The stripped back, questioning, Forever. There’s a lot of bright moments and beautiful details, but the biggest thing about it is all the potential it reeks of. It’s a solid album and deserves more love. 7/10

We Are Not Alone - 2004FORGET IT!!!! EVERYONE STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING AND GO LISTEN TO IT IT’S SO BEAUTIFUL!!!A more than satisfying successor to Saturate’s potential, WANA showcases the maturity Ben’s songwriting has achieved in just two short years. Every song was written with the same amount of intent - he doesn’t write singles and then filler, he writes every song to be single-worthy and then cherry picks the singles out of the bunch, and the quality-centric approach is evident. The cold selfish rage of Believe, the detached broken-heartedness of Break My Fall, Sooner Or Later, Away, the soft folded up sadness in Forget It and Rain, the driving desperation of So Cold, the self-deprecation of Firefly….| Cold am I; I’m beside myself because there’s no one else | | I’ll be there for you till my heart is black and blue | | is it you I want, or just the notion of a heart to wrap around so I can find my way around? || and now I find you’ve left me behind, I don’t know what to say, so never mind || never mind, forget it, there’s nothing to lose but my mind and all the things I wanted |It’s very good and very solid. A lovely album. Not quite through with it’s mouthiness, the sexual edges toned down a bit more, everyone knew they were going places with this album. As a whole it has a coldness to it. It’s a dark picture of life it paints, but it does so in beautiful, if sometimes somewhat sloppy, strokes. And, well. To be human is to be messy. WANA is, at its heart, a very human album. 9/10

Phobia - 2006Their big break!! The album most fans discovered them through, many of whom swear they never have and never will top it. Phobia begins a recurring theme of touching on mythical ideas, sprinkling angels (evil ones, in this case) and the devil as characters in the familiar, gritty, determined narrative. Driving and melodic music and snappy drum tracks carry some of Ben’s best vocals yet along on a sweet sweet ride. It’s not as dark as WANA or as immature as Saturate, displaying a bit more hopefulness and intention to carry on despite the difficulty and pain, and the last bits of overtly sexual themes play themselves out in Topless, a song from 2002 that never made it onto previous records. It’s gripping and cohesive and sonically just a pleasure. The iconic The Diary of Jane and Breath, the steadfast Until the End and Unknown Soldier, the rage of Had Enough, the brokenness of Here We Are, You, and You Fight Me, the desperation of Evil Angel and Dance With the Devil. It’s a wonderful album and deserves all the love. | forgive me, my love; I stand here all alone and I can see the bottom | | hiding, betrayal, driving the nail, hoping to find a savior || so clever, whatever, I’m done with these endeavors || flat on my lonely face I fell, finding in the end, I live well || it only hurts just once; they’re only broken bones || I believe in you; I can show you that I can see right through all your empty lies |Fantastic 9/10

Dear Agony - 2009IT’S MY ALBUM!!! MY BIRTHDAY ALBUM, MY LOVE LIKE NO OTHER!!! (Okay so yes you could make an argument that this is indeed my favorite. And I would probably agree, but I’d feel really bad about it because all of them are good!!! Most flat out fantastic!!!! DA just holds a really special place in my heart that nothing can ever displace.)It’s tight, it’s sound, it’s cohesive and raw and all the growth of the previous albums honed to perfection. It’s a masterpiece. It’s beauty, rage, and heartbreak. It’s so cold and emotional. From the sharp anger of Crawl, Lights Out, and What Lies Beneath, to the hopelessness of Hopeless (hehe) and Fade Away and Dear Agony, the grief of Anthem of the Angels and Give Me a Sign, the indomitable will of I Will Not Bow and Into the Nothing, the catharsis and mourning of Without You. This one has it all.| falling forever, chasing dreams; I brought you to life so I can hear you scream || all in all, you’re no good; you don’t cry like you should || days go on forever, but I have not left your side; we can chase the dark together, if you go then so will I || stay with me, you’re all I have left, I know we can make it out alive || now you wanna take me down, as if I even care; I am the monster in your head ||no longer the lost, no longer the same || holding the hand that holds me down; I forgive you, forget you, the end | | carry me to heavens arms, light the way and let me go, take the time to take my breath, I will end where I began |In conclusion, go buy it and force it in your ears right now 11/10

