#everything’s so wonky to the point I’m just charmed by him

[golden-stag]

Last time I went looking for references for Venom I found this specimen-

And just now when I tweeted about him I found out there’s two different versions of this figure!!

They’re both so ugly and misshapen, I need them more than anything.

[saintmouthed]

dtcfdp chapter 2 (author commentary)

I fear it is time to Reread dtcfdp Again and I'm going to be so annoying about it, actually. Anyway I'm gonna basically reread my own fic and liveblog the experience. Chapter 2 commentary starts under the cut, but you can find chapter 1 commentary here if you're interested!

FLIRTING DISGUISED AS NEGOTIATION...oh I see that's always been a favorite of mine.

"But it’s difficult not to feel like life is passing him by, stuck in this temporary place between all the milestones of ‘average’ adulthood and unable to find his way to the next stage, watching everyone else leave him behind. With jobs, with relationships, with careers. If not with those things, then at least they know what they want and how to get it."

yeah I was going through it in early adulthood, how did you know? (I wanted this fic to like... explore that more thoroughly, but I had SO MANY threads going on in this fic, and the most interesting was the goofiness and the kink, so that's what we got)

(though this does remind me that I found my notebook where I brainstormed dtcfdp in the first time,,, perhaps I will share some of those notes as a DVD extra at the end of the commentary)

It was fun. It was kind of silly, though, because that’s just the way that we were, and I don’t think I necessarily left those encounters feeling like I got everything I could from it. R.

baby masochist R my beloved. SOOOO much projection in this fic, except my adventurous partner (the one that inspired this ex-boyfriend of R's) was too embarrassed to even admit they were into That even though it was so obvious and I knew.

Aren’t you a sadist? Do you even know the meaning of the word? R. For the sake of making sure you’re comfortable playing with me at the end of the week, I absolutely know the meaning of the word. Ange. What about for the sake of honesty? R. Rarely. Ange.

been talking about this a lot lately. Another thing that I wanted in the fic but it never made it into the actual text. I always imagined that Enjolras had a nasty breakup with someone in the scene before he met Grantaire and he blames himself, and that's why he's holding back so much and trying so so hard to be careful with Grantaire's boundaries. Of course that's part of where the whole mess comes in, they're both so worried they're doing something Wrong that they don't want to Talk to each other. lmao.

Besides, Fantine lets him use the wheels after-hours and on his days off so long as he pays for the clay, and sometimes he really fucking misses the ceramics lab.

I FORGOT ABOUT THIS...oh Grantaire and Joly and Bossuet only drink from Grantaire's hand thrown mugs. When he first started working at the Paint and Party, they were so wonky and small because he was out of practice. Now they're increasingly elaborate, to the point where Joly and Bossuet still use the wonky ones because they're afraid of dropping the pretty ones.

If you’re asking me if I’m attracted to you, though, the answer is yes. Ange

writing dtcfdp enjolras is soooo fun. Especially when I get to write his POV, because to Grantaire he's always trying his best to be suave and charming and mean, meanwhile mentally he's swearing up a storm.

Mhm. There’s nothing quite like it, and I am all kinds of mean there is. Ange.

LIKE THIS

“You feed your adventure to a hungry dragon,” Bossuet adds, helpfully. Grantaire doesn’t know how he manages to sound so excited. Bossuet has consistently gotten terrible rolls no matter the game or the dice, and out of the four of them, even with as much as they play together, he’s the only one who’s had multiple characters die in-game due to unfortunately timed crit-fails.

I STILL HAVEN'T PLAYED THIS GAME RIP....poor Grantaire having all his TTRPG characters die. That was cruel of me

the negotiation... tearing up, remembering my early forays into the scene,,, wow

Not this time, he says. R. This time? Ange.

as much as Grantaire goes insane for Enjolras saying "next time" in this fic... you just KNOW that Enjolras is frothing at the mouth at this mention.

Which is fine. He's fine (section break) He is not fine.

this never fails to make me laugh.

“This is my cue to remind you that everything about this is up to you.” “I know.” Grantaire says, voice muffled against his shoulder. “You can go home right now, if you like.” “I know.” “I absolutely will not ask you to do anything you don’t want to do.” “I know.” Grantaire says, once more, with a huff of laughter.

Ange runs his hand up and down Grantaire’s back in a comforting gesture before pulling away to look at his face. “Good. It’s always worth repeating just once more. Now, what would make you feel most comfortable? Do you want to call it off for today, or try another time, maybe?”

genuinely crying now....I love them and also just, agh. I loved getting to write him as gentle in these crucial moments. I love a sadist as you probably know but I also love a "hey, reminder, you're safe, you're in control" sweetness.

“That’s cute.” Ange says. “But unnecessary. Save your ‘sir’s for when I actually punish you.”

was just talking about this too!!!! this was legitimately my favorite thing to play with in this fic. Grantaire constantly throwing around sarcastic "sir yes sir"s and Enjolras tolerating it.... until That Scene

“Words, please.”

fucking menace. I hate when they do this (by which I mean I think it's mean, by which I mean I love it) but also I LOOOOOVE saying it myself. So. The duality of man.

“How are you feeling?” “…A little bit…fuzzy.” Ange chuckles, resting his hands on Grantaire’s thighs. “Happy?” Grantaire has to think about this for a moment. “Yeah, I guess so. Why?” “Because you’re grinning like crazy.” Grantaire touches his face to confirm that he is, in fact, grinning a wide smile. “Oh.”

SCREAMS... I forgot about this. FUCK. I love this. SO MUCH.

I'LL HOLD YOU AS LONG AS YOU NEED....do you ever CRY. I love the chapters that end like that. it's so CUTE.

this was so fun. I love reading over this fic, and lately people have really been flattering me telling me they reread it too. <3

next chapter commentary coming soon!

[majestyeverlasting]

hi! prompts 16 and 27, if that's alright with you? thank you so much!

♡ Hi! Thanks for sending in this request. As for a summary, let's just say that there's nothing like summer in the city. Bucky and the reader decide to leave Brooklyn for a night out in Manhattan and have a mini hotel staycation. I hope you enjoy!

♡ Prompt 16: “You’re not good at pretending to be asleep.”

♡ Prompt 27: “What do you want for breakfast, grumpy.”

♡ To make a request for my One Month Tumblr-versary, check out my Fluffy Prompt List :)

As Long as It's With You

It had been an hour since night had fallen over Times Square. In the midst of the crowds, chatter, and array LED screens, you and Bucky sat at a small red table with a basket of fries between you. You remembered the words he spoke to you earlier that evening, let’s go be tourists for the night. It was a last minute suggestion, one you almost made the mistake of turning down. But because it was the weekend and there was a sparkle in his eyes, you figured why not? That’s how the two of you found yourselves in a cab from Brooklyn to the heart of Manhattan with overnight bags in the trunk. He managed to book a room in a hotel on 8th Avenue.

As the energetic atmosphere encamped you, you were glad you came. As hectic as it was, the familiar charm is what always managed to draw you back. There was always something new to experience, and an abundance of interesting people to watch. When Bucky took a break from eating to look around, you admired the way his face was illuminated by the lights. Not too far away, a man was playing a smooth melody on the saxophone. It flowed up into the air and mixed with the symphony of voices and laughter.

Upon meeting your gaze once again, Bucky smiled and told you that he loved you. When you told him that you loved him more, he shook his head but didn’t say anything. There was just an intensity to his gaze that suggested you didn’t know half of how highly he thought of and valued you. Everything within you wanted to melt in gratitude for the pathways that had led him to you. Out of everyone and everything, he was one of the good ones.

The moment he rested his hand face up on the table for you, you grasped it. It was warm. Times Square seemed to still as he started brushing his thumb over the back of your hand. There was something different about his touch that night, more reverent. And it remained that way even as the two of you arrived back at the hotel. In the elevator, he cupped your chin and kissed you as if you were a treasure. You didn’t mind being one if it meant being admired by him time after time again.

The room was small, and the accent wall behind the bed was a beautiful cobalt blue with the phrase ��Lights Out Please’ printed across it in big letters. Everything was still tidy because all you and Bucky had done was drop off your bags before venturing back out. The scent of the fresh sheets lingered in the air with a pleasant undertone of lemongrass. You allowed yourself to fall back onto the bed with a sigh. Light from the city skyline helped illuminate the room along with the lamps Bucky had clicked on.

“Tired?” He eyed you.

You sat back up to the sight of him toeing off his shoes, and smiled when he stumbled a bit. “Only a little.”

“We can go ahead and get ready for bed.” He started undoing the buttons on his black shirt. “We don’t have to go to sleep—maybe we’ll be able to find something on TV.”

“Even though hotel TV channels are always wonky,” you noted.

Upon reaching the last button, his shirt split open to reveal his chest and stomach. There was a dusting of hair over his pecs and a line of it trailing down from his belly button.

“Fingers crossed then,” he said.

“Yeah... hey, Buck?” He raised his brows in encouragement for you to continue. “That’s a good look on you.”

He looked down at his torso and the parted halves of his shirt. “Yeah?”

“Mhmm. You look handsome.” You crossed the room to meet him, and he smiled when you pressed your lips to his.

“Thank you.” He quietly spoke those words against your lips. “You already know that you’re the most beautiful girl in the world. At least in my eyes, you are. Always gonna be that way.”

Bucky was the first to stir the following morning, only moments before you. Your back was turned towards him and you heard the sheets ruffling as he stretched, quiet grunts escaping him. When his foot grazed your calf, you thought it was unintentional at first. But then he draped his whole leg overtop of yours, his leg hair tickling your skin. The two of you laid in that comfortable silence for a while, aware of the other, but feeling no immediate urge to engage yet. Based on the amount of sunlight slipping in from around curtains' perimeters, you could tell the room looked out east towards where the sun had risen.

Eventually, you felt Bucky scoot closer to you so that the front of his body was against your back. You basked in his pleasant warmth and the feeling of his soft exhales gracing your neck. He was the first one to speak, his voice joining the distant sound of car engines humming from the streets below. “G’morning,” he said, kissing your nape.

You responded in your head, but remained quiet in reality, eyes slipping back shut in content. Bucky peaked over you to get a look at your face, because he could’ve sworn you were awake. But finding that your eyes weren’t open made him conclude otherwise. When he settled back into his previous position, he pressed more gentle kisses to your neck in hopes of rousing you. Not knowing you were awake.

“Doll?”

You were messing with him at that point, purposely ignoring him. But when Bucky’s flesh hand started to caress different parts of your body, it became harder for you to suppress the reactions that someone who was actually sleeping wouldn’t have had. He didn’t call you out upfront when he caught on. He waited until a small sound rose from the back of your throat at the feeling of his fingertips trailing over your thigh beneath the sheets.

Bucky’s voice was deeper and had a slight rasp when he spoke. “You’re not good at pretending to be asleep, pretty girl.”

After a beat, you finally rolled over to face him, and he scooted back to give you more space. His hair was disheveled and the skin around his gorgeous steel eyes was the slightest bit puffy. The lazy little smirk on his face made your stomach flutter.

“You have to admit, though, I had you for a second,” you said, voice soft and hopeful. A tad sleep ridden.

“No you didn’t.” He tried to keep his smile from growing wider.

“Doll?” You mimicked his rousing attempt from earlier.

"Okay, maybe you had me for a second," he admitted. "But that's all."

That response prompted you to pull the sheets over your head with a fake grumble of disappointment, making him laugh. It was so easy for the two of you to be playful with each other. Especially on a morning like that when you woke up in a different borough with no obligations. All there was to do was enjoy each other's company.

He tried to pull them down but your grip remained firm. "C'mon, lemme see you," he drawled.

"Nuh-uh."

You heard him shifting. "How about food—you hungry?" His hand squeezed your leg. "What do you want for breakfast, grumpy? We can go anywhere you wanna go."

You didn't say anything, so he continued talking. "Westway Diner's a block or two over I think. I know you like it there. And we don't have to check out till noon, so we've got time," he said. "You wanna hop in the shower with me?"

Bucky was smiling when you lowered the sheets from your face. "Yes," you answered.

"Which part are you saying yes to?"

"Everything. Being hungry, the diner, the shower… everything. As long as it's with you, I'm game."

-

Previously fulfilled request: “No Such Thing as Winning By Default Tonight”

[the-phoenix-heart]

10 Amazing Futurama Comics

There is a severe lack of Futurama content on this and other sites (seriously, the Night at the Museum movies have more fics than Futurama). And, nobody posts about the Futurama comics. So I’m posting 10 of my favorites.

10. Attack of the 50-Foot Amy (Issue #33)

It’s actually not as sexual as the cover makes it out to be. The basic premise is that Amy mistakes the can of growth spray (that Cubert and Dwight want to use for their science fair project) for hair spray and sprays waaaay too much before her anniversary date with Kif. Meanwhile, Bender teaches Fry the wonders of video piracy, but after he gets scared by a movie home alone style he eats his disc of pirated movies and starts uncontrollably acting them out. You can probably guess how these two plots connect.

While I do list this one as one of my favorites, it’s far from perfect. The artwork is good, but the scaling on Amy is very wonky so she looks more like a twenty-foot Amy (also Dwight’s eyes are drawn weird in this comic, he looks blazed out the entire time). But I cannot help but be charmed by this comic. It’s got some sweet Bender and Fry friendship moments and actually makes me believe Kif and Amy’s relationship for a little bit. They are very sweet in this comic, although Kif does go through some pain in this comic.

Best moments: They way they resolve the plot is actually pretty funny and clever, plus Bender hopped up on pirated movies is a joy. At one point Fry gets shoved by Steven Spielbot (don’t ask) and Bender goes all Rocky on his ass saying “No one talks to my gal, Adrian, like that!” It’s very sweet and...subtextual if you understand my meaning. This one also has anti comic book piracy message at the end which was ironic for me to read.

