#evanescence gave me life ;; ( crack )

[neverlostmycrown]

Evanescence - Evanescence (Ev3) Deluxe Edition, 2011 - Digital Booklet

(hq via archive.org)

Amy would like to thank: I want to thank everyone at Blackbird Studios in Nashville, for letting us use your amazing place to create, and for making us feel like part of the family. Special thanks to John and Martina McBride (for running such an awesome studio, and for the BBQ!) Nathan Yarborough - the best and sweetest assistant engineer anywhere, and all the interns who gave me rides home. Also, thank you to all our friends at S.I.RNash- you’ve been such an important part of this record. From writing and pre-production to rehearsing and performing, it all happened in the big room at the end of the hall! Thank you for being so good to us. Big love to Nick Raskulinecz, the man with the plan. Thank you for believing in me, for pushing me, for making me stronger, for cracking me up, and knowing when to say HELL YEAH!! Thank you Paul Figueroa: Engineer extraordinaire, master chef, bowling champion! Thank you Terry, Tim, Will and Troy for having my back, for bringing rad, inventive ideas to the table, and most of all, for making it LOUD! Thank you so much David Campbell, Dave Eggar and all of the string players. Thank you Chris Vrenna, you rule! Thank you Will B. Hunt for the inspiration, the good times, and the very special music we made together. Thank you to John Nicholson, one of my new favorite people! Also thank you to Phyllis Sparks and Mike Simmons. Thank you Dave Fortman, for your advice, support, and friendship throughout my career. Thank you Diana Meltzer for discovering me and always supporting me! Thank you Josh, for supporting and encouraging me to be brave and remember love, above all. Thank you Mom, Dad, Carrie, Lori, and Robby for being my biggest fans and always supporting me, making me feel safe when life gets hard, and taking me to Disney World no matter how old I get! Love to all of my wonderful family- I am so blessed. Gotta give a shout out to my girl, Beth! Thanks for being someone I can always count on. I can’t wait to laugh around the world with you once more! Thank you Zach and Stacy Williams, for your friendship and your inspiration. Thank you Eddie “Muscles” Mapp (for being awesome). Thank you everyone at Wind-up records for working so hard for us and putting out this album. Thank you Andy Lurie for all your hard work and support. Thank you Chrissy Igoe and the rest of 110 Management. Thank you Gary Haber and Patty Wicker for everything you do for me! Thank you Ken Ewing, Sheryl Rowling and Steve Baron. A very special thank you to our fans, for listening to our music, for letting it take a place in your hearts, for sharing your lives with us, for making all of this possible.

[jaegersolstice]

Death is sought in the form of a tree — it grows in forms of rough branches that grow into ready leaves that fall away. Each leaf, representative of a different method, a different mark on the world — a last goodbye. Overdose, heart attack, disease — gravel, dirt, pavement, all roads to the same destination, all choices to the same outcome.

To Dazai, death is nothing but a rite of passage; a political play, if you will. The system has had the the death of mankind configured since the beginning of time. To some, it is God who clutches their conviction and kicks at their heels, urging them to procure happiness. And then, there are those who believe life to be a series of serendipitous events.

Both lives believe death to be fate — that despite the argument of what creates a sin, passing is already known.

But Dazai has died many times.

Truly, he’s been counting. He avoided admitting it, though — not that dying is embarrassing, but wanting to die is (perhaps that’s the way it should be).

He separates the stages of his life into three parts: afterlife, alimentation, and nothingness. All of them, a continuous puzzle, distinctly marked yet none propitious enough for Dazai to remember, save one.

All of them ended in death.

“Penny for your thought?” A saccharine tone pulls him out of his thoughts, only to cause another wave of contemplation to crash through him. Dazai does not look up. He does not have to.

“Amounted to much? Of course not until you arrived, Fyodor.”

A small chuckle escapes the Russian presumptuously (a laugh of pity perhaps).

Wispy tendrils of smoke trail behind Fyodor, blending with the smoky air of the graveyard. Dazai is synonymous in his charcoal evening shift, buttoned to the top-most button. He sits in front of a gravestone, rocks marking on his calloused palms as he props himself up.

Even in the darkness of night, the man beside him stands out.

Fyodor Doetoesvky is starlight — present perpetually yet falling between the cracks of universes, evanescently existing before tumbling to the next — an inevitable pause without warning.

Make no mistake — he is far from a saint — one could spot him from his sins from afar; they drag behind him, as if he is a God and his wrongs must be glad to be tied to such a being (Dazai calls bullshit).

“If I had known you would be paying me a visit today, I would have dressed a bit nicer,” Dazai mock groans, casting the taller a soft glare.

“It is Sunday. Have you seemed to neglect me already? I’m quite hurt, Dazai.”

“I never was a stickler for punctuality and you know that Fyodor.”

Dazai’s tongue is one coated with poison — he’s a liar and Fyodor is well aware; but as a worshipper of the Devil himself, he need not to show his hypocrisy.

“With him you were, and besides, you have changed quite a bit, have you not? Your visits are brief, or non existent, you do not bring flowers,” Fyodor confirms, wary eyes fixed on the name etched on the gravestone.

“Habits change, appearance shifts, but human nature remains. Only in death does it cease. I have not changed, Fyodor. But perhaps you have just sinned a little less and thought of me a little better.”

“Perhaps.”

—

If love is life, then the loss of love is demise, and Dazai’s grip on life has always been a bit too weak. He likes to believe that on the day of his birth, he was born with years shaved off his life.

Perhaps he was a bit too frail, weak-minded, weak-hearted; he was not sure what it was but he knew he had been used before. As if he had been worn out, healthy for a while, then cast aside as another puppet, overused and unneeded — it was as if he had already lived before.

The stutter of his heart resounded hollowly and when the wintry skies would over take Yokohama, he feared the chatter of his teeth.

He was indebted to his weaknesses, however.

It gave him what mankind set out on a pursuit for: an excuse. He did not have to recount tales of picturesque infatuation to prove happiness. It was simple: Dazai was happy because he should have been satisfied that he was living at all.

[inkwolvesandcoffee]

Mokum Part 2 (Alfie Solomons x Reader, Modern AU)

Genre: Romance, Angst, Humour, Modern AU

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Alfie Solomons x Dutch Fem!Reader

Word count: 20K

Warnings: Swearing/Cussing, allusion to eating disorders, lots of self-doubt and melancholy, Alfie being a tooth-rotting fluffy gentleman, vaping, Papa Solomons/Wolfy antics (yes, that is a warning in and of itself).

Summary: Sequel to Mokum Part 1.

Alfie

It’s funny, innit, ‘ow I get to meet the little dove in a city that’s called a safe haven. A place where I don’t ‘ave to worry about the business or me whole bloody kingdom. Yeah... real nice place, Mokum.

Exactly what I saw in a recent revelation too. I saw myself sittin' at a window, a cup of coffee in front on the table. The scenery outside was as evanescent as always, slippin’ through Time and Space like the steam from the coffee. Unsteady, waverin’, fluid. Impossible to catch and anchor, to make a concrete world, an existence to fully live in. 

But there’s also always another presence across from me. I merely assumed the shadow in the other chair was a person, a spectre of myself to forebode the end or Yahweh ‘Imself wantin’ to talk or give me a proper send-off to Hell. Never assume things you aren’t certain of, right, because you end up makin’ big mistakes that way.

I was wrong.

It was Y/N.

Inside the little bubble in that vision, she stopped time and gave me a chance to live. To forget me health and enjoy the minutes I have left.

I want to live slowly with her.

I don’t fully understand yet why or the weird effect she ‘as on me. But what I saw will come to fruition one way or the other. Even if I will only get to enjoy it for a second, right, I will do my damn best to get through that thick pretty ‘ead of ‘ers and ‘ave that moment.

A last cup of coffee with my little dove.

Afterwards, I can let go.

Open the cage and set ‘er free.  

Y/N

There is something wonderful about chasing dreams, an ideal like Love. You keep thinking you are worthy of it until you have it because it’s unfamiliar. The heat seeps into the walls you’ve created to protect yourself, crumbling them bit by bit. Yet you fight to prevent them from collapsing, terrified of the aftermath should it happen.

But sometimes it’s worth the wager, the ruin of those high walls. After all, who knows what might arise from the ashes?

One wolf tried and failed, a false victory on my behalf. To this day I regret I didn’t end the war with my heart and mind sooner.

However, now it’s Alfie who’s knocking at the gates with books and coffee.

And I stand on the other side of the door, twiddling with the key.

The sound of butterfly wings being torn ringing in my ears.

Author’s Note: Oh my days, here it is at long last. My hand definitely slipped with this one. However, I won’t lie, it kinda makes me want to dabble into novellas. Maybe I should properly attempt NaNo this summer. Anyway, cracking on!

I’ve thrown some Russian and Dutch into the mix of languages this works seems to become quite rich in. Nevertheless, as before and the same goes for the use of Yiddish, if you see any mistakes when it comes to Russian, please let me know! I will edit the text immediately.

TH Masterlist

Tag List: @hecatemoon87 @potter-solomons @buttercupsandboys @zablife @babaohhhriley @rose-like-the-phoenix @dreamlandcreations @elijahssuit​ @liliac-dreamer​ @alikaheroes​ @wandawiccan60​ @vir-tual​​​

Shoutout to the fathers who believe the blatant lies of their daughters.

“That’s a nice scarf. Is it new?”

“Yeah, I bought it recently.”

Shoutout to the fathers who don’t ask any relevant questions.

“What are you dressing up for this early?”

“It’s Saturday, remember? The fabric market.”

Shoutout to the fathers who don’t converse with their daughters.

“Ah, right! Well, have fun.”

Here’s a shoutout to their absence, their silence.

And the hidden life we daughters live in it.

There’s only a limited amount of luck in a day, but it seems I used up two days worth yesterday. 

It isn’t unusual nowadays for there to be a strike and it influencing public transport. 

Neither is it for my sister to ask me what I’m up to, although it is strange I have to lie to her. Normally I would never for it is sometimes better to keep my silence rather than tell the sometimes harsh gods-honest truth. However, the question for who the Delftware and white fluffy wolf plushie is came a little too close for comfort.

“A friend. I’m meeting up with them after the fabric market for a pumpkin spice latte.”

Not a full lie. 

A half-truth, half true.

I smiled to myself, temporarily having forgotten the rush to get to Amsterdam Central Station.

Funny, that sounds like something Alfie would say.

Shoutout to the sisters who readily accept your word.

At last I reach the destination. I mingle into the crowd to get off the train, but slip from the throng of bodies once my foot hits the platform. As per usual, they stream right to the escalator, where they form a new queue. It will be a miraculous day if the same happens at the stairs a little ways ahead.

Clutching my bag tight and pulling Alfie’s scarf closer, basking in his familiar scent and grateful for its lingering, I descend the steps into the station hall. No matter how many times I’ve been here, I always have to look both ways to make sure I head in the right direction.

Left.

Right.

Ah, there's Starbucks.

Right it is.

Outside, it’s as chaotic as ever. People walk between the trams, aggravating the drivers to no end. All around there are hellos and goodbyes, fragments of various languages on the wind which interrupt the incessant noise from the construction that is still going on. Then again, maybe it isn’t a far-fetched guess to say it’s started anew because of whatever it is they have broken up terrain for this time.

I scan my surroundings in hopes of finding Alfie. Yesterday it was fairly easy to spot him, towering above the rest of the people in the mostly empty parking lot. However, this is a spot where finding a person whose number you don’t have is like searching for a needle in a haystack.

Anyone with a Vape?

The thought makes me uneasy, worry making my fingers itch with the urge to clutch his arm and beg him to stop smoking. Unfortunately, I am not in a position to ask such a thing from him. After all, we only have today. Besides, why would he listen to a girl he barely knows? 

I fish the white and Deltware wolf plushie I made out of my bag and look wistfully into its beady eyes. Whatever the outcome of today, I have no regrets having put hours into making the wee thing. If anything, it was good practice.

Though I hope it gives him something to remember me by.

A moment.

A memory.  

But you’ll stay with him, won’t you? Until the end.

My breath hitches, my throat constricted by dark melancholy. The world slows down, bodies blurring and melting together, each face as vague and indistinguishable as the next one.

I have to find him. Jaysus fuck, where are you, Wolfy?

It’s ridiculous, a grown young woman clutching a stuffie frantically looking around. But what else can I do, desperate for what little time we have and a reason to apologise?

What if… What if he gave up? Left because I’m late? No, dear gods, no.

A wave of relief lightens the burdens off of my shoulders when I notice a long grey tweed pea coat and wolf cane by the metro entrance. Today’s outfit consists of a navy blue knitted cardigan with a beige tartan blouse underneath, both of them hanging open, and a grey button-up shirt with the top buttons undone. As I approach, I notice some of his chest hair peeking out, dark brown peppered with grey.

Fluffy wolf. Oh my days, where’s your sanity, woman? Your honour?

“Alfie, I’m so sorry, but I got held up at home and the bus was late and then my train got cancelled and-’’ I blabber, my knuckles turning white like the plushie in my hands as my nails dig into it. Even to my own ears, the apology sounds silly.

“Shhh,” he places a hand on my shoulder, “Take a deep breath, darlin’.”

Basking in the warmth of his touch, I inhale deeply and exhale through my mouth.

“There. That’s better, innit?” I nod, indeed feeling a bit better. A twinkle illuminates his eyes. ‘‘You’re wearin’ my scarf. Like it that much?’’

I tug at the fabric, the tips of my ears warmer than before. ‘‘Yeah, it’s- it’s nice. I can return it, though! Right now or I’ll wash it and send it.’’

‘‘Keep it. It looks good on you.’’An eyebrow raised, he shifts his attention to the plushie in my hands. “Who’s this?”

“Oh, right!” I present the half-forgotten surprise gift to him. “I made this for you. As a, let’s say, little ‘thank you’ for yesterday and my leg.”

Alfie takes the plushie from my hands. A smile slowly spreads on his lips as he looks it over. “This little chap needs a name, doesn’t ‘e? I’m not gonna travel with someone without knowing their name, way too dangerous, right, because you don’t know who or what you’re dealin’ with. Then again, yeah… I think I know.”

“Know what? A name?”

“Wolfy the Second,” Alfie proudly declares.

“Who’s the first?”

“Me.”

Is he serious? Judging by that grin, he is. That… That’s kinda cute, though. You’re an idiot.

I press my lips together, cheeks aflame and not from the lingering summer heat. “I see.”

“But ‘e goes by Velvel. Means ‘wolf’ in Yiddish.”

“That’s kinda on the nose, innit?”

A twinkle sparks in his eye at my response. “We could also go with another variant of the name. William or Vladimir, which do you prefer? Or maybe Volf?”

Head tilted, I purse my lips. I snap my fingers at the first idea that pops up. “How about Vladimir Volf?” 

Alfie makes a face.

Okay, maybe not.

“Hey, he’s your travel buddy now. You decide.”

“But you’re ‘is creator. You choose.”

“He’s yours to look after.”

“You brought him into this world. A name is a powerful thin’, makes one whole. The honour is yours.”

“Are we seriously debating a plushie’s name?”

“We wouldn’t ‘ave to if you bloody decided.”

I open and close my mouth, gobsmacked by his argument. “Excuse me? If I decided? I gave him to you.”

“You’re cute when you get angry,” Alfie smirks.

Were you simply trying to rile me up just so you could say that? You… you bloody bastard! You idiot!

“I hate you.”

“Now, now, ‘’ate’ is a strong word, don’t you think?”

I cross my arms. “Well, you won’t like the alternative.”

“Which is?”

Don’t make me say it.

“Y/N,’’ he lowers his voice, slowly yet clearly pronunciating his words, ‘‘what’s the alternative?”

I lose the will to remain defiant when he leans in, my body ready to submit in the face of power. “Meanie.”

Alfie laughs heartily. “You don’t ‘ave a bad bone in your body. I think I’ll go with Velvel.”

“Ve- Vel-’’

“Velvel.”

“With a schwa?” He nods. “Velvel. Yeah, you know what? I like that.”

“That’s decided then, innit?” He stuffs the wee thing into his backpack. “So, my fair guide, what are we goin’ to do today?”

“I thought I’d show you Mokum through my eyes. I mean, the Dam and Rijksmuseum are nice and all, but there’s more to Amsterdam. Although, the Rijks does have a nice art collection, so, if you’d like, I mean, I don’t know how much you like art galleries-’’

“‘Ow do you think I gain inspiration for my designs?”

“Well, uhm…’’ I rub the back of my neck, eyes averted to the ground, ‘‘Internet?”

“Fucking ‘ell, I’m only pullin’ your leg. You’re not wron’, though. ‘‘But,” he rests his hands on the handle of his cane, “if my guide thinks it barbarous for me to miss the, ‘ow’d you say it again?”

“Rijksmuseum, often nicknamed ‘het Rijks’.”

“R- Rey-’’

“Rijks. I can’t really think of a word in English that has a similar ‘ij’ sound.”

“Ij- ij- Rijks. ‘Et Rijks.”

“Not bad, not bad at all,” I beam at him. “But it’s quite a wee bit away from here and I think it might become too much for your leg.”

“Darlin’,” he boops my nose, “stop worryin’ that pretty little ‘ead of yours. I’ll strain meself ‘owever fuckin’ much I want. First things first, though, let’s get you your pumpkin spice latte.”

You remembered! 

However, there is no chance to let myself be swallowed by the storm of butterflies inside my body to drift on their wings, because my companion seems to be in a rush. 

Alfie starts walking ahead, head held high and with a resolute stride like he is on his way to proclaim victory on a battlefield. I scramble after him, gobsmacked by his confidence. “Do you know where you’re going?”

Surely you haven’t spent enough time here in the city centre yet, having been busy with the convention?

Then again, I don’t know what he did before I arrived, after I left, or at night. Who he spent his time with.

I swallow the bitter taste on my tongue and force myself to unclench my jaw while trying to catch up with him. Although his leg is a problem, it doesn’t seem like it is today considering how swift on his feet he is. Alfie is even faster than I am during rush hour and high on caffeine.

“To the Starbucks near the Dam,” he says casually. “It’s the only place I can find ‘ere. You’d expect you’d be able to find anything you desire in a city that claims to be a safe haven.’’

‘‘Maybe your greatest desire right now is a cup of coffee,’’ I say in between breaths, closing the last bit of distance between us with a light jog.

How fast would you be if you were revved up on caffeine and your leg wasn’t hurting? 

Alfie blinks, eyebrows raised with a sudden realisation, and then hums in something that holds the middle between amusement and displeasure. He slows his pace to match mine. ‘‘Could be, yeah, but I still need your guidance. Otherwise, I don’t know where your world is. And I’m done with wanderin’.”

“The bookshops of this city are part of it. If you lose me, look for me there. Or, you know, shoot me a message over IG.”

“Or we could call.” 

He loops his arm through mine to safely guide us across the street, where we come to a halt. Alfie fishes his phone out of the pocket of his jeans, creates a new contact, and hands it to me. Apparently, he named me Funny Accent. “I promise I won’t make unsolicited calls. You ‘ave my word, darlin’.”

I frown and glare at him. “My accent’s not funny.”

“It is, considerin’ who you are.” He bounces on his feet, chuckling. “You give me your number, I change the name.”

“To what?”

“You won’t know till you put it in, won’t ya?”

“I could also not give it at all.” I shrug. “Guess I’ll remain the lass with the funny accent.”

“Except you don’t want to be, do ya?” He tilts his head, full lips pulled into a lop-sided smirk. “Your number, Y/N.”

Grumbling about how he can so easily read me, I fill out my details and hold out his phone to him. “There. Now please change it.”

“Because you ask so nicely,” he purrs. “A promise is a promise.”

Alfie bites his lip, dreaming up a gods-only-know what kind of nickname. Then he nods, types it out, and shows me the screen. “‘Ere. ‘Ow’s that?”

Little dove.

Hardly capable of not giving into the warm fuzzy feeling inside, I nod. “Better.”

“I also have an alternative.”

“Which is?”

A sly smile spreads on his lips. “Let’s first get to know each other a little better and maybe, yeah, if you play your cards right, I’ll tell you.”

“So mean.” I shake my head and place my hands on my hips with feigned hurt. “Here I am, kind enough to be your guide and this is how you treat me.”

“I am terribly sorry, my lady, but we ‘aven’t known each other that long, ‘ave we? Your ‘umble servant merely stated a fact.”

You’re not wrong, though. This is only the third time we’ve seen each other.

“That may be so, but I might forgive your transgression if you give me your number as well, good sir.”

A few people turn their heads and look at us, puzzled by our theatrical bickering. Alfie and I exchange glances. He raises a sarcastic eyebrow and rolls his eyes. I giggle and curl a finger under my nose, head bowed. When I look back at him, he’s grown still, observing me. “What?”

“Nothin’. Never mind, just me old mind goin’ places.” He clears his throat and holds out his hand. “Your phone.”

I pull it out of my bag, create a new contact, and hand the device to him.

“Wolfy?”

Caught red-handed committing a blatant crime of the heart, I turn my face away. “Yeah. I- I can change it.”

“Don’t.” His fingers fly over the screen, typing out his number. Then he hands my phone back to me. “And call me that as much as you like.”

“Wait- You- Hang on, you seriously won’t mind? You know I was being weird when I said that, right?”

Is he for real? Surely he’s joking.

“You were bein’ yourself. And,” he groans, muttering under his breath as he continues, “I kinda like it. Very much.”

“Wolfy,” I tug on his sleeve, lips pulled into a pout and filled with an uncharacteristic amount of bashfulness , “can we please get a pumpkin spice latte now?”

“‘Ow am I supposed to say ‘no’ when you do that, eh?”

“Do what?”

“Entshant mir.” Alfie’s expression brightens when he notices I perfectly understood him. He holds out his arm and instinctively I clutch his bicep. “Let’s go, you clever little dove.”

Unsurprisingly, the coffee shop is stacked to the brim with people, most of them foreigners and teenagers. I let go of his arm and scan the area, but there’s no available seating. “I can check if there’s another branch nearby. Hopefully, we can plop down there. Although, the station has a Starbucks as well and there’s always room.”

“Or we stay ‘ere, I chase a few people away, and we ‘ave a nice and quiet coffee moment together. ‘Ow about that, eh?”

I turn on my heel, searching his face for a clue he doesn’t mean what he said. “You can’t be serious. About the ‘chasing people away’ part, I mean.”

“I am. Really, it’s no trouble.” He runs a hand through my hair. “You get me a cappuccino, right, and I’ll find us a place to sit.”

“No intimidating people. Stay here.’’ I grab his sleeve when he makes to go on his coffee shop war. ‘‘We’ll order together and drink it outside.”

“And where do you think to sit, hm? Maybe I wanna do some people watchin’, a bit of drawin’.”

“What would you draw? Also, no working. It’s your day off.”

“I draw for a livin’, Y/N, but also for pleasure. And maybe,” he leans in close enough for his breath to ghost over my lips, “I want to draw my little dove enjoyin’ her pumpkin spice latte in a nice and cosy environment.”

“You could also do that somewhere else.”

“Nah, my vision is of you, the place ‘ere. It’s good to be stubborn as an artist.” He slips me his card and kisses the tip of my nose. “Go on. Wolfy will find a place to sit.”

With total disregard for the mayhem he unleashed inside me, he mixes into the throng of people. I gawk at him as he does so, my tongue paralyzed, incapable of calling him back.

Which might only make matters worse. 

I’m fairly certain an exploded heart is lethal.

He… He kissed me! The tip of my nose! What- What the fuck?

I flip his card between my fingers, biting my lip to suppress the smile tugging on the corners of my mouth.

That was actually quite nice.

A sweet little fragment to be left with.

The queue moves forward at a snail’s pace, but fast enough for me to start panicking about how to order.

One cappuccino, medium, and one pumpkin spice latte, small. No, wait. One venti, is that the medium size? Or grande? I’ll just say medium. And a tall pumpkin spice latte. With no cream. Or should I go medium too? And a focaccia, to share. Yes.

I repeat the order over and over in my head, silently mouthing the words as inconspicuous as possible. Step by step, the moment approaches.

And passes without too much hassle. Well, without too much stuttering and plenty of effort to maintain my composure. Nevertheless, the order came out much smoother than anticipated.

I join the rest of the people waiting for their drinks, scrolling through Instagram to gain some inspiration for future tattoos. However, from underneath my lashes, I scan the café to look for Alfie. Casually I glance around the space when the former doesn’t work out, my chest tightening with the suspicion I look like a skittish moron.

The feeling fades, though, when I notice him sitting by the window. The sunlight illuminates the grey strands in his hair, which form silver highlights in his tousled locks. Sitting at an angle that allows him to watch everyone from the corner of his eye, he’s drawing on his tablet while Velvel watches over him.