Dark Before Dawn - 2015I waited FIVE YEARS for this. FIVE Y E A R S. And it was worth every minute. DBD has huge nostalgia/dream come true status for me that it will never lose. I was there for this one. I experienced everything going on around it and there’s nothing like the first time. It’s a solid album, the theme of the title played out wonderfully with the intro and outro tracks, Dark and Dawn respectively. This album incorporates a new element, a feeling in the music I can’t think of any other way to describe than as spiritual/uplifting. This element even gets lyrical recognition in the marked departure from their usual style, Ashes of Eden, as well as in The Great Divide and Defeated. The anthemic Failure, Angels Fall, and Never Again, the brokenness of Hollow and Close To Heaven, the pain of Bury Me Alive and the clunky, bright Breaking the Silence. It’s a lovely album given cohesion by the fine details. The intro track is a compelling slow song into soft moans and a trademark roar over echoey tapes of a man describing the human response to rage, fear, and pain. The outro track starts with the soft pattering of a recording of his infant son’s heartbeat, followed by gentle vocalization from Ben and his wife. The album art is a solar eclipse against an ocean, a tiny island barely visible in the crashing water; in the clouds in the dark where the moon blocks out the sun, you can see the outline of Ben’s son’s sonogram. It begins in a dark place and ends in bliss. It’s the happy ending we’ve all been dreaming of after a life of struggle. It’s full of love and beauty for all the pain in the music itself. It’s a precious thing.| I’m coming home; release me, my love | | we bury the sunlight || I’m chasing the righteous, becoming a part of you || never surrender, out of the embers, save a space inside for me || are you with me after all? Why can’t I hear you? || stay alive; heaven holds a place for us tonight | | divided, I will stand, and I will let this end || leave all the lost souls behind; show us we’re worth forsaking |Absolutely incredible 10/10

Ember - 2018Okay so I wasn’t so excited about this album for a number of reasons. One being I have been way too busy to pay a lot of attention and the songs they released before the album as a whole were good but not quite what I was hoping for, another being the betrayal and loss of a close friend and the association of her with the thing we both loved and became friends because of. So I judged it rather unfairly at first. BUT on hearing the album as a whole the first time all that was blown out of the water. It’s absolutely beautiful and it both breaks my heart and makes me stronger. The heartbreaking out of left field piano and thunder track, The Dark of You, moved me near to tears. Tourniquet and Down fill me up with rage and determination to conquer the things that have held me down these last months. The sheer desolation of Feed the Wolf and Red Cold River, the strangely optimistic Torn In Two, Psycho, and Open Your Eyes, the self-destructive Blood. Some people complain that it’s too repetitive in terms of things they’ve done before but I would like to again remind everyone that there are now, with this album, four people who are not Benjamin who are trying to write Breaking Benjamin songs. Of course they’re drawing off older themes. They’re trying to be true to the sound and they’ve done an amazing job and honestly all of you need to shut up and stop being so ungrateful. Give them some time to figure out how to be more “original” while keeping in line with the core of what Breaking Benjamin is. This album is still amazing and is one for the books.| and now the weak that fall, return to ash, defeated after all || I will fight this war for you, and let the dawn of love survive | | I can’t feel anything at all; this love has led me to the end || carry me o’er the ground, heavy won’t hold me down || love will tie the tourniquet and suffocate me || I am the warm embracing || and all that I regret, I have before, I will again || with my dying breath, I keep this prayer alive |Go buy it RIGHT NOW!!?!! 10/10

In conclusion: *screams endlessly into the void* I’M A MESS AND CANNOT MAKE DECISIONS. EVERYTHING IS AMAZING I AM JUST OVERWHELMED BY ALL OF IT. NEVER ASK ME THIS QUESTION AGAIN (unless you want another rant/review post, in which case, please do!)

[daybyjae]

The Tale of a Desk

I finally have a functioning desk setup!!

My History with Desks:

I have been needing a new desk setup for months now. From May 2020 up until this past February. That may come as a shock to you as this past year being the working and schooling from home era, desks were a necessity.

I've had a desk for the majority of my life. My childhood bedroom set came with a desk, then I later bought a replacement before I went off to dorm where bedroom desks were a given. Even though I've always had desks rarely did I fully utilize them. My childhood desk was a catch-all during my sloppy phase. It held books, school papers, clothes, hair products, everything!! Because of this I never used it to study, do homework, or even read as the entirety of its surface area was occupied. Fast forward to my late teen years I wanted to get rid of the desk. I was aware that the desk was causing more harm than good, feeding into my clutter habit. So I downsized to a small desk that I intended to use as a vanity since I wasn't going to lie to myself and say that I'd actually do any work on it. I still have it to this day, it's still fulfilling the role of a vanity as I store makeup and hair products there but it's too small to function as a desk for me.

When I went off to dorm for college I had no choice but to finally use a desk. I was determined to do well in school and I knew that the best way to limit procrastination was to separate my areas of work and rest. It also helped that in the tiny room that I shared with another person that it was the only seating with a flat surface in front of it. Instead of using a dining table for a desk (as I had been for most of my life) I was using a desk as a dining table. The truth of its role was a constant reminder to get work done. When I returned to college again last year I fell back into the routine of getting most of my work done at my desk. However, once the panoramic pandemic hit I wanted to not only separate work and rest but also put creativity in its own realm. At this point, I was still dorming but my roommate had left so I had an extra desk.