9. Doctor What (Issue #32)

The Professor creates a time traveling port-a-potty so that you can pee in whatever time and space you want, although it’s completely random. However, Zoidberg accidentally breaks the potty, so him, Leela, Fry, and Bender have to keep randomly flushing to get back home. On each of these new worlds Zoidberg keeps accidentally saving the citizens, getting medals, and ends up becoming addicted to the fame he keeps winning. Which leads to them getting stuck in a post apocalyptic New New York.

This is the infamous Leela-Bender-Fry fusion comic, Leelan von Fry-Bot. His backstory is actually a little sad, but I won’t spoil it here. This one is pretty good, because it has Zoidberg as the hero. Actually quite a few of these feature Zoidberg as a fourth member of the delivery crew which is weird, but not entirely unwelcome. It’s also fun to see these other worlds, and now that I think about it it’s actually a little similar to The Late Phillip J. Fry, what with the time travel to different interesting worlds.

Best Moments: I actually liked Leelan’s backstory, and his interactions with his “parents” (you’ll understand when you read it) are actually pretty funny and a little cute. Fry really wants to be a dad you can tell.

8. The Simpsons Futurama Crossover Crisis II

The professor creates a device that takes characters out of their stories into the real world. Trouble is, he tells the mayor that this invention is useful because you can get slave labor out of the characters because they technically have no constitutional rights. The Simpsons end up working with the Planet Express crew, but an accident leads to the release of ALL FICTIONAL CHARACTERS EVER.

This is a sequel comic to the Futurama Simpsons Infinitely Secret Crossover Crisis (fun fact: a reference to several famous comic book arcs). I chose this one above it though because I think it understood the assignment better. The original is funny, but I just don’t think that Springfield is a good setting for a Futurama crossover. Springfield for all its zaniness, is not the future. New New York, however, is great for this crossover. We get several scenes where we see the Simpsons going through space and fighting off monsters. We even get to see the other residents of Springfield in the future, Mr. Smithers becomes a space pirate and Mr. Burns falls in love with Mom, it’s great.

Best Moments: Some of them I already mentioned, but I cannot stress enough how hilarious the Burns-Mom romance is, it’s especially good when you can hear their voices in your head. I also like the friendship the Simpsons have with the Planet Express crew.

7. Six Characters in Search of a Story (Issue #14)

This is a very interesting comic. The Professor falls asleep, so to pass the time the crew decides to look through his old failed inventions, and well, that’s a very bad idea. The most interesting thing about this comic is it’s designed so that if you want you can only read certain panels to follow one person’s story. The Futurama comics do this a lot of the time and it’s always interesting.

The shenanigans that occur in this one are really funny, and there are some great looking pages in this. Also the Futurama crew clearly took ideas from the comics, and this is one of them. You can tell from the cover art that this does have elements of “Benderama” in it, what with Bender cloning himself ad infinitum. I also really like the climax, it’s a little schmultz-y for Futurama, but I don’t mind.

Best Moments: Fry gets stuck with a Spanish speaking Bender and I don’t know why but it’s really funny to me. The professor also gets some funny moments in this one. And Scruffy. Scruffy is always a delight.

6. Igner-ance is Bliss! (Issue #63)

Yeah this is the infamous robot Leela and Fry comic. Don’t worry, like the cover says, it’s not as dramatic as it looks. The crew has to go to a world that’s too dangerous for humans, so Fry, Leela, and Zoidberg all have their consciousnesses put into robot doubles so they can make the delivery. However, it turns out this planet is a sort of getaway spa for robots, and the crew decides to party it up there, at least until Bender discovers that this is a front for an evil plot by Mom. The subplot is mostly about how Igner is not respected by his brothers.

This one is fun, and I love a comic where Bender has to be the voice of reason. It is clearly killing him to be the responsible one, but I love it. Also, I have a soft spot for Igner, so it’s nice to see him get thrown a bone for once. This also has some really fun jokes with everyone, but Zoidberg in particular gets some bangers. I think my only problem is it ISN’T as cool as the cover makes it out, but like I’m happy with what it is.

Best Moments: Fry beats up Bender at one point and wins, I think he deserved it. Also, y’all know Admiral Ackbar from Star Wars? He makes some cameos in this one. Also all the robots (sans Bender) make a Japanese style mecha and it’s the coolest thing ever. Plus everything I’ve said about Igner I love in this one. Oh also Fry beats Calculon at poker and I really love that.

5. Who’s Dying to be a Gazillionaire? (Issue #5)

This one is sweet. The IRS is threatening to bankrupt Planet Express, and if they can’t think of a way to make a million dollars they will go out of business. No one really has any ideas and doesn’t even really care, except for Fry who is determined to save Planet Express. He gets the idea to go onto Who Wants to be a Gazillionaire to make the money, even though it’s a trivia show and if he loses he will die.

This one really warms my heart, it’s Fry at his best, just doing what he can for the people he loves. Even the professor is great in this one. I don’t want to spoil it, but trust me when I say it’s good (god I hope I’m not building this up too much).

Best moments: The end panel. But also the resolution of the story is great, and I really appreciate this comic for Fry as a character.

4. Rumble in the Jungle (Issue #38)

This is a fine comic. Leela is mad that she’s not being respected by Fry and Bender, and it’s bad enough that they don’t believe her when she says they’re going to crash into a planet. They end up parachuting down and getting separated. Leela ends up as queen of some workers in the “Amazon,” meanwhile Fry finds Bender’s corpse and goes off to avenge him.

This one is fun, and another fun one for Fry, because he’s determined to avenge Bender and works hard for it. This also includes the original Frender, not the ship but fusion. Leela and Fry even have a fight scene against each other and it’s honestly great.

Best Moments: Fry is great throughout the entire comic, and Leela spends most of her time beating up random animals. Bender also using a lead parachute he made out of toys he stole from children is funny, especially because I’m always a sucker for Bender doing dumb shit.

3. Don’t Go Taking My Heart! (Issue #69) (nice)

Mom only has a couple weeks to live, unless she can get a heart transplant. It’s revealed that Mom uses the cryogenics lab to get new body parts for herself, and that Fry was supposed to be her heart donor! Unfortunately, because he was unfrozen she now has to get him to work for Mom Corp to make sure his heart stays intact for the procedure.

If you can’t tell I love the Fry-centric comics, and I also like the comics where Mom is the villain. Of course this comic doesn’t go completely how you expect it to go, it’s actually REALLY sweet. I also love the fact that in this comic Fry actually makes a great intern. He basically has the job of a secretary and he’s GOOD at it. And I love seeing when Fry is good at things. The reason why I put this at only 3 is because it doesn’t really have a subplot. Bender gets a job at mom corp to but it’s only there for a couple pages, and Leela’s new crew gets two panels and that’s it.

Best Moments: The moments with Mom and Fry, but also guess who Mom’s doctor is? I’m actually not going to reveal it because it’s so random but also hilarious.

2. Boomsday! (Issue #58)

The Professor builds Bender his own parents, as a way to placate/discipline Bender. However, these parents decide that Fry is a bad influence on Bender, leading to them kicking him out. Meanwhile, the Professor’s doomsday devices are all stolen, and he has to go find them.

Both of these plots are funny and good. Bender’s plot is also really sweet what with his friendship with Fry, and his wish for parents. Meanwhile the Professor’s plot is just really funny and I do love seeing the Professor in his element. The ending is mostly heartwarming.

Best Moments: Everything with Fry and Bender, and Bender has a sweet relationship with his fake parents. Also, the Professor uses Issac Asimov candles on the robot mafia which I found a great joke. Oh, and the Professor’s first doomsday device was made when he was four years old and I love that. The end of the comic also has very nice message.

1. Rotten to the Core (Issue #27)

The world’s weather has gone kerflooey, and the Professor has figured out that his invention that can drill into the center of the Earth has been used. It conspires that Bender sold it at a yard sale to some aliens call the magmoids. The magmoids are trying to steal magma from the Earth’s core and the crew has to go and stop them.

This is my favorite because it’s a great character comic. All of the main three have great moments, and it’s also a great science comic. The Earth’s core is incredibly magnetic so of course Bender starts spouting out folk songs, and also SECRETS. I can’t believe no one has used the fact that canonically magnets make Bender incapable of telling lies. Anyway, it’s just really fun.

Best Moments: Way too many to count. Bender and Fry are told to cut out the “Brokeback Moanin,’“ Leela and Fry are bitter at the end, Fry tells story about his childhood, Bender has some great secrets to tell, the Professor gets a really fun ending, Bender has a rare moment of generosity, and the entirety of the climax is all kinds of fun and sweet.

[chudleycanonficfest]

The Soul Truth

Day 2, Story #1 is by @honouraryweasley12

Title: The Soul Truth

Author: honouraryweasley12

Pairing: Ron x Hermione

Prompt: Soulmates

Rating: K+

TW: none

The ornate doors slid open and Hermione stepped out of the lift, her shoes clacking on the stone floor as she walked forward, head held high but movements stiff. She quickly found that it was best to give off a strong, confident air as she met with various ministries in her new capacity. 

She hadn't been in this part of the Ministry often and it was quite unfamiliar to her. All the more reason to keep her guard up.

"Greetings, Minister Granger-Weasley. Congratulations on your victory."

A wizened old man in heavy, dark robes welcomed her, limping forward and holding out a shaky gnarled hand. She took it and met his eyes, which were still sharp—despite his advanced age. A playful twinkle shone out from them, reminding her immediately of Dumbledore.

"Thank you."

He gave her a smile. "Welcome to Archive floor of the Department of Mysteries."

She looked around the cavernous space, taking everything in. She could practically feel the hum of ancient magic reverberating around the walls.

"And you are?"

"I am the Archivist."

"Oh, I meant your name."

He chuckled. "We don't use our given names in this department, just our titles. There is great power in names, as you no doubt know, and we don't want that to interfere with the work we are doing here."

"What should I call you?"

He thought for a moment, before looking up at her. "For today, you can call me�� Dave."

She immediately relaxed and shook her head, her face incredulous. "Why Dave?"

"Ah, you see, the power of names. By picking something so simple and informal, your posture and tone changed completely. Had I picked something more formal, you would have responded in kind."

She smiled, immediately taking a liking to the mysterious old man. "Lead the way, Dave. I was told I would be receiving the grand tour."

The two walked slowly through the vast archives, the various rooms and chambers full of different experiments, mystical objects, and parchments.

"Where is everyone?" Hermione stopped to ask, noticing that they hadn't seen a single person, Unspeakable or otherwise, as she was shown around.

"Some of our greatest breakthroughs happen in the early morning or late evening. We encourage our members to work when it best suits them." He squinted at a battered gold watch that seemed to weigh heavily on his wrist. "Yes, 3:00 PM is usually the quietest time of the day down here."

"I see. I do some of my best work at odd times as well."

He nodded sagely. "The quiet mind is often the clearest."

They continued touring through, until they came to a small door tucked behind several suits of armour. It was so old and dark that Hermione wouldn't have even noticed it, had Dave not mentioned it.

"Most Ministers of Magic I've worked with seem to be worried about other objects down here that might help them, but I have something interesting which I think you'll appreciate."

He fished out a small key from within the folds in his robes and turned it in the lock. The heavy door creaked open to reveal a closet-sized space with a single pedestal. On top of it sat a thin, aged book.

"It's my understanding that you are an avid reader, Minister."

"Yes, how did you know?"

"It's my job to know," he added gravely, watching her eyes narrow. He waved his hand dismissively, grinning again. "No, no, I'm only joking. I happened to share a lift with Auror Weasley one Monday morning, and while I didn't mean to eavesdrop, he was complaining quite loudly to Auror Potter that he missed you, because you had your nose stuck in a book all weekend. I mean no offense, of course."

She blushed and rolled her eyes affectionately. "That sounds like Ron alright."

"That's why I thought this might be of interest to you," he continued, gesturing to the pedestal.

She couldn't help but be intrigued as she stared down at the frail old book, her voice dipping down to a whisper of reverence. "What is it?"

"It's called The Book of Souls—though it's just a single parchment. Yet, it's the most dangerous object down here."

Hermione stared at it, her face a mask of awe. "How so?"

"Legend has it that the parchment was created by a powerful young witch, who was being courted by a prince. She wasn't sure if he was her soulmate, for she sensed a darkness in him, so she invoked some very ancient magic to help reveal the truth."

"It worked?"

"Indeed, it did. The parchment was charmed to reveal a small note, riddle, and sometimes even a name to the reader, one that would help them understand who their soulmate was. Unfortunately for that witch, her soulmate was most decidedly not the prince. She rejected his proposal, and as was the case back then, disappeared under mysterious circumstances soon after."

"That's terrible. Then what happened?"

"As the story goes, rumour spread about the witch's parchment, and as with most powerful objects, the lure of it drew out many seekers. Though the object was made with good intentions, it soon led to a trail of darkness and bloodshed. Broken families, obsessions, blackmail, jealousy, and even death. Knowing that kind of unshakeable truth proved to be a valuable commodity, or a lifetime of heartbreak for those unable to meet their soulmate."

Hermione nodded. It sounded very much like the Elder Wand, but more subtle and insidious. One thing was puzzling her though. "I've never heard of this before, and I've studied many books about souls, both ancient and dark."

"Once the Ministry recovered it, they deemed it was too dangerous for this information to be out there, so they've removed all known references to it. Those who had known of it died off, and it was forgotten from memory."

"When was this?"