He looks as serene as he did in the harbour yesterday, lost in thought as he taps his Apple pencil against his lips. To be honest, I’m glad that in moments like this he seems removed from the world.

Unable to see other women staring at him.

Lusting after him.

Out for what’s mine.

Although, is he really? Alfie can be humorous, casually playful or for reasons yet unknown. But the kiss on the nose, the argument about Velvel’s name, the way he insisted on being noted down as ‘Wolfy’ in my phone, the whole of yesterday.

Is there an ulterior motive?

Or is it plain fun, something to pass the time?

My breath hitches, my fingers growing cold and restless with the need for warmth.

For assurance.

A safe anchor to ground me in reality.

I wish you were right here, holding my hand.

Like he’s read my mind, Alfie turns in his seat and our eyes meet. Whatever he’s seen in mine makes him ready to get up, hand already on the handle of his cane. Nonetheless, he sits down again when I gesture for him all is well.

Sort of.

“A cappuccino and pumpkin spice latte for Y/N?”

“Yep, that’s me!” I turn and grab the drinks.

“Enjoy.”

It’s funny how the mind works. One minute you’re in the present, and in the next a cruel wave of nostalgia hits you with a half-forgotten memory.

The same drinks.

Chris sitting in one of the worn leather chairs in the middle of this very same Starbucks, drawing in his notebook.

Chimes.

Norigae.

Dark eyes bright with a joyous tenderness I’d never seen before when my ghosts sits down across from him and passes him his cappuccino.

Once again testing his ‘puppy taste buds�� even though he clearly hates coffee, nose scrunched for a moment before he forces himself to drink it anyway.

Laughter.

Our laughter.

The high screeching of the steamer pulls me from my reverie.

Shit, Chris, where are you? Do you… Do you still think about me?

The world turns watery while my heart feels like it’s forced through a shredder.

Are you still in love?

I inhale a shaky breath, mentally chastising myself for such a display of weakness.

Turns out I still am. Have been all along.

I breathe in deeply, blink a couple times, and sniffle.

No, this isn’t fair towards Alfie.

Cruel, isn’t it, how the heart remains engraved with the stories you thought had ended long ago? But it isn’t only the heart.

You remember.

Like the forest does.

Acting as if nothing happened, I rejoin the man by the window’s company and put the medium cup in front of him. “There you go. I also got us something to eat.”

He doesn’t pay the food nor coffee any attention, gaze focused on me. I sit down on the chair next to him and take a sip from my pumpkin spice latte. “What?”

“Nothin’,” he grumbles after yet another moment of scrutiny. He clenches and unclenches his fists, the beads of the bracelets around his wrists rattling. “Nothin’.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

For a while we remain silent. Alfie occasionally sips his coffee when he’s not looking at or poking the cup, nibbling on a piece of focaccia I feed him or drawing on his tablet in the meanwhile. I watch the massive crowd manoeuvring the street, tourists trying to make sense of the trams, some afraid to be run over by a car or bicycle, unaware of the policy of ‘just bloody go’. You need to be daring if you hope to get anywhere in this damned city.

“At this rate, we won’t make it to the Rijks.” I glance at my watch, almost half past one. If we are to have proper lunch, surely there won’t be much time to leisurely wander around the museum.

“Mhm.”

“You don’t mind?”

Alfie shrugs, still drawing. “There’s next time. Besides, you owe me a museum trip now.”

I lean in, not that it will prove I misheard him. “I owe you?”

“Let’s phrase it like this. I, yeah, owe you a museum trip. For today, live slow with me.” He smiles softly. “You always seem so rushed.”

“I’m Dutch, we always have business to conduct. We’re merchants.”

He pokes my head. “I mean up ‘ere, mostly, ya silly girl. But so am I. I think we need to do somethin’ ‘bout it.”

“Oi!” I put my coffee down and rub my forehead. However, my stomach churns when his words dawn on me. “What goes on in yours?”

“You don’t wanna know.” Tenderly he kisses my forehead and hums like a pleased wolf when he nuzzles my nose with his, his whiskers ticklish on my skin. “Live slow with me. Let’s just sit ‘ere, drink coffee. I’ll draw, you read. Velvel would like it too.”

“Attached to him already?” I take a big sip from my latte to swallow the last piece of the bread, basking in its spiced warmth.

“Maybe.’’ Alfie pets Velvel with his Apple pencil, moving it in between his ears. ‘‘I’m still jealous, though.”

“How so?”

“You made ‘im. ‘E knows the power you ‘old. Your touch.”

I put my cup down again and reach out to trace his jaw. His beard is coarse yet smooth against my fingertips as I run them through it. “You do as well.”

Brow knitted, his lashes flutter shut. A low groan erupts from his throat as he leans into the touch. “Only, hm, only like this, yeah. Very shallow.”

His hand snakes up my thigh, leaning on it without putting his whole weight on it. It’s the same kind of grip he used back in Birmingham, securing my leg without hurting me. I suppose it can be said it’s rather thoughtful.

Nevertheless, it tightens when I trace his bottom lip with my thumb, using me for support while he rushes forward. In reflex I flinch and lean back, hands on his shoulders to maintain some distance between us. His breath is shallow, his whole body shivering with restraint. 

Alfie swallows hard and moves his hand to the side to clench the edge of my seat. “I’m sorry, Y/N. Can’t behave, can I?”

I wrap my fingers around his wrist to put his bear-like palm back on my thigh. “I’m not well acquainted with your touch either.”

“You’ve already seen its rough side.” Lips pulled into a straight line, he brushes my cheek. The touch is light, close to jittery. Like he is handling precious porcelain and mortified at the thought of breaking it. “It ain’t swollen. No damage. Did it ‘urt much after I… crossed the line?”

“No, it was okay again by the time we drank coffee.”

“Right.’’ His voice is lacking conviction, cold in its acknowledgement of what happened yesterday.

“It’s okay, Alfie.”

“Right.” He traces the shell of my ear, barely touching it and quick to retract his hand. “Drink your latte. Enjoy the view. Let me do the work and capture this moment, eh.”

So we sit, the chaos of conversations held behind us dimming into a low buzz. Alfie occasionally sips from his cappuccino, but only when I throw him a hint it’s still there. Brow furrowed, his lets his stylus glide over the screen while sometimes mumbling under his breath in Russian, Yiddish, or English. The frown only fades when he glances at me, his features smoothing out into studious wonder.

In the meanwhile, I’m reading on my phone. Nevertheless, it’s difficult to focus on the story when I’m continuously wondering whether Alfie likes books and what he would recommend. Then again, given he’s fascinated by religion and symbolism, I wager he at least likes stories. But does he lean more towards fiction or non-fiction? Or does he prefer the fine line between the two of them?

Outside, Amsterdam gradually transforms into an impossible to navigate sea of people. It’s perhaps the thing I loathe the most about the city, be it here or abroad. It’s gets too busy, too chaotic, too fast. Yet, today, it’s actually less irritating since there’s no obligation to pull us away from here, pop our bubble and throw us back into the throng for work or suchlike.

We sit here, enjoying ourselves in the warm sunlight.

Basking in each other’s presence.

Happily on a date.

Could… could we call it that? I mean, I’m simply his guide, just a friendly local. But, he did kiss my nose. And then there’s what happened just now. Does that mean… no, no, it’s not. This isn’t a-

“Penny for your thoughts?”

I snap out of my reverie, blinking in astonishment. Alfie’s looking at me, head tilted and a frown marring his handsome features. “What do you mean? I was just looking out the window.”

“No, you weren’t. You were too far away for that, darlin’.” He puts his tablet down and leans on the table. “Don’t even think about lyin’. What’re you lookin’ so pale for?”

I squirm in my seat, embarrassed by my own words. “I- I was just wondering if this is… a- a… you know…”

“No, I don’t,” he answers matter-of-fact, but the gleam in his eyes tells me he wants me to use my words.

Like a good girl.

His good little dove.

“Alfie, you know very well what I mean,” I grumble, though even to my own ears I sound like a whining child.

“Go on. Say it.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Say. It. You’re a clever little thing, so use your words.”

“A date,’’ I relent. ‘‘I- I was wondering if this, here, now, is a date.”

“Seems pretty obvious to me.”

“Not to me.” I avert my gaze to my hands, clasped tight in my lap. “I’m a little stupid, so please tell me.”

A big warm palm covers my trembling fingers, a pleased hum vibrating through them. “It is.”

“Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

It’s okay. I wouldn’t blame you. There was nothing there to begin with, was there?

Above the buzz of conversation and woven into the tunes playing over the speakers, the strange sound I have been hearing since we met resonates in my ears. Like butterfly wings tearing apart.

Rip.

The squeeze he gives my hand was meant to be encouraging, but is firm to the point it hurts. Alfie’s words match the gesture, hasty and desperate despite the effort to keep his emotions under control. “I do. And before your funny little mind is gettin’ ideas again, this is the first time, right, the first time I’m doin’ this. Ollie would be ‘avin’ a bubble if ‘e ‘eard me, but it’s true.”

I look up to take him in, waiting for the lie to break the mask of frantic blue eyes. “You’ve never before-’’

“You’re the first girl, listen, bloody first girl I’ve met up with outside work. The first in a long time, in general.”

“Never married?”

“Never.”

“Partner?”

“I avoid permanent intimacy.”

“Flings?”

“Don’t like ‘em. Only when I couldn’t take care of meself.”

“So, you’re not one for relationships.”

“Don’t mean I’m not willin’ to try.”

“You just said you, and I quote, ‘avoid permanent intimacy’.”

“Maybe I’d like to change that?’’ His features soften, a hopeful calmth smoothing the lines in his face and making him look younger. ‘‘Never simply assume, yeah, makes for dangerous business. You don’t sign a contract you ‘aven’t read, do you?”

“Uhm, well…” Truth be told, there have been times in the past where I blindly signed a contract, simply glad to have a job, a form of income.

He pokes my head again, stressing each word with an additional poke. “You’re indeed a little stupid. Never sign anythin’ without readin’, ya hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah.” I swat his hand away, a dull pain throbbing between my brows.

He grabs my face like he did yesterday, fingers digging into my cheeks. Alfie lowers his voice, a threatening tone lacing his drawl as he leans in, our noses touching. “I asked if you ‘eard me.”

“Y- Yes,” I stammer, caught between panic and the haze caused by the combination of the warmth between my thighs and his presence.

“Yes what?”

“Yes… Alfie?”

“Almost.”

“Yes, Wolfy.”

“Good,” he purrs, loosening his grip. “Glad we’re on the same page again.” 

He packs up, drinks the last of his coffee, and puts Velvel in one of the side pockets of his backpack before he slings it over his shoulder. Cane in hand, he looks at me expectantly. “C’mon. Let’s carry on.”

“Hang on, give me a second.” I finish my coffee too and scramble to my feet. Clutching his arm, we leave the building. I hold him a little tighter as soon as our shoes hit the pavement.

“Busy, innit?”

I hum in agreement.

“Easy to lose each other in.”

I grab him a little tighter, reluctant to let go.

What’re you on about?

“Let go of my arm, darlin’.”

“Why?”

What if I don’t want to?

“Because otherwise you’re bound to lose me in this fuckin’ ant nest. Go on. Let go.”

I do as he says, forcing myself to stop clutching him.

But the hesitation immediately disappears when he grabs my hand, his palm warm and rough against mine. “There. Much better. Now we can’t lose each other.” A satisfied grin spreads on his lips. “Where are we off to?”

In spite of trying to suppress it, I hum contently. Only to crumble in the next second, having forgotten the routes I planned for us on the way here. “Um, well, we have two options. Either we crack on to Scheltema, which is a very large bookstore and go from there. Or, we first go to the fabric store I frequent that’s a little outside the centre and work our way back to Rokin, which is just past the Dam.”

“I like option two. It would be good for me leg to get some exercise. ‘Sides, I’d like to see the little seamstress in her natural ‘abitat.” Lips pursed, he tilts his head. “Though, you’re not that, are ya. You’re more like this goddess who creates life with needle and thread.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go so far as call myself a goddess. I’m just a girl who sews.”

“Dos meydl hot geshafn lebn fun di keytn, vos zi hot opgeshnitn fun dem volf, vos hot zikh farvandlt in a mentsh, gekhidusht fun ir magish.”

A girl… something about a wolf… a human, person, individual, whatever, and something ‘bout magic. C’mon, this isn’t fair.

“What did you just say?” I raise an eyebrow. “Don’t shut me out by switching to a language I don’t understand.”

“Just a little story of the woods. One your words made me think of.” He gestures in the distance with his cane. “Lead on, my fair guide.”

“Not until you tell me what you said.” I try to yank my hand out of his grip, but Alfie holds on tight. A flicker of disappointment flashes over his face, mixed with a strange sentiment I can’t name.

“It’s part of a story me mum used to tell me, an old legend of her people. But it’s also a tale told by the people in Scandinavia. In fact, it’s originally a Norse myth. ‘Owever, it’s a strange one since I found it bore similarities to an Irish myth I ‘eard from a couple of Travellers. It’s almost as if it’s a fusion of things. Then, when I was in Israel, and according to my faith, the story was also linked to the life of one of the prophets.”

“What’s the full story?”

“I’ll tell you some other time, yeah.” A weathered look, which makes him look older than he is and tired to the bone, twists his handsome features. “It’s quite a long one.”

“If you don’t wanna tell me, just say so.”

A shock of butterflies kickstarts my body when he kisses my temple. “Come to England and I’ll tell you. There’s an art piece in the British Museum about it, so I’ll get to make good on that date, eh?”

“Promise?”

“I solemnly swear so, my fair lady.” He gives my hand an encouraging squeeze. “Now, can we carry on?”

“That eager to see me browse a fabric store?”

“It’s part of your world, innit, which also makes it part of your mind. Gives me an inklin’ of ‘ow it works. So of course I am.”

I chuckle and shake my head. “Weirdo.”

“I’m a little funny, yeah.” His gaze turns distant. “Both mad, but sharing the same insanity.”

A gift given to a select few so you told me in Birmingham. I’m glad we both have it.

“C’mon, Wolfy, let’s go.” I gently tug on his arm.

As planned, the nickname brings him back to me.

To us.

Here.

Together.

We navigate the mass of bodies back to the crossing near the central station. Some people make way to let us pass after being glared at by Alfie, who keeps me close at his side and towers over me like a human shield. In the meanwhile, I scurry after him, half hidden in his coat. After making a left, we cross the bridge.

Alfie points at the hotel we pass with his cane. “Currently stayin’ ‘ere. Ain’t bad, but it’s a shame there’s a two-person bed when there’s only one of me.”

I follow his gaze, staring at the edifice too. “Sometimes it’s nice, though, to have a big bed all to yourself.”

“Still feels empty. ‘Aven’t been sleepin’ well ‘cause of it,” he grumbles in response.

There’s more to that comment, isn’t there? I’m hard-pressed to believe you missed me so much it kept you awake.

“You don’t have to anymore.” His brow furrows at my remark, questions floating around his head. I nod to the wee plushie in the side pocket of his backpack. “You got Velvel now.”

A dark chuckle bubbles from his throat. “I do, don’t I? ‘E don’t take up much space, though.”

I would. I’d gladly take his place.

Glancing around the plaza with its brown cafés and restaurant, I clear my throat. “Let’s… let’s move on, eh. We’re almost there, just gotta walk right on through.”

We enter the narrow street leading away from where we stand. It passes through Chinatown and leads towards Nieuwmarkt. It’s a big square where, honouring it’s name, there’s basically always a market going on. In the middle of it stands The Waag, a fifteenth-century building that was once part of the city’s walls and acted as a gate. At one point in time, it’s been a guildhall, museum, anatomical theatre and much more.

Totally did not look it up in the train and rehearsed the entire Wikipedia page.

While telling Alfie about the building, we pass by my favourite boba shop. I point at the sign depicting a bunny drinking a milk tea. “That’s one of my favourite places to get milk tea. Shame we just had coffee, but otherwise I’d say we get us some. Or, well, me. I- I’d quickly go get some boba. I mean, I don’t know if you-’’

Fortunately, as he seemingly tends to do, he saves me from breaking out into a ramble. “Never ‘ad it. That’s that Taiwanese drink, right, the one everyone’s losin’ their damned minds over? The one with balls in it?”

I snort at his description. “Yeah, but those balls are called tapioca pearls. And I used to be a sceptic, but it’s actually quite good. However, I have to be in the mood for it. Especially since it’s also a calorie bomb. It’s definitely good for when you’re low on sugar, though.”

“It ain’t wrong to indulge every once in a while,” he says, the grim twist to his mouth hardly hidden beneath his beard. “Food isn’t meant to be worried ‘bout.”

“I like to watch after what I eat. Nothing wrong with that, right?”

“You’re pretty as you are. There won’t be any worryin’, right, when you eat or drink with me. Not ‘ere, not when you come to Margate, not ever. Only, yeah, I, me, Wolfy, gets to worry. ‘Bout the bill tonight, ‘bout being able to provide properly for you. The only thing you get to worry that little ‘ead of yours about is what you want on your plate later.”

Surprised by the twist in the conversation, I squint as if it would help me discover whether I heard him correctly. Judging by his humourless expression, I did. “I didn’t know we were heading out to dinner.”

“We are. We’re on a date and I want to treat you right. Coffee, dinner, a nice long walk, explorin’ the city. Livin’ slow together.” He comes to a halt, grabs my chin with his free hand and tips it upwards, forcing me to look at him. He tenderly swipes his thumb over my bottom lip, in the same way I did earlier. “There’s little I’m serious about when it ain’t business. But I am ‘bout this. Greed is a sin, but one I seem to be guilty of committin’ yet again.”

“How so?”

“Because I want you all to myself today.” A shadow casts over his face. “But that boy, the one who drew in ‘is notebook, ‘e’s still on your mind too, ain’t ‘e?”

I step away, slipping my hand out of his, and shake my head. “No, he isn’t.”

“Don’t lie to me!’’ Alfie roars, but tones down his volume when he notices how it scares me. Nevertheless, he doesn’t do the same for the rage boiling inside him. ‘‘‘E’s the reason you spaced out. ‘Ow much did you two do? Did ‘e take you out like this? ‘Ow far did you go?”

We likely didn’t even make it past the beginning. I created a false start.

One step forward. 

“What’s ‘is name?”

One step back. 

“Doesn’t matter. None of it does. Yes, I do still miss him sometimes. But I am here with you. With you on my mind.”

“You’re dealin’ with a man now, not a boy” He grabs my sleeve, putting thought into grabbing a part where there’s only fabric, and pulls me to him with enough force to not make me stumble over my own feet. The distance between us closed, Alfie leans in, lets out a deep sigh, and nudges my nose with his in apology. “A man, damned as ‘e is, who will show you what it’s like to be treated right. Because that’s what you want, innit? To be treated well, to be loved right.” He places a hand on my hip and pulls me closer against his warm body, its heat tempting to trigger the uncharacteristic tendency towards complacency I seem to have around him. “By a man older than you. A man with experience. A king.”

I put a hand on his chest to gently push him away. To create some space to breathe.

To make room to forget.

Alfie’s gaze flits my hand to my face. Eyes squeezed shut, he grimaces as he mumbles something in a berating tone under his breath. With a slight tremor in his hand, he envelops my fingers. 

“I’m sorry. It’s just,” he begins, his voice devoid of its former fierceness, “I ‘ave this funny thought. Really funny. So much so I loathe it.”

“I think I know what you mean.” I rub his upper arms. “But we’re going very fast.”

“Perhaps we are. Yet, you deserve to know my mind. At least this part.”

“I… I thought, no, never mind.”

Maybe this won’t be a one-time thing.

“Let me do the thinkin’.” He cups the back of my head to draw me in for a kiss on my forehead. “I want you to simply enjoy yourself today. Which means, no thinkin’, no worryin’, no nothin’. You deserve a break.”

“You do too.”

“I wouldn’t know ‘ow. It’s always one fuckin’ thin’ after another. This comes close to it, though, bein’ ‘ere with you.”

“You have my number now. You could call or text me for a break.” Feeling bold, I move in to hug him. Automatically, he wraps me up in his arms. “When I finally get to England, I want you to take a proper break. Put your feet up, have a glass of rum, unplug.’’

“I still have to teach you ‘ow to shave a man, though.” His chest rumbles with a cheeky chuckle. “I do see it as self-care to put you in me lap for a trim.”

A flush of heat treks through my body as I imagine us sitting on the edge of the tub. His dreamy eyes are focused on me while I glide the razor over his skin. He’d easily be able to pick me up and place me wherever he wants.

“What if I mess up? Cut you?”

“You might, but it won’t matter.” He curls a finger under my chin again to make me look at him. “I won’t get angry, I promise. You’ve never done it before, so ‘ow could I expect you to do it perfectly on the first try, eh?” He frowns as he thoughtfully hums. “Funny.”

“What is?”

“Funny,” he repeats. A moment after, as if pulled from a fevered dream, he blinks. “Anyway, enough dawdlin’. Lead on, my fair guide.”

We move on, crossing the Nieuwmarkt and following one of the streets leading off of it. A little further ahead, we round the corner, stepping onto Nieuwe Hoogstraat.

I point to a shop on our right. “Here we are.”

The fabric store consists of three narrow but deep spaces filled with everything you could possibly need for a sewing or knitting project. In the utter left and utter right space, the walls are lined with rows upon rows of fabric. In the middle, you can find the smaller things like buttons and patches. It’s truly a seamstress’s Valhalla.

“Anythin’ you need in particular?” Alfie asks while trailing behind me.

“I use a specific kind of fluffy fabric for the bottom of my plushies. Should be somewhere round here,” I answer as I nod to the woman behind the till and crack on to the space on the right.

The roll of fabric I’m looking for is in its usual spot on top of the display near the front window. I look at it from where I’m standing, mentally cursing my height. “I hate being small.”

Alfie makes a dissatisfied sound. I raise an eyebrow even though I can already guess the reason behind his displeasure. “Being tiny can be a curse.”

But I’ll admit it’s a blessing when it comes to you.

Without waiting for his response, I grab the nearby ladder and set it up. I set a foot on its lowest step after giving it a slight shake to test whether it’s steady.

From behind, rough fingers warm the back of my neck, giving it a light squeeze. “Let me.”

“Really, it’s no problem.” I turn in his grip, oddly comforted by the hold, but don’t step down. “I’ve done this before.”

His hand falls away to push his cane towards me. “Hold this, darlin’.”

“Alfie, you’re not going up the ladder.”

“Well, I sure ain’t goin’ to stand ‘ere while you’re riskin’ your neck.”

I put another foot on the ladder.

“What’re you doing?” A note of sternness mixed with caution sharpens his voice. He taps the floor in annoyance. “Get down.”

I cross my legs and plop down on one of the steps, staring at him in defiance. “Either it’s me who goes up or you who goes down.”

Alfie cocks a sarcastic eyebrow. “Threatenin’ me, int’ya?”

“For your own good.” I sigh in exasperation and roll my eyes. “Alfie, I’m serious. It’s alright, I got this. Like I said, I’ve done this before.”

“I don’t want you to fall, Y/N. Maybe it’s different for you, but I, yeah, I don’t particularly fancy a trip to the ‘ospital. Even less so to drop you off.”

“Just hold the ladder. It’ll be alright.”

He opens and closes his mouth, but groans when he realises protesting is of no use. Instead, he does as I ask and keeps the ladder steady while I clamber up. 

With a bit of pushing, pulling, and forceful manoeuvring, I manage to pry the roll of fabric free from the pile.

“Look at you, doin’ big girl things,” Alfie calls from below. There’s an oddly proud yet affectionate twinkle in his eyes, which makes my heart somersault.

“Oh, shut it.” The roll of fabric tucked under my arm, I clamber down. 

Alfie puts his arm around my waist once I’m in reach, holding me tight while guiding me down. ‘‘C’mon, nice and safe on the ground. Next time, I’ll go up. No negotiatin’.” 

He continues to grumble under his breath about his leg and how he’s perfectly capable.

I giggle and pat his arm. “Okay, okay, no more ladders. Anyway, this is everything I need. If I start browsing, we’ll be here for quite some time.”

“Wouldn’t mind it.”

You say that now. Just you wait until I get going. You might regret it, love.

“But I want you to see more of my world.” I nudge his shoulder with mine. “My favourite bookshops are next, if you don’t mind.”

“Bookshop?” Alfie perks up.

“You like to read?”

“I do. Whenever I ain’t workin’, I’m down at Foyles. You ever been?”

“The one on Charing Cross Road?”

“Yeah, you know it?”

“I’ve been to London multiple times. ‘Course I know it. It’s one of my favourite spots in town.”