I made that my creative space. I would paint, read and even edit videos at that desk. I loved having a designated fun space and it helped me out of a couple cycles of the lockdown blues. When that semester ended it was time for me to move on and out, I rented a small room in Brooklyn. Sadly there was no space for a desk so I couldn't create a solid work or creative space there. I would do whatever work I had in bed and but it was only a temporary stay so I made it work. After 3 months of renting that room, I went off to rent my own apartment! I was ecstatic but slightly broke. I had just put down over $5k to move in and I had to spread out my furniture purchasing. For about the first 6 months of my living in this apartment, I had no desk OR dining table. This is especially wild since I worked from home for months. I moved my vanity desk from my childhood home into my space but it was too small for what I needed plus I didn't have any chairs. I spent the first three months furnishing in other ways as to not completely blow all my money in one go. The last 3 months were spent hunting for a desk. Now I know what you're thinking, "It doesn't take that long to find a desk", but in a pandemic it does!

I had a particular size and style in mind to match my current space and the options were limited so I was saving. The first desks that I was looking at were upward of $200 so I had to double-check my decision and would then always change my mind. One day I had FINALLY decided on a desk but two issues arose. One, it was constantly out of stock in the color that I wanted. Two, the shipping was $50. The desk I ended up getting ended up being around $90 but it was coming from IKEA and they don't do free delivery. This lead to me trying to bulk up my order so that the purchase would be "worth it". I finally bit the bullet in February as the $50 on top of the actual price of the desk still kept me under my original budget.

How I Will Use the Desk:

With this desk, I had a few things in mind. Yes, this is a working space (typing this on her right now) but I also wanted it to be my creative space. Since I'm not in school and I go out for my job all the work that I do at this desk is leisurely work. Education and self-administered projects that I do for me and me alone. Because of that, I don't feel the same need I did when I was in school to separate creative space from working space. At this desk, I will continue to learn and grow in whatever avenue that piques my interest. I will hone my writing, study math, edit videos, paint, and oftentimes eat at my desk ( still don't have a dining table).

When I have the time and energy I choose a subject to learn or introduce myself to. Some of the educational work I have done on my own time have been; using Codecademy to learn the basics of different coding languages, taking Coursera courses on whatever they are offering for the great price of free, use my college provided Linkedin Learning account to learn the basics and intricacies of a variety of topics and currently I am teaching myself statistics through Khan Academy. I love to learn even about things that don't immediately impact me. My true goal in life is to learn about as many things as I can and those online resources that I mentioned are just a few ways that I work on my never-ending status of being a student.

Let's talk a little more about the creative side of this desk. I already told you about some of the fun things that I will do here but let's dive into it a little more. I have been writing and editing more even before I got this desk since I started working on this blog and posting videos for it but I want to expand. When it comes to writing I want to improve not just my grammar and wording but also my physical handwriting. I have pretty bad handwriting, certified chicken scratch, and I plan on improving that. This will probably be a project that goes across several years but we all need a starting point and mine was simply to actually have a flat surface to write on. I started journaling before I had the desk to get some thoughts down and actually use my handwriting more often but I would have to cut it short since writing without a table or desk is pretty difficult to do for long periods of time. Now with this desk and the excess of time caused via coronavirus I can easily journal two pages without my wrist crying out for help. Today I even started to watch some videos on how to improve my print. The true goal is to be able to produce amazing calligraphy but I understand the value of baby steps so I will start off small for now.

I will especially plan at this desk! I love to plan out my days, weeks, goals, habits, whatever comes to mind I will try to plan for it. However, it felt somewhat counterproductive when I would hunch forward in bed to plan out my day and week for productivity. I plan my best when my mind and body feel good and planning with poor posture didn't make sense.

Hobbies I plan to test out/improve that benefit from having a desk

calligraphy

editing

painting

sketching/ drawing

planning (yes it's a super fun hobby, fight me in the comments)

people watching through my window

comment how you're personally enjoying your desk besides school and work

Simply Benefits of Having a Desk:

The separation between leisure and work. I have goals with my home studies, I don't have goals for my streaming consumption.

I have already felt an increase in productivity. Since I know have a designated space to work it is easier to focus. It has even made falling asleep easier. With my bed no longer being a place of productivity I can sleep easier and faster with far fewer tossing and turning.

My room is less empty. I moved into my current apartment around 6 months ago and it is still pretty bare. Having this desk take up some of the blank white space feels good and makes me happy when I see it.

I'm not sure what my desk status will be in my next home but hopefully, it takes less time to figure out.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it.