"Centuries ago. However, as Minister, you are privileged to learn certain pieces of information that the general population is not privy to."

"Fascinating," Hermione replied. She watched as he slowly reached a hand toward the weathered book. "Wait! What are you doing?"

"Every so often I check to make sure it's still under the cover, and since we're already in here, I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. Does… does that mean you've looked at it?"

"Oh no, never. I always look away, as should you."

He lifted the corner for a second, and try as she might, Hermione couldn't help but open her eyes to see a word of blazing red ink, before he shut the cover again. Hermione felt the blood drain from her face, unable to comprehend the word she saw so very briefly.

"No, it couldn't be."

"What was that Minister? Did you say something?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Everything seems to be in order here. Shall we continue?"

Hermione nodded mutely, the word still burned in her thoughts.

~*~

She cancelled the rest of her meetings and went straight home after finishing with Dave, or whatever his real name was, needing time to collect her thoughts. How could she tell Ron, the love of her life, what she had seen?

She sat at their dining table, absentmindedly stirring a soothing cup of tea when he walked in.

"Hermione, I'm home."

He came bounding into the kitchen, a piece of parchment in each hand and a wide smile on his face. "Look, the kids wrote. Hugo promises he's already started studying for O.W.L.s, and Rosie is nervous, but excited, to captain her first match against Ravenclaw next week."

"That's great," she replied, her voice a dull monotone.

"They even said their classmates think it's cool that you were elected as the youngest Minister of Magic in history."

"Hmm."

Ron looked at her and frowned. "What's wrong? Tough day?"

Hermione pulled out the chair next to her and patted it. "Come sit down."

Ron scrutinized her again. "The last time you did that, it was to tell me you were pregnant with Hugo. Are you pregnant?"

She sighed. "No, please just come here, I need to tell you something, and I don't think you're going to like it."

He sat down, unsure of what was coming. She quickly told him about the Archivist, the tour, and the Book of Souls, before swearing him to secrecy.

"You saw something when he lifted the cover, didn't you?"

She nodded sadly. "I saw a word."

"What did it say?"

"I-I don't want to tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not true. Whatever it says, it's not true."

"C'mon Hermione, please tell me."

"It said… Krum."

Ron let out a laugh. "Oh, is that all?"

"What do you mean? Viktor Krum is my soulmate, and that's all you have to say!?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"That you're upset, that you care that I was destined to be with Viktor."

"Destined? We have two beautiful kids, an amazing family, and great careers. I don't care what some ruddy old book says, the charms are probably wonky anyway." He pointed to his chest. "I know that I love you with all of my heart, and you feel the same."

She slid into his lap and threw her arms around his neck. "I do, you know I do… but…but…"

"What?"

She suddenly burst into tears, burying her head in his neck as she sobbed. "I-I always had this idea in my head that we were real soulmates, if such a thing existed. We met when we were so young, and I've only truly ever loved you. I know it's silly, but I hate that it's not true. I didn't even like Viktor that much."

Ron ran his fingers through her hair and rubbed her back comfortingly. "Maybe it was a mistake or something. You said yourself you only saw one word."

Her breathing started calming down. "I-I suppose that's true."

"We know what happens when a charm or prophecy is misinterpreted."

She sniffled. "It would be nice to know."

Ron gave her a squeeze. "Maybe we should sneak in there tomorrow and take a look."

"We can't just sneak in there! I'm the Minister of Magic! Besides, there was a key to get into the room. I don't know how we're going to get it from the Archivist."

"You're the Minister of Magic. I'm sure you could come up with some reason to be there."

She gave him a dirty look. "I'm not abusing my position like that."

"I don't mind abusing my position, as you put it. Maybe I can say I'm researching something for a case."

"No, Ron. What if you get in trouble?"

"Who am I going to get in trouble with? Harry? You?"

"That's not the point. We swore we'd never take advantage of our roles for our own gain."

He sighed. "Fine, you're right. Sneaking in it is, then. It'll be like the good old days! A secret mission, breaking into places we have no business being in. An ill-formed plan. It'll be fun."

She smacked him on the arm. "Those days were terrible."

"Aren't you curious though, to find out the truth?"

"Of course I want to know the truth! I don't want to go through the rest of my life thinking Viktor was my soulmate, when it's clearly you."

"As sweet as that is, we clearly only have one choice."

Hermione shook her head. "Fine."

"Good, things like this are much easier when you're agreeable to them," he smirked, nudging her playfully. "You said 3:00 PM was when it was empty, right? Meet me in my office tomorrow at 2:55 PM, and we'll head down there. I'll just tell Harry we're going to a broom closet or something."

"Ron!" Hermione screeched. "You'll do no such thing."

"It's perfectly plausible. It's not like we haven't done that before."

She blushed, unable to count the number of times they'd had fun at the Ministry. "Alright, fine. 2:55PM at your office."

"Good. Now, I'm starving. I'll whip up one of your favourites. I bet I'm a better cook than ol' Vicky. What do Bulgarians even eat?"

"Not funny, Ron."

~*~

The next afternoon, Hermione was found pacing in front of Ron and Harry's office, much to the fear of the recruits who were stationed outside the door. It wasn't often the Minister of Magic would show up unannounced, muttering under their breath.

The door swung open and Ron sauntered out, his lips upturned in a smug smile. Harry's face had gone a shade of green from what he'd just heard from his best mate.

"Hi, er, Hermione," Harry greeted her awkwardly. "You two… um… have fun."

Mortified, Hermione could only return a quick wave before grabbing Ron's arm, hauling him toward the lifts before she was forced into any further interactions with Harry.

"I honestly can't believe you told him we were going to go shag."

"I literally told you I was going to say that."

"I didn't think you actually meant it." She let out an exasperated snort and pinched the bridge of her nose as they entered the lift. "What's the plan?"

"Plan?"

"You are the Head Strategist of the Auror department. Surely you must have thought of something!"

Ron shrugged his shoulders and grinned. "We'll make it up as we go. Seems to work best for us."

"I don't like this one bit."

The ding of the bell signalled they had arrived.

Ron clasped her hand, their fingers entwining. "Let's do this."

The doors opened and they were greeted with utter silence. It was as if the entire floor was abandoned, which it likely was.

They crept forward, trying to make as little noise as possible before finally reaching the same spot she had been the previous day.

Hermione turned the handle of the door, and to her surprise, it was unlocked.

"Hey, look at that!" Ron exclaimed loudly.

"Ron," she hissed. "Keep on the lookout."

He nodded and stood in front of the armour blocking the door, ensuring that Hermione couldn't be seen, in case they were interrupted.

Hermione took a deep breath, her heart pounding. Whatever it said under the cover wouldn't change anything between herself and Ron, but she needed to know for sure.

Her fingers paused for a second, lightly gripping the frail corner, her body tense. She delicately opened the book, the bright red ink bursting into view, almost glowing in the small, dark chamber.

Her greedy eyes flew over the words that were revealed.

"I knew it," she whispered.

Ron suddenly poked his head in. "Everything alright?"

"Perfect. Everything's perfect and wonderful!" Her giddiness couldn't be contained as she closed the ancient text.

"I guess this means you aren't going to chuck me?"

"Never."

"What's it say?"

Her pink cheeks were starting to hurt from her wide grin. "Your soulmate will first love, then hate, a Mr. Viktor Krum."

"That confirms it. See, nothing to worry about."

"Oh Ron, I'm so relieved. I knew it couldn't be true. This whole thing is ridiculous, but I'm still glad to know it's always been you."

Ron nodded. "Me too."

"We should leave before we get caught."

"Not so fast, it's my turn now."

"What?" Hermione asked sharply. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "Might as well take a look while I'm here."

Hermione stepped back, biting at her bottom lip—a sure sign of anxiety. "But… but… what if—"

Ron cupped her cheeks in his large hands and gently kissed her. "It doesn't matter what it says, I love you and only you. Trust me."

She nodded, before resuming his place as the lookout.

After a moment, she heard him chuckle and close the door behind him.

Hermione whispered urgently. "What did it say?"

"It said my soulmate will be a nightmare."

Hermione let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "Thank goodness. I don't think I would've been able to handle it if it wasn't me."

"It's always been you. I thought you'd have learned by now."

"I know, I never should have doubted it."

"Can you imagine if we'd learned this information when we were younger? We might have been able to get together much sooner," Ron remarked.

"Or we'd have made an even bigger mess of things."

"True. It doesn't matter in the end though, does it? We figured it out and we've done pretty damn well for ourselves."

"We have, Ron. I love you."

"Love you, too. We'd better get out of here before someone sees us."

The two quickly retreated to the lift, having successfully completed their mission. A minute after the doors had shut on the snogging couple, an old man slowly made his way toward the chamber and pulled a small key out of his robes, locking the heavy door.

As it's appointed guardian, he had vowed to never look in the book, and he had kept that oath. That didn't mean he couldn't use it's power in other ways. Past Ministers, those inquisitive few who had the intelligence to understand the book's worth, often revealed something in that moment when he checked the parchment, for good or ill. Usually it mattered little to him, but not in this case.

He paused for a moment, before extracting a small glass sphere from the same pocket as the key. A sphere he'd kept with him for many years, since he was a young man working with prophecies in the Department of Mysteries. Knowing Minister Granger-Weasley was coming to take a tour was the perfect opportunity to solve a mystery he'd been researching for the better part of seven decades.

He held it up to the light, the familiar swirls of mist dancing in the globe. He had long since memorized the prophecy, which had been made by a seer almost a hundred years earlier. His colleagues at the time had dismissed it, because like many visions, it was almost impossible to determine what the seer was referring to.

He had kept this one, for it always gave him hope. He never thought he'd actually solve it. Yet here he was, still alive and able to record this last surviving prophecy in the annals of history.

He turned it over in his hands, the glass still unblemished.

"Magic," he whispered, "such a wonderful tool."

He stared at it again, reciting for the last time the fates encompassed within.

"Two soulmates, brown and orange, will form a triangle with black to defeat evil. Through many trials the two will forge a love so strong it will be unbreakable, and their strength will reshape the world."

He let out a final chuckle, his long-held desire now confirmed by the soulmates themselves. He lifted the glass to his lips, his breath fogging up the shiny surface.

"Prophecy fulfilled."

The sphere melted away into nothing, the outcome recorded somewhere else in the archives. He shuffled away back to his office, his eyes sparkling, and his heart lifted with hope.

[theramseyloft]

I revere pigeons. Their care and history is my special interest and they occupy my mind almost all the time. The knowledge that someone is deliberately hurting and neglecting ones they've stolen from caring, safer environments and people that were concerned for their wellbeing has me crying. Imagine being so empty as a person, to go so far as to injure a pigeon for imaginary internet points and attention.

I have been trying to work up the energy to write a post about this for weeks.

Christmas eve of 2018, my business page was contacted by some one looking for birds. 

In January 2019, he let slip that he was a minor, and that his parents were adamantly opposed to him having birds.

Minors whose parents are not fully supportive of their choice of pet are a hard no in my screening process. He kept asking questions as if preparing to care for birds he expected me to sell or adopt to him, and every time, I would ask to speak to his legal guardian. He did everything he could, from telling me his mom would call me later, to eventually calling my personal phone in the middle of the night to try and coerce me into sneaking him birds under the cover of darkness. I got to the point where I would only answer his questions about available birds with "Have your legal guardian ask me." About this time, Palomacy's head, Elizabeth, came to me privately to warn me not to adopt to him. I know she thinks breeders will do anything for a sale, but my screening process for babies I have hatched is every bit as strict as my screening process for rescues. I told her I had no plans to. But confessed that I’d had a troubled history of using rescue as a coping mechanism for an abusive home situation when I was in college, and felt obligated to mentor him. I was also taken in by the charming 'enthusiastic teen who really wants to learn' facade that he's so artfully developed. So, when he used a different name to get into the Small Scale Rescue and House Pet/Therapy pigeon discord servers, and let slip who he was by accident, I was content to let him stay, hoping that the information we share would help him develop into a better care taker. But more and more red flags started popping up.

One pigeon’s bare neck, claimed to have been a wonky molt, but inflamed and bristling with filoplumes (The avian equivalent of whiskers;thin hair like feathers that also fall out during that heavy a molt)

The same bird claimed to have eaten playdough and thrown it up, in a photo with a cage full of green, moldy poop. (Where did the bird get playdough? Why was it allowed to get far enough to swallow it?)

The same bird claimed to have coins and chunks of carrot pulled out of his crop (things a pigeon can’t physically swallow unaided)

In every progressive photo, the feathers are thinner and more bedraggled and the bird himself was losing weight.

That pigeon mysteriously vanished, only got him to get two more, and mention nonchallantly after the fact that “Oh, puff died last week.”

His new pet pigeons, who supposedly lived in their own room in his house, got out while he was moving a couch.

He got, and promptly lost two other rescue birds from the rescue I posted about late in the summer that was shut down by her city and urgently needed homes for their birds.

When told Great Lakes Pigeon Rescue was going to be warned about adopting to him, this is what he posted on my education server:

He had his eye on a bird of mine (Frito), talking him down like he was undesirable or unadoptable, and reasoning that I’d have a hard time finding a home for him because of his bad personality.

Frito washed from therapy training due to INTENSE dislike of his harness.

That, and that he had developed a strong independent streak and prefered the company of other birds to people were the first things I told Brysen when he asked after that specific bird.

In one channel of the server, he would be talking to me about how he didn’t mind Frito just being a pretty house bird and would be ok if he never warmed up to being handled...

While, in another, he would be posting harnesses, asking if they would work for Frito, and asking other residents how to make an independent bird get used to being handled.

When I called him on it, he came into my DMs with this mess:

(The turn around in tone in the 12 hours I was too angry to respond is almost funny..)