“We could spend a day there, if you fancy.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I’ll show you my world. Not just me kingdom in Camden and Margate.”

I nod, abuzz with excitement. “I’d like that.”

Yay, a bookshop date!

“Good,” he purrs. “Good.”

While we wait as the fabric is being cut, I feel Alfie reaching for my hand again. Hesitantly, his fingers brush past mine, asking for permission. I wrap my fingers around his thumb, feeling like a silly girl yet indescribably pleased. After paying and receiving the plastic bag with the fabric, we step outside.

Me still holding his thumb.

“‘Appy?” Alfie asks once we step into the street.

“I am.”

“Good.”

“Right, now, let me check Maps to see how we need to get to ‘het Spui’.”

“That sounds funny.”

“What? Het Spui?”

“Yeah. What does it mean?”

“Ah dinnae ken.’’ I shrug. ‘‘I just know it’s where the Waterstones and American Book Centre are and that it’s close to Rokin.”

“You ‘ave Waterstones ‘ere?”

“We do, but only in Amsterdam.” I chuckle. “That’s another reason why I like England so much. There are Waterstoneses… Waterstone… multiple branches in one city.”

“Careful now. Don’t let the Irish hear ya.”

“Oi, no one does the book trade like the Irish. Although, I mean, Dublin is the best place bookshop-wise. The rest of the country does it, well, so so at best. Don’t tell them I said the English and Scots do it the best.”

“I won’t,” he muses. “Or else me and the London boys will take care of it.”

“There you go again, protecting me.”

“Because I’m fond on you.” I give him a quizzical look. Alfie squares his shoulders, each word perfectly clear and proud. “Yeah, you ‘eard me and I’ve no shame sayin’ it. I’m fond of ya, Y/N.’’

Regardless of it being nice to hear, the confession leaves me conflicted. I turn my face away from him, focusing on the road ahead. “Hm.”

You barely know me. We’re talking of me visiting you in England after only having met twice. Of dates like we’re a thing. I’m holding your hand like this because you make me happy, but I’m scared shitless at the same time.

Everything comes at a price and those who say they’ll stay or like you will end up leaving. People can’t be trusted, especially men. 

Men like him, who come on strong to women half their age making promises of a rosy future. And if they’re handsome, it makes you question where the line is. Perhaps, this time it’s different. This time he’s serious.

Until you get to the part where you’re talked into sex, the only thing they’ve wanted from you all along. Afterwards, you’re either discarded or as a piece of meat to satisfy their urges.

Chris wasn’t like that.

Or perhaps he is and I simply never found out. 

I suppose the walls I kept up left me too guarded, too blind to the possibilities with a wolf boy I used to call mine. Or maybe the solemn fort I have locked myself in has protected me from a gruesome yet sad truth.

Guess I’ll never find out.

Something squeezes the back of my neck.

My fingers hold air.

“… you, little dove?”

I frown, surprised to find ourselves on Rokin. It’s strange how your subconscious can be there and nowhere at the same time. How your body can move in a set direction while your mind wanders.

“Sorry, you were saying?” To hopefully add credit to my show of casualness, I look left and right to situate us.

“I wasn’t sayin’ anythin’. I was askin’ you where you were.”

“Just lost in thought.” I grab his thumb again and point across the street. “Right. We need to cross the road and take one of the side alleys.”

“Sure you were,” Alfie says, ignoring my directions and evidently not done with the topic. All the same, he lets me guide him. “Lyin’, right, ain’t proper. Now, then, tell me what funny thought you ‘ad.”

Halfway.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, it does!” Little specks of spittle fly through the air while some get stuck in his beard.

Safely across.

“It fuckin’ matters to me! Look at me. I said,” he grabs my face like he did earlier today when I don’t, coercing me into looking at him, “look at me. I, yeah, ‘ave been nothin’ but ‘onest with you. I care, right? I bloody care about you.”

“You’re only saying that.”

“Why would I, eh? Why would I?”

I pry myself loose, hardly finding any resistance as I wrap my fingers around his wrist and push him away. In hopes of concealing my shaking shoulders, trembling with hardly contained sobs, I try to keep my voice even. Nonetheless, I can’t prevent it from cracking with each word. “This is only a joke, innit? Just some charade to talk me into sex.”

Eyes wide with disbelief, he gawks at me. “You think that’s what this is?”

One step forward.

One step back.

“You fuckin’ think that?”

“A girl can’t be too careful around men, Alfie.”

“If I wanted sex, right, only sex, then tell me why I feel like this. Why, right now, it feels like me chest is being ripped open and me ticker pulled out of it, put right through the fuckin’ shredder. Why I feel like there’s a brick in me stomach and a ball of cotton in me throat each time you drift off or seem upset. Fuckin’ tell me!” His chest rises and falls in quick succession, nostrils flaring and panting plush lips parted. There’s a crack in his voice too when he continues. “Tell me because I don’t understand it.”

“You feel that way?’’ I sniffle, blinking away the tears obscuring my vision. ‘‘You’re not pulling my leg or anything?”

Give me one thing to believe. Prove to me I’m wrong, that it’s different this time. That this is real. Legit.

“Fuck, Y/N! I would never lie to you. I swear so on every holy book in this damned world.” He points at the bag in my hands, his rings reflecting the sunlight. “If you don’t believe me, smack me with that. If you do, come closer.”

I’m a little stupid.

So, after a moment of assessing him, I step forward.

And place my hands in his as he closes the distance.

“Can this old chap be really selfish?”

“Don’t cross the line.”

Alfie leans in, nudging my nose with his. Our lips brush past each other, his whiskers ticklish against mine. “Is this?”

“No.”

His lips are soft and tender, genuine in their affection. I answer the kiss in kind and cup his cheek, feeling how he leans into the touch. I clutch his shirt, holding on tight to the fabric with determined fists. A warm palm rests on the small of my back, pulling me further against him.

Further into our own world.

From which we have to retreat sooner than expected.

He’s the one to break away, to let the moment end with a shivery breath longing for more and a kiss on the tip of my nose. “I’d never touch you, yeah, without your permission. I’ll wait till you’re ready, but know this ain’t about sex for me. I won’t lie and say it wouldn’t be a nice addition to what we ‘ave. But this, right ‘ere, us, it’s about you. That kiss? Because I like you. Fuckin’ ‘ell, that don’t even begin to describe it.”

“Same here.”

“Yeah, you like me too?”

I bite my lip and nod.

He lets out a pleased sound holding the middle between an amused chuckle and satisfied hum. “Glad to ‘ear it because I ‘ave plans for us. Speakin’ of which, I ‘ave one right now. One which involves you givin’ me one more?’’ He taps his slightly swollen lips. ‘‘For the road?”

“Sure,” I say, smiling into the gentle peck he steals.

“Can’t get too greedy.”

Fingers entwined, we leave the argument behind us and crack on with renewed vigour.

On to the next moment.

Since Alfie is more than familiar with Waterstones, I propose going to The American Book Centre first. I hear him take in a short sharp breath like he’s preparing himself for a difficult task before he makes to cross the plaza. Using my body, I gently redirect us to walk around it instead. 

Brows knitted together, he looks down at me.

“The cobblestones,” I point to the side. “They’re uneven.”

He lightly squeezes my hand as he hums in gratitude.

We walk towards the bookshop, where Alfie holds the front door open for me. I shuffle through the small opening and he follows closely behind.

Before us is a big round open space lined with magazines. A man is leaving through a gardening-related one while a girl sits on the steps with the latest issue of a gossip one. On our left are tables and a small section with books related to tattoos and the art of tattooing. In front of us and to the right, next to the tills, are racks with stationary.

A soft groan falls from his lips when Alfie spots the big staircase leading to the first floor. Walking already takes a heavy toll on his leg, so I can only imagine the amount of pain he has to suffer through when climbing stairs. A stone sinks to the bottom of my stomach when I recall how he had to pay the price for straining himself too much yesterday.

And I refuse to put him through that again.

“There’s a lift.” I nod to the other side of the shop.

“Would you…” he begins, hesitant yet suggestive. Though I know little about him, I have noticed it’s difficult for him to admit his weaknesses. 

“I’m claustrophobic, but I’ll brave it for you.”

He pets my hair and wraps his fingers around the back of my neck. “Attagirl.”

I let out the breath I’d been holding when we arrive on the first floor.

“Proud of ya,” Alfie murmurs into my hair, kissing the top of my head.

“I’m glad to be out in the open again, not gonna lie. Anyways, here we have fantasy, sci-fi, crime, thrillers, young adult and the romance section. Upstairs are the non-fiction, general fiction, spiritual, drama, poetry sections.” The mechanical whirring of a coffee grinder resonates loudly in the background. “Right, there’s also a wee café here.”

He looks around, leaning on his cane. “What do you like to read, darlin’?”

A warm fuzzy feeling spreads in my chest at his bright expression. It would seem we are both in our natural habitats, a place where our worlds overlap. 

“Well, I’ve found myself drawn more towards general fiction since my studies. Even then, though, I still pick up canon literature. Call me a bloody classist, but they don’t write like the writers of old anymore.” I smile wistfully as we walk among the shelves and navigate among the other customers. “They don’t write letters either.”

“What did you study?”

“English literature with a particular interest in Irish lit.”

“What a surprise,” he chuckles.

“Oi, say what you will, but it’s hard for me to find anyone who writes like W.B. Yeats and James Joyce.”

“Favourite books?”

“A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and The Picture of Dorian Gray. Hands down the best. And my professor was right about the former. It was life-changing.” A wave of peace and contentment washes over me as I recall the feelings the novel instigated, my mind filled with the memories of the moments I could identify myself in Stephen Dedalus. “I finally felt understood. Found someone with the same vision. I felt… legit? No, that’s not the word. Ehm, what’s it called again when you feel like you finally matter? Are part of something?”

“Validated?”

“Yes! Validated. I felt validated. I should re-read it, actually.”

“Out of pleasure or,’’ his shoulders drop as he slows his pace, ‘‘a need to be accepted?”

“Both, perhaps,” I admit.

Because the world has little to no place for people like me. Not anymore.

“I see you.” We come to a halt at the end of the rampway. Alfie lets go of my hand to brush my cheek. “I am curious about your mind. Your vision. The artist within.”

“She’s a little twisted.”

“Likely less than me.”

“Read Acts of Desperation. I think it could enlighten you a little about how she thinks and feels.”

“Maybe I should pick it up then, eh, if we ‘appen to find it.”

We saunter back over to the grand staircase to check out the romance section. Usually I skip it, but occasionally I like to see what titles are currently being published and what type of stories publishers are apparently looking for.

“Anything you recommend?”

“Ollie would be havin’ a bubble if ‘e ‘eard this, but” Alfie sighs and bites his lip, “I like Jenny Colgan’s books.”

I blink, gobsmacked by his answer. “Jenny Colgan? Small town romances concerned with bakeries and bookshops Jenny Colgan?”

He shifts his weight, groaning in discomfort. “Don’t tell anyone, alright? It’s a guilty pleasure. A more innocent vice, basically. But otherwise I can recommend The Half Drowned King by Linnea Hartsuyker or The Last Kingdom by Bernard Cornwell. Recently I also picked up this book called River Kings. Can’t remember who wrote it. It tracks the heritage of a certain bead and shines a light on the Viking expeditions to the east.”

Unable to help myself, I clap my hands in excitement. “That one’s so good!”

“You read it?”

“Yeah, picked it up during my last trip to Ireland. In Cork. I normally don’t like non-fiction, but give me anything to do with Vikings and you make me one happy lass.” I calm down a bit and lead him back up the ramp forming the walkway between the sci-fi, horror, and fantasy sections. “I don’t really like fantasy. High fantasy, that is. Take Ben Aaronovitch’s books, for example. Those I like. In fact, I recommend them.”

Alfie scans the shelves, focusing in on the row with the author’s name. “Which one’s the first? Or are they standalones?”

“They’re a series of standalones connected by a red thread. The first is called Rivers of London.”

“This one, then.” He picks the title off of the shelf and fishes a pair of glasses from his backpack to read the backside. “Interesting. I’m also not one for fantasy, but I’ll admit this sounds good.”

Oh, come on. This ain’t fair. How? How does he look so fucking good in glasses?

Unashamed, I gawk at him. First a kiss and a somewhat love confession and now this is being thrown at me. I swear, if someone is going to pinch me and I jolt awake to find this was all a dream, I will go ballistic.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” He squints as he reads me, looking for an answer before I can give it.

“Your glasses.” I point at the thin golden frame on his nose. “I didn’t know you had them.”

“I’m far-sighted, so these readin’ glasses take the strain off me eyes. Also got a blue-light filter in ‘em.”

“Staring a lot at the screen, eh?”

“More than you think. When I’m not drawing, I have either a book or my e-reader in me ‘ands. There’s somethin’ about readin’ late into the night. The world’s silent. Even this fuckin’ city finally calms down a bit the same way London tends to go quiet at nightfall.”

“I really need to get back into reading. I mean, I keep buying books yet always end up never reading them. Or, rather, I end up reading a few. My bank account’s not happy.”

We head back to the lift, taking the walkway instead of the wee stairs to spare Alfie’s leg. While waiting, I grab his thumb, but evidently Alfie has other ideas and weaves his fingers through mine. 

Inside the tiny cabin, he gives them an encouraging squeeze and another one when we step out onto the second floor. 

As Alfie browses the history section, I explore the general fiction section. As per usual, I stop in my tracks to scan the shelves with the books which are on sale. After all, there could be an absolute steal among them. Furthermore, it seems I’m in luck because the three racks are well-stocked. Crouched in front of it, I pluck out a few titles to read their backsides and put a few aside to take with me.

“You know your account ain’t ‘appy with ya. Yet ‘ere you are, five books in your little hands,” a familiar raspy voice remarks, stern yet amused.

My heart somersaults into next week as my soul leaves my body. I scramble to my feet, jaw clenched and ears ablaze with shame. “They’re discounted.”

“I bet you say that every time you’re ‘ere.

I nuzzle into the scarf around my neck to hide my rosy cheeks. “Shut up.”

“C’mon, give me those.” He beckons for me to give him the books in my hands.

I take a step back. “No.”

He rests his hands on the silver wolf head handle of his cane. “At least four out of five will gather dust on your shelves. Said so yourself, didn’t ya? Go on. Pick one and put the rest back.”

“Hang on a minute.”

“I’m keeping your finances ‘ealthy, darlin’. One book. Pick wisely.”

“Alfie.” Sullen like a child denied a piece of candy, I pout.

“Don’t be silly.” He tilts my chin upwards, voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “Wolfy knows best.”

“Why do you have to be right?” I turn away and crouch to do as he says.

After a while of making comparisons, asking myself how likely I’ll actually be to read it, and comparing prices, I pick Nightshade by Annalena McAfee. At this point you can almost call it typical how I find myself drawn to the tormented artist.

“This one.” I hold up the novel.

“Let me know whether it’s good. In fact, never ‘esitate to tell me ‘bout what you’re readin’. Don’t matter if it’s my taste or not.”

“The same goes for you.” I narrow my eyes as a thought pops up. “Hey, just as a question, considering what you told me. Did… You tattooed me without glasses.”

“I wore lenses that day. Tried them out, really. Optician said I technically don’t need ‘em, but I thought I’d give them a spin anyway. Don’t ya worry. I would never tattoo someone if I’m as blind as Sheishet.’’

“And?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “And what?”

“Do you prefer them? The lenses, I mean.”

Gods, he’s absolute hubby material.

“Would you?”

“No,” I shyly admit, sharing his taste.

“Good, ‘cause I don’t.” He smiles brightly. “So Wolfy will stick to glasses.”

We head downstairs to check out. As at Starbucks, it’s him who pays. 

I try to get him to hand over his purchases - two books on Vikings in England - but fail. In Alfie’s words, I should think of my wallet rather than him. Also, ‘‘it ain’t proper for a woman to pay when she’s on a date with a gentleman, innit?’’

The attempt to tap my phone on the pin machine before he can with his card is as successful, kept back by the waist by a bear-like hand.

Purchases paid for, we head to the wee café upstairs. Alfie buys us two cappuccinos and a scone to share. Sighing in pure contentment, he plops down in the seat across from me. A dreamy look in his eyes, he gazes out through the window to the world below.

“Happy?”

“I am,” he mumbles. “A déja vu is a strange thing, innit? You’re in a moment that may or may not ‘ave ‘appened, maybe somethin’ you dreamt about in your sleep or in a daydream. Or it could be a moment your soul has lived, remembers, right, from a past life.”

“Did you have one just now?”

“I think I did… yeah.” He nods, slowly descending into one of the deep rabbit holes his thoughts create. “Wrong location, though. Different. Always different. Sometimes the same.”

“Can you recall anything else? Or, rather, do you have an inkling of what else goes on, went on, usually?”

“Always the same yet different,” he mumbles in response, cryptic.

I cut the scone in two and push the plate against his forearm to grab his attention. “Eat. If you don’t, I’ll eat the whole thing.”

“Crack on.” Features soft, he turns away from the window.

“I’m only joking. That focaccia wasn’t proper lunch. C’mon, dig in.”

“I’m not pullin’ your leg, Y/N. Eat.” He fishes his tablet from his backpack, ready to retreat in his own bubble again albeit with one foot across the border of reality. 

To stay with me too. 

My mouth dries up, throat constricted with his words. Alfie glances at me through his lashes, exhales, and reaches out to bring my fingers to his lips. The steam from our coffees is warm against my palm. “Don’t ya worry, I’ll eat tonight.”

“You’re beautiful,” I blurt out.

“What?”

“You don’t have to watch your figure.”

“Y/N…”

“You’re perfect as you are.” I sit up a bit to lean over the table and caress his cheek. “Scruffy wolf.”

“You forget, little darlin’, the old wolf is a king. That is, anywhere but when ‘e’s with the little dove.”

“What is he then?”

“A humble servant.” He nuzzles my palm. “A guard dog. Faithful.”

I retract my hand to take a sip of coffee. It’s warm, the milk feather soft and foamy.

A comfortable silence naturally descends between us. He draws while I look out the window, gazing into the distance.

If this is what living slow is like, there is no other type of life I’d want. 

“Alfie, I’m scared,” I say after a while.

He looks up from his tablet, eyebrows raised. “Of what?”

“Of going home.’’ Biting my lip, I stare into my cappuccino. ‘‘Is it selfish of me to say I don’t want to?”

“No,” he sits back and shakes his head, “it ain’t.”

“I think my parents have figured out by now I’m not at the fabric market.”

“Would it help if I introduce myself to them?”

“You don’t have to. We haven’t known each other that long.”

“Afraid I won’t behave?” His eyes are alight with mischief as a cheeky grin slowly spreads on his lips.

“Hm, maybe a little bit.”

Besides, how am I gonna explain you, a forty-five year old tattoo artist? Although, rather, the question is how or whether I’ll be able to explain how happy you make me.

And convince them and myself both that this is real.

“Don’t worry, I will.” He runs his fingers through his beard, already cooking up a plan. “Gonna have to do somethin’ ‘bout this. Gotta present the perfect picture, ain’t I?”

“Don’t shave. I like your beard.” Though I have nothing against clean-shaven men, I have no shame in admitting I like them better when they have facial hair. Especially when it’s more than a little scruff.

The way Alfie does it.

“I think I’ll have to go short and go with a stubble. It’ll only be for a short while, Y/N. You’ll get your scruffy wolf back, don’t ya worry.”

“It’s fine as it is,’’ I say, making an effort to keep my voice low. ‘‘Looks great, in fact.”

He chuckles at my determination. “I’m not sure your parents would agree.”

“They wouldn’t if it was like this bushy, unkempt wizard beard.”

“So, the previous version. What I had in Birmingham.”

“What? No! That wasn’t a wizard beard.”

“It was kinda unkempt, though. Rushed to get to the studio and be on time for you.”

“It was fine. And you didn’t.”

Don’t start bootlicking. It’ll get you nowhere. ‘Sides, you’ve likely used that line before.

“I did. Well, not at first, since I didn’t know what kind of person I’d be dealin’ with. But,” his expression softens with warm tenderness, “that was before the wolf knew what the little dove was like.”

I tap the sides of my cup, head bowed to hide the way I still can’t fully trust him. That I’m conflicted by his words, kisses, and other gestures. “And now?”

Where is the line? Why can’t I stop awaiting the moment this will all fall apart?

“Now ‘e’s gonna sit back and draw ‘is little dove while she eats a scone and reads. Slow day, remember?”

“I do.” His expression falters, devoid of emotion as his eyes glaze over. “Alfie?”

After a moment of not getting a response and too desperate to think about proper manners, I snap my fingers. “Alfie? You with me?”

“Yeah… yeah, I am,” he drawls, slowly returning to wherever his mind wandered. “Just ‘ad another dèja vu.”

“Or low blood sugar.” I cut the scone in half. “Please eat. If not the whole thing, at least eat bloody half of it. In the meantime, I’ll see if I can find a good place for dinner, eh.”

He leans in to wedge the half between his teeth, a few crumbs crumbling down into his beard.

“Charming,” I snort. “By the way, just in case, you eat kosher, right?”

“Mhm,” Alfie answers, mouth full.

“Good to know.”

While he draws, I scour the Internet for a restaurant that offers food according to our dietary wishes. Although, I’m more critical about whether they have kosher food rather than plenty vegetarian or vegan options. After some thorough research and a quick glance at the menu, having decided to forego my own diet, I settle for Meat Me Kosher.

“Alfie?”

“Hm?” He briefly stops drawing to show he’s heard me. Without looking up from his tablet, he signals with his stylus he’s waiting for me to continue.

“Coffee.”

“Mh,” he hums, taking a moment to nip at the cappuccino that’s likely to have gone cold in the meantime. Or, with luck, it’s still lukewarm.

I pretend to divulge in the novel I bought and my half of the scone. However, in reality, I’m glad Alfie’s caught up in his own bubble because it gives me the opportunity to unashamedly watch him. Lips pursed or moving with inaudible words, he looks down at his tablet like the masters of old did at their canvases. The pencil glides over the screen, his thick fingers occasionally tapping it in annoyance when something isn’t as envisioned.

After a while, he lets out a deep sigh and puts his tablet into his bag again. In its stead, he pulls out the book I recommended him, puts it on the table, and takes another sip of his cappuccino. Immediately, he scowls. “Pizdets.”

“What?” Feigning innocence, I glance at him from over the edge of my book.

“Gone cold. Be right back.” He gets up, briefly places his hand on my head, and walks over to the counter to order a new cappuccino.

Looking like a satisfied bear, he returns a few moments later.

“Happy?”

“Almost.”

“Almost?” I repeat, incredulous.

What’s missing? Did I do anything wrong? Is there something I can do?

“Yeah,” he mumbles as he takes a sip. Humming in delight, chuffed with the warm drink, he sits down and reaches out. “Give me your ‘and.”

Wary of his intention, I slowly do as he says. 

My breath hitches when his warm palm encloses my fingers and gives them a light squeeze. “Now I am.”

Albeit a bit clumsy, we continue to sit like that while we read, drink coffee, and, eventually, finish the scone.

Barely do we let go of each other, closely glued at the hip while we navigate Amsterdam. Even as we arrive at the restaurant, I’m still holding onto him. 

Alfie appreciates I've chosen a kosher place, but something in the way he orders for us both and shares his food with me betrays his own thoughts. He basically feeds me the entire falafel table we have as a starter, barely touching it himself. 

“‘Ere, try this,” he says, holding out his fork when our mains are served.

And again it trembles.

“Your hand’s shaking,” I remark, leaning in to snag the piece of pargiot off of it.

“Is it? ‘Aven’t noticed.”

“What’s eating at you?”

“Well, currently, you. You’re eatin’ off me fork, aren’t ya?” The feigned amusement fades when I give him a displeased look. He clears his throat and wipes his mouth on his napkin. “Right. First, yeah, let me say I appreciate it you goin’ out of your way for me. You truly didn’t ‘ave to pick a kosher place.”

“Course I did. Gotta take your diet into account. We’re out together. Can’t just pick any place without checking whether you’d be able to eat anything.”

“But you need to account for yourself too, Y/N. Do you ‘onestly like the food ‘ere? You weren’t so keen anymore when you saw the menu, were ya?”

“I normally eat vegetarian, true, but not out of any convictions. So, you know, every once in a while, I’ll gladly deviate. Besides, there are some tasty things on the menu I can eat. Sure, it’s only the starters, but, really, I don’t mind. Plus, this is some proper food.”

My words offer little comfort. Knuckles white with restrained violent sombreness, he clenches his cutlery. “Don’t put me before yourself.”

“Neither should you,” I say, calmly cutting the chicken leg on my plate.

But the act soon falls apart when he slams his fist on the table. A few people turn in their seats, curious about what is going on at our table. However, as at the convention, it only takes a deadly glare to make them mind their own business again.