Remember that rescue from earlier?

These are screenshots of her conversation with him (used with permission) about the birds that were lost, sent to the person in charge of Palomacy, where he was an active member on their platform at the time, to warn that he was preying on rescues to get more birds:

This conversation clearly illustrates that he was using us and Palomacy only to adapt the way he preys on rescues.

There is a reason he preys on rescues. We are hopeful for people to improve. So he expects infinite chances from us. And he expects that a correctly worded apology will erase any consequences. He preys on pigeons because there are no laws in the US concerning their welfare. Despite being domestic animals (the pigeons brought by Europeans to North America had been domesticated for thousands of years, and there were no natives of the same species or even in the Columba genus to mix back with); Pigeons are under the jurisdiction of the Department of Natural Resources, which governs wildlife, and legally classifies them as an invasive pest. The Department of Agriculture is the one that presides over domestic animals and investigates animal cruelty. They may only act for the welfare of pigeons under the specific circumstance of the pigeons in question being meat breeds bred for squab intended for human consumption via restaurants. In any other instance, killing a pigeon by any means, including torture, is legally equivalent to pest control. There are no legal consequences for it.

After I blocked and banned him, it came to light through several sources in personal contact with him that he maimed, killed, and discarded 25 birds that we know of, and he is still trying to get more.

Several people who denied him birds shared screen shots with us proving that they were also sexually harassed and threatened with sexual violence by him.

Several of the people who came to us told us that they had also tried to warn Palomacy, but their comments were immediately erased.

Brysen was allowed to continue to speak openly on their platform with no consequences, allowing him to truthfully say that he was being mentored by Palomacy to lull smaller rescues into a false sense of security and convince them to give him birds.

They had two articles on their website about what a wonderful young rescuer he was, only taken down after they tried to claim I had doxxed an innocent child, and it was pointed out to them that their public articles had his full current address, date and place of birth, and a photo of him in front of his house. I had beef enough with the organization before this that I will not go into on this post, but I am disgusted by the way Elizabeth silenced her own admins and community members from warning other rescues and individuals and tried to shut the rescue up who sent the above screen shots when she came forward about the birds he tricked her into bringing to Ga who were immediately killed. And then blamed her for their deaths. @tutu.pigeon brought me those screen shots the day after I banned him and one of my server mods took it upon themself to be a voice for his other victims by creating the Instagram @exposing_helluva_duv What ever respect I might have had for Palomacy is permanently destroyed.

You cannot call yourself a rescue if you cover for a serial abuser, actively prevent his victims from warning the rest of their community, and then blame those victims for having been taken advantage of.

The harm that that, combined with everything else I have beef with, has done so out weighs any good that I can no longer, in good conscience, attempt to put aside our differences and meet in the middle.

I’m not gonna waste the energy to start any shit, and I don’t think any one else should either. 

But I’m done trying to be any degree of supportive to them.

Gonna put my energy into encouraging more small shelters so there are better options.

[softyoongiionly]

Portraits of a Tiger || 02

Legends of a great and equally terrifying warrior nicknamed the Tiger have been emerging from your fellow villagers for quite sometime. Stories of his skill, his stealth and his supposed wickedness have been passed around to the point where he is more prophecy than person. You have lived your life with a strong sense of conviction, rarely letting gossip influence your opinion. However, you would be lying if you said that his legacy didn’t intrigue you. When the Tiger and his infamous army arrive in your village to refuel, you come face to face with the man behind the myth.

And no amount of marketplace gossip would ever be enough to capture the true complexity of his nature.

Pairing: Merchant! Reader x Warrior! Yoongi

Genre: Adventure, Romance, Smut (later), Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: language, depictions of violence both verbal and physical however they are fairly mild, mentions of war and power dynamics, there will be smut in future parts so, (18+ only please).

Current Tag List (let me know if you want to be tagged!): @gldnrecs​ @naajix​ @bluewhale52​ @nikkikenji​ @lustedkisses​ @loveyoongles​ @hear-me-growl​ 

A/N: oh hiiii. I’m a little obsessed with this universe so, I hope you guys are enjoying all the Warrior! Yoongi content. Love you!

Once again, I want to shout out @bulletproofbirdy​ for everything she has done to make this fic possible. I love you so much! 

“I’m just saying, some of the women in this village should at least attempt it. Wedding a solider is an honor, not to mention the fact that it sets you up for life.”  

Jane’s voice sounds beside you and it causes you to smile to yourself; she’s always coming up with plans for other people, attempting to live vicariously through them.  

“Like Y/N- you’re young-” She tilts her head, her frizzy red hair almost twirling above her scalp, “-ish. You would probably be able to convince one of them to take you for a bride.”  

You scoff, “Thank you for having so much faith in me Jane, I’ll keep that in mind.”  

Jane quickly moves on to another girl in the market, throwing the same amount of enthusiasm her way.  

You know she means well, even if she is a little brash at times.  

It’s been two days since the market place was riddled with thieves and soldiers. Things have mostly gone back to normal apart from the same armored men loitering about your village.  

Over the time that’s past, you’ve been able to meet or at least learn more about Yoongi’s fleet.  

Seven men, each of them possessing an incredible amount of skill, made up the group behind the gossip.  

Seokjin was indeed in charge of community outreach (and the cooking) but, he was also an incredible marksmen; his aim was unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed. Whilst you were cleaning up yesterday evening, you saw a few of them practicing and Seokjin through a dagger from nearly 200 feet away only for it to land directly in the center of the target.  

Namjoon, you met in the library whilst you were reading more about a new remedy you were planning to try. He was extremely brawny but very mild mannered. He introduced himself and thanked you for the bread you had delivered and upon speaking to him, you learned of his position in the fleet; psychological warfare. According to Namjoon, he was in charge of depleting the moral of their enemies by various means that he didn’t specify.  His gentle demeanor made it very difficult for you to believe that he was apart of such a dangerous team but you realized that, that was the very reason he was so successful.  

Jungkook, according to Seokjin, was the fleet’s first responder: The first man on the ground during a battle and usually the last one to leave. He had two things on his side: speed and strength. The fleet calls him the Terror Cub which is supposed to be a play on Yoongi’s nickname. You’ve also learned that Jungkook is Yoongi’s younger brother and upon minimal observation, you can tell they have a very close bond.  

Jimin, you met at the tavern during an evening out with Rachel. He was incredibly kind and his beauty was nothing short of offensive. His position in the army made sense; he was known as a Red Herring or in civilian terms: the distraction. Jimin’s beauty and charm was the fleet’s secret weapon and after spending a bit of time with him that night, you could definitely see why. Without a uniform, Jimin looks like a soft and unassuming man. A target would never suspect his true intentions.

Taehyung and you had a lot in common as he too was an Apothecary only- he didn’t specialize in the same type of medicine you did. Taehyung was the fleet’s resident poison expert. You met him at the tavern as well as he was the man Jimin hung off of the entire night. You learned of their romance throughout the evening and, couldn’t help but admire the sheer power between them. The Herring and the Poison Expert, what a duo.

Hoseok was still a bit of a mystery to you as he rarely ventured into the village. According to Seokjin, Yoongi placed him charge of training the new recruits specifically in the art Hoseok was most familiar with: archery. Upon the introduction of his position, you quickly recalled a story regarding the legendary archer.  Hoseok’s expertise had made it into the discourse in your village roughly a year ago when the Royal Army took down invaders in the snowy mountains just west of your home. In accordance with the story, Hoseok defeated their front line from the treetops before they were able to reach the rest of his fleet. You hadn’t had a chance to speak with him much but, he did introduce himself when you brought a second basket of bread to the camp.  

Aside from being their general, their leader and, the most expert swordsman in all of the land, Yoongi was also the fleet’s strategist. He mapped their every move, their every course, their objectives and several precautionary measures should things go sour. He was essentially the brains behind everything but of course, you didn’t learn this from him. The rest of his men had revealed bits and pieces about him throughout your interactions with each of them.  

In addition, you also learned that Yoongi’s army was a defensive force. They were established as a means of protection by the Queens which would mean that the stories of them ruthlessly invading territories around the region were null and void. The seven of them preceded over a much larger fleet; 22,000 men who follow closely behind them but never fight unless Yoongi calls in for backup.

The Tiger’s fleet was the frontline, the brain, heart and soul of the royal army.  

You feel a bit of sadness for them. They have done so much to protect this land and although they are revered and admired, they are also unnecessarily feared.  

The morning passes easily and it’s one of those days where you actually enjoy being out in the plaza.

The weather was nice, temperate and cool just as you like it.  

Clouds encase the otherwise sunny sky which keeps it from growing too warm in the marketplace and, with the slight breeze wafting throughout the atmosphere, you feel content.

A minimal afternoon crowd makes it easy for you to provide accurate and lengthy consultations to your patrons.

“Yes- just apply this three times a day and you should notice a significant reduction in the inflammation.” You smile sweetly, passing a lot the salve to your customer before you notice a familiar color making its way through the crowd.

It’s platinum and the curve of the ponytail its attached to belongs to someone you hadn’t anticipated on seeing.

It causes your heartrate to go a little wonky whilst you attempt to look away.

The salve Yoongi purchased from you days earlier prove to be very popular amongst his crew and now his tin that was supposed to last him three months is nearly gone.  

He may have other reasons for returning to the market as well but, his story was air-tight and would need no further explanation.

He would know, he checked.

“Good morning,” You smile at him and Jane’s train of thought is derailed the moment she sees your next customer. “How can I help you?”

He raises his hand, a large metal tin between his fingers, “Do you have any more of this? I woke up this morning to find that my men have ransacked it. If you have the stock, I’d like to buy 7 more tins so I can have one of my own.”  

You can’t help it but allow your eyes to widen at his request; the profits from 7 more tins would be enough to feed your family for the next month.

But you compose yourself quickly and nod, “I have more than enough- you said 7 right? Did you want the big tins again?”

He lowers his hand and sighs, his eyes flitting back towards his tent, “Please. I don’t trust the younger ones to use it as you instructed so, I want to make sure it lasts as long as it can.”

Snickering, you bend down and grab the requested amount of tins for him and nod in understanding, “Makes total sense. I’m guessing one of the main culprits was Jungkook? I saw him rubbing his hands together for a really long time and, now everything makes sense.”  

Yoongi smirks, his teeth peeking out between his lips, “Aish that kid- he's gonna give me a heart attack one of these days.”

“He’s younger brother right? I can see the resemblance...” You tease, wrapping the tins in paper,  spending a little too much time on each one and, no it’s totally not because you’re trying to prolong your interaction with Yoongi.

“Adopted brother yes- my parents took him in when he was 7. It’s interesting you think we look alike though, you’re not the first person to say that.” Yoongi’s hands have found their way to his uniform, smoothing it out subconsciously.

“Oh really? Yeah I wouldn’t have suspected that, you guys have the same mouth-” His brows raise at your comment and the glint in his eye makes you backtrack, “his lips are a little bigger I guess though so- uh not that I’m looking closely at your mouth or anything but-”

Yoongi starts chuckling then, the shakiness in your tone amusing him “I understand what you mean don’t worry. What’s my total?” He nods to the tins, which you’ve finally finished wrapping.

“Oh! Right, I’m sorry- your total is 24.50...” You slide the tins towards him carefully before Jane’s shrill voice sounds from beside you.

“Give the man a discount Y/N, he’s practically buying out your entire stock!” She urges, gesturing wildly towards your cart.

Your mouth opens as your eyes move quickly between her and Yoongi “O-”

Yoongi raises his hand, “Nonsense. Ms. Y/L/N’s products are some of the finest I’ve come across and are certainly worth the full price-  24.50 you said?” His brows raise again, looking directly into your eyes, not even bothering to turn to Jane’s direction.

The direct way in which he addresses her sends a bit of heat to your cheeks. Jane is someone you have mutual respect for but, her attitude isn’t your favorite nor is her incessant need to put her nose in everyone’s business.  

“Yes, thank you.” You smile sheepishly, bending down once more to grab a paper bag from beneath your counter, “I’ll put in a few bags of rose hip and peppermint tea free of charge; they help with inflammation. I know you all will be training over the next few weeks so, you should get some use out of it.”

He offers a small smile and bows his head, “Thank you. Uh-” Yoongi turns once again back towards his camp, “Seokjin hasn’t stopped talking about your bread, has he arranged for you to bring more?”

Giggling, you accept his payment, tucking it away beneath the counter and nodding, “Yes. I’ll be by this evening with a new batch.”

“Has he offered any payment? We appreciate the hospitality of course but, I do hope he plans on compensating you for your trouble.”

Waving him off, you shake your head and slide the bag his way, “It’s no trouble at all honestly, I’ve been wanting to hone my baking skills for quite some time so, this just gives me an excuse to do so.”  

He grimaces, “Still, you should be-”

“I really don’t mind Yoongi, I promise. This transaction is going to take care of my family and I for quite some time. Not to mention the fact that you all saved my village A LOT of trouble. Take the free bread.” You insist, smirking slightly and if you aren’t mistaken, you notice a light blush come across his cheeks.

Clearing his throat, he steps back away from your cart, moving the smile off of his lips as best as he can.

He likes the sound of his name on your lips a little more than he cares to admit.  

He needs to get out of this plaza before he smiles at you one more time.  

It’s getting a little out of hand.

“Appreciate it.” He mutters before bowing his head once more, “I suppose I’ll see you this evening then?”

Something flutters around in your stomach, “You will. Thank you again for coming by.”

His mouth fixes over a tight smile as he fashions the bag around his wrist, which is quite delicate for a man of his nature.  

When Yoongi is fully out of earshot, you take a deep breath and begin straightening up your cart, trying to distract your mind from his presence

Jane however, has been foaming at the mouth ever since he shot down her suggestion of a discount and quickly rushes over to you, smacking her hand across your arm.

“Ow! Ok- listen we have got to find another way to greet each other because, you’re going to leave some permanent damage on me one of these days.” You admonish, your brow furrowing as you rub your arm.

She ignores you and leans down, her eyes wide with curiosity, “You ARE going to pursue him aren’t you? He’s clearly interested, did you see the way he smiled?! He was quite literally hanging on every word you said!” She whisper yells, her eyes darting around  

This conversation is giving you deja vu and given your flustered state you don’t necessarily have the capacity to argue with her.

“Maybe he’s just kinder than you all gave him credit for.” You answer coolly, giggling as she tugs frantically at your dress.

“He’s kinder to YOU. He barely gave me a second look.” She insists, sound slightly bitter

You quickly move on, waving over another customer, a smile still on your lips, “Aren’t you happily married Jane? I’m sure your husband looks at you plenty...”

She kisses her teeth and rolls her eyes, “Happily is a loaded word dear. Regardless, my point stays the same. You said you were bringing bread over to him didn’t you? Are you planning on using that chance to further this little bond you two have?”

Its your turn to roll your eyes now, “I plan on using that chance to deliver bread.”

With a grumble, Jane reluctantly returns to her cart as she too has a customer heading her way.

The rest of the day passes easily, which you are quite thankful for given that you’re evening plans are a little out of the ordinary.  

It’s hard to get Yoongi out of your mind but, you really do try, he is just a man after all.

Just an interesting, intelligent, handsome-

“Y/N...” Rachel’s voice drags you out of your train of thought and causes you to quickly shift on the stool towards her.

You went to her house after you day had ended because:

She’s the absolute best

and

She has the better oven

“What? Sorry I was-”

She smirks knowingly, sprinkling flour over the dough on the cutting board, “Just thinking about how you plan on charming the Tiger tonight?”

You’d like to deny it but, she isn’t entirely wrong.

Instead, you just go back to wrapping the current loaf of fresh bread in the same paper you use to wrap you wares back at the market.

The cheese in this batch makes the outside of the bread a little greasy so, you always gift it with some wrapping; it also keeps the bugs away.

“You know- you should come with me. It's your one-way ticket to Jungkook, you only have a few weeks to gain his hand in marriage.” You point out, smirking.

Rachel blushes profusely, “I- well- you know?!?! He really is something.” She stutters, swallowing back a bit of her nerves before continuing, “I don’t know if I can do that. You've seen me in social settings...”

You snort and point in her direction, “I have. You’re great in social settings. We panic- in private- together remember? That’s how we bond.” Clenching your fist to your chest dramatically, you continue with the rest of her concern, “Honestly he’s not that intimidating face to face. He was practically hiding behind in his friend when I was there...”

Jungkook had stood out to you for that specific reason; his demeanor at the plaza would have never lead you to suspect his shy and rather docile nature.  

He certainly was perplexing.

Rachel smiles whimsically, staring off at nothing while she half-heartedly kneads the dough. She then lets out a sigh before giggling at the end of your sentence, “I suppose you’re right. He seems gentle underneath that brawny exterior. He’s so handsome too- and such a high rank for being so young. I’m just a village teacher...”

You smirk again, “Gentle is one way of putting it.” Then you scoff, feeling actual offense at her comment regarding herself. To express your distaste, you throw a piece of dough her way, “Stop that. You are literally the most eligible woman in this entire village. You are an artist, an educator and-” You take a bite out of a spare loaf of bread and shove it in your mouth, relishing in it’s doughy, cheesy texture. “- a damn good baker. Don’t sell yourself short.”

She rolls her eyes playfully, “Oh alright...you’re quite eligible yourself you know! How does it feel to have caught the eye of the Tiger himself, hm????”  

“So you’re coming?” You ask excitedly, bouncing on your stool before promptly looking away in denial, “I have done no such thing. He’s just being friendly to me because I cured his dry skin. Soft hands will change a man let me tell you...”  

“Ohhhh I suppose I will.” She sighs with a shrug to her shoulders, “My curiosity will always get the best of me, for better or worse.” She leans closer to her friend, conspiratorially “we can’t have that Tigers paws TOO soft—don’t do your job TOO well, oh esteemed herbalist.”

“In sickness and in health til death do you part...” You finish with raised brows, before giggling “esteemed and eligible? Now you’re just flattering me. I don’t think he’ll need to come back to my cart at least, I gave him enough salve to last the winter.”

Rachel shoves rounds the counter suddenly, heat blooming on her cheeks as she tries to shove you off the stool, “Oh YOUUUUU!!” She rolls her eyes again, looking at you pointedly, “Regardless of salve, you don’t give yourself enough credit. All jokes aside, Y/N, from what you have told me about your run ins with the general, he seems to appreciate your conversation. I don’t imagine people treat him with such frankness.”

Your laughter increases as you hold onto the counter for dear life, “Hey easy!” Biting your lip, you try to think of the right words to say without giving yourself away, “He’s very interesting. I am- you know, very intrigued by him that’s for sure.”

She lets you off the hook, her own laughter dying down as she returns to her place, “He is fascinating...I am a bit surprised at how different he seems to be from the stories...it raises so many questions like- how did he end up where he is?”

“I don’t know honestly. I kind of feel bad that so many people had him wrong- Seokjin said they don’t get a lot of hospitality due to the rumors about Yoongi.”

Rachel pouts before turning to pull one of the last batches of bread out of the oven. As she tugs the tray out of it’s warm resting place her lips tug up into a smirk “Oh it’s Yoongi now? On a first name basis with the nation’s greatest general I see- that was quick.”  

It’s your eyes that roll this time, heat rushing to the tip of your nose, “That IS his name... I can’t keep calling him Tiger now can I? That would be weird...”

She continues smirking but, her eyes hold a bit of sympathy as she addresses the rest of your sentence, “Seriously though, that breaks my heart for them...he handled that raider with more kindness than he deserved. It makes me wonder how many other rumors are unfounded.”

“Yeah it really surprised me- I was expecting there to be bloodshed...I still can’t believe he just let most of them go. I’ve seen soldiers administer worse punishments for lesser offenses.  

“I suppose you are right. Yoongi seems to be shrouded in mystery, but perhaps you will have a chance to learn more about the man behind the myth?” She suggests, brows rising with her inquiry.

“Typical teacher- rooting for me and all my hopes and dreams.” You tease as the two of you load up the bread into the basket, “Perhaps YOU will have a chance to learn more about the man behind the chest plate hm? Are you all ready to go?”

She smiles, “I will ALWAYS root for you!” And as the two of you begin packing everything up she huffs, blushing once again, “You really won’t stop teasing me, will you?”

“Nope.” You smile cheekily, dodging as she tries to wack you, “I can see it now- you, educating the youth and him- protecting the innocent. It’s a match made in heaven.”  

Rachel offers a shy grin as the two of you head out the door, “A girl can daydream...”

The walk to the camp doesn’t take long but within the short period of time you spend walking, your stomach manages to work itself up into a frenzy.

“Ok- the main tent is the one with the flag on the-” You begin, pointing it out to Rachel but your voice is quickly swallowed as you spot him:

The Tiger aka Yoongi, strolls through the courtyard of their camp towards a group of awaiting recruits in the distance.

He’s wearing crème colored linen pants and a matching peasant blouse, his long white tendrils wrapped up into a bun atop his head. He strides through the grass with confidence, his dark eyes observing his surroundings.

“You were saying?” Rachel eyes you curiously before following your line of sight.

Before she can say anything, you rush to return to your explanation, “Seokjin is the one that I made the arrangements with so, we can deliver these in there.” You gesture to the main tent, swallowing back a bit of nerves.

You don’t see many of Yoongi’s men out in the yard with the exception of Namjoon. He’s sitting on a bench, dressed entirely in red, sketching on a piece of parchment.  

As you ring the bell of the tent, Rachel subconsciously shifts behind you.

“Is that my bread?!” Seokjin yells from inside the tent and after a bit of shuffling, he pushes aside the entrance, a bright smile on his face, “Ugh it is. You are a godsent Y/N...” His head cocks as he sees Rachel standing beside you, “Oh hello, you must be Y/N’s friend. Kim Seokjin, did you assist with this delivery?”

He extends a hand to her warmly and Rachel graciously takes it, smiling softly.

“I did. It’s very nice to meet you. You can call me Rachel...”

He returns her smile, bowing his head, “Rachel- that’s a beautiful name. Thank you for doing this, I haven’t seen these men so energized in quite some time.” Seokjin smirks fondly before his teeth tug at his bottom lip, “Would you two mind joining me in here for a moment? I have a question I’d like to ask you.”

You nod despite your confusion, still in disbelief that you’ve made contact with the nation’s most infamous men.

“Of course.”

Rachel nods politely, following behind you as Seokjin holds the entrance open.  

Your hit with the smell of wood as you enter their tent along with a hint of musk. It’s genuinely surprising that the odor isn’t stronger given that multiple men likely share these quarters. There’s several cots on the floor and mini lanterns adorning the ropes holding the tent together. Supplies, personal belongings and various weapons litter the floor and tabletops and, in one of the cots you spot Jungkook, laying down, shirtless.  

In front of his face sits a book that needs no introduction; a famous military strategy guide written by an ancient legend. Befitting, you think, of course they would have their men brushing up on military technique.  

Your brain also hones in on the man holding the book:

Jungkook is truly beautiful. His chocolate locks reach the base of his neck, disheveled but luxurious whilst his tan and soft features are screwed up in concentration. He doesn’t notice your presence at first but, Rachel certainly notices him.

You can hear her swallow beside you, her face turning bright red as her body subconsciously shifts closer to you.  

Her lips part silently and she tries her best to tear her eyes away from his body. The broadness of his chest and the smooth curves of his stomach is enough to capture your attention as well despite the fact that muscle doesn’t normally warrant a reaction from you.

As you the two of you grow closer to him, his eyes finally flit in your direction and, they grow wide like saucers. Hastily, he throws his book to the side before ripping his blanket off the end of his cot and wrapping it around himself.

“Jungkook-ah, make yourself decent. We have guests. I believe you’ve met Y/N already but, this is her friend Rachel...” Seokjin gestures elegantly to both of you, unbothered and unaware of the lingering tension in the air.

“Yes Hyung-” He mutters and grabs his brown linen shirt off the floor and tugs it over his head. He stands, almost robotically and extends his hand towards her, “Nice to meet you.”

Rachel moves in a similar way, her eyes still widened slightly whilst she takes his hand.

“Hi.” She responds, her voice smaller than usual and it causes Seokjin to quirk his brow at the two of them.

Jungkook visibly swallows, his prominent Adams apple bouncing in his throat as his hand sort of lingers against hers.

“I like your- “ His eyes flit to the top of her head, “ribbon. It’s blue.”

Seokjin smirks knowingly at the two of them now and he opens his mouth to break the tension before Rachel speaks up.

“Thanks!” She says a bit too loudly before swallowing the volume a bit, “I like your shirt. It’s very brown- a nice brown.”

Jungkook offers a tiny smile, dropping her hand reluctantly and before their encounter can continue, Seokjin speaks up.

“Uh ok, hooray for first meetings hm?” He nods to the exit of the tent, “Jungkook, I believe Yoongi was looking for you. He needs an assistant for today’s training session.”

Jungkook immediately perks up, nodding in excitement, “Yes hyung.” He pivots towards his cot to collect his armor but turns around once more to glance at Rachel, “Nice meeting you.”

“You too.” She practically squeaks, raising a hand in farewell.

Jungkook’s teeth peek out as he grins before he grabs his armor and practically sprints out of the tent.

Seokjin chuckles warmly and shakes his head before gesturing to the wooden table towards the back of the tent, “You are welcome to have a seat here, this should only take a moment.”

You each take your places at the table, illuminated by the lantern hanging above you.

Seokjin rounds the corner to sit across from you, his prince-like features tightening with a bit seriousness.

“As I said- this will be quick.” He assures you, licking his lips and lowering his voice a bit, “I was speaking with Yoongi earlier today and, he mentioned something that made me quite curious. He relayed a bit of your conversation with him-” He looks at you, “-he said that you told him that raiders were a common occurrence in your region, is that correct?”

You take his lead and lower your voice as well, glancing at Rachel before answering, “Yes. The number of raids has been increasing recently over the last few months actually.”

“I see. Do you have any idea as to why that may be?”

“I mean- our village is known for negotiating with raider clans.” You offer,” Our leaders feel as though it prevents violence.”

His brows quirk, hands clasping on the top of the table, “Has that method been effective so far?”

You look to Rachel for her insight and she tilts her head, considering the question, before she nods in approval which causes you to follow suit.

“I guess so. We have a specific strategy but, we are equipped with defenses as well.”  

Seokjin nods, his brows knitting together in thought. His plush lips part for a moment as he contemplates his next response, uncertainty written all over his face.

“Have either of you noticed any similarities between the clans? Anything at all- clothing, weaponry, language?”  

Your immediate response is to shake your head.

When a raid is occurring, you don’t necessarily have time to observe your intruders; safety is the only thing on your mind.

Rachel however, has noticed a similarity.

“There is one thing I’ve started to notice actually-” She begins, “They all seem to have a similar strategy. When they arrive, they encircle the town first before working their way inwards. It takes them a very long time to reach the center of the village, which is where we wait for them. It’s very strange actually, the center plaza contains most of our valuables- it's almost as if they are trying to take over in a way. However, they always end up leaving after negotiations and, I’ve never seen the same faces twice.”

Now that she mentions it, you recall that similarity as well.  

They do deploy the same tactic but, you just assumed that it’s the most effective way to get the most out of their raid.

Perhaps that isn’t their only intention.

Your stomach shrinks at the thought as you try to push it out of your head.

Seokjin’s features twitch with a bit of unease but, he composes himself quickly and smiles.

“Thank you. I’ll pass that along to Yoongi and see what he thinks of it.” He takes a deep breath, “We really appreciate your cooperation. As I mentioned to you the other day, it’s not very often that we are able to communicate with civilians and it makes our job a lot easier if we have insight from people who actually live in the territories we try to protect.” He eyes you both with a bit of hesitation then, as if he’s contemplating something, “If you wouldn't mind spreading the word that we aren’t a group of vicious demi-gods that would be great. As fun as the legends are, they can be a hinderance to our work...”  

You and Rachel nod in understanding, chuckling lightly at his word usage as the three of you stand.

“I’ll pass along the information. Thank you for having us.” You smile, bowing your head.

Rachel follows suit and, subconsciously her eyes drift to Jungkook’s cot, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Seokjin.

“We appreciate having you very much.” He smirks as his eyes flit to Rachel, “Both of you. I think you should come along with Y/N for future deliveries Rachel, I’m sure Jungkook would enjoy that.”

Comically, Rachel’s eyes widen a bit as she aggressively clears her throat, frantically looking away from Jungkook’s cot.

“What? Why would he? Wh-What do you mean?” She stutters which causes you to giggle fondly at your friend.

Taking her hand, you squeeze it gently and address Seokjin’s request, “Oh she’ll be back, don’t you worry.”

He chuckles and gestures to the door, “I look forward to it. I’ll walk you two out, I hope you have a good rest of your day.”

Rachel mutters something inaudible by your side, towing behind you reluctantly.

After your departure from the tent and a bit of friendly verbal sparring between you and Rachel, you separate to finish the remainder of your day.

That evening, you decide to go against your parent’s judgements and journey to the river once again.

As beautiful as it is in the daylight, the moon provides a rendition unlike any other. She casts her glow on the water like the mother of all spotlights, dancing across the surface with ease.  

The truth is, you often sneak out after your parent’s have fallen asleep to find solace in the atmosphere of there. It’s almost magical and you feel as though you can think clearly here.  

You always bring your wicker basket along as well so you can collect any herbs or ingredients you may need.

It’s a necessity to switch off between plants though and ensure that you aren’t depleting the rivers natural resources too much; a practice you are continuously getting better at.  

The river carries it’s usual orchestra of sounds along with a bit more whistling in the trees.

It’s mating season for the birds here and they are singing to one another in hopes of finding a lover.

You giggle to yourself and think of what the world would be like if humans implied a similar method of finding a partner.

“Should I be concerned that you’re out here alone, laughing to yourself?”

The voice instantly sends energy up your back and you whip your head around to find Yoongi standing a few yards behind you.

He looks a bit worn out, likely from all the work he’s been doing with the new recruits but, his beauty overwhelms you regardless.

The moonlight casts shadows on his face, his mouth pulled up in a smirk, his hair tied back once again into a ponytail.

He’s wearing a set of clean clothes, a white linen top with brown pants, his sword strapped loyally to his hip.

You imagine he never travels without it.

“Should I be concerned that you’re stalking me?” You retort trying to control the smile that crosses over your face.

He smirks, his hand coming up to rub behind his neck, “I’m not stalking you. I’m patrolling the perimeter, common military practice. You just so happen to be along the perimeter.”

“The perimeter is one the other side of the river, there is a path just through those trees over there-” You point to a group of trees to the left of you, “So technically, you’re not walking the ENTIRE perimeter.”

Yoongi smirks broadens enough for his teeth to peak out as he nods, impressed by your knowledge, “Fair enough.” He nods to the river behind you, “I like walking through here, it’s peaceful.”

You can’t help but return a smile of your own as you nod, “It is. I don’t blame you for taking a detour, even if it was to scare the lights out of me again.”

He chuckles, “Are you out here often?”

“Very.” You nod, “This place serves multiple purposes.”

“Oh does it? What purposes are those?”

“Well, I get most of my ingredients from the river or the surrounding forest so, it’s vital to my work and,” You gesture to the space around your head, “It’s the perfect location to contemplate my existence, the meaning of life, the secrets of the universe- you know, stuff like that.”

Yoongi’s expression grows very amused then, his tongue poking out between his lips before he laughs again, “Ah yes- that stuff. Has the river provided you with any answers?”

“Oh yeah- plenty but you know, the answers only lead to more questions. It’s a vicious cycle.” You quip, giggling a bit and feeling very comfortable in his presence.

There is magnetism between the two of you.

It’s something you’ve never felt before.

And deep down within your heart, you hope he feels it too.

He steps towards you subconsciously, glancing towards the moon and then back at you, “I know that cycle very well. Have you found anything worth sharing? My job doesn’t exactly allow me to indulge in philosophy very often, I’d welcome any of your insight.”

It’s perplexing that a famous General would care to know your thoughts regarding the best eateries in your village let alone, for him to care about your philosophy.

It’s incredibly odd.  

You've always been a fan of oddities though so, you don’t think as much of it as you should.

“You’d have to be a little more specific, I don’t think you’d want to sit here whilst I prattle on about the complexities of the universe.” You laugh

He bites his lip in contemplation, his gaze on you softening significantly, “I wouldn’t be so sure...” Yoongi murmurs and the way he looks at you sends your heart on a marathon, “But I see your point; what do you think of the war?”

Taking a deep breath, you attempt to compose yourself and your thoughts in order to accurately address his question.

“I understand it to a certain extent. Historically speaking, humans have consistently risen in opposition of one another for whatever reason. Peace seems impossible at times. With so many selfish people rising to power, it almost incentivizes that kind of behavior. It’s rewarded. Peace is only possible when you restrict the empowerment of those who act within their own self-interest. The cycle always continues though so, war is inevitable.” You speak softly, taking your eyes off of Yoongi for a moment to focus on your choice of words.  

His dark eyes seem to glimmer with fascination as he nods along to your response, the two of you shifting closer to one another.

Unintentionally, of course.

“How should we restrict the empowerment of those individuals?” He licks his lips as his eyes narrow in curiosity, “Do you think there is a way to do that?”

Chewing on your cheek, you consider his question before letting out a sigh, “The power would have to return to the masses. I think the idea that humanity needs finite leadership isn’t completely accurate. Snuffing out corruption is difficult though, especially since it’s already been let loose. I guess there isn’t a linear path but, I’d like to believe it’s possible.”

He smiles, “So would I. My profession wouldn’t really imply that though would it?”

Your hands play with the fabric of your dress to distract from how close the two of you are as you swallow back the instability of your breath.

“I think it does actually. You aren’t tasked with the corrupt objectives; your job is to defend against it.”  

A grimace comes over his face, “I still engage in violence.”

“You do.” You agree, your hands lowering to clasp in front of you, “There is a difference between you and your enemy though isn’t there?”

Yoongi is truly hanging on every word you say, eager to hear the soft twinkle of your voice, eager to understand your mind.

“There is.” He answers tightly, glancing down your hands, “Violence isn’t our objective.”

You notice his gaze on your hands and it causes you to look at his own; they look softer than you remember, which you hope you can take partial credit for.

Amused, you watch as he clasps and unclasps them unknowingly, his nerves starting to creep up inside his head.

“What is your objective?” You ask, smiling softly at him

He bites his bottom lip, nodding as he understands where you’re headed, “Defending the innocent.”

“In times of war, peace also requires an army...” You conclude, hoping to comfort him in some way.

He smiles again but, he doesn’t look up at you, his gaze transfixed upon your fingers, “You should consider becoming an advisor of some sort.”

Your head tilts, your heart rate going crazy in your chest but, your curiosity and it’s need to be sated override your need to be proper.

“Why do you keep looking at my hands?”

He still doesn’t look up but he does blush, nervous laughter emanating from his lips, “Because I want to hold them...”

At his confession, he looks up at you longing, his throat bobbing as he swallows and tries to discern your reaction.

Without thinking you unfurl your fingers and turn your palms so they are facing towards the sky, slightly embarrassed by the way that they shake.

“Then hold them.”

Yoongi’s eyes widen momentarily, shooting down at your upturned palms before he slowly, almost agonizingly places his own shaking hands atop yours.

Simultaneously, the two of you intertwine your fingers, feeling the erratic pulse of one another.

“It’s good to know that my heart isn't the only one that’s pounding.”

Nervously, you giggle and nod rapidly, “Definitely. I thought I was the only one...”

He chuckles in response, stepping towards you a little more so you can feel the heat coming off of his body.

The two of you stand there in silence, enjoying the feeling of one another and the simplicity of the act you’re performing.

Words fall short on your tongue because, you are truly in awe of the way you feel and, part of you worries that you’re actually dreaming.  

A shout nearby, coming from one of your fellow villagers rips the two of you out of your moment as Yoongi suddenly remembers why he came this way in the first place.  

He drops your hands and steps back, feeling slightly regretful that he let go of you so abruptly.

“I’m sorry.” He clears his throat, looking back towards the voice before gesturing to the forest, “I should go- my men will come looking for me if I’m gone too long.”

Quickly, you nod in understanding, stepping a few inches back, “Of course. Thank you for the talk- it was-”

“I’d like to come by the river more often while I’m here- if that’s alright with you.” He interrupts you, his voice a little shaky as he clears his throat again.

Knowingly, you grin, “I don’t own the river Yoongi...”

Your quip breaks the bit of tension between you and he chuckles, his hands adjusting his clothes unnecessarily.

“I’m aware, Ms. Apothecary. I was just implying that-”

You interrupt him now with a smirk rushing to your lips, “You were implying that we should cross paths again.”

Yoongi bites his lip, cheeks the color of summer roses, “Yes.”

“I think we should too.”

This makes him smile and for a moment, he looks like a young man, completely rid of any burdens.

It’s a good look.

“Are you ok to walk back on your own?”  

You want to tell him no but, the light from the main street is yards away and after that, your home is only 5 minutes by foot.

“Yes.” You nod to the forest behind him, “Are you ok to walk on your own?”

He rolls his eyes before chuckling, patting the sword at his hip, “I’ll manage.”

With one last parting smile, the two of you begin to go your separate ways.

Tonight, each of your minds would be filled thoughts of one another and if you were lucky, you’d cross each others path while you sleep.

One could only hope.

“Goodnight Y/N.”

“Goodnight General Min.”

[venactricisfics]

Malibu Desert

It hurts like hell.

Tags: @wonderlust75 @sickofbitches @lexiibishop @noz4a2 @just1bri @redwolfs-world @queenbeered

Master List

Twenty-One

I could feel the spinning of the lights in my head as we finally made it to the hospital. It hurt. I don’t know what I expected a gunshot to feel like. But imagining and knowing are so far apart. The pain let me know I was still living.

“How the fuck did this happen?” I could hear Bishop talking to someone in the room.

“It was an fucking ambush,” Hank’s voice answered. “How’s she doing?”

“Bullet went through. Lost a lot of blood,” Bishop answered, “but she’s strong. They said she should be coming around soon.”

I groan feeling the pain still shooting through my shoulder as I start to sit up, “It hurts like a son of a bitch.”

“You were fucking shot, Hermana,” Hank says, “I’ll get a nurse, then go check on Riz and Coco.” He stands and heads out of the room.

“What happened to Coco?” I ask weakly.

“The explosion,” Bishop answered, “his eyes got fucked up. Angel and Gilly are with him now.”

“And Riz?” my eyes search his.

“Just came out of surgery,” he replied. “Rest now.”

“I just want to go home,” I look past him at the nurse, “when can I go home?”

“Should be able to go home today,” she says, “Doctor will be in here soon to confirm.” She hands me a cup with pain pills and a cup of water, “Those should help. You can arrange physical therapy with the medical center in Santo Padre.”

An hour later, I’m fitted in a sling and sitting in a wheelchair. A clear plastic bag in my lap holding my bloody clothes and broken heels. “They were my favorite pair,” I looked back at Bishop who was pushing my chair to the lobby where the rest of the Mayans were waiting. I give a nod to Coco sitting in his own chair.

“I’m sitting down with the Kings in the morning,” Bishop says.

Coco looks up, “Why? This is a charter play.” I knew what that meant.

“The deal with Charming affects the whole MC,” Bishop responds.

“They fucking ambushed us,” Gilly’s voice getting louder behind Coco. “After a fucking sit down.”

“I know,” Bishop said. I could see the turmoil in his face as he looked from Coco to me and the rest of the Mayans. The right thing. The right thing for his guys, the club, for me wasn’t an easy thing.

“Let’s get home,” Hank stated, “Get some rest. Put this on the table tomorrow.”

“Creep and I will stay with Riz,” Taza says.

“Keep me in the loop,” I look up at him, “he saved me.”

“Of course,” he leans down and gives me a peck on the cheek, “Anyone of us would have done the same, cariño.” I knew it. Riz proved it.

“Let’s get the fuck outta here,” Bishop stated, then pushes my chair out the front door to the van waiting outside. I settled behind Gilly who was driving us back letting Coco ride shotgun. The ride back was silent. Anger clung to the air. It was raw and it was real. I couldn’t shake the image of El Palo’s eyes as they stared at me before he pulled the trigger. He never met me before that day and he hated me.

“Hey, we’re here,” Gilly called back to me. The van door slid open and EZ grabbed my bags and Angel took my hand and helped me down. I was groggy from the drugs but I could still feel the pain in my shoulder.

“I’ll drive you home tomorrow,” Bishop led me up the steps and down the hall to the dorm, “the Kings will be here early.” I take a seat on the bed. I tried not to think about how many cum stains were on the mattress. I was exhausted.

“I have to call the Irish,” I grumbled as Bishop helped me off with my shoes. “Whatever I tell them will change what goes on with Charming and with you.”

“I know, querida,” he kissed my forehead and pulled back the blanket, and tucked me under. “I can’t tell you how to land on that shit. We gotta figure out the best call for all of us.”

I woke the next morning to the piercing ring of my phone, I cried out in pain as I remembered my shoulder had a fucking whole-blown in it. Bishop had already gotten dressed and was likely at the table. Figuring out what to do about the VM.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Are ya alright, lass?” the thick Irish accent of Declan Brogan asked. “Chibs told us what happened at the meeting last night.”

“I’ll be ok,” I winced as I placed my arm back in the sling, then down the pills, Bishop left on the nightstand. “Is there any other way to keep the business going without that new partner?”

“I’ve put it to Chibs to find another way, but the fucking Mexicans fucked this up,” he responded, “never trusted them.”

“You never trust anyone that has a deeper tan than off-white,” I shuffle to my feet. “I can’t see the Mayans' answer to what happened being anything but retaliation.”

“Aye,” he replied, “if they don’t we will.”

“And that will cause everything to fall the fuck apart,” I wasn’t sure what to do. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

I never realized how hard it was doing things with one hand. I washed up in the bathroom and struggled to change my shirt and slide my pants up over my hips. Fortunately, I found yoga pants and one of Bishop’s black tanks stashed here. I look up as I hear a knock on the door.

“Yo, Malibu,” Angel saunters in, “Bish sent me to see if you needed any help.”

“I got the front bandage changed,” I said, “just need help with the back. My bra is hooked all wonky, can you fix that? And tying my shoes. How are your ponytail skills?”

“You’re asking for a lot,” he said, taking the sterile bandage from the table and then sat behind me on the bed.

“You saying you can’t handle it?” I flinch a little as his hand touches my back gently. Angel changed the bandage expertly. I was almost shocked.

“Na, just used to taking bras off not putting them on,” he fumbles, fixing the hooks, “I am a pro at that too.” Proud of himself he pulls the back of my shirt back down. He ties my sneakers and takes my hairbrush from me and brushes the tangles from my hair.

“I’m surprised,” I smooth my hair with my only available hand. “Thank you.”

“You scared us last night, Malibu,” Angel’s voice didn’t have the same tone as normal. “Can’t have you getting killed.”

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time someone shoots at me,” I offer a smile and walk with him down the hall. Gilly slides a chair out for me and sets a beer on the table in front of me. “Bishop?”

“The kings,” he points to the stained glass door.

“How are you feeling?” I asked Coco. He looked out of it. Wasn’t sure if it was the pain or the anger that gave him that look.

“Fucked,” he replied and took another drag from his cigarette. I nodded. I didn’t know his exact diagnosis but I did know that if his eyesight didn’t improve he couldn’t ride. If he couldn’t ride he couldn’t wear a patch. And for him the patch was everything. Coco’s family outside of the MC was beyond fucked up.

I turn, watching the kings and their crew file out of the stained glass door. I met Bishop’s troubled eyes with my own. The weight of things. Whatever decision either of us made would fuck things up for someone else.

“They heading out?” Gilly asked as the clubhouse door closed behind the other kings.

“They’re staying at Vicki’s until we sort this out,” Hank answered.

“What’s to sort out?” Coco inquired.

“You’re a smart man, Coco,” Bishop stated. “You know what’s at stake here.”

“Yeah,” he replied, “My fucking eyesight. It don’t get better I may never fucking ride again.”

Bishop looked at me then back to Coco, “We’re looking at millions of dollars in gun revenue for the entire Mayan organization.”

“So the CEOs of the Mayans Incorporated are deciding what’s best huh?” Coco’s one eye narrowed as he stood, “I hope y’all came up with a medical plan cause I’m gonna fucking need it.” Then storms out the front door.

“I’ll stay close,” Gilly followed after him. Bishop nodded and paced the floor. After asking Hank to reach out to Alverez, he looked at me. I could see the weariness in his eyes. He hadn’t slept since we got back. He carried it all with him. Coco, Riz, me. He bore that weight on his shoulders.

I stand following Bishop to a corner table. “I’m here, babe,” I tell him, my hand laying over his, “whatever you need.”

“I know, querida,” he kissed my temple, “I know.” I should have told him what Declan said but I couldn’t lay another burden on him. Not now. Not until they decided.

---

I sit at the table alone nursing a beer, watching the stained glass again. I lost count of the minutes that I’d waited for a club decision for anything. This time Bishop was getting council from Marcus. Bishop needed that guiding hand. That family connection to point him in the right direction. Or to encourage him to forge his own path. He was after all a king in his own right.

“I can take you to Vicki’s if you’d like,” Hank said when he exited the room.

“I’ll wait for Bishop,” I give him a smile, “has he eaten anything?”

“Have you?” he responded.

“I’m supposed to take care of you,” I tell him.

“And we’re supposed to take care of you, cariño,” he said, “if something worse than this,” he points to my sling, “had happened to you, it would break him.”

I nodded, “If anything happened to him,” I look at the big biker, “well I’m just hoping you don’t let me find out what would happen without him.”

I stood up when the stained glass slides open again and Marcus and Bishop walk out of Templo. “We’ll have to meet sometime when someone hasn’t just tried to kill me,” I give the former biker a peck on the cheek.

“When this is all settled,” he replied, “I’ll have my wife give you a call and we’ll have dinner or something.” He glances back at Bishop with a nod, “Primo.” Then left through the front door.

The Mayans dropped their phones in the basket outside the stained glass door, I watch as it closed behind them. The vote for payback. The pain in my shoulder wanted fucking vengeance, for myself, for Coco, and for Riz. But I knew that the deal with the VM was the one thing that kept the Irish guns in the hands of the Mayans.

I took a sip from my Diet Coke feeling every tick of the clock pulsing through my vein. The pain, stress of the wrong decision. I jump at the sound of the door being forcefully slung open and Coco storming out muttering curses in Spanish I didn’t understand. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or upset at the ‘No Vengeance’ vote.

I waited, watching as each man came out of Templo, none of them seemed fully satisfied with the vote but they knew it was the best thing for the club. Bishop slides the chair out beside mine and stuffs a cigarette between his lips. He doesn’t say a word for a long time. He doesn’t have to, I can feel how heavy the crown had become.

“If I didn’t have to think about the entire fucking club,” he said resting his hand on mine, “I’d kill every last one of those motherfuckers.”

“I know,” I replied. “It’ll work itself out.” I didn’t have a chance to tell him what Declan said to me this morning. The Vatos would be dead for what happened. By Mayan King or Irish.

I give his hand a gentle squeeze, preparing the words, to let him know that the deal would be dead no matter what. “Bishop…” I’m interrupted by the vibration of his phone.

“Shit,” Bishop said softly to his caller. “I’ll let them know.” His chair scrapes the floor as he stands. “Riz didn’t make it. Just spoke to Taza. He died about fifteen minutes ago. The vote is null and void,” he watches the faces of his men, “We’re going to war.”

---

Neither of us slept very well. How do you sleep when the person who saved your life lost his in the process?

“Can you stay with Vicki until we figure this shit out?” he asked as he helps me get dressed. “I won’t be able to help you. And she can use someone to be there with her.”

“Yeah,” I place my arm in the sling after smoothing my shirt down. “I can do that. Do you need help with anything else?”

“No, mi Amor,” he pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, “just for this shit to be done.”

He carries my overnight bag and places it in the back seat of my SUV, then helps me in the passenger’s seat. We rode in silence across the desert road to Vicki’s. Bikes were lined up, the club had already arrived.

“You need anything,” Bishop told Vicki, “don’t hesitate…” Vicki sobbed her acknowledgment then buried her face again in Taza’s chest. I didn’t speak enough Spanish to make out exactly what she said, but I could feel Vicki’s pain. Her heart was crumbling in pieces.

“Riz was her only family this side of the border,” Gilly said. I nod looking for something to do someway to help but there was nothing. And every inch of the place had a biker standing in it.

“Sit down, Princesa irlandesa,” Oso Ramos said to me. “You’re trying to do too much.”

“And you’re not trying to do enough,” I said back. I saw them circling Bishop like vultures. I knew they were trying to convince him to change his decision. “How many casualties do you think would justify it? Would you have a different view if the dead Mayan had an Oakland flash?”

“This is not the fucking time or /your/ place,” Ramos responded.

“I guess it’s not,” I stormed off, running smack into Angel’s chest as I head into the kitchen.

“Watch where you’re going, Malibu,” he said.

“Get out of my fucking way,” I responded. I needed out and Angel was blocking my escape. After I had a clear head. I sat down at the kitchen table and pull a cigarette out of an abandoned pack, I place it between my lips and flick a lighter, leaning into the flame. The burn of the smoke as I inhaled was soothing. I was able to focus again.

“Thought you didn’t smoke,” Angel said behind me.

“I don’t,” I inhale again flicking the ash in the tray. I wanted to wipe the tears from my face but I had no free hands. “Sorry about before.” He nodded then pulled a chair out to sit beside me, lighting a cigarette of his own.

“I didn’t know Riz well,” I said, “I know he liked to sing softly to himself in Spanish when he was working on his bike in the garage. I know he kept an arrowhead in the pocket of his kutte with his cigarettes. And I know that even though he didn’t really know me,” I sniffed, “he dove in front of a bullet to save my life.” I could feel the tears start pouring down my face. I couldn’t hold back the sobs. Angel wrapped his arms around my shoulders and let me cry. I let out everything I’d been holding in over the last several days.

“You’re snotting all over my shirt, Malibu,” he said.

“It’s fucking ugly anyway,” I responded.

[sxvxrxssnape]

Snolidays/Snapemas Day 3+4

Gift Shopping & Ornaments & Smile & Snow // pre-PS/the years between. Minerva and Severus friendship aka Minerva McGonagall’s personal mission to make Severus love Christmas part 3 aka min and sev’s shopping adventures: diagon alley edition ft. emotional disaster sev 

“Don’t forget, final essays are due next week!” Severus reminded his classroom of sixth year students as they cleaned up their work tables. “You’ve had three weeks to write them and I expect them all to be turned in.” He attempted to glare at the class, but no one paid him any mind.

Students exited his classroom in small groups of two and three, huddled together and laughing over meaningless jokes and plans for the afternoon. 

“Hold up, this classroom is still a mess! You’re NEWT students, for Merlin’s sake, you should know better than to leave things like this!” He tried to call them back, but he was speaking to an empty classroom.

He sighed. 

Being a professor at twenty-five was a fucking joke when no one took him seriously enough to respect him as an authority figure. It happened primarily with the older students, but even some of the other professors treated him as if he were still a student. Minerva seemed to be the only one who really saw him as a colleague and even she had her moments. 

What was he supposed to do? Practice making scary faces in the mirror until he perfected the disappointed eyebrow raise and scowl? Assign more detentions? He’d thought dressing the part would make him look more authoritative, but now he wondered if he simply looked like a child playing dress-up when he walked around in the stupid teaching robes Narcissa Malfoy had helped him purchase.

Another sigh, but this one was shaky. 

He surveyed the room and got to work, shutting drawers and cabinet doors. He double-checked the supply closet before locking it and levitated the abandoned cauldrons to the wash basin with the others, where they would wait for whichever unfortunate student had managed to get a detention from him that day. Idly, he wondered if he should ask Argus to monitor the night’s detention or if they would return in time.

He shook his head; he was running late. 

Locking his classroom, he hurried into his office and shrugged out of his ridiculous teaching robes. They were nice and he loved the black stitch detailing, but he felt out of place when he wore them. He felt like, well, like a swot. He had other robes as well, namely faded grey work robes that he wore when he brewed potions for the infirmary, but they didn’t make him feel powerful or deserving of respect. These did, at least, so pretentious purple teaching robes it was. 

He hung them up and took in the small room that had become his safe haven between classes over the years. It was a bit off a mess, but aside from his personal quarters, this was the only other place in the castle that really belonged to him. It was his space, from the still-steaming teacup of darjeeling - courtesy of a modified warming charm - waiting on his desk to the old copies of The Potioneer’s Journal stacked on the floor. There were four different books on his desk, two splayed out, hidden underneath a pile of assignments that still needed to be graded and about two dozen more scattered throughout the stone room. 

He considered tidying up a little before he left, maybe watering his rather sad looking peppermint plant and organizing the scrolls of parchment.  The mantle and bookshelf looked as if it needed a good dusting as well. This office was an extension of himself, was it not? 

Minerva was waiting for him, he reminded himself.

But what if a student came calling, hoping for assistance? For Merlin’s sake, he was the head of Slytherin (and how the bloody hell that happened, he still had no idea), he couldn’t just leave and traipse around the wizarding world as if he had no other responsibilities! What if something happened to one of his snakes and they needed him? He had a job! What part of in loco parentis was he not - 

He was stalling.

He was absolutely stalling. 

(And it had nothing with his position and everything to do with going to Diagon Alley). 

He forced himself to take a deep breath. His Slytherins would be fine and even if something happened, they still wouldn’t come to him for help because he still looked like a seventh year - and a socially uncomfortable, paranoia-fueled mess of one, at that. Merlin give him strength if the day ever came where he actually needed to take charge. 

At least he hadn’t stuttered anymore after his very first class. That had been a right disaster and he hated that the second years who got to experience that moment would still be attending Hogwarts for another bloody year. 

It took a few more deep breaths before he could convince himself to leave. He glanced down, decided that the black trousers and black jumper he’d pulled on from the pile of clothing that resided on his bedroom floor were clean enough for public wear, and grabbed his scarf. It was hand knitted and pale blue and alright a little wonky, but one of his snakes had given it to him and maybe he was a little sentimental over the physical proof that some of them liked him. 

He summoned his winter cloak (and he had to rummage around his desk for the silver cloak pin he might have used to stab through a particularly abysmal homework assignment) and the dragonhide satchel he knew some of the students found him hilarious for carrying around, but what was he supposed to use? His robe pockets? Then it would be obvious he was casting unsanctioned extension charms on his things. 

Definitely running late now, he headed upstairs and ran into Minerva on the stairs, who’d clearly been en route to retrieve him. 

“Well, it’s about time.” she huffed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it was dark out already.” The words didn’t match her tone - gentle, and maybe a little concerned - and it turned his anxiety brittle. He didn’t need to be coddled. 

“I was talking to a student.” he lied smoothly, adjusting his cloak so it felt more secure - made him feel more secure - and opened the front door. 

“How was your class?”she asked mildly, as they stepped over the remnants of dirty, half-melted snow and made their way to the wrought iron gate. 

He scowled and stared up at the sky, noting how overcast it was. “Frustrating.” he admitted, because Minerva was the only person he would ever admit that to. “It’s hard to believe they’re sixth years, for all they pay attention and listen to me.” 

“They’re probably just excited for the coming break.” 

“The first years are excited for the break and they behave far better than my NEWT students.” Severus’ scowl deepened. “I hate their class.”

“Just their class?” Minerva asked, glancing at him with a raised eyebrow. 

He took a moment to contemplate that. “No, but theirs especially.” he decided. “The fourth years and under take me seriously, but the others - I’ve got seventh year Slytherins who will go to you before they come to me!”

“So the ones who’ve only known you to be their professor?”

Severus stopped. “You have a point.”

“Look at it this way,” Minerva smirked, “just three more years and they’ll all take you seriously. Besides, you are young. I’m sure you still have a little more growing to do, dear.”

“Don’t make me hex you.”

“You’ll lose.” Minerva replied simply. 

They apparated directly into Diagon Alley once they cleared the wards, appearing in the courtyard between Gringotts and The Leaky Cauldron. Daylight was beginning to dim, the late afternoon sky fading languidly into the cool tones of winter’s night, and the shopping district was quiet. 

There were only a handful of wizards walking about, making their way between the brightly colored shops and market stalls. The Alley had prepared for the holidays as well, with their decorated storefronts and the oversized Christmas tree standing tall in the center of the plaza, adorned with hundreds of ornaments and a dizzying amount of silver tinsel. There was no snow on this side of the United Kingdom though, and against the bare, wet cobblestone streets, Diagon Alley didn’t look like rows of icing-coated gingerbread houses. 

“Let’s get this over with, then.”

Minerva was watching him carefully and he offered a smile that felt more like a grimace. He didn’t hate shopping for others, but that rebellious part of him was - once again - determined to complain and make a scene. He hated that part of him, felt like he was pushing away the only person who made an effort to see him as a person and not, well, everything else he was. Traumatized child, former student, former Death Eater, child professor, take your bloody pick. 

He tried for genuine excitement, for her sake.

Their first stop was a nearby coffee stall and once again, they purchased paper cups of hot coffee with peppermint and chocolate sauce. His mood brightened when he noticed these came with whipped cream and chocolate curls. They spent nearly an hour browsing through the nearby shops and market stalls before he finally relaxed enough to stop looking over his shoulder - there was no one around but very few harried shoppers and the occasional bellringer.

They were inside of Wiseacre’s, fiddling with the selection of crystal balls and reading their futures, when Severus laughed - genuinely laughed - for the first time since they had arrived in London. 

Minerva cracked a grin at that before she schooled her face into something more severe. “Don’t laugh!” she admonished, rubbing her hands over the glass sphere. “I’m only telling you what it said: you will get everything you’ve ever wanted, through your looks and charm.”

“I’m sure you will.”

She huffed and tried a different one. “A new voyage will fill your life with untold memories.”

“Now that one sounds like a fortune cookie.”

“You try then.”

Severus shrugged and took the proffered ball. He ran his hands over the joke of a crystal ball and watched as it filled with smoke, turning warm and tingly beneath his fingertips. Tiny print appeared in a golden, curling font: “Your shoes will make you very happy today.”

He looked up and made eye contact with Minerva, exhaling the barest hint of another laugh as he thought of the puddles of slush they had walked through to leave Hogwarts and the impervious charm casted on his boots. He supposed it wasn’t too far off. 

Another crystal ball caught his eye and he reached for it. It was clearly another counterfeit, but the stand it rested on seemed genuine enough - heavy and silver-plated. Three crescent moons gather to keep the crystal ball in place, the empty spaces between them interlaced with deep blue sapphires and hand carved runes. 

He studied the runes for a moment, fairly certain they were a protection spell. “I think I’ll get this.” he announced, holding up the stand. He took the faux ball in his other hand, getting distracted when it filled with smoke and offered him another fortune: an unexpected acquaintance will resurface. 

“For Sybill?” Minerva asked, half-paying attention as she thumbed through a collection of star charts. She looked up when she didn’t receive an answer. “Severus?”

Severus was scowling down at the fortune (although it felt more like a warning) and set it down amongst the others. He didn’t put merit in fortune-telling, let alone crystal balls that sold for less than six galleons and were meant for children. “For Sybill.” he nodded, walking away from the merchandise. He absolutely wasn’t thinking about boots and his paranoia of running into old friends that increased tenfold whenever he left the castle’s wards and how fortune-telling was the only reason he’d made rank within the Death Eaters in the first place. 

The stand ended up costing him three galleons, which was more than he’d hope to spend on all of his gifts, but there’s a guilt that gnawed at him whenever he thought about Sybill Trewlaney and his time as a Death Eater at the same time; namely, how a conversation he’d had with the Dark Lord had nearly gotten her killed and it was enough to override his desire to shop frugally. 

Minerva purchased a pendant for Aurora: frail lines of silver connected to tiny stars, making up constellations that changed with the position of the planets. It was beautiful and he wished he had seen it first, but he also knew Aurora liked reading romantic murder mysteries and he could think of a few titles she’d likely enjoy.

Not that he read romantic murder mysteries.

At all. 

They left the wizarding equipment shop and continued with their browsing. The outdoor stalls were being illuminated by floating orbs now and warming charms had been cast over the next huddle of tables they approached. 

Severus was studying a display of cloak pins when Minerva called his name. 

He glanced over at her and found her holding up a box full of  ornaments - red, green, and silver baubles with gold flakes that changed color - and a tiny, but determined-looking pewter witch mounted on a broomstick that was meant to fly around the tree. 

“We’re getting these.” 

“We are?” Severus asked, moving closer to rifle through the table she had grabbed them from. He grinned as he found a box of potion phials, brightly painted and stoppered to keep the glitter water inside from spilling out. “This is entirely inaccurate.” he sniffed, but he was still smiling like an idiot because of course he was nerdy enough to find potion bottle ornaments delightful. “Amortentia is definitely not pink and if someone ever hands you a Sleeping Draught that sparkles, they need to be arrested for attempted murder.”

Minerva laughed and they paid for the three boxes of ornaments and two white-fur trimmed stockings because Min had insisted they were a decorating requirement, but that they would need to purchase two because hers matched Elphinstone’s and she wasn’t quite ready to hang it up when she knew they were meant to be a pair. 

The mood dampened a little after that admission and Severus found himself floundering. He didn’t know if he was meant to comfort her or how to even do it, so he grabbed the cloak pin he had been watching, a little bronze frog that leapt from its post and perched on your shoulder - absolutely useless as a fastener, but perfect for a distraction and invoking a smile - and claimed it was the ideal gift for Albus. 

“It even looks like a chocolate frog.” he finished, handing the vendor fifteen sickles in exchange for the now-boxed-up pin. “He’s going to love it.”

Minerva’s faint smile was soft. “He will.” 

They parted ways for the first time when they reached the bookshop. Minerva had something she wanted to get at Twilfit and Tattings and Severus waved her off, eager to finally enter Flourish and Blotts. 

“Be good.” 

He scowled at ordinance and mockingly saluted her as he headed inside. The bookstore was warm and softly lit, smelled of fresh parchment and chamomile tea. The shelves reached all the way up to the ceiling, wall-to-wall displays only broken by the burning fireplace and the collection of squishy, comfy-looking chairs gathered in front of it. 

The shopkeeper waved at him as she organized a stack of new releases next to the shelf where the school textbooks were kept. There’s a beverage cart near the fireplace, holding a teapot and an assortment of mismatched mugs. He helped himself to a spot of chamomile and started to wander around, using his wand to summon books that seemed interesting enough to add to the growing pile floating behind him. 

In the end, he decided on six books - two for Aurora, one for Argus, and three for himself. 

The newly purchased stack fit easily inside his satchel, barely taking up any room beside the crystal ball stand, the stuffed kneazle - plush toy, not taxidermy - he had found at the Magical Menagerie for Hagrid, and all the other knick-knacks he had decided on. Not to mention everything else that already resided in there.

It wasn’t technically illegal. 

Besides, it wasn’t his fault that undetectable extension charms were so advanced that not many wizards were able to do it properly. Furthermore, both Albus and Minerva were aware of it, and if anyone were to get in trouble here, his money was on the headmaster. He was confident in his spell-casting abilities and the worst that could happen was accidentally falling in and unable to find his way out - which wasn’t even that bad, considering he always carried around a medley of potions and snacks and even a blanket because he was that paranoid of being left out in the cold with no one to turn to.

He blinked.

Alright, maybe his abandonment issues were starting to make themselves known, but in his defense, Minerva had been gone for a good forty minutes now. 

The point was, casting the charm was heavily frowned upon by the Ministry, but it wasn’t going to get him arrested either. He had worse things on his resume to choose from - and thank Merlin the Ministry of Magic never found out about the...unsavory potions he had been experimenting with around the time of his trial a few years back. 

“Severus?”

He stiffened, flashes of smoke filled spheres and curling script flashing in his mind as he heard a voice that did not belong to Minerva. Tension coiled in his shoulders and he carefully secured the buckle on his satchel before he turned around and greeted the man who had decided to approach him. 

“Severus Snape.” the man grinned wolfishly, blue eyes twinkling with delight. “As I live and breathe.”

“Corban Yaxley.” Severus greeted, taking in the other’s appearance. His hair had grown out since the last time he’d seen him and his honey-colored locks were pulled back in a low ponytail, accentuating his squared jaw and arched eyebrows. “What a pleasure to run into you.”

“Quite.” Yaxley grinned, the edges sharp.  “How is Hogwarts? I heard you were made Head of House for Slytherin.” He took a step closer and leaned forward, his voice dropping as if they were conspiring next to the biographies. “An excellent opportunity to shape the minds of the future, don’t you think?”

Severus kept his face blank. “As well as one could expect,” he answered airily, as if he weren’t gripping his wand beneath the folds of his cloak tight enough to turn his knuckles white, “considering how brainless they all seem to be.” 

Yaxley chuckled and leaned back, his posture appearing relaxed and friendly now, but Severus knew better than to trust a former Death Eater who had avoided going to Azkaban simply because he was that good of a liar. 

“I don’t get paid enough to deal with their unruliness.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ve picked up a trick or two to deal with that.” Yaxley winked and then raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft, Severus?” He stepped closer again. “You used to be so impressive.”

“All of that is irrelevant now.”

“Shame.”

The man was still smiling though and his eyes glinted with something that looked an awful lot like triumph when Severus broke and took a step backwards. He composed himself, but the fingers on his visible hand still clenched around the empty teacup he’d all but forgotten about. “How are things faring at the Ministry?” he deflected, proud when his words didn’t falter. 

“Excellent, ever since I got this promotion.” Yaxley smirked. “Karkaroff might have turned traitor - and I can’t say I blame him, for all he’s accomplished: headmaster of Durmstrang, I hear - dropping names left and right in an attempt to hightail it out of Azkaban, but he really did me a solid by getting Rookwood sacked.” 

“Glad to hear of it.” 

Yaxley stepped closer again and murmured, “Glad to hear he didn’t take you down with him, though. I heard he named you, but I was in America on Ministry business during the Death Eater trials.” Severus could feel the man’s breath on his face and it caused his facade to falter as an awful feeling crept down his spine. “I’ve missed seeing you around, Sev. You’re not hiding out in that fancy castle of yours, are you?”

Severus shook his head, unable to speak.

“Good.” Yaxley’s smile turned saccharine as he put a hand on Severus’ shoulder. 

The small bell over the door chimed as it opened, letting in a gust of cold air as someone entered, and it broke the spell. Corban Yaxley dropped his hand and headed for the door. “Don’t be a stranger, yeah?” 

Minerva was standing in front of him now, her eyes narrowed as she studied him carefully. “Alright?” she asked, and this time, Severus jumped - and for a split second, he wondered the psychology behind his body staying absolutely still some of the times he was surprised versus the times when he flinched - and pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. He couldn’t find the words to answer her, his mind heavily focused on the unpleasant weight he still felt on his arm, as if Yaxley were still touching him. 

“Let’s get a bite to eat.” Min led him outside and he followed as if on autopilot. “We won’t make it back to Hogwarts in time for dinner.” 

He didn’t know the time, didn’t know if she was telling the truth or not, but he also didn’t feel like returning to the bustle of students just yet, so he let her guide him through the white dusted streets of Diagon Alley. Snow had begun to fall, but he barely paid it any mind. He was still reeling, lost