Lips pulled into a straight line, Alfie turns his ice cold gaze to me. A shiver runs down my spine, triggering the fight or flight instinct. Nonetheless, I clench my jaw and make an effort to control my breathing. I have to stay put, to be brave. After all, he won’t hurt me.

I hope.

“Fignya! I will, whether you like it or not.”

Stop acting like you mean it. It feels good to be with you, but this won’t last. It isn’t real, despite what you said.

“What language is that?” Feigning ignorance, I take a sip from my ginger ale.

“‘Ow’d you mean?”

“That word before the statement with which, mind you, I strongly disagree.”

“Russian.’’ A faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, he sits back. His rigid posture loosens as the tension leaves his body. ‘‘Thought I’d stir it up a bit and pose my clever little dove another challenge.”

“As if I’m that good at Yiddish.”

“You seem to understand me very well when I speak it, though. Don’t discredit yourself. You’re a smart woman.”

“I guess I’m posing you quite the challenge too.” Absent-mindedly, I tap the sides of my glass.

“Are you? I wasn’t aware of one.”

“Loving me. Or, rather, being with me like this when I keep having these nagging doubts I can’t seem to silence. I know what you said and I desperately want to believe you, but… you know… I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m, yeah… sorry for being such a downer.”

“Oh, Y/N, no.” Alfie gets up, face pale with anguish and saunters over to crouch at my side. A grimace briefly flashes over his face when a fresh surge of pain rushes through his leg. “I’m ‘avin’ a wonderful time, for the first time in a very, very bloody long while. And I’d not want, right, to spend this time with anyone, any-fuckin’-one but you. I’ll put myself before you because I want to. Because if there’s one thing I can and want to do in this damned world, it’s to take care of you. I’m fond of you, my dear. Never doubt that.” He pokes my head, but the smile on his lips does not quite reach his eyes. “I’ll say it every time we meet. Fuck, I’ll tell you until the words finally register in that funny and pretty little ‘ead of yours. And even after it ‘as, I’ll tell ya.”

I lift one of his hands from my knee and place it against my cheek, hands wrapped around his wrist to keep it in place. The honesty in his voice isn’t a farce, too determined and true to be an act. It renders me silent, only capable of showing I am listening through gestures like this.

“This is real, yeah? You. Me. Us ‘ere. All real.” With gentle force he pulls me towards him, his nose giving mine an accidental nudge when we’re closer than he evidently planned. In his defence, he isn’t wearing glasses. “All real.”

“All real,” I repeat, blinking away the tears brimming on my lashes.

“Attagirl.”

During the rest of our dinner we talk about the small things like books we’ve read and places we’d like to visit one day. Alfie regales me with stories of his travels around the world, be it because of a guest spot or for leisure. One day, he hopes to travel to Japan.

Eventually, the conversation turns to conventions. After all, I have to know when the next time will be when we can meet.

“There’s a tattoo convention in Utrecht in October. Halloween weekend,” I say while a server clears our table and the wait for dessert begins.

“Too short notice. Got appointments, I think. Ollie knows for sure. Keeps my agenda.”

“Brussels in November?” There are no other ones I’ll be able to visit that still take place this year. The anticipation of a negative answer creates a heavy weight in my chest, slowly crushing my heart.

“Would you like me to?” His eyes glisten when I nod, frantic in my desperation. A slow lopsided smirk spreads on his lips. “Then I’ll make it ‘appen.”

Alfie is the one to pay the bill yet again, hijacking the server’s pin machine by playfully dismissing my debit card with a waving gesture. Afterwards, he helps me into my jacket before putting on his coat and slinging his backpack over his shoulder. Holding my hand, we walk into the chill evening air to make the journey back to his hotel and the central station.

Along the way, he pulls out his Vape. Nevertheless, whereas he used it without care yesterday, he now thumbs the device and puts it away.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind,” I say, having noticed his hesitation.

“Nah, I think I should quit. Vices aren’t good, Y/N. They’ll only tear you asunder.”

The homebound journey comes to an end too soon for in about half an hour we’ve reached the imposing and elegant building of the hotel Alfie’s staying at.

“Well, I guess this is it.” We come to a halt in front of the stairs leading up to the entrance. I let go of his hand, turn, and look up at him. “Thank you for today. I had- I really had fun.”

For the first time in a very long while.

The last time was with a wolf boy at my side.

“Glad to ‘ear it.” He spreads his arms. “Can I get a ‘ug as a reward?”

I burrow into his coat as he wraps me up in his warm strong arms. For a few moments we remain like that, standing there yet adrift in our own world. An idyllic moment to cherish later.

Although reluctant, I eventually force myself to put some distance between us. Placing my hands on his chest to use as leverage, I gently slip from his grasp. If I don’t, I fear neither of us would ever leave. “I should go home.”

“Don’t.”

“Alfie, I don’t have any pyjamas or toothpaste or-’’

“No need to worry, darlin’. I think we can remedy that.”

He drags me along into the hotel lobby. My common sense urges me to resist, but the need for more time together and unwillingness to leave makes me pliable. Ready to give into our shared whim.

“Uhm, sir, I’m sorry, but no guests are allowed after ten o’clock,” the front desk worker says, standing up as she trails our movements towards the elevator.

“Guest?” Alfie stops in his tracks and turns towards the poor woman, who goes pale the moment his eyes centre on her. “She ain’t no guest. This ‘ere, yeah,” he points at me, half hidden behind him, “is my companion. Simply isn’t checked in, but I’m sure that won’t be a problem, innit?”

“Sir, I apologise-’’

I squeeze his hand when I feel the first trembles of rage coursing through his fingers. He briefly turns to me, his frown slightly softening when our eyes meet. “Breathe. I’ll go. You have my number.”

“No, you ain’t goin’ anywhere. It’s startin’ to get dark out and who knows what lurks in the shadows, eh? ‘Sides, I’m sure you’ll enjoy my little plan.”

“At least stay polite.”

“Fine.” He takes a deep breath and turns back towards the front desk. “Can I ‘ave a word with the manager?”

“Y- Yes, sir. I’ll- I’ll go get him.” Meek and hurried, she dials up her supervisor.

Without so much as a second thought, I squeeze his hand again and murmur words I hadn’t expected to use in relation to him. “Good boy.”

“Hm,” he returns the gesture, his voice lowered to a purr, “can be nice.”

A little while later, a man clad in a striped suit appears around the corner of the lobby.

“Evelien, is there a problem?” he asks in Dutch, glancing at the terrified woman. Her expression speaks volumes, so his attention automatically shifts to us.

“What ‘e ask?” Alfie leans in.

“Whether there’s a problem,” I translate.

“Mister Solomons,” the manager starts in what I can only describe as Dunglish. It’s occasionally duped Louis Van Gaal Engels, named after the terrible English spoken by one of our more famous soccer coaches. I’d argue Mark Rutte comes close to it too. Of course there are plenty others who sound and are as terrible at the language as them, but those two men take the crown when it comes to making my toes curl with cringe. “Is there a problem?”

Oh gods, please shut up.

“Yeah, there is,” Alfie grumbles. “Apparently, it’s not allowed to ‘ave my girl with me. Sure, she ain’t checked in, but there’s plenty space in my room. Now, she’s ‘ad a long day and it ain’t safe to send her back on ‘er own at this time of day. Considerin’ that, I offered she stay with me, yeah, because it ain’t safe to let a woman wander on ‘er own in the dark. Surely you understand.” He takes a few steps towards the manager, looming over him. “Right, little man?”

The manager opens and closes his mouth, chasing words that remain elusive. Eyes wide with panic, he awkwardly clears his throat. “Of- Of course, mister Solomons. She can stay. Would you, ah, do you need extra… towels?”

“Good man.” Alfie puts a hand on the manager’s shoulder. “I’m glad we see eye to eye.”

Leaving the question about the towels unanswered, he grabs my hand again and leads us to the elevator. I’ll be honest, despite my statement earlier today, I am unashamedly happy he has used his status to prolong our time together.

“Why were you bristlin’?” he asks when we are out of earshot of the now both very pale hotel employees.

“His English.” Alfie’s expression goes slack, eyebrows knitted together. “Not every Dutch person is great at English to the level they have an, I suppose, native-like accent like me. Most transfer the regular monotone Dutch speech pattern to their English, which makes it very flat. And I just can’t stand it.”

“Funny. You’re not even English and yet you react like you are.” He chuckles while we head to the elevator. “You’re a very strange woman.”

“You’re not the first to say that.”

“Oliver Cromwell.”

“Don’t mention that name,” I snap.

Alfie laughs at my outburst. “Are you sure you’re not Irish?”

The doors open and we get in. He pushes the button for his floor.

I lean against the wall, arms crossed. “Maybe in a past life. As you said yesterday, history has a funny way of repeating itself.”

“You think we met? Our past selves?”

“Who’s to say?” I avoid his gaze, trying to fathom who and what we could’ve been.

“Ir zent bakant far mir.”

Ik ben bekend voor je? What’s that in English again? Familiar! I’m familiar to you?

“In what sense?”

“I don’t know, darlin’.” The doors open and we step into the hallway. I match my pace to his as we make our way to his room. “Perhaps it doesn’t feel like it to you, but to me, right, it’s like I’ve known you for a long time.”

It’s starting to feel like that for me too. And I’m not sure yet I like it.

“I can’t say the same,” I say, entering the room as Alfie holds the door open. His gaze is cold, boring into my back. When I turn to him, leaning against the wall, his blue eyes have gone vacant and dull. Although, upon closer inspection, they rather seem haunted and hiding a grim pain he has carefully locked away. “Not yet, at least.”

“Right,” he murmurs. “I’ll run you a bath, yeah. It’s been a long day.”

“Alfie, don’t be like this.” I grab his wrist as he moves past me. “I just need more time. This is all new to me and I’m scared.”

He frees himself from my grip, mumbling to himself. “Eyn tog ir ken gedenken mir. Oder ir vet nit. Es tut nit enin enimor. Ir keynmol hobn fryer, azoy vos volt ir itst?”

He storms off to the bathroom. A few seconds later, I can hear the tap running.

A frog in my throat, I settle down on the edge of the bed. I hang my head and weave my fingers through my hair, quivering bottom lip caught between my teeth and my breath shallow.

One day I’ll… gedenken? In English, is that the same as remembering, remembrance? One day I can remember you? Or… Or not? It doesn’t something.

As for the last part, neither Dutch or my high school level German can help translate.

My vision becomes watery as his annoyed yet sombre words echo in my ears. We came this far. He’s got me in his room, the farce he put up broken the moment I don’t agree with him.

What the fuck am I doing? I already pissed him off. I should go. I’ll think of an excuse and shoot him a message. Yeah. Okay, gotta be fast.

I stand up and grab my bags. However, the second I turn towards the door, Alfie pops back into the room. Standing in the doorway, he takes me in. “What’re you doin’?”

An involuntary sob escapes me. Immediately he saunters over, a look of shock on his face when I take a step back. “Y/N, what’s wrong?”

Another step forward.

Another one back.

“Talk to-’’

“Step back.”

“What?”

“Step the fuck back,” I roar, on the verge of breaking down completely. He does as I say, hands held in the air in surrender. “And don’t follow me. Don’t try to stop me.”

But of course he does. 

The idea was to walk around him with a bow and bolt out the door, take the stairs, run outside and straight to the station. Alfie, however, grabs me by the arm and pulls me flush against him, arms locking me in place. His heart is thundering in my ear, chest rising and falling quickly with the effort it takes to make me stop struggling.

“Calm- No- Calm- Y/N, calm down!” He caresses my hair, lips pressed to the top of my head and his voice stern yet worried and kind. “What was the plan, eh? You’ve gone fuckin’ mad if you think I’ll let you walk out that door without tellin’ me what the fuck you’re playin’ at. Tell me, yeah? Tell Papa Solomons what funny thin’ you were tryin’ to do.”

My breath tapers, knowing there’s no way out now. I swallow hard, hardly able to form coherent and audible sentences. “I- I’m- I thought you were mad at me.”

He presses another kiss on the crown of my head, softly swaying to help me calm down faster. “Why would you think that?”

“Because of what you just said. In Yiddish.” I inhale a shaky breath. “I-’’

“Oh, darlin’, if I were angry with you, I’d say it in a language you understand.”

“Better start learning Dutch, then.”

“I’ll tell you in English until I can. Even so,” he presses a kiss on my forehead and then tips my chin up so he can kiss away the stray tears rolling down my cheeks, “I promise I’ll never, yeah, never get angry with you.”

“So, what- what happened yesterday wasn’t- when I went to get coffee and after-’’

“No, I wasn’t angry with you. I was simply being a stupid old man ragin’ at life.” He tightens the embrace and cradles my head. “It wasn’t because of you.”

“Alfie, is it- No, never mind.”

It’s too early to say I love you.

“Nah, none of that.’’ He stops moving. ‘‘Tell me. What did ya wanna ask?”

“Nothing. Let’s leave it be. Thank you for running me a bath.” I wriggle out of his grip and rub his forearms lovingly. “I’ll go enjoy it.”

He rests his forehead against mine, eyes closed and his hands on my waist. “If you need anythin’, just shout.”

“I will.”

He tentatively presses his lips against mine, shaking with the strain of not bursting out in a fit. However, it doesn’t feel like anger.

More like deep-seated sorrow.

“Don’t forget this.” He lets go of me to rummage in the closet, pulling out a white hoodie with his studio’s logo embroidered on the left side on the front. He turns it around so I can see the back, which depicts a fierce Fenrir devouring the sun. “I ‘aven’t worn it yet, so it’s still fresh. It might be a bit big, but it’ll keep you warm. There’s also an extra toothbrush on the sink, the blue one. You can use my toothpaste. Oh, there’s also micellar water. I use it for me skin, but it’s also good to remove makeup with I ‘eard.”

“It is. Thank you, Alfie.”

He looks at me and nods, a grateful grunt erupting from his throat. ‘‘Told ya I had a plan.’’

Hoodie draped over my arm, I head to the bathroom.

The bath water is the exact right temperature, hot yet not enough so to scorch your skin. Like our silences, it’s comfortable. I undress and hop into the lavendel-scented tub.

Submerged into the water up to my chin, I repeat the conversations we had today in my head. Because I’m still waiting for the catch. A sign this is either a cruel joke or a feverish dream.

Apparently, it’s not allowed to ‘ave my girl with me.

This is real, yeah? You. Me. Us ‘ere. All real.

If I wanted sex, right, only sex, then tell me why I feel like this. Why, right now, it feels like me chest is being ripped open and me ticker pulled out of it, put right through the fuckin’ shredder. Why I feel like there’s a brick in me stomach and a ball of cotton in me throat each time you drift off or seem upset. Fuckin’ tell me!

There truly was a crack in his voice.

Tell me because I don’t understand it.

“Me neither, Alfie,” I mumble to myself. “Me neither.”

I raise my leg to admire Anubis, the first god to grace my skin.

We created a bloody masterpiece, ‘aven’t we?

He sounded incredibly proud, not of himself but of us both. The same genuine delight I spotted in the various little smiles he tried to suppress.

When I climbed down the ladder. Put back the books. Drank coffee while he was drawing, half concealed by his tablet.

When we broke away after that first kiss.

The feeling of his beard is still vividly imprinted on my lips, which grow ticklish as soon as I trace them. My cheeks remember the warmth of his hands, a bit rough yet affectionate and secure.

I close my eyes, inhale deeply and let out the breath after holding it for a moment.

Maybe I should have a little faith. Take the gamble with you.

I wash my hair with his shampoo, rinse it out, dry off, and put on my improvised pyjamas. All the while, I can’t shake off the idea of taking a bath together.

I’d lean against his chest, sturdy yet grown soft and supple with neglected muscle. Our fingers would lazily fumble with each other, tracing shapes or the tattoos on our skin. He could dry me off and dress me after wrapping me up in a cocoon of towels. Maybe carry me to bed, curled up in his arms like a small child.

Back in the room, Alfie is leaning against the headboard and drawing on his tablet. His glasses balance on the bridge of his nose. He sits up when he hears me enter, trailing my movements as I do.

“I know, I know,” I flail my arms, clutching the hems of the sleeves to maintain my sweater paws, “it looks about as flattering as a sack.”

He puts his tablet on the bedside table and places his glasses on top of it. “Not at all. C’mere, let me look at ya.”

I approach his side of the bed, taking slow steps towards where he’s sitting. As soon as I’m in arm’s reach, he pulls me down on his lap. To not smack head-first into his face, I steady myself by grabbing his shoulders. Hands on my waist, he holds me in place. “Mhm. Yeah.”

“Alfie?” He tilts his head, his hands trailing lower to my thighs. A shiver runs down my spine when his rough calloused palms glide over my skin, culminating in the growing warmth between my legs. I run my fingers along his jaw and beard, scratching it in the way he likes and makes his expression go hazy with distant dreams. “Wolfy? Ah- hm~”

His lips crash into mine, feverish and hungry, as he grinds my hips on his. A pleasant dizziness sets in, created by the few seconds he allows me to draw breath and his unashamed desire. A faint throbbing and hardening sensation is tangible through the thick denim of his jeans, wanton and yet longing to be closer.

Alfie swipes his tongue over my lower lip and gives my nose a little nudge with his to ask permission for more.

And more I readily grant him because, like him, I’m also guilty of subjecting to greed. I suppose that even in our sins we are united. 

The faint taste of the chocolates we had with our after dinner coffees mixed with his cologne and the underlying plea in his expression strangles each logical thought. 

There’s only here, a safe haven without consequences or concerns.

Only us, two people who seem to have found one another after a long time apart.

I surrender to the guidance of his hands, steadily rocking my hips against his to further put my underwear to shame. The dominance of his tongue, finding no resistance as it explores my mouth. The rapacity in his curiosity, embodied in my secret pride in coaxing out the wolf within.

Alfie slips his hands beneath the hoodie, enveloping my bum and spreading the cheeks so I can feel him better. A sound in between a gasp and a moan spills from my lips when he presses himself against me, ready to take this further.

Beyond the boundaries of comfort.

And it frightens me.

Too fast. We’re going too fast.

Abruptly, I pull back. Alfie chases my lips, evidently far from done. 

To show this is where I draw the line in the sand, I place my hands on his shoulders and push him back to create enough distance between us to speak. To hide the tremble in my fingers, I clutch the fabric of his shirt. A corset of guilt settles around my chest, growing tighter with each second and every word I try to utter without showing the cracks of fear. The disgust I feel towards myself, throwing myself at him like that because it makes part of me happy while my rationality keeps pointing out the likely longevity of our relationship.“Alfie, I- I’m sorry, but can- can we stop?”

I don’t want to seem easy.

I don’t want to be easy. 

He grows still, his gaze still glazed over but slowly sharpening as the spell breaks for him too. Languidly he raises one of his hands, which hovers a few millimetres from my cheek. I wrap my fingers around his wrist and bring his palm to my face, placing a kiss on it before leaning into its warmth. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s alright, Y/N. It’s okay. You ‘ave boundaries and that’s good. I’m proud of you for speakin’ up,” he purrs, voice gravelly and low. After a moment’s hesitation, Alfie rests his forehead against mine. “Can I at least see ‘ow our good pal Anubis is doin’?”

I nod and guide his hand to lift the hoodie just enough for the god to show in all its healed glory.

My breath catches in my throat as his fingers glide over my skin. “Good girl. Taken proper care of that, ain’t ya?” His gaze darts to my face when he feels me go rigid. ‘‘I apologise, I should’ve asked before touchin’ you. I know it ain’t a proper apology and I should’ve thought twice, perhaps three, fuck, five times before-’’

‘‘Alfie, it’s okay. I know you didn’t mean anything by it,’’ I cut him off, saving him this time from breaking out into a ramble. “By the way, everything smells like dragon blood now.”

The careful smile I give him makes him relax, at least enough to join in on the joke and erase the grimace from his face. “The smell ain’t that bad, right?”

I shake my head, feeling rather silly like a little girl. Free of the burden on my shoulders now that the atmosphere has brightened.

“I’m gonna shower. Can I kiss you before I do?”

“Yeah.”

He hums and presses his lips to my forehead. “I won’t take long. Lie down and get cosy. Read a bit. If you want, you can also browse through my designs or use my tablet for YouTube or Netflix. The code is 1888.”

An involuntary yelp erupts from my throat as he flips us over. He pulls back the sheets so I can scramble beneath them after propping up his pillow. Honestly, I had expected him to simply drape the sheets over me, but Alfie properly tucks me in.

“Comfy?” Alfie runs a hand through my hair, tracing the length of a lock to my cheek. He cups it, tenderly brushing his thumb over the skin.

I nod, smiling contently.

“Good.”

He saunters to the bathroom, picking up a pair of sweats and a loose fitting shirt along the way. A few seconds later the sounds of Alfie undressing and the shower fill the otherwise quiet room. I put on my glasses and settle in with the novel I bought, enjoying the silence.

Which is soon broken by a symphony of hardly stifled groans and bitten-back curses.

Is he… no, surely it’s his leg. Then again, don’t be naive, you bloody idiot!

I hide behind my novel, my ears as hot as my cheeks.

Oh, Lord.

Though I stand by my decision to not have sex with him, I can’t suppress a smirk nor deny the prickle running down the back of my neck. After all, how many times will I get to enjoy the pleasure of hearing him like this?

Proud as a peacock, basking in the knowledge I’ve reduced him to this state, I put the novel to the side and lie down on the pillow to listen to the going-ons in the bathroom.

His breath grows shallow, the growls deeper and feral. My fantasy makes a run for it and imagines him here in bed, sweating while mindlessly rutting into me. How many rounds would it take before he’s run out of stamina or for his balls to be empty?

Sooner than I would’ve liked, a snarl followed by low murmurs betrays he’s finished. Then again, he did say he’d make it quick.

Did you think about me? What you would’ve done if we hadn’t stopped?

To keep up appearances, I pick my book up again, put my glasses on and read until he’s done. Fortunately, he falls for the false show of innocence. Either that or he’s too wrapped up in towelling his hair dry and moving to notice I’m not thinking clearly either. 

A tad awkwardly he swaggers over to the bed, moving as if his clothes are in the way. I cross my legs, grateful the covers are there to conceal how his lumbering frame affects me.

“Why the grimace?” I tilt my head and try to keep my voice level, devoid of the amusement he unintentionally provided. Feigning ignorance is easy. It’s the maintaining of the act that’s the hardest part. But try I will.

“I-’’ He opens and closes his mouth as he scours his mind for an appropriate explanation. With a groan, Alfie lifts up the duvet and slides beneath it. “I’m not used to wearin’ pyjamas.”

Now it’s me who’s gobsmacked. I trail his movements, if only to hide the fact I have to let his confession sink in. Precarious information like that I need to register properly. 

Because my mind can get terribly creative. 

I scoot over to make room for him, still incapable of tearing my eyes away from him. “Uhm, I don’t know if this is appropriate of me to ask, but… do you sleep naked?”

“Yes, it’s how Yahweh means it to be.’’ Alfie lets out a content sigh, finally settled in a position in which neither his leg nor his body in general takes a toll on him. ‘‘The first ‘umans were naked. It’s our natural state, but I didn’t think you’d appreciate me goin’ commando. ‘Ence the bloody clothes.”

“If it’s really, you know… uncomfortable for you, you could, uhm, t- take them… off?”

“You’d run straight out that damned door if I did and I wouldn’t blame ya. And we can’t ‘ave that, can we? No, the clothes stay on. I can ‘andle it. Ain’t as bad as me health.” He wraps his arms around my waist. “Put the book away. Cute as you are with your glasses, it’s time to hit the ‘ay. I’m knackered.”

“I can leave only the reading lamp. I’m not tired yet.”

“No, darlin’, even big girls need sleep.” He props himself up on his elbow, plucks my book out of my hands, and reaches over to put it on the bedside table. Then he gently removes my glasses, folds them, and puts them atop the novel. “If I ever want you to do as I tell you, right, which, I know, isn’t very feminist of me, it’s now. Just this once, Y/N. Can you do that for me?”

Well, you also told me not to get a tattoo by Chester. Then again, I haven’t promised you I won’t.

I sigh, turn on my side, and shuffle closer to him. “Alright.”

Alfie pulls me flush against him, his chest seeming to radiate heat naturally. It’s exactly as I imagined it would feel beneath all the layers of clothing, beneath that white shirt back in Birmingham. Sturdy yet grown soft and supple with neglected muscle. Our legs entwine, the muscles in his thighs keeping mine firmly in place. I clutch his shirt like a koala, determined to hold on till sunrise.

One bear-like, no, wolf-like paw tucked beneath the pillow, he rubs my back with the other. All the while, he holds my gaze, looking at me with eyes as blue as Starry Night by van Gogh. It’s a shame he can’t see he’s the piece of art between us. I am merely the artist who can’t lay claim to him. “Nice, innit?”

Maybe not yet. One day. Until then, I have dreams in which I can confidently call you mine.

Involuntarily, I yawn. My eyelids grow heavy, the clutches of sleep slowly entangling my body. “Mhm.”

“I’d love to do this when you visit me.”

“I’d like that.”

“Good.” He kisses my forehead.

I raise my hand to run my fingers through his beard, still fascinated by the feeling of it as well as the intimacy. Although, it’s perhaps Alfie allowing it in general that’s most fascinating.

After a few moments, starting to lose the fight to stay awake, I let my hand rest on his neck. However, he puts it back on his beard, evidently having other ideas. “Didn’t say you could stop, did I?”

I let out a breathless laugh, too drowsy to make a louder sound. “Does it feel good?”

He closes his eyes, unconsciously guiding my fingertips to the spots that feel especially good. It could be because of the drowsiness, but his usual rumbles of delight have turned into the purrs like those of a very big pleased cat.

We continue to lie like that for a few more moments. Nevertheless, as soon as Alfie notices I’m losing what little momentum I already had, he takes my hand and places it on the side of his neck. “Go to sleep. Got a big day tomorrow.” He buries his nose in my hair, inhaling the scent. I don’t need to check to know he’s smiling. “Meetin’ the parents… fucking ‘ell.”

“Don’t have to,” I mumble.

“Ollie and Tom need to shut up. Maybe I should shoot them both.”

“No Timbuktu, Wolfy.”

“Right, no Timbuktu.” He leans in far enough for our noses to touch, places a peck on mine. “Geyn tsu shlofn, meyn mlkh. Deyn volf vet haltn ir zikher.”

A heaviness overtakes my body as I sink deeper into slumber, descending in the peaceful safety created by his arms and the knowledge there’s nothing to worry about for a few hours. Any problems created today will have to wait until tomorrow.

I remember dreaming of a Queen and a wolf sitting beneath a tree with nine branches spreading into the sky. They were looking out over a vast body of water, maybe a sea. And I’m fairly certain the wolf was keeping her safe.

I don’t know how long I slept when I wake up. Judging by the faint light falling in through the window, it’s still night or perhaps very early in the morning. We changed positions since we went to bed, me facing the window and Alfie firmly pressed against me, his chest rising and falling against my back and one arm draped over my waist to keep me close to him. I look over my shoulder, unable to suppress a smile at his calm expression which slowly etches itself out against the dusk.

He stirs, a grunt spilling from his lips as he rocks into me. Again I feel the same prodding sensation that woke me up.

Hang on.

Experimentally, I grind down on him, lip caught between my teeth to muffle the moan threatening to spill from the friction. The action gets rewarded with a warning snarl. Beneath the sheets, his hands grab my hips and squeeze them hard enough to cause bruises. 

His cock twitches when I press myself against it again. For a moment the idea to wake Alfie up to lend him a helping hand passes through my head. However, my common sense gets the better of me. We both have boundaries. Now it’s my turn to respect them.

It’s better to leave things, us, as we are. I don’t want to give off mixed signals.

So, having had my extra bit of fun and enjoying the clear display of possession, I drift back to sleep.

Perhaps I don’t need dreams. I’m yours and you’re mine.

Strange how the expected can turn into the unexpected only to leave you filled with suffocating disappointment.

I roll over in the bed, but whereas I could snuggle into Alfie’s chest just a few hours ago, all I can seek warmth from is the cold and empty spot next to mine.

Maybe he’s just making a call or he’s downstairs in the gym.

It’s nonsense, absolute rubbish. Yet, I need something to contradict myself, the incessant voice in my head called ‘conscience’. To suppress the rapidly spreading bleak feeling, my instincts tuned into the situation and not tolerating any flight of fancy.

I slowly sit up and rub the sleep from my eyes, making a quick mental prayer to have him there when I open them. It’s pathetic, of course, to hope for such a thing despite the clear signs.

It’s only me, in an empty hotel room in Mokum.

Clenching the sheets, lips pressed firmly together, I blink away the watery world.

The lonely reality.

Don’t cry. You could’ve expected this. What were you doing anyway? Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why do I have to be such a fucking idiot?

With tears still brimming on the edge of my lashes, I scan the room for any hints about Alfie’s whereabouts. Then again, how much can one find when there is no trace to be found?

His jacket, cane, phone, suitcase, backpack. Gone.

I check my phone, but the screen lights up with nothing but new notifications from online shopping apps. He also hasn’t left me a text or an Instagram message.

Well, at least he has Velvel with him. Or would he have dumped him somewhere? No, that doesn’t sound like Wolfy. He isn’t like that. He isn’t!

The thought of the poor little stuffie drowned in rubbish wrenches a violent sob from me.

At least you could’ve left him here, you bastard!

On the coffee table stands a tall white cup with a familiar holder around it. There seems to be something tucked underneath. Temporarily forgetting the plushie’s fate, I get up to get a closer look.

An envelope.

Inside is a letter, written in an elegant cursive reminiscent of the kind you find in really old vintage ones. I sniff at the cup and take a small sip of the, apparently, cold liquid inside.

Pumpkin spice.

How the hell did this get here?

Latte in hand, I sit down to read.

My dearest Y/N,

The coffee must’ve gone cold by the time you read this, but I didn’t want to wake you up. You looked too peaceful, like a little seraphim at rest. So I packed my stuff as quietly as I could so as not to disturb you. However, please do forgive me for this, I couldn’t help but murmur my goodbyes and kiss your forehead. You stirred, but I do hope I didn’t wake you up.

Yesterday, at the bookshop, you said that there are a lot of things people don’t do as they used to, especially writing letters. Yes, I heard you. This old man remains very good at paying attention, comes in handy when [crossed out text]. I could’ve sent you a message over Instagram, but I didn’t want to be that bloke. To be honest, you deserve better than that, love. It’s been a very, very long time since I’ve written a letter so hopefully my handwriting is still legible in spite of the years.

And even though I’m not there when you read this, I can imagine you wonder how in the bloody hell I managed to get a piece of paper and an envelope. I kindly requested them from the staff at the front desk. No force was used, I promise. Only a bit of coercion and intimidation. Nonetheless, I hope you can envision my desperation to leave you a personal note.

By the way, don’t worry about check-out. You can do so whenever you’re ready to go home. Speaking of which, I regret I made you the promise of meeting your parents and not being able to follow up on it. Something happened in Camden which requires me to return to England at once. I would rather have stayed here with you and let Ollie handle it, but he’s not the person who should deal with it.

Velvel is sitting at my side and he isn’t happy to leave you, either. But I’ll make sure he becomes a hardy boy, a London wolf like your man.

We’ll miss you. Yet, we also know you’re a big girl who can save herself (even when I don’t like it, next time I’m going up the ladder).

Don’t cry for me, sweetheart. I hate myself for knowing you likely are, so let me make the promise I’ll never make you cry again. Now you have my word on paper, a powerful weapon to use against me any time. For you are the only woman, the only person, who this king bends his knee to.

(The good one, right knee)

And let me make another promise.

I, Alfred Josef Menahem Solomons Jr., swear to you, Y/N L/N, that I will return once winterfall has come. If I don’t, it’s better if you forget about me. What good is a man who can’t live up to his word?

Until then, I cherish the time we spent together. You made me feel like a free man, a man of flesh and blood. Alive, risen again like Lazarus.

I’ll keep you in my heart and hold the ghost of your hand until we meet again, my love. For you have been the last dream of my soul and I refuse to let it, YOU, go.

Your sincere and faithful servant,

Wolfy

I squint at the letter.

Winterfall? What and when is that? You’re not coming back, are you? This is just a pretty way for you to say goodbye.

There’s a postscript.

P.S: I’ve left you the drawing I worked on yesterday. Again, there was no force used to have it printed and delivered to you, my dear. I asked the staff very nicely to help me out. Let me know what you think of it. Or, even better, write to me. There’s an address on the back.

On the table is the referenced artwork, revealed from its hiding spot beneath Alfie’s letter.

It’s not precisely what I expected. In fact, it’s drawn in a style entirely different from his tattoos, a watercolour portrait rather than black ink sketch. The background is blurry, the colours in the scenery flowing over into each other. Only a window is clearly drawn, a black cat holding a cup of coffee staring out of it.

My eye falls on the title of the piece, written in a neat elegant surface in the corner.

Bast.

I turn the piece of paper around.

There’s an address in Margate.

The world can get incredibly loud once a lost soul returns. Its happy wanderings are drowned out by yelled concern, anxiety mixed with guilt having created a heavy shroud to wear.

But I keep his letter and drawing tight to my chest.

And lapse into silence.

[mischiefandmedicine]

Very Full - Interlude: Far from Heaven

Summary: Loki contemplates how he should keep telling his story.

Word Count: 1,425 words.

Chapter Warnings: None that I can think of.

Soundtrack Link

This Chapter's Music Inspiration:

Far from Heaven by Evanescence

Very Full MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter

A/N: As per usual, I just want to say that I do not own the rights to the lyrics. I did, however, imagine that Melara wrote this song, because the lyrics fit so perfectly into hers and Loki's story.

Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!

From his vantage point at the end of time, where the very fabric of the universe seemed to converge into an intricate tapestry of fate and chance, Loki, once known for his mischief and cunning, found himself caught in a moment of profound introspection as he considered what to tell his daughter. He sat, the echoes of a timeless chamber resonating with the murmurs of infinite realms and the timelines cocooning him and Saoirse, each whispering a reminder of the paths he had trodden, and the ones yet taken.

Before him, shimmering like a mirage, Saoirse’s face seemingly frozen as she waited expectantly for Loki to continue. Her eyes, so reminiscent of Melara’s, held the fierce determination and the nearly imperceptible vulnerability that defined her mother. His daughter’s request was so simple yet seismic – “Tell me everything.” – that it gave him pause, internally recalling one of Melara’s songs from the dark years. The years in which he was forced to stay away.  

Give me a reason, Make me whole again. Wounds should become scars, But I’m cracked instead. Can’t risk believing, That I would stand a chance. Frozen in the doorway, don’t wanna leave the past. One more night, What I wouldn’t give to be with you for one more night…

            He would have died for this young woman, his daughter, if she had asked him to sacrifice himself. To prove his loyalty and his love. But could he really tell her everything? The time with the love of his life was too short…too precious. It was time that helped him to see the inherent value of mortal life. How could he tell Saoirse everything if it would give away the secrets shared between lovers? And the song played on in his head.

What if I can’t see your light anymore? ‘Cause I’ve spent too long in the dark. And I’m on my knees without shame begging to believe. But I feel so far from heaven.

            As the silence stretched between the father and daughter, Loki’s mind wandered back to the night he had first encountered Melara. It was not mere chance, but a call of fate that had drawn him to her. Amidst the chaos of the cosmos, her voice had pierced through the cacophony of dreams as he slumbered on the throne. Her voice had been both a beacon and a sweet, calming lullaby that seemed to lure him inexorably towards her.

Melara had been different – not merely in power or spirit but in the very essence that composed her being. She radiated a kind of raw, unfiltered vivacity that was both intoxicating and daunting. From the moment he laid eyes on her, he had sensed that she was meant to teach him something profound, something about the nature of connection or perhaps the elusive truth of love. However, the depth of their entwining stories was something he had not been prepared for. The loneliness without her at his side broke him as he could hear her sing about their love from the ever-growing timeline that housed her essence. She would sing the words of his own heart as if she could hear his thoughts across the universe.

Wake up to a new day, Break my heart again. Dreaming makes for sweet escape but I can’t forget. I’m back at the edge now, I never needed you more. Staring down the emptiness that I can’t ignore. All my life didn’t wanna dream I could lose you. But you just smiled. What if I can’t see your light anymore? ‘Cause I spent to long in the dark. And I’m on my knees without shame begging to believe. But I feel so far from heaven.

He offered a silent prayer of thanks to the Norns for intertwining his path with such a remarkable soul, even if the pain was heartbreakingly unbearable at times. Her dreams, it seemed, held glimpses of a future, a prelude to a rich life with the enigma and might that rivaled his own aspirations. The nightmares she suffered, foretold the abrupt end of their story and she often pushed him away. Perhaps she thought she was saving Loki from her mortality. Even so, it did not stop him from pursuing Melara. She was a woman whose mystique was woven with threads of superior potency, enchanting him with the possibilities of what they might become, no matter how long it lasted.

Is anyone out there? Did you give up on us? Break this silence, I’m crushed under love. I don’t wanna lock down, but we’ve lost so much. Will you forgive me if I can’t see your light anymore? ‘Cause I’ve spent too long in the dark. And I’m on my knees without shame begging to believe, But I feel so far from heaven.

As he reflected on their journey together – from the exhilarating highs of passion to the devastating lows of angst and loss – Loki realized that each precious moment with Melara had reshaped him. She had opened doors to parts of his soul that he had long since barricaded, challenging his notions of who he could be beyond the labels of trickster and deity.

Losing himself even further, Loki found himself and his thoughts adrift, pulled back through the tides of time to the golden halls of Asgard – long before all of this – where his parents, Odin and Frigga, once sat in judgment and wisdom. He pondered, with a mind burdened by the complexities of his existence, whether they would have seen Melara, this mortal woman from another realm, with eyes of approval. Would they have gazed upon their granddaughter, Ssaoirse, being born of interwoven destinies, with the same warmth they offered him, despite his being the frost giant among Aesir?

Under the quiet cloak of the stars that hung over the secluded perch at time’s end, he mused over Frigga’s kindness, her gift for seeing the good hidden within. She, who had taught him the subtleties of seidr and the value of understanding, might have seen Melara’s dreams – a connection to the future, a profound gift – mirroring her own mastery. Perhaps Frigga would have embraced Melara, guiding her, nurturing the raw, untapped potential that Loki had found so captivating.

And Odin, Allfather, whose vision often pierced through the veils of realms and hearts, might he have recognized the thread of fate that bound Loki to Melara as something inevitable? Or would he have eyed it with the suspicion of a strategist, wary of any entanglement that might sway his adopted son from the path of a god’s grand designs? Perhaps the old man would have softened once he had seen the product of their unlikely union and welcomed his granddaughter with open arms, offering her a place at his side? Would his union with Melara, so untraditional and untamed, have been a source of contention, a deviation from Asgard’s regal lineage? Or in the forging of Saoirse – a new link in the chains of legacy – might they have seen an opportunity for redemption, a chance to mend the old rifts and write a new story for the House of Odin?

Loki imagined that the story he and Melara shared was not just about the love they shared, but also about the lessons wrought from their union. Each encounter with her had peeled back another layer of his complex persona, revealing vulnerabilities that he had dared not acknowledge. Melara had seen through the façade that Loki had presented to the world. She knew of the Loki who had taken New York and still had inexplicably and unconditionally fallen in love with him. A love that transcended the distances between them.

With a sigh that seemed to echo through the ages, Loki decided that honesty, no matter how painful, was the only gift worthy of his daughter. He would offer her the story of that would show their connection, fraught with challenges and imbued with magic. The tale itself had ultimately sprung a legacy of strength and resilience. The words he would choose must be careful, crafted with the same care with which he once weaved illusions, but this time, they would be constructs of truth, designed to build rather than beguile. As he prepared to speak, the shadows of the chamber seemed to pause to listen, the very air poised for the revelations of a god who had loved a mortal and changed the fabric of time itself.

And so, with the universe as witness, Loki drew in a deep breath while Saoirse stared wide-eyed waiting for him to speak.

----

Taglist: @mischiefandmedicine

[riverssongs13]

Some time within the past lifetimes I gave an analogy to a dear friend of how life feels like a single passenger submersible that's gone far more than the prescribed depth. Of course that's not a good thing, small little things could go wrong which will cascade to Big Things Going Wrong and at those depths, well we can all imagine what happens to a small craft in deep waters.

The default setting being the Barely Holding It seems nice in retrospect, seeing as in that state one could pretend everything's okay, going according to plan, the chaos is kept at bay, and it being the point of equilibrium is the best that can be. Dangerous, fucked up to say the least, but at least the submersible is holding up and there's still quite a while to go, few thousand more metres downside and just hold on it'll be fine it'll be over soon. Such was the plan.

And so I told the dear friend that something did Go Wrong. I'm pretty sure the exact details of it Getting Fucked is hiding somewhere in my drafts but right now I don't have the mental capacity to face that. Right now the main concern is that the Small Thing That Went Wrong is slowly becoming too big and too serious and too heavy and inside the sub there's nothing but panic and there's absolutely no way to fix anything because you wouldn't even know which way to start, there's just leaks everywhere and its imploding and the freezing water is going up up up and its on your knees now and you're stuck in your chair and the lights are flickering and you can hear the glass creak and break and more water is getting in and its now on your throat and you've managed to get out of the chair's strappings and so you're on the sub's ceiling but that doesn't even matter because the water's caught up and there's already nothing but darkness and cold and all you can think of is I should have worn a much warmer coat.

And so I can't breathe. It's too hard to breathe. Even on the "normal" days. What even is normal anymore? No amount of distraction from the fount of LuPone files I've been gifted has been able to lift an ounce of the heaviness. Not even my undying love for the Reverend Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus has been able to bring forth a little cheer. Not Doctor Who, not Himeko Murata, not Lady Ningguang, not Evanescence, not the rose, not Fatima, not the underground man, not Luthien, not Armand, not Maharet, and not even Dorian. You decide which Dorian is that.

Heaviness so palpable even the threat of warm human contact is such an alien concept, like, what even is the point? I just want to end it all. I've been on the verge of drowning since the cracks showed up and I can't even swim and the water's too cold and it's dark and just let me end it. The end is tempting and beautiful its been making me think of writing down the last words I would ever wish to say.

And how funny would it be that whilst writing *this* particular word vomit, someone pops up on my messages and speaks about things that were already half forgotten. Damn you, D. Here I was contemplating about the end and you just waltz in, picking up a long forgotten, almost month old conversation as if its 5 minutes ago, talking about miniscule unimportant things like Notes From Underground. You're really racking up the points in being my so-called "saviour". Not that Dostoevsky is unimportant, but you get what I mean. In the grander scheme of things, in a night when I feel like the next few breaths are to be my last, it does seem like a tiny little thing.

Well then. Maybe this isn't the end. Yet. I should put off lamenting about not being able to read your novel within this lifetime. Thank you, I guess. Fuck. Right. Pause. And cue crying.

I'll see you later, I guess.

[chainaaacole-blog]

What an ever glowing peril

Who said time could stop ticking

Every moment I sat

Waiting for you to want me back

And take my heart again

To rejoin yours

The background faded

The voices became noise

And people became faces

Unwanted pictures flickering in my life

Everything was missing

When you were gone

And I forgot who I was

Without you there

Our souls were connected

Our bodies intertwined

Into an evanescence of realms

Untouched in dimensions

Unspoken of

Where we would travel to

No one else matter

No other kaleidoscopical being

Could compare to the stars

We created

The constellations we aligned

In the skies we painted

With just the sound of our laughter

Singing in the night wind

To the spirits who wished we stayed together

And binded us by ankles and wrists

When we were apart

The fighting tension of a bull

Underwater

Yet I always managed to swim back to you

When you left me to drown

I guess passion really is

Dangerous

And isn’t love supposed to feel

Safe?

And aren’t homes supposed to give you

Shelter

And comfort

And warmth?

Why then did I feel homeless

Unwanted

And left out in the cold

Lifeless

When you claimed my soul for yours

But wanted nothing to do with it

I gave you the love that sustained us both

You took it and poured it out

Into empty glasses you cracked and spilled

And slashed me with a shattered piece

When I tried to help

And as I walked off crying

You came back to stitch up the wound

So I could give you more to drink

But I had run dry

And that wasn’t enough for you

So you kicked me down the well

And down there I found one

Glimmer

Of hope

You roped me up

Hoping I found water for you to drink

But I came up with something

That wasn’t yours to keep

And we excommunicated our love

Because I finally learned to love something

Other than you

Of course you hated it

Just like everything else

But I loved it

It was mine

And you could never

Take that love away from me

Ever

Again

[crimeronan]

scenes all pulled from the main fic. i decided to go maximum autism and pull long relevant lyric quotes for each, so. just read it like it's poetry and go "wow, shit, that fits so well it's uncanny. no Wonder luz has ptsd like a motherfucker"

when belos and luz kill the basement grimwalker together:

blinding - florence and the machine

felt it in my fists, in my feet, in the hollows of my eyelids. shaking through my skull, through my spine and down through my ribs. no more dreaming of the dead as if death itself was undone, no more calling like a crow for a boy, for a body in the garden. no more dreaming like a girl so in love with the wrong world

gun in my hand - dorothy

why did love put a gun in my hand? in my bed, in my head, in my hand was it for redemption or was it for revenge? was it for the bottle? was it for the ledge? was it for the thrill of pushing my hope to the edge?

under the water - the pretty reckless

excuse me, sir, am i your daughter? won't you take me back and see? [...] broken lines across my mirror show my face all red and bruised and though i screamed and i screamed, no one came running. no i wasn't saved, i wasn't safe from you

when luz pretends to be interested in making a grimwalker of amity:

[inserting a cut to save everyone's dashboards]

everybody's fool - evanescence

just what we all need, more lies about a world that never was and never will be. have you no shame? don't you see me? look, here she comes now. bow down and stare in wonder. oh how we love you, no flaws when you're pretending. but now i know she never was and never will be without the mask, where will you hide? can't find yourself, lost in your lies. i know the truth now, i know who you are, and i don't love you anymore

shot in the dark - within temptation

in the blink of an eye, i can see through your eyes. as i'm lying awake i'm still hearing the cries and it hurts, hurts me so bad and i'm wondering why i still fight in this life 'cause i've lost all my faith in this damn bitter strife and it's sad, it's so damn sad your soul is on fire, a shot in the dark - what did they aim for when they missed your heart? i breathe underwater, it's all in my hands. what can i do? don't let it fall apart

when luz dreams about killing hunter:

chasing twisters - delta rae

kiss me now, this whiskey on my breath - feel the lives that i have taken, what little soul that i have left. and oh, my God, i'll take you to the grave, the only love i've ever known, the only soul i ever saved [...] don't you know i dream about you? don't you know i dream about you?

ship to wreck - florence and the machine

oh, my love, remind me, what was it that i said? i can't help but pull the earth around me to make my bed and oh my love, remind me, what was it that i did? did i drink too much? am i losing touch? did i build this ship to wreck? [...] don't let the curtain catch you cause you've been here before. the chair is an island, darling, you can't touch the floor

the flowers - regina spektor

the flowers you gave me are rotting and still i refuse to throw them away some of the bulbs never opened quite fully, they might so i'm waiting and staying awake things i have loved i'm allowed to keep. i'll never know if i go to sleep

when luz and hunter fight about how she's hiding belos's abuse:

frozen - within temptation

i would stop running if i knew there was a chance. it tears me apart to sacrifice it all but i'm forced to let go tell me i'm frozen, but what can i do? can't tell the reasons i did it for you. when lies turn into truth, i sacrificed for you. you say that i'm frozen but what can i do? i can feel your sorrow. you won't forgive me but i know you'll be all right. it tears me apart that you will never know but i have to let go

politics of love - rise against

i hear your voice in the wind. it follows me, it cuts right through the noise as we spin on dance floors made of ice so rest your hand in mine. steady now, ignore the sound of breaking lines, the cracks beneath our feet as time runs out [...] clear signs outlined but i couldn't see what i see now i should have said something to you when i saw you walk away. instead i did nothing and now you're gone and it's too late. so we board up the windows we used to look through

when belos tries to kill hunter:

fairytale - elysion

once upon a time in a land far away where the fairytale lied, you would have it your way. i would always have wished as i stood in the mist to undo the spell i was under years went by and the story goes on, i'm here wondering why i did everything wrong, always hoping that i'd find the wisdom to fly and be no more the prey but the hunter all seems like the perfect ending, still i'm close to understanding: i still breathe while you're killing me

are you done with me - delain

this city drinks and roars, each word so meaningless. each word, especially yours, echoes inside my head can't you see i won't let you get your way, let you get the best of me? i just need to know, are you done with me? are you done with me? and if you are, won't you just let me be? [...] are you done with me, are you honestly? did you realize that i can't be all you need?

unbecoming - starset

it's automatic, it's telepathic, you always knew me. and you laugh as i search for a harbor as you point where your halo had been, but the light in your eyes has been squandered. there's no angel in you in the end. and all that i was, i left behind me eyes in the dead still water, tried but it pushed back harder. cauterized and atrophied, this is my unbecoming. knives in the backs of martyrs, lives in the burning fodder

when luz kills his ass right back:

devil's backbone - the civil wars

oh lord, oh lord, what have i done? i've fallen in love with a man on the run. oh lord, i'm begging you please, don't take that sinner from me oh lord, oh lord, what do i do? i've fallen for someone who's nothing like you. he's raised on the edge of the devil's backbone, i just wanna take him home give me the burden, give me the blame, i'll shoulder the load and i'll swallow the shame. give me the burden, give me the blame, how many hail marys is it gonna take?

the last song i'm wasting on you - evanescence

sickened in the sun, you dare tell me you love me, but you held me down and screamed you wanted me to die. honey you know i'd never hurt you that way, "you're just so pretty in your pain" give up my way and i could be anything. i'll make my own way without your senseless hate so run, run, run, and hate me if it feels good. i can't hear your screams anymore. you lied to me but i'm older now, and i'm not buying, baby!

when luz finally confesses to hunter:

close to heaven - breaking benjamin

i try to breathe, shade my eyes, follow the damned. i have lost the way again. stay, trust in life, carried beneath, dead arise. sorrow avenged - i will face the weak within so i'll stay unforgiven and i'll keep love together. and i'll be yours forever, i'll sleep close to heaven i'm coming home, i'm coming home, i'm coming home. release me, my love

heavy in your arms - florence and the machine

is it worth the wait, all this killing time? are you strong enough to stand protecting both your heart and mine? who is the betrayer, who's the killer in the crowd? my love has concrete feet, my love's an iron ball wrapped around your ankles over the waterfall. i'm so heavy, heavy in your arms. this will be my last confession - "i love you" never felt like any blessing. whisper it like it's a secret in order to condemn the one who hears it...

I was listening to your princess playlist the other day, as one does, and I was wondering if you have it in any particular chronological order? Or is it just vibes?

OOOH. the playlist isn't in any particular chronological order (i put songs on there as i thought of them), but i think i CAN roughly assign songs to specific scenes, so. i'll do that in a reblog. this seems like a good thing to use my autism powers on.

[moralscarred-blog]

when your rebel traitor mom says to turn Evanescence down

[yellowmagicalgirl]

a liar by your side

Months after she locked herself in the Shadow Realm to save the world, Jim went to retrieve Claire's corpse. He found something different than he expected.

This isn’t canon to the main Juliet Dies; Life Continues series, but I thought it fit well for Day 5 of Whumptober (WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?: Rescue) This takes place about a month or two before Claire canonically escapes the Shadow Realm in Juliet Dies in this. Title comes from “The Change” by Evanescence.

AO3

FFN

"And you're sure this will take me to Claire's body?" Jim asked.

"Of course." The sorcerer grinned as Jim placed down his amulet in the center of the patter of purple dust he had drawn on the ground of the alleyway. In the distance, Jim could hear Toby grumbling about how Jim always had to play the hero. This wasn't a case of that, though. No one would be a hero for Claire, not when she was already dead. The only reason why Jim had gone alone was because the sorcerer had seemed scared. Maybe it was because he used shadow magic, and was scared that a troll would try to take revenge on him for being connected to Morgana even though the only connection was shadow magic? That was stupid, though, considering that Claire had used shadow magic to save the world.

Magical red ropes suddenly wrapped themselves around Jim's body. The sorcerer created a knife and sliced it across Jim's hand. “Baba Yaga, Pale Lady, Eldritch Queen,” the sorcerer began. Damn it. He was definitely connected to Morgana. “I bring you the Trollhunter, to do with as you will. In return, I ask that you impart a fraction of your great power into me.”

"Oh no you don't!" Toby shouted, running down the alleyway. At the same time, the sorcerer kicked Jim through the portal.

The first thing Jim heard when the portal closed behind him was the slamming of a door, and then fast and frantic breathing. Jim looked toward the sound of the noise. He blinked once, twice, three times. He couldn't believe his eyes, not when the person standing in front of the door was wearing the armor that belonged to -

"Claire?"

She spun around. Her eyes were that same horrible, beautiful purple that had haunted his nightmares of her dying before she had died for real. Except here she was, alive. Blood was splattered across her face, and cracks ran across her cheeks but she was alive

She screamed and flung her arms protectively in front of herself; Jim was knocked over by a wave of purple magic. "You're not real, I know you're not real I saw you die get away from me!"

Jim frowned at how hoarse her voice was, like she had been doing nothing but screaming. They had left her here to be tortured by Morgana. He slowly stood up, hands up in a placating gesture. "If I'm not real, then I can't hurt you. But I'm real, and I'm going to give you a hug if that's okay."

"If you're not real, you might've been sent here by her. To bring me back; I just escaped and why would she let me go?" Still, Claire let him hug her. She practically melted into his embrace. Jim slowly ran his fingers up and down one of her arms, wondering if she would be able to feel his touch through her armor.

"I won't let Morgana hurt you ever again," Jim said, hoping that he would be able to keep his promise.

"I saw you die; I saw her kill you!"

"I mean, I got knocked out, and it left scars." Jim watched as her eyes flicked towards where the lines of the armor got branded into his skin from Morgana's blow. "But I didn't die. We all thought you did, and I thought I would just have found your corpse. I'm so happy you didn't die."

Claire stiffened in his arms.

"I'm going to go take a shower. Get the blood off. Will you grab clothes for me?"

"Of course." Jim led her up the stairs to the upstairs bathroom, and with reluctance parted from her so he could grab clothes. It took longer than he had hoped, but he eventually found underwear as well as a pair of pajamas. They had purple polka-dots, and the pants had pockets. He hoped Claire would appreciate the clothes he had picked out.

He walked back to the bathroom, making sure to announce his presence before he got there. "Hey, Claire? I'm going to hand you your clothes, or would you rather me put them on the counter?"

Beyond the door, he heard hyperventilating and weak, distressed cries.

"Claire? I'm going to come in."

He found Claire clawing at her too-pale skin. Her armor was nowhere to be found, but there was a purple crystal on the counter. He couldn't tell what color her hair was anymore due to all the grime, but it didn't look like the healthy brown-black. Black cracks covered her body. Her bra hung loosely on her chest, and even though he averted his eyes he could make out the small craters near her heart. It was easy to see her ribcage. Her arms and legs were too thin. In between the long black cracks there were thin scars criss-crossing Claire's back. They looked like she had been flogged.

"Claire?"

She looked up at him, and her hyperventilating got louder. "Go away, you don't want me!" "Yes, I do, Claire. I've wanted you back since I woke up and you were gone."

"I'm not her anymore I can't be Claire anymore!"

"Okay. You're not Claire anymore." Jim took a step towards her. "What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other word would smell as sweet. So Claire would, were she not Claire called, retain that dear perfection which she owes without that title."

She either smiled or grimaced as her breathing evened out by a fraction. "You're messing up my lines."

"Give me a break, it's been nearly a year since the play." He took another step towards her. "So, doff thy name, and, for thy name, which is no part of thee, take all myself."

"You wouldn't call me but love if you knew."

"Knew what?"

"What she did to me. I'm not me anymore, I can't be."

"Claire, I should have told you this before you made the giant portal, but I love you. I just, you know how I'm bad with words and speaking my feelings. I should have told you sooner, and I regretted not telling you because I thought you had died before I could tell you." Claire flinched, but Jim kept speaking. "Nothing that Morgana has done to you could change the fact that I love you."

Claire took a step back, squeezing her eyes shut and tucking her chin between her collarbones. She shook her head as she made fists in her hair. "Well, you're too late to tell me before I died. She killed me, and she brought me back over and over again. I'm not me anymore, I'm just inhabiting the corpse. You can't love me. You can't love the person I've become! No one can!"

Jim swallowed. They had all been so horribly wrong. It had never been an either-or calculation of death versus torture. Not with how Morgana had brought back Angor Rot.

"Oh, Claire." He took a small step towards her. "I wish I had figured out a way to save you sooner. And I wish you would let me judge if I can love you after everything. I think I can. I want to try. I don't think I could not love you."

Claire lowered her hands from her hair and looked up at him. "I'm not me anymore, though. I'm a mess of dark magic."

"And I've got blue skin and horns. Trust me when I say it doesn't matter what you are." He took a final step towards her. She collapsed into his arms, sobbing. Jim tried not to hug her too tightly.

They stayed like that for several minutes until Claire began to try and uncurl herself from Jim. Her limbs were sluggish and her eyebrows pinched together in pain.

"I... I don't think I'll be able to take that shower."

"Do you want my help, or..." Jim regretted the words as they left his mouth. She probably wanted privacy for the first time after all these months.

"Please?" Or Jim was wrong, and what Claire wanted was someone to give her kindness.

Jim turned on the water, hoping it would warm up. He then helped Claire finish undressing herself. He averted his eyes both to give her privacy as well to try and avoid the rising bile and guilt with every new scar revealed to him. A thought occurred to him.

"Hey, is it okay if I strip down to my shirt and boxers? That way I won't be soaked afterwards."

Claire nodded, and Jim quickly took off his outer layer of clothes before helping her into the shower. The water was surprisingly warm, and she leaned into the warmth. He gave her a bar of soap while he began to carefully massage shampoo into her hair, careful to avoid her eyes. As he did so he talked. He talked about her parents, and her brothers, and about their friends. He wasn't entirely sure if she was listening, but he hoped he was distracting her from everything that had happened to her since the Eternal Night.

He continued to talk as he turned off the water and wrapped his girlfriend in a towel. He wrung out the ends of his shirt before helping her to get dressed. Her movements were even more sluggish than before, but she didn't seem to be in as much pain.

"Do you want to eat something?" Jim asked as he put the rest of his clothes back on, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of putting dry clothes on top of wet clothes. "I can make some chicken broth."

"'m not hungry," Claire said as she ran a comb through her hair. Her white hair. "Just want to sleep."

"Okay, do you want me to prepare something as you sleep?"

Claire shook her head as she plucked the crystal from the countertop and placed it in her pocket. "No. Stay, please?"

"Of course."

Claire fell asleep almost as soon as she laid down in her bed. She gripped his hand more tightly than Suzy Snooze. With his other hand, Jim carded his fingers through her hair.

Hours passed, and Jim heard Toby's voice. "Jimbo? Jim, are you there?"

"Up here," he called in a soft voice. Thankfully he didn't wake Claire up. Nor did the pounding of Toby's feet.

"Jimbo, why didn't you listen to all those 'don't talk to strangers' talks and... no." Toby's jaw dropped before he pressed his hands to his mouth "Is that...?"

Jim nodded. "Can we let her sleep, or are you on a time limit to rescue me?"

"I mean, Douxie, Krel, and Zoe really don't want to keep this portal open longer than necessary. Oh, Jim, I didn't think she was still alive. We should have rescued her sooner."

Jim slowly began to shake his girlfriend awake. She woke with a shriek, arms and legs clumsily bunching up to protect her vital organs.

"It's safe, you're safe," Jim soothed. Claire looked around.

"TP?"

Toby had never looked happier to be called by that nickname. "I'm here. Let's go home."

[dionysus-is-my-dude]

UPDATE TIME WITCHES

totally getting a new journal to start a new grimoire. Haven’t had one in a LONG time. desperate to doodle and tape flowers in it and add so. many. stickers. also, have identified my goth style as dark witch/dark mori, so layers and medieval-inspo, moons and stars, soft dark earthy colours -mostly black cuz black makes me feel powerful, and ooh, maybe even corsets.

also, yesterday at my job at the pharmacy, I was checking in a middle-aged dad for his covid vaccine and he wouldn’t stop bragging about his three houses to me. i’m like 99% sure he was trying to make an offer to be my sugar daddy, which cracked me up and the other girls when i told them my suspicions.

i FINALLY got a new copy of Evanescence’s “The Open Door” album, my favourite album by them. I lost my old copy YEARS ago and have just kept forgetting to buy it again, but it is now in my car and i refuse to listen to anything else for a month.

has anyone seen the bimbo, himbo, thembo side of tiktok recently? I’m LIVING for it. all the pink and stuff is not my thing, but the confidence and refusal to accept misogyny and racism from ANYONE is SOOOO inspiring. i love it.

i have been trying to spend more time with my mom and her husband -whom i get along with much better these days and FAR better than i do with my dad. i got to dogsit a couple weeks ago and it was lovely. their dog Cooper is a big, sweet, slobbery cuddlebuddy. He’ll tear apart stuffed animals and then sleep next to you on the couch for hours. i would kill for him. funny story, though, this past sunday, i went with them to my mom’s husband’s family’s late easter/my niece’s birthday party, and immediately after eating food, i legit passed out on the couch in the living room while everyone was in the kitchen watching the birthday girl open her gifts. like, they all just left me there to sleep! i felt bad but also EXTREMELY tired. I at least woke up before the present opening was over and the easter egg hunt started. all girls ages 6-13 going out hunting eggs. in their family, a boy is a miracle. literally, it’s just all girls and their husbands. all the women are just waiting for the next baby to be born to spoil. i don’t even know what jobs these people have to be able to afford to have two kids each and live in nice houses. but they’re nice enough people.

i have been having dreams of being pregnant for the past couple weeks, and i was momentarily freaked out shortly one morning after waking up and thinking that a previous dream i’d had that involved doing the do with Loki had somehow gotten me pregnant in real life. THAT is how disorientated i am in the morning. i legit thought i was pregnant from a Loki dream. no, i think i was just dreaming about all this pregnant stuff because my older brother’s girlfriend is pregnant again and i only found out the other week. kudos to my fellow tech who gave me that explanation because it definitely got rid of the remaining worry about dream conception.

i kinda got back into embroidery. made something and was super proud of it after taking a super long break. uhh, then my mom and gma dropped it on me that they were leaving to visit my aunt, so i was like, “ooh, give this to her!” cause i only see her once or twice a year. (She loved it) i wanna make more witchy and goth ones. also wanna crochet and make scarves and hats and amigurumis. i’m very on the fence about selling anything. i don’t...wanna make money off stuff. i just wanna give it all away to make people happy. my hobbies don’t have to be make me money. my hobbies should make me happy, and me giving my finished products away make me happy. if they WANNA pay me, ok, but i’m not ASKING for it, y’know?

ok, i think that’s a long enough update. sleep tight, my dudes!

[hyunhour]

to hell with love ] [ hyunjin au

a/n: well.. another soppy love story with major heartbreak. ah i’m a sucker for these :> it felt right, i was listening to sad love songs and recently it’s been raining a lot so.. anyway! a hyunjin fic was long overdue aha >.> i tried my best to be excessive and extra as hell with the description. a song i'd recommend to listen to while reading would be "ex - stray kids" oop sorry >:) this is for fictional purposes only and in no way is it supposed to depict the real personality of my baby hyunjin grrrrr >:c

heartbreaker!hyunjin, fem!reader x idol hyunjin, major heartbreak, pure angst

tw: heartbreak heartbreak heartbreak, + hyunjin being a d!ck

word count: 1.8k

Hyunjin was your first boyfriend since high school. You had been there with him during his pre-debut days, the days where he was still a trainee still learning the ropes of an idol singer in S.Korea. You were there for the times where he was on the verge of giving up, and you were the one to push him to chase his dreams. Little did you know that the same dream was going to lead to the demise of your relationship.

The rain was incessant. The evanescent rain weaved along with the bitter wind that whipped all around. The night sky was of black tranquility with countless small stars swimming amongst the large pillows of grey clouds. The silver rays of light from the moon seemed to shed light on only you and the man standing before you; the rest of your surroundings, tar-black. Was the moon mocking you? Did it think your dreaded break-up was some sort of stage play for the stars to witness? It sure did feel like it.

Time seemed to have breezed by, your clothes were heavily soaked and it clung to your soft skin. The tufts of your hair were just as wet, strays of it plastered onto your tear-stained cheeks. How long have you been crying? Or was it from the torrential rain? You could hardly tell.

“I’m sorry.” Hyunjin muttered under his breath, his head hung low as he ran a hand through his rain slickened hair. There was an indecipherable facial expression that he had masked on, all you wanted to do was simply pry through his mind and figure out his thoughts. The thoughts that led him to make this decision, ending your relationship out of the blue.

“Don’t.” you sucked in harshly. “...don’t say sorry. Just stay.” your voice trembled, coupled with your quavering eyes, that were desperate to meet with his. But he refused to look up at you, only keeping the cobbled ground beneath him in view.

“Please. Please look at me,” your throat felt so swollen, it strained your voice to even speak. You took small tentative steps towards him, your tremulous hands reaching out for him.

He was well out of your reach. Your fingertips just barely grazing the sides of his arms before he backs away from you, stumbling a little. It stinged so badly, it felt like the more he tried to distance himself from you, your heart felt like it was getting ripped to shreds. Your hands fall back to your sides, where they belonged now.

The shredding rain only seemed to get louder the more time passed, and silence fell between the two of you. Your vision was murky, it was hard to see him anymore. Just a dark figure looming over you, and his midnight orbs just barely looking right at you.

You noticed his crimson face, in contrast with the pale moonlight that shone tonight. Tremors overtook his lean figure, his shoulders slumped in resignation, and hot torrents of grief streamed down his flushed cheeks. It looked like he had lost all hope, and the intangible weight he had been carrying unknowingly had crushed him down completely. He was giving up. No. He had given up.

“Why?” your voice cracked, you suppressed your sobs by holding a clamped fist over your trembling lips.

“It’s been long overdue. I need to focus on my career, you know that best.” he answered with ease, it was as if he already had the answers etched in his head in preparation for this inevitable moment. It was simple, straightforward but not enough for you.

It wasn’t enough for the entirety of your relationship. Four years. Four fucking years. It seemed like the rain was washing away all those years down the drain. You needed more than simply phrased sentences to justify the end of your relationship. It just didn’t resonate well with you that measly excuses could mark the final chapter. You just couldn’t find a part of you that could comprehend this entire situation.

“There has to be.. something more.” you irked, and you reached out again. This time, you made sure to get a grip of the sleeves of his leather jacket. You weren’t going to let go so easily, you’re stubborn as it is, he should know that best.

“I.. I’m setting my priorities straight. I don’t need a relationship to distract me from succeeding in my career. You know how much I wanted this.” his hand reached for yours, ghosting over it. “No. I need this.” he held onto your hand, and it seemed like he was shaking just as much as you.

You blinked a couple times, you could hardly believe the words leaving his lips right now. The harshness of his words paled in comparison to his actions, gut-wrenching sobs that caused his whole body to shake, and his previously dull eyes now bloodshot-red. Why was he feeding you lies so adamantly?

“But, you promised.” you inched closer to him, sadness had long dissolved with the pitter patter of the rain. Anger instead, had begun to brew inside of you. Ice ran in your veins, and it wasn’t from the cold rain. You felt betrayed, anger and not to mention the blistering pain that scratched at your heart, picking at old wounds. His words had just opened up a part of you that you had closed off, having you denying its’ existence for so long. The side of you that terrified you, the one that had undergone so much torment that it’s only way to resolve itself was to give the same amount of affliction to others.

“You promised me. Before your debut, you said, you wouldn’t let the industry change you. You wouldn’t let it change, us.” you resumed, you raised your fists against his chest, hammering it as hard you could.

“You said–“ you spoke through ragged breaths. “You wouldn’t let your job get in the way of us. You weren’t going to use it an excuse for us. You said you were going to be impenetrable.” you raised your next fist before he stopped you, a tight grip on your wrist to stop you.

“Fucking hell! You said you loved me.” you couldn’t muster enough courage to look him in the eyes — even if you did, the new tears welling up in your eyes would probably blur your vision.

“You said you wouldn’t fucking leave me.” with that, your legs gave way. You slumped to the ground, your hand reached to your chest, in an attempt to sooth the seething pain that had began to gnaw from the insides of your chest. It felt like a literal ball of fire had been planted inside of you. Your body wasn’t cold from the rain anymore. It was fiery-hot, the heartbeat of yours becoming increasingly fast as it thrummed against your ribs, and all you could see was red.

“That was then.” he had the guts to say. “Now is now, things have changed, I have changed.” he paused briefly, “We, have changed.” he finished. Hyunjin’s eyes were glued onto you, he took in every part of you, your body that shook violently as choked sobs poured out of you and it hurt like hell. All he wanted to do was pull you into a hug, shake it off as a lie and go about your lives. But he stood rooted to the ground, clenched fists by his sides, and couldn’t bring himself to even go closer to you. He felt like he’d only get burned, like the way you would if you tried to tame the flame of a lighter.

“We?” you incredulously laughed. “Don’t you fucking dare say that. The only thing that has changed, is you.” you finally looked him in the eye, a wistful smile adorned his face. How could he even smile in this situation? God, you wanted to slap it off off him.

“You’re wrong. Everything has. You just, can’t see it.” he shook his head, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand.

“It’s not too late, too say this is all a lie. I’ll forgive you! Just please– fuck, I can’t. I can’t live without you.” it pained you to even utter those words, an onslaught of sobs and tears coursing down your cheeks followed straight after. It has gotten too painful to look at him, to breathe, and to even believe that any of this was real. Everything just hurt like hell.

“You can. Go home safely.” he backed away slowly, and his footsteps gradually disappearing off into the distance until all you could hear was the blistering rain against the ground.

There he was, walking away from you without even sparing a second glance. How could he leave you in a state like this? You could hardly find it fathomable that this was the same soft-hearted man you had fallen in love with, your silly high school crush that turned out to be your first love, your first relationship, your first for everything. He made up such a big part of your life, that watching him leave, was like that part had tore itself away from you. It wasn’t a peaceful exit.

“Come back. Hyunjin, you better get back here! Right now!” you screamed your lungs out, your sporadic breathing not offering you any ease.

He still didn’t turn.

“Hyunjin! Stop this right now! Fucks’ sake!” and you continued yelling, your lungs burning. You know he could hear you, you knew it and that’s why it stinged even more.

He continued walking, his hands slipped into his pockets.

“Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!” you kicked your feet, your strained cries hurting your already swollen throat, and the tears, they kept flowing. Your hands ran up to your hair, grabbing a fistful of it, pulling at it. How the fuck were you supposed to regain any sort of composure?

“Fuck you, Hwang Hyunjin.” that was your last plea, as you completely broke down. You kneeled on the ground, in hopes that somewhere, something would answer your prayers. Whether it be the mocking moon, the stars, or god. You needed something to anchor you to the bit of sanity left inside of you. Anything. Since your safety pin, Hyunjin, had left you open and vulnerable.

Just a few days ago, you relished in the fact that you were in love. A type of love that had been rare. True genuine love. One where the amount of love being given and taken was equal. The type that had you giggling after midnight, after you relive the good moments both of you shared that day. Or the simple times where all you needed was each other’s presence for comfort. The love, it came as easily as it went.

It was too good to be true anyway. You managed to date your first highschool crush, a dreamy man by itself. A man that had girls fawning over him left and right, an aspiring idol singer and had so much potential overflowing out of him. How did you manage to snag him? You have no idea. But everything had felt right. Now everything was out of place. You were lost, he had always been by your side to guide you. He was the flame of light in your dark tunnel, the rainbow after the rain. Now all he was, was nothing.

You sat there for what felt like forever. The rain slowly beginning to turn into airy rain, one that was gentler against your skin. It felt like it was trying to comfort you, the drops of rain caressing your body.

You weren’t sure if you were ever going to be able to fall in love again. Or if you even wanted to.

To hell with love.

[justwritethatdown]

High school au set somewhere around 2009 - it’s gonna be a multichapter but I don’t have a title for it yet… Avril Lavigne is gonna be the soundtrack for this 💜

Beca is an introverted fifteen years old who loves music and is about to start high school. Chloe is The Popular Girl™ and they meet because their parents are friends. There’s a lot of Jesse but Bechloe is gonna be endgame (obviously) It’s supposed to be a slow burn but i’m an impatient idiot so we’ll see about that…

Words Count: 2K

Rating: T

Read it on AO3 or under the cut ↓ 

Please tell me what is taking place (‘cause I can’t seem to find a trace)

“Bec, can you please be nice tonight? It would mean a lot to Sheila and me" repeated her father for the millionth time. Beca just sighed heavily at that and crossed her arms around her chest. They’ve talked about that ad nauseam, there was no way for her to get out of this stupid dinner at Sheila’s friends.

Sheila – a.k.a. the step monster – was the most irritating being on the planet. Beca was sure she only acted nice to her to make a show for her father and actually hated Beca just as much as Beca hated her.

“Oh come on sweetie, they have a daughter your age, I’m sure you’ll become very fast friends” she promised in that annoying high pitched tone she had “I don’t want to make any friends” Beca grumbled and could swear she heard Sheila whisper something to her father about her being weird and having no friends, but decided to ignore that.

She didn’t need new friends, she had Amy and that was enough – more than enough sometimes – Amy was a lot, mostly to someone as introverted as Beca, her loudness and recklessness were pretty hard to handle, but they knew each other since forever and Amy stood by Beca’s side during her parents’ divorce, which meant the world to Beca.

“Come on kiddo, I’m sure you’ll like her. She goes to Barden high, so you can ask her advices for next year" said her father turning in his seat after parking the car “so she’s older than me!” stated Beca “oh for God’s sake what’s one year, specially at your age?” gasped Sheila, her nice facade starting to crack at Beca’s brattyness “never mind" spat out Beca under her breath getting out of the car.

Her father stopped her when he saw she was about to put her big headphones over her ears “don’t make me take these away from you" he warned her with a glare, so she just snorted and left them hanging around her neck.

__

Beca suffered immensely all through dinner, Chloe – the girl she was supposed to become best friends with to please Sheila – was hideous, she barely introduced herself without stopping pushing the buttons on her Blackberry, obviously more interested in her text than in Beca. Her parents were two pompous idiots – just how Beca imagined Sheila’s friends would be.

As soon as they finished eating, Chloe left the table without even excusing herself, focusing on her phone again.

“Chloe why don’t you show Becky your room, honey?” encouraged Chloe’s mother “sure" answered the redhead without any kind of emotion and left.

Beca gulped, she didn’t know what to do – was she supposed to just follow her? Did she had to wait there for Chloe to come back and invite her to her room? – it was clear that Chloe didn’t want her in her room.

“Beca? Go" pushed her Sheila and the girl found herself following Chloe’s path, she thought she heard someone whisper “that kid is so weird" but she shook it off, too focused on how weird she felt to intrude into a stranger’s room like that.

It turned out that Chloe didn’t mind her intrusion – one could say she didn’t even notice it, if not for the short nod she gave Beca along with a “this is it" before sitting in front of her computer and spending the night chatting on MSN.

After standing awkwardly in Chloe’s room for some moments, Beca decided to sit down on a pink fluffy bean bag sofa and finally put her headphones on. She spent the night with her iPod Classic, as she did most of the times.

Beca had the time to properly look at Chloe, to study her – something she liked to do with people.

The sixteen year old was definitely a popular girl in school – definitely someone Beca would have never wanted to be friends with – she seemed to be coming straight out of Mean Girls – that stupid Lindsey Lohan high school movie Amy made her watch once.

A shiver run down Beca’s spine. She didn’t love the idea of starting high school at all, with all those jocks and beautiful girls who thought they were better than anyone else – Beca could totally see Chloe being one of them.

Chloe was undeniably attractive, the computer light flashing on her face highlighted the perfect traits of her face and the sharp angle of her jawline, her red hair was coming down in large soft waves and her soft blue eyes made her look like a Disney princess. Her slender fingers flew quickly over the keyboard of her computer while she replied to the dozens of beeping notifications blowing up on her screen. Beca had to look away, feeling a weird grasp at her stomach she’d never felt before.

__

To Beca’s displeasure these stupid dinner dates became a thing, and she was forced to see that girl at least a couple of days per month, even if Chloe seemed to have the power to defect those events, since she never showed up when the dinners were at Beca’s father’s.

Beca wasn’t sorry about that, she was just upset she didn’t have the same luxury.

Chloe smiled at her once, greeting her with a soft “hi" when the brunette went to her house to yet another dinner, and Beca kept thinking about how warm that made her feel for a long time – because it caught her off guard obviously, she wasn’t expecting that, it’s not like she stopped thinking about how beautiful Chloe looked when she genuinely smiled or why she smiled at her anyway.

__

Months passed and it came the time for Beca to start high school. Amy was out of her mind excited about that and it only made Beca more nervous.

Her first day – the first month even – could have been described with one word, better yet a name: Jesse.

Jesse was in most of her classes and for some reason he was obsessed with her. He managed to learn more about her in only the first week than most people have ever tried to know in her life – he asked so many questions.

At first Beca was annoyed by him and tried to avoid the guy every time she spotted his stupid face in the hallway or at the cafeteria, but it was pointless because Jesse always managed to find her. Amy even started to tease her about her new boyfriend and Beca hated it.

She started to get used to his intrusive presence somewhere during week two, when he casually mentioned a concert of a Sum41 cover band he was sure she would have liked.

It opened up a crack in the big wall she spent so long building up – obviously what Jesse was trying to do since day one – but she didn’t push him away like she would have done with any other intruder trying to tear her defences apart, she instead decided to show him something she considered super intimate and private, something she had never shown to anyone before, she decided to show him one of her playlists.

She even agreed to go with him to the concert – telling herself she really wanted to see the band and couldn’t go without the fake ID Jesse had promised her.

Thinking about it, it didn’t take a genius to understand Beca would have liked such topic. After all, the girl always wore her headphones and from her style – heavy dark eyeliner, pierced ears, studded bracelet and dark boots – it wasn’t that hard to guess her musical tastes either.

“I knew you liked Avril Lavigne” was his first reaction scrolling through the titles in her iPod, Beca blushed at that; there were many other artists on there, such as Linkin Park, Green Day, Evanescence, Blink182… and he decided to point out the one that meant more to her.

“I love her, I think she’s great" he added pressing play on Sk8er Boi “you kinda remind me of her" he shouted over the sound filling his ears. Beca’s eyes widened for a moment and she looked around the schoolyard to check if he had drawn any attention towards them, she still couldn’t believe she was letting him use her headphones.

__

“It’s Be c a, with one c" she repeated to the guy who was paying very little attention to her anyway – Luke apparently.

“All right guys, it’s gonna be 50 bucks each and it’ll take a couple of days” he said looking at them with a charming smile “to pay now" he clarified clearing his throat and Jesse rushed to pay him “thanks Johnny. I’ll reach out to you when I got them" he said before leaving.

“It’s Jesse…” sighed Jesse when Luke already had left.

“Dude, I’m giving you the money first thing tomorrow, don’t think I’m letting you pay for my ID" “I could’ve never thought something like that" he joked smiling at her.

Okay so maybe Jesse became her friend and maybe Beca liked that – not that she would admit it.

__

After a month Beca thought she was starting to get used to the whole high school thing and she had to admit it wasn’t as bad as she thought, classes were boring and had nothing useful to form her regarding what she really wanted to do in life, but at least she had Amy and Jesse to lighten her mood.

The brunette was walking down the hallway, headphones on as usual, when she saw Chloe. Beca’s breath caught in her lungs at the sight of the redhead leaned against her locker animatedly chatting with a group of friends. She looked so different from the girl she was used to see at dinners; she looked radiant, like a ray of sunshine. Beca could tell all her friends were hypnotized by her energy and enthusiasm.

The sudden collision with a guy running in her opposite direction brought her back to reality “Dude! What the fuck?“ she hissed, but the guy didn’t bother stopping to check on her, so Beca shook her head and walked to her classroom. She didn’t notice Chloe looking at her.

From that moment Beca’s high school experience became a little different, she was always looking out for any signs of Chloe, she turned her head at any glimpse of red hair around a corner or every time she heard a particular kind of giggle – yes, she stopped wearing headphones in the hallways just to hear that – she’d even learned the faces of those she believed to be Chloe’s best friends and, obviously, her boyfriend – Tom, or something.

During the course of the first semester there had been almost zero dinners and her father told her she didn’t have to attend them because he was sure she was busy with homework, so the only occasions she had to see Chloe were those when she ran into her at school – not that she cared – they never interact and Beca understood, Chloe was a popular girl and with that role you have to maintain the appearances, she couldn’t risk to be seen interacting with some freshman alt girl just because they ate at the same table a couple of times, it wasn’t like they were friends anyway.

__

Beca was nervous. She would have never expected to open her front door to find Chloe Beale standing in front of her. She felt her ears heating up when the girl smiled at her “h-hi… you’re here too” she babbled hating herself immediately, but Sheila appearing behind her to greet the Beale family gave her enough time to disappear into the kitchen.

Now they were in Beca’s room after dinner. Chloe didn’t feel as awkward as Beca did entering her room all those months ago – or as awkward as she felt right now, for what is worth – she immediately made herself at home sitting on Beca’s bed, bounching on it a little while looking around.

Beca blushed at the amount of posters – mainly Avril posters – hanging on her walls. Her room was much darker than Chloe’s and she was sure the redhead must have thought she was a freak.

“I like your room, it’s pretty cool" “…you do?” asked Beca in shock “yes! And your bed is so much softer than mine" added Chloe lying down. Beca was silent for a while, her brain was filled with so many thoughts she couldn’t speak, she’s never been good with words anyway.

Beca gasped when she saw Chloe stretch to reach for the iPod and headphones resting on her bedside table but couldn’t stop her from taking them.

“What do you always listen to anyway?” asked Chloe sitting back up “beside Avril Lavigne” she added with a giggle that made Beca feel more attacked than she should have, the brunette moved to sit on her bed next to Chloe and took the device from her, holding it protectively against her chest “stuff… you wouldn’t like it" she scoffed “try me" said Chloe tilting her head, smile still in place.

Beca couldn’t find it in herself to say no.

They laid on her bed with her headphones placed between them, listening to Beca’s playlist until Chloe drifted off to sleep. Beca kept laying beside her, looking at the redhead sleep on her pillow and completely ignoring the weird feeling she had in the pit of her stomach that was starting to be something not unusual when it came to Chloe.

[blueburds]

The Vision

Set a couple of weeks before the chapter Bloodline of my fic, To Reclaim what was Ours.

Word count: 979

Fendithas was unaware of his Force-sensitivity for the majority of his youth. Yet even now, at his age of thirty-three, he still experienced visions he’d not yet seen before. As it came into focus, he saw a flash of red; the chill of the night air made him shudder as he suddenly plummeted into darkness. Despair.

This was certainly not the first vision in which he saw his own demise. And while Fendithas knew that visions could always be misinterpreted, he felt… certain about this one.

He was running out of time. Quickly.

The front door to the cabin swung open, taking Fendithas out of his thoughts. He watched his owl companion flutter inside, perching atop one of the chairs. Zenith entered after and carried a limp, large-sized animal around his shoulders. “Got lucky today.”

“Mind the blood, please. I just cleaned the floors this morning.”

The other man huffed and moved into the next room, plopping the mammal atop a stone counter. Fendithas held out his arm and his bird fluffed its wings before flying over and sitting upon his wrist. “Thank you for bringing him home safely,” he muttered with a faint smirk upon his lips.

“Hey- your buddy almost blew our cover,” Zenith called from the other room.

“Nonsense. He’s an adaptive creature; everything he learns is from you and I.”

“Well last time I checked, we were both pretty good at keeping our mouths shut while sneaking up on things.”

Fendithas clicked his tongue in annoyance, sarcastically shaking his head, “I’m certain you were doing your best, my dear Evanescent.” His fingers gently brushed the owl’s back feathers.

“Nadia’s scheduled to come by today,” Zenith said, coupled with a sound of a crack. “Should probably check her ship again. Something seemed off with her navicomputer last time.”

“I trust that she’s gotten it fixed,” the Jedi replied.

Zenith chuckled dryly, “Glad you do, but I’ve got a feeling that won’t matter.”

“How do you mean?”

“It was tampered with,” Zenith leaned back to meet Fendithas’ eyes, “meaning someone’s on to her. Or, us. We can’t stay here for a lot longer, otherwise we’re gonna have trouble.”

Fendithas pursed his lips, his gaze falling below in thought. He recalled his vision from his early-morning meditation; someone would indeed come, but he knew not who, nor why. He could only tell that their intentions would be malicious.

“Fen?”

“Apologies,” he muttered, standing and letting Evanescent flutter off elsewhere. Zenith arched a brow, but the he waved his hand dismissively, “Perplexing Jedi thoughts. Nothing you should concern yourself with.”

And Zenith shrugged then went back to work. He learned to just leave it at that; often the majority of Jedi spoke in weird, cryptic ways. Trying to understand them was more effort than it was worth, so he was content with just dropping it. He trusted Fendithas to address his thoughts if they were indeed something he should be concerned with.

Fendithas turned and looked out the window, watching wildlife drink from a nearby spring: the spring he used as his meditation spot. His jaw clenched lightly and the pace of his heart began to quicken-.

“Hey, no! No, absolutely not! Fuck off back to your master, would you?”

Fendithas sighed and turned to investigate whatever his companions were doing. Evanescent had a chunk of meat in his beak, no doubt torn from the dead animal’s carcass. The Jedi shooed his owl away and into the other room, to which Evanescent was content to just snack on what he was able to grab.

“The thing’s driving me up the wall,” Zenith grumbled, pointing the tip of his knife toward the owl. Fendithas gently lowered the man’s hand but said nothing. Zenith gave him a quizzical look, “Are you sure you’re all right?”

The Jedi wouldn’t lie to himself: he felt awful. Panicked, flighty, nervous. Everything in his vision felt so real. He’d felt his own heart stop, witnessed himself drawing his final breath. Unnerving was describing the sensation lightly.

His eyes flicked up to meet the other’s, his brows knit in concern.

“You look like hell,” Zenith said, “What’s wrong?”

“I do not know,” Fendithas lied. “Anxiety, I suppose. Stress, perhaps.”

Zenith exhaled a soft sigh through his nose. “Okay, so what can we do to get you to relax?”

“Talking is soothing.”

“We can talk about whatever you want.”

Fendithas paused. “Tell me of a mission you went through on Balmorra.”

“Think you’ve heard just about all of ‘em by now,” Zenith said, but noted the look in the other man’s eyes. “… But I can think of another. Had a scheme to funnel a bunch of colicoids in Sobrik. Pulled it off somehow, guess we got just the right people.” A faint smirk found his lips, “One of the big wigs even came out to personally see to us. I always thought I knew exactly what a stereotypical Imp looked like, but this guy? He was the spitting image of what every Imp probably wanted to look like. And he had a really punchable face.”

Fendithas managed a small laugh, “Did you have a chance to?”

“Punch him? No. Drove a pack of colicoids his way but never actually saw him die. Probably got eaten.”

“I would imagine so.”

“Had to pull back eventually, but it felt good to hit ‘em right at the heart.”

“You’ve always excelled in the battlefield. I am sorry that I’ve taken you away from that life.”

“It’s what I wanted, Fen. And for now, it’s the best call for both our sakes.”

A lazy smile curled the Jedi’s lips. His head fell forward, pressing gently against the other man’s neck. And Zenith wrapped an arm around him, holding him securely, before Fendithas stood up straight once more. He tentatively leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Zenith’s lips.

[illneverrecover]

growl | kth (m)

➛pairing: Kim Taehyung x reader  (per usual) ➛summary: Clearing his throat, he tries again, gaze intense. His eyes are about to fall out of his skull with the power of his attempt at a telepathic message to his friend. “Come on, Jimin. Ask me. You know what? I’ll help you. I pick dare.” A sly glint of amusement pulls at the edge of Jimin’s mouth, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. You look back and forth between the two of them, not sure what was happening but sure as hell knowing it was going to be nothing be trouble. “I dare you to sing a song that shows off your best growling for our girl here,”  ➛genre: non idol!AU, friends to lovers, slice of life, smut ➛word count: 4605 ➛rating: explicit/mature (y’all been knew) ➛warnings:  alcohol use, cursing, cliche use of ‘truth or dare’, Seokjin singing dope songs at karaoke, Jimin being chaotic, slight dirty talk, semi public sex, oral (male receiving), swallowing, Taehyung being a secret softie. ➛notes: Firstly, I would like to start off by saying that this fic idea came from @destiel1597 and the pure lethal sex that is 5th Muster Taehyung™, so this is truly their fault. The both of them. Secondly, y’all should’ve known that the minute I saw  5th Muster Taehyung™, I’d have to let the thirst out somehow. I don’t have self control. Lastly, shoutout to my bby @taetaesbaebaepsae for assisting me & @purpletigertaetae for spamming me with rude Tae inspo to fuel the thotting. You the best.  I promise my next fic will be about another member. If Tae would just RELAX I wouldn’t have to be like this!! ➛song: Toxic - Alex & Sierra (which is the version Tae sings in this. Listen to it and picture him singing it and tell me you wouldn’t do the same). Ma City - BTS 5th Muster version (which you should go watch immediately if you haven’t - this growling Tae was the muse for this entire sinful piece.) 

                             ᴄʀᴏss-ᴘᴏsᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ AO3;; ʟɪɴᴋ ɪɴ ᴅᴇsᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ 

“How many times are you going to dare me to sing this song?”

Seokjin’s face had a thin sheen of sweat, the bright disco lights of the cozy karaoke booth bouncing off his skin, showing the exasperation evident on his face.

“Until it stops being funny. So…” you look around at the others, pausing to sip at your drink. “Never. Get to it, lover boy.” 

He sighs heavily but did as he was told, picking up the microphone and waiting for the flatscreen to start scrolling with the lyrics. The first few bars of the song blared through the speakers, and the guys gave supporting hoots to encourage him. 

Despite his earlier protest, he quickly gets into it, eyebrows furrowed as he dramatically swings the mic, belting out the first few notes. “I gotta take a little time, a little time to think things over...I better read between the lines, in case I need it when I'm older…” 

Next to you, Taehyung laughs deeply, throwing his head back as the elder continues, eyes glistening with unshed tears. No one else in the room was faring much better, every single person in some stage of cracking up at his theatrics. Forcing Seokjin to sing Foreigner songs is always hilarious, and one of your favorite parts of your friends bi-monthly karaoke meetups.

No one really knows when or how the tradition started (though rumor has it, it was at your drunken demand to ‘show off the golden pipes’), but these nights in the same small private room of your local karaoke bar had quickly become the favorite in your friend group. Twice a month, regardless of what was going on, everyone agreed to meet up for dinner, drinks, and the most ridiculous yet always entertaining game of truth or dare - karaoke style.

It was typical of your friends to never do anything the normal way, and this was no different. Instead of selecting songs of personal preference to sing for the room, they were always chosen as either a dare, or a failure to participate in a truth. It was asker's choice, and the victim wasn’t allowed to veto, less they wanted to foot the entire bill for the evening. And between seven men in their mid twenties and the pickled livers of you and your friend, Nari - that was a hefty price to pay. 

Seokjin reaches the chorus, the build up so intense that it’s no surprise when he drops to his knees, his tenor still in pitch and  beautiful despite the theatrics. “I want to know what love is! I want you to show me! I want to feel what love is, I know you can show me!” 

He’s clutching at his chest while staring into Yoongi’s eyes, the younger man expressionless as if this performance was something he saw on the regular. Which, to be fair - it was.

Slinging back the dregs, you lean to grab the bottle of vodka on the table before a large hand beats you to it, Taehyung smiling down at you as he scoots closer. “The usual, milady?” 

You slap his arm, eyes rolling. “Gross, no one says ‘milady’, Tae.” 

He giggles, filling it halfway with the liquor before topping it off with some seltzer - just the way you like it. You were only two drinks in, but the honeyed sound of his laugh always flustered you, a light burn flushing your cheeks. His long, dark hair was wavy and messy in that perfect way that made you want to sink your fingers into it, and between that and the peek of golden chest through the undone buttons of his dark dress shirt, you found yourself feeling thirsty. Well, thirstier than you normally were for Kim Taehyung.

It had become a running gag with the other guys - your little school girl crush on Taehyung, something that they used to tease you at any given opportunity. It seemed to personally offend them that you wouldn’t say anything to the brunette, and no matter how many times you explained you didn’t want to fuck with the group dynamics, they couldn’t seem to stop sticking their noses directly into your business. You’d be annoyed by their immature comments if it wasn’t for the fact that the handsome man seemed completely oblivious to them - and your feelings. 

Thank fuck for that. 

Handing you the freshened beverage, Taehyung moves to pour more into his glass before settling, large thigh pressing into your own. He has always been an affectionate guy, so when he threw an arm over your shoulder just as Seokjin hit the last notes of the song, you didn’t blink an eye. 

However, Jimin did.

He had been watching all night, seeing the way his best friend was buttering you up, going out of his way to try and make you laugh, to make you smile. The way you would scoff and roll your eyes to hide your heated cheeks or the way your thighs were pressing together any time he touched you. Taehyung’s feelings for you were practically neon red signs to Jimin, and yet you seemed obnoxiously unaware - something that was starting to make Jimin crazy. 

Getting involved probably wasn’t wise - neither party had asked for his help. But since when did he ever claim to be wise? Jimin prided himself on being a meddler - he couldn’t just not meddle. Especially when such an opportunity presents itself.

Bowing to the loud cheers, Seokjin moves to sit back down on another sofa, chugging the remnants of his glass. “Alright Joon, it’s your turn - Truth or Dare? And try not to be lame this time, please.”

Namjoon scoffs, faux offense on his face as he glares at his elder. “Hey! Picking truth isn’t lame! I’m telling you my deepest darkest secrets here!” 

“Pretty sure admitting that you want to touch Nari’s tits isn’t a secret, but nice try,” Yoongi deadpans, causing the room to break out in laughter.  You tried to focus on the game, on what ridiculous question Seokjin had prepared for Namjoon, but instead all you could feel was the warmth of Tae’s arm draped around you, all you could think about was how he smelled like a mixture teakwood and lavender, and how much you wanted him to ruin you.

“Y/n!”

Snapping your eyes towards the shout, you come face to face with a deviously smirking Jimin, leaning forward on his knees. He was twirling the straw in his glass like a super villain, and everything about the look he was giving you had your nerves on edge.

“Yes, Jimin? Is there something you need?”

“It’s your turn - truth or dare,” he coos, eyes dancing with mischief. God, he’s such a fucking Slytherin. You were in for it now - you could feel it in your bones.

“Last time I picked ‘dare’ you made me sing half of Evanescence’s discography-”

“Hey, to be fair, you knew it all  by heart and fucking nailed it,” Jungkook interjected, giving you a proud grin.

“Well - yeah, okay I did, thank you very much - but as I was saying, I’ve learned my lesson. I pick truth,” you reply smugly, glaring at the dark haired man. Jimin may look sweet, but luckily you know better than to ignore his cunning.

Which is why you shouldn’t have been surprised when he started cackling.

Eyes creasing into half moons, he threw his head back, running a hand through his hair as he faces you once more, eyebrows waggling. “What’s one thing about Taehyung that you find attractive?”

You choke, grappling for your drink to soothe the burning in your throat, though you were sure it was only making it worse. Face on fire, you looked at him with wide eyes as you cough in a feeble attempt to remember how to speak. 

A warm palm starts patting your back, the man in question leaning down to look into your eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, Tae, I’m fine,” you glare at Jimin, his victorious smirk enraging you further. The last thing you want to do is answer this truthfully; anything obvious is going to weird Taehyung out, but you know if you try and give a lame answer, Jimin will have no issues calling your ass out for it.

“Well, I like his singing voice…” you murmur, eyes focused on the ice melting in your glass, which you immediately bring to your lips once more.

Jimin rolls his eyes, scoffing. “His singing voice? What does that even mean?” he kicks at your leg, pushing you further. “Like… the tone? Or just how it sounds?” he sputters incredulously, choking back a laugh.

“Fuck you! Yes, how it sounds. And also when he does that deep growling thing?” you shiver, shaking your head. “I don’t know, it just gets me. It’s really hot.” 

Whoops, seems the vodka had done some of the talking for you, but it was too late to take it back. You feel your skin heat, but you hold your head high, raising a brow at Jimin in defiance.

The room falls silent for a beat, all eyes on you until Jungkook wolf whistles, everyone breaking out in hoots and yells. You turn to the man next to you, expecting him to blush coyly or even brush you off with a gentle smile - he was nothing if not kind - but instead you find a shit eating grin peering down at you. Cocking your head, you look at him questioningly, but he just winks before slugging back the rest of his drink, his gaze drifting to Jimin’s over your head.

It was all he needed to hear.

Your words were the perfect fuel to the fire of alcohol in his veins to make Taehyung feel bold, yet he was still sober enough to know that this could finally be his chance to show you how he feels.

“Jimin, ask me a question.” Taehyung declares, leaning back into the sofa, dark eyes dancing with mischief. 

“Technically, it’s Y/N’s turn to ask-” Namjoon mumbles, but is quickly shut down by the shouts of displeasure from the group, Hoseok and Jungkook both nudging him while the latter murmurs something about being a ‘cock block’. 

Clearing his throat, he tries again, gaze intense. His eyes are about to fall out of his skull with the power of his attempt at a telepathic message to his friend. “Come on, Jimin. Ask me. You know what? I’ll help you. I pick dare.”

A sly glint of amusement pulls at the edge of Jimin’s mouth, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. You look back and forth between the two of them, not sure what was happening but sure as hell knowing it was going to be nothing be trouble. 

“I dare you to sing a song that shows off your best growling for our girl here,” 

The room erupts in cheers and howls once more, your eyes widening as you reach for your glass. Shit, you’re going to need more vodka to survive this, and you know it. 

Taehyung moves languidly to the front of the room, the side of your body he had been pressed to all evening now left cold. He scrolls through the screen with a sharp focus, honeyed gaze looking over at you every once in awhile to make sure you were still paying attention. And the smile he would give when you were- it practically had your heart in your throat. You looked over at Nari, trying to get her to join you on your couch of pain, but she just blew you a kiss before settling back into her spot next to Yoongi, throwing you a shrug.

That bitch.

All too soon he gives a cheer of victory, looking out over the group as he selects the song, moving to the microphone stand. He poses in front of the room, everyone in attendance on the edges of their seats with anticipation for the music to start.

And then the first notes ring out, and a switch flips.

Gone was the sweet and goofy man you’ve all come to know, and in his place is a demon in black, looking like pure sin. His eyes darken as they land on you,  his lips curving in a confident smirk as he grabs the mic to pull closer to his mouth. Sensual plucks of guitar fills the room in a familiar tune, though a version you hadn’t heard before - the upbeat pop turned into a song of seduction.

“Baby can’t you see, I’m calling. A girl like you should wear a warning. It’s dangerous, I’m fallin’...”

Taehyung is all lust powered flirtation, hips seductively sliding back and forth as he continues to croon the lyrics, casting his molten chocolate eyes to your own. He was dancing closer, his steps slow and purposeful, and you felt the rest of the room fade away as you focused on him - and only him.

The chorus hits, and he smoothly switches from his velvet baritone to growling along with the lyrics, body rolling before sliding on his knees directly in front of you, so close you could see the sweat trail down his neck to bury into the open V of his shirt.

“Taste of your lips I’m on a ride. You’re toxic, I’m slipping under. With a taste of a poison paradise I’m addicted to you - don’t you know that you’re toxic?” he purrs, leaning into you,  a singular finger coming to trace up the exposed skin of your calf.

Everything was suddenly too hot, the room too stifled - you couldn’t get any air to cooperate and flow into your lungs, all your blood pooling in your cheeks. Your heart is racing, sweat dotting your hairline as you stare at the dark haired male in front of you, unable to pull away.

“I think Y/N is about to orgasm in the middle of this bar.”

“Min Yoongi, I swear to FUCK, I will murder you,” you force between clenched teeth, turning to glare at the blonde in question. You can see the retort build on his lips before a palm cups your cheek, pulling your attention back forward.

Taehyung was a breath away from you now, pupils blown wide and voice dangerously low as he continued singing, each word dripping with desire. His hand curves around your jaw, a finger slipping down the long column of your neck until it graced the thin skin of your collarbone.

“Too high, can't come down. It's in the air, it's all around...Can you feel me now?”

Fuck, he was going to ruin you.

Mouth falling open, you squeeze your thighs together uncontrollably, your hands death gripping at the sofa beside you in an effort to keep yourself from moaning. It was embarrassing; how easily his performance was turning you on, how a few throaty murmurs of a song from this man had you falling apart. 

Taehyung was nothing but sinful temptation, and he knew it. 

A small part of you heard the cat calls and lewd shouts from your friends, but you couldn’t concentrate on them. Not when the tall sex god was leaning nearer, using your knees as leverage to pull himself up so he could push your thighs completely together, walking himself forward until he could perch into your lap. Oh my fucking God, he’s sitting in your lap.

The music swells into the ending crescendo, and he continues to rasp the lyrics in low, dulcet tones, eyes never leaving your own. “Intoxicate me now, with your lovin' now. I think I'm ready now, I think I'm ready now,”

You gasped, the intention of the words and the vehement look in his eyes making it seem like it was more than just a song - it was a statement, a confession. Breath seized in your rib cage, your bottom lip trapped between your teeth to stop you from asking more.

Shit, you were ready to risk it all for Kim Taehyung.

Before you could say anything further, he growls out the final lines of the song, the sultriness of his voice causing electricity to race down your spine as he holds out the final note. The music finishes, and his chest is heaving with the effort of his seduction, eyes sparkling with pride.

The entire booth erupts into boisterous claps and cheers, several of the guys standing in ovation causing Taehyung to chuckle nervously, the switch seemingly flipped once more.

He slides off your lap, panting as he moves to pour himself some water, leaving you to gape at him fully. His dark curled locks are dampened with sweat, and despite the easy grin on his face you could clearly still see the fire burning deep in his gaze.

“What the hell, Tae! Where did that come from?” you shout, though a smile was already on your face. “You gotta warn a bitch first, damn. I think I’m sweating,” 

Hoseok moves to stand beside him, slapping a hand onto the younger’s shoulder. “Yeah man, I mean she’s probably dripping everywhere by now.” 

You shriek in indignation, punctuating the sentiment with a lime wedge beamed directly at Hoseok’s over-sized skull.

“Hey, don’t attack me! What, do you need us to get you a pad?”

“Sincerely fuck you, Hobi.”

While the others continue to congratulate Taehyung for his one man show, you suck down the rest of your drink, moving to stand. Your knees wobble, and you’re unsure what affected you more - all the booze you drank, or him. Damn, you need a moment.  Slinking toward the exit, you search for the bathroom,  relief washing over you as you spot it down the hallway. 

You’re about to grab for the handle when lithe fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you to turn around before your back is pressed to the cool wall of the club. You hiss at the contact, eyes blazing as they take in the culprit - Taehyung. 

“Tae?”

He smooths his hands up your arms until each palm is flat against the wall on either side of your head, effectively trapping you in place. His pupils are brimming with depth-less lust though the smile on his face is sweet, the clash making your head swim. 

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you back there,” he murmurs, eyes searching your own. “But it was the perfect chance, and I had to act on it. I couldn’t just sit back and wait any longer, Y/N.” 

“Wait any longer for what? I’m not sure if I’m following-”

“Wait any longer to tell you how I feel about you. Wait any longer to do this.”

You weren’t expecting for his mouth to press against yours, but your lips moved automatically, parting and sighing to accommodate him. His body soon followed, relaxing against your form as his hands moved to cup your jaw. You groaned at the feeling of him, your fingers wrapping around the base of his neck to tangle into his hair. 

Feeling him like this only makes you want more, tongue moving to lick at the seams of his pout before he was sliding his own in kind. He groaned when they met in the middle, the sound causing arousal to pool rapidly low in your gut. Dragging his teeth against your lower lip, he gave you a nibble before pulling away, forehead pressed to yours.

“Does this mean you like me too?” he questions breathlessly, small smile on his face. 

“I’ve always liked you, Tae,” you whisper, turning his head so you could suck at the tender spot under his jaw, his answering whine encouraging your ministrations. “I liked you when we were friends, and I think I like you a bit more after that display.” 

He chuckles lowly, digits sinking into your hair only to pull you back to meet his gaze. “When we were friends? What, are we not friends anymore?”

“Well, not just friends, I hope….” you purr, leaning forward to press your mouth against his swollen bottom lip. “Friends don’t know the way you taste, do they?” 

A groan of your name is his only response before he’s back on you, licking into your mouth with such fervor your knees start to shake. His tongue is relentless, seeking to savor you fully before moving to taste the skin of your neck, your collarbone, the top of your breast. Falling into the lure of Taehyung was all too easy - almost enough to have you forgetting that you were in some stale bar’s dim hallway. 

Grabbing his shoulders, you spin until you have effectively switched places, Taehyung’s tall form now pressed against the wall as you nibble at the exposed skin of his chest. “I think you deserve a performance of your own, don’t you think?” you sigh, eyes inspecting his own, awaiting his approval. 

“I think I’m one lucky bastard who would be a fool to say no to someone as amazing as you,”

The blatant affection in his voice makes you freeze, your throat tightening with every hopeful squeeze of your heart. You were trying to convince him to let you suck him off in the karaoke bar bathroom, and he had to go and say sweet shit like that? 

Shaking your head, you giggle at the sentiment. “You’re too good to me, Tae,” you hum, hands gripping his biceps to drag him towards you, legs propelling you back until you feel the door give way, the light to the restroom automatically clicking on. 

A victorious grin quirks at your lips when you see the private bathroom empty, and a quick flick of your wrist has the door locked just as Taehyung envelopes you into his chest. 

His kisses only intensify, lips undressing you until you were soft and wet and pliant, grasping for anything you could to ground you to him. You make quick work of several more of his buttons until you could nip and bite at his chest unrestricted, your hand fumbling with his belt. 

A low, throaty moan echoed as you grasp his length, freeing him from his trousers enough that you were able to feel him completely in your palm. His cock was just as beautiful as he was, long and thick and dripping with precum, and the thought of having it in your mouth had a rush of arousal flood between your thighs. 

You wince when your knees hit the cool tile, though the promise of tasting him numbed any senses but the ones attuned to him. You thumb at his leaking head softly, his groans edging you near until you could smell his excitement, breath ghosting hot on his cock. Mouth falling open, you slide forward until his hardness was resting on the bed of your tongue, your lips closing to give the tip gentle sucks.

“Fuck, love.  You don’t have to do this, you know, we can-”

Swirling your tongue, you push further, hollowing your cheeks to take him deep into your mouth until he was kissing the back of your throat, your nose nestled into the coarse hairs against his pelvis. His size already had your jaw aching, but the way he groaned your name made it worth the discomfort, and you glide back until only the head remained.

Letting him fall out with a lewd pop, you lick a wide strip up the side of his cock, peering up at him through your lashes. 

“Do you want me to stop?”

“God, please don’t.” 

The words were barely out of his mouth before you moved yours back over his length, taking him as deep as you can each time, relishing the way he stretched your throat. You couldn’t stop imagining how he’d feel inside you, how intense and satisfying the initial burn would be when he was fully sheathed in your aching cunt - how much sweeter your orgasm would feel because it was caused by his cock, caused by him.

His dulcet whines and soft moans were the only sounds besides the wet slide of your mouth, and hearing him sound so desperate for you had you mewling against him, your fingers itching to press against your throbbing clit. 

“You’re taking me so good, love. Feel so fucking amazing  wrapped around my cock,” he hissed, a hand lowering to tangle into the tresses at your crown, guiding you gently. “Such a good girl for me. I’m going to make you come so fucking hard when we get home,”  

His hips started thrusting to meet your movements, the slides becoming sloppy as he got close to his peak. “With my fingers, my  mouth, my cock. I’m going to have you coming so much you’re going to have to beg me to stop.” 

The naughtiness of his words had you moaning around him, the vibrations causing him to let out a cry of your name. You’re sure your panties are ruined at this point, the tops of your thighs sticky with arousal, and as much as you want to touch yourself, you wanted to fall apart under Taehyung even more. 

Pulling off to let air return to your lungs, you glide over him with your fist, urging him to let go. “Come for me, Tae. Let me taste you,” you rasp, before sinking your mouth down him once more. 

“God, you’re so fucking perfect. You gonna swallow me, love?” he breathes, both hands coming to wrap deep in your hair as he continues his pumping, lust filled gaze boring into your own. You nod as you blink up at him, your lips swollen with abuse.

“Fuck, that’s it.. So good, love, I-I’m coming-” 

You still as he tugs at your locks, holding you in place as he thrusts his length deep in your mouth, the warmth of his release coating your raw throat. Swallowing, you allow him several stutters of his hips before he pulls away, hands smoothing to cup your face. 

“Holy hell, Y/N, that was…. Are you okay?” Worry etches his brow as he reaches out for you, taking in your messy appearance - saliva mixed with come dripping from the corners of your lips, black mascara trails smudging the edges of your cheeks. You’re gasping for air, but you couldn’t help the satisfied smile as you took his hands, allowing him to raise you to your feet. 

“Seeing you fall apart was one of the hottest things I’ve ever witnessed, Tae. I’m more than okay, trust me.” 

He blushes at your words, and the irony that the complement made him more shy than when he was ramming his dick down your throat not lost on you.  

He tucks himself back into his pants before adjusting your clothes as well,  delicate thumbs rising to wipe away the remnants of your shared tryst off your face before giving you a chaste kiss. 

“So, does that mean… you’ll go out with me?” he questions hopefully, giddy anticipation in his eyes. You weren’t sure if you would ever get used to the rapid switch of power Taehyung wields between sweet and sin, not that you were complaining. 

“Yes, Tae. I’ll go out with you,” you grin, the brightness of his smile infectious. “Plus, I seem to recall someone promising to make me come so much that I’ll be begging them to stop…” you trail off, mischief evident in your teasing glance.

Throwing back his head with a honeyed laugh, he pushes open the door, arm gesturing out to the empty hall before him. “Ah, yes - I believe you are correct. After you, milady,”

Groaning, you slap his chest as you walk past. “Say that again and I’ll go home with Seokjin.”

[sleepdeprivedheretic]

Kill Me Hardly (Ch.3)

Warnings: Poorly written violence, blood, drugs, gangs, blood and PTSD

@youtubequeens *Evanescence plays in the background *

………..

“I never noticed that he was in a gang, until later.” You commented. Taishiro was back into his usual villain getup, effortlessly stalking into the night as you observed him. He didn’t say anything, yet, but you knew that he was listening.

“I was too busy in school, focusing on my career, making my parents proud, that I didn’t realize that the friends that my brother hanged out with, were sharing their drugs with him.” You continued as he fitted himself neatly against the dark alley wall.

“Must’ve sucked.”

“It did. I always felt so guilty, as if I was the one who failed to reach out to him. I think it’s part of the reason why I couldn’t hate him, fully for doing this to me.” You murmured out the words lowly, but he heard them. His eye twitched as he gave you a dark, unyielding look.

“Fucker knew what he was doin’ when he joined some dope heads. Stop findin’ fault in other’s bratty behavior.” He grumbled out. Your shoulders sagged in relief, getting the pain off of your chest as he continued down the dark twists and turns of the alleyway. You didn’t need to say anything, for you were excited for your first mission, and didn’t want to squander it, or get him in trouble.

The thought surprised you. You knew him for a short amount of time, and yet you felt uncannily at ease with him. He listened to you and even came to your defense. He was an unhinged guy who had that bittersweet viewpoint on life, and oddly enough, you found that you didn’t really care.

 He was alright, despite all of his flaws. You had come to a conclusion, that you wanted him to see a better viewpoint on life, and to not be afraid of his own emotions. You weren’t a guardian angel, nor were you a savior, you were a normal college student who was on the brink of graduating. Yet, you wanted to at least do this for somebody who obviously was hurting from his past, and although it was unsaid, the both of you knew that this was his shoddy way to atone for whatever he was hurting from.

You didn’t know how much time that you had, left, and that scared you.

“Check to make sure that those lowlifes are busy, yeah?” He glanced at you as the two of you finally made your destination. It was a hideaway from a growing gang who thought that they were safe, as they were afflicted with the Yakuza. What they didn’t know, was that the dangerous organization had it’s headquarters somewhere else in the city, not really around the parts where young hotshots liked to terrorize.

You poked your head through the wall, taking the scene in front of you. They were surprisingly a little older than you first thought they were, huffing out smoke from something that wasn’t cigarettes, as they laughed, kicking an empty beer can as they joshed among themselves. You eyes couldn’t help but scan them, trying to seek a familiar face. To your relief, your brother wasn’t there. You peeked back at Taishiro.

“They’re older adults, drunk and high on pot, laughing like hyenas. You’re good to go.” You gave a thumbs up as he then smiled darkly, cracking his knuckles underneath the leather gloves, as the atmosphere shifted into something more dangerous. As if he was a lion or a tiger, he bolted into action from his hiding spot. The hair on the back of your neck prickled as you couldn’t help but feel the need to watch.

You flinched as the swift but deadly action unfolded before your eyes as you peered back towards the group.

 Not giving them the time to acknowledge his presence, Tai had already delivered a sickening punch to one man’s head, causing the others to yell and scream as their comrade fell to the ground with a thud, blood trickling out of his nose as he blinked slowly, alive but losing consciousness. You had to admit, you felt a little sick to your stomach at such violent action, yet on your toes as he dodged punches, bats, and knives, growling out in fervor, yet dealing the younger fighters with ease.

You were a college student, you weren’t use to the darkness of your city’s streets. You shouldn’t be use to the sight of blood and gore, yet for a year, it’s basically what you’ve been forced to see as restless, roaming ghosts and spirits haunted the concrete jungle slowly. Seeing blood spilled so violently, only deterred you a little as the fight ended quickly.

As if then noticing your staring, he turned towards you, a look of disbelief and malice etched onto his expression as the blood on his leather gloves and his amber irises glinted in the moonlight.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He demanded rather roughly, and you couldn’t help but blanch a little at the tone.

“Oh? What did I do, now?” You asked, appearing in front of him.

“Watching! Yer not suppose to watch! This is no sight for a lil’ woman like yerself!” He growled out, and you looked up at him as your own annoyance started bubbling within you.

“I’m use to seeing blood and gore, remember?”

“It doesn’t mean you can see more of it!” He snapped. You huffed, glaring up at him as you felt a splash of anger wash over you.

“Does it honestly matter? This isn’t my first rodeo in seeing blood splatter, if you recall.” You tilted your head, letting the never-healing gouge in your neck glint within the moonlight. He stiffened, eyes widening in realization, yet you weren’t really finished.

“What do you expect when you offered a violent mission, Tai-chan? Me to pop in and out and just go...wherever, while you fight? I can’t alert anybody if you get injured or in danger, but nobody deserves to really be alone, right?” Your voice softened a little at the end, the word ‘home’ on the tip of your tongue.

 “Sorry.” He grunted out, and it was your turn to be surprised.

“It’s fine...but...why did you lash out like that?” You stalled your sentence, thinking of which words to say as a moment passed the two of you. Outwardly sighing, he collected the young gangster’s money as they laid asleep on the concrete floor.

“I’ll tell ya when we get back.”

“Do you really want to?”

“Fuck no.”

“Alright then, let’s just go before the cops come.” You offered, he looked at you with surprise.

“No egging me on an’ forcin’ me to say shit?”

“It’s not really healthy.” You offered, and he stared at you, finally sighing as he shrugged, the two of you swiftly yet discreetly heading back to his apartment in the dead of night.  

……….

 You didn’t lose count of the days, as you begged Tai to basically put a circle on the day he had first met you, so you wouldn’t lose track of time. A month of bickering and bantering slowly bled into two. He didn’t shed any more light on his past, and you didn’t bring it up, deciding to let him let it out on his terms. Two months had passed.

Two months of break-ins, fights, violence, and giving money, items, and news to the ones in need, really shed some light onto your acquaintance. He admitted, that having you around was much easier, and although you felt elated, you were still at a stalling confusion with your original plans. You wanted to help him, but you really didn’t know how. So, you talked. About your brother, your parents, how you had planned on making an appearance to your parents on Halloween, saying that in some traditions, people can see the ghosts of their loved ones on that special night.

He listened to every word you said, you’ve been noticing. A dark, sad glint filtered through his eyes, and you quickly shifted the conversation to something else, a funnier story of the simpler times of your childhood.  

Your partnership, you admitted, shifted. He was still snappy, but it lessened a bit more over the two months, now that he had finally somebody to really sit down and talk to. You let your guard down a little bit more, freely admitting to your thoughts and wishes as he bleached the blood off of his clothes, remarking on how silly you were from time to time.

Remarkably, your fights weren’t really long, nor violent. The two of you were adults. You knew which boundaries to respect, and he never twisted a knife into your vulnerable feelings towards such things as your brother and parents.

Then, that day happened. The day that made you feel as if your blood ran cold. While he was asleep on his day off, you felt a strong urge to visit your body. Not thinking twice, you made your way towards the hospital, ignoring the people who shivered in confusion as you passed through them, making your way effortlessly into the hospital, nearing the familiarity of your body’s white walled residence. You stilled, seeing that you weren’t alone.

“-I’m so sorry. I know it’s not easy for the both of you, but her body is getting worse, and by that time, there might not be a recovery when, or if she wakes up.” The doctor peered at your parent’s shaking forms with guilt and sadness. Time for you seemed to stop dead still as the conversation continued. Your heartbeat drumming in your ears as you took in whatever information you didn’t know, in.

As your father sat up and shook the doctor’s hand, you fled. Distraught and fear gripped you as the words sunk in and twisted your guts.  

“Where the hell where ya?!” Taishiro demanded angrily as you arrived to his place. His furious demeanor stilled to a halt as he then took in your expression. He never seen this side of you, looking worn and exhausted.

“O-oi! Why’re you cryin’? What the hell happened?” He blurted out, hands clenched into fists.

“They’re going to cut the machine in two months time. My body’s getting weaker. I’ll be back, later.” Was all you said before you floated away. You weren’t sure where you were going, but you didn’t want to think. All you wanted to do was curl up in your own bed and cry. You didn’t dare enter your bedroom after the incident, but really, you wanted nothing more at this moment, you then decided.  

You choked out a sob, letting the sight greet you. It was as if you were never on the floor a year prior, choking and spitting up your own blood as it dripped onto the carpet. Said thing was missing, now, and you probably knew that your parents couldn’t deal with getting the blood-stains out.

 All of your old clothes and old toys laid neatly on your bed, cards, macaroni art, and pictures scattered the floor. Distinctively, you knew that your mother had been looking through them. You fell to your knees, gripping your chest as a broken sob tore through you. Nobody could hear it, you thought. Nobody could see the droplets of a phantom’s tears faze through the hardwood floor. For the first time in what seemed forever, you screamed in a choked cry, letting everything that had been building up, out.

Crawling into your bed, you sniffled as you took in all the familiar scents as sob after sob wracked through you.

You’ll apologize to Taishiro, later, for missing out on a mission, you decided as for once, an eerie comfortable sleep washed over you.

You awoke with a jolt, a little bit of drool dribbled down you chin as you felt although relaxed, you didn’t feel the warmth or safety of your covers that you missed so much. Ever since being a ghost, you were limited to how much you were able to feel, and warmth, sadly, wasn’t a luxury. It was night. You slept all throughout the day, and you felt a little groggy.

You had a feeling that he wouldn’t hold it against you, you knew.

When you arrived at his place, you stilled in shock, staring at his sleeping form nestled too large on the couch, wrapping his arms around a pillow with half of his face buried into it. He was cute, you couldn’t help but think, letting your hand float literally through blond locks as he snored softly, his mouth wide open while drooling slightly. You chuckled despite feeling your heart lurch with a particular feeling. No, you berated yourself. You couldn’t do that. You shouldn’t feel that.

As if sensing your presence, his eyelids slid open as he adjusted his surroundings.

“Hello.” You said softly, his attention drifted to you, taking in your form.

“Hey.” He said into a yawn, rubbing his eyes as he sat up, the blanket falling off of his form. You let your eyes linger a little too long as your realized that he was wearing only boxers. You berated yourself from staring to long, looking away quickly before he could catch you.

“No job?” You asked. He shrugged.

“Didn’ feel like it. How’re ya farin’?” He asked, demeanor oddly calmer and softer than what you were expecting.

“I...went to my bedroom. Where it happened. Mom piled up a bunch old stuff on the bed, it looked as if she was looking through them.” Your voice cracked a little, but you bit your lip as you sat beside him.

“That’s fuckin’ tough, y’know. Ya goin’ through all these fuckin’ rough patches, and they’re finally gonna let ya die.”

“It’s what I’ve been wanting.” You said quietly. “To die, or wake up. I can’t feel anything, Tai-chan. Not warmth, closure, what it’s like to feel safe wrapped up in a blanket. Nothing. I can focus my energy to rest on certain places, but never feel the smooth surfaces of wood or the tickling feel of blades of grass….I’m just….exhausted.” You admitted softly.

“Fucking hell.” Taishiro’s voice snapped you out of his thoughts, and to your absolute surprise and shock, wetness dripped down his cheeks as he gritted his teeth. You blinked in surprise as his eyebrows furrowed.

“Taishiro…” Slipped out.

“F-fuck! I’m fine! I’m headin’ to bed! I’ll talk to ya later, shitty ghost!” He made an odd noise that was between a huff and a sniff, and you watched in awe as he all but thundered to his bedroom.

Silence enveloped you as you took in what had happened. You were alone with your thoughts for quite a while as you then took notice of the flickering candle in the far corner. Edging closer to it, you could smell soft vanilla wafting through the air. A speck of red had caught your attention, and you looked down, noticing the pack of not so empty cigarettes were laying unceremoniously in the little white trash bin underneath one of the shelves.

“They’re not healthy for you.” You jumped, spinning around at Tai’s voice. He was quiet, like a cat, and you didn’t notice how long he’s been standing there, while you mused.

“C’mon, we need to talk.” There was no room for argument in his statement, and you closed your mouth as he gave you such a serious, intense look.

“Okay.”

[moralscarred-blog]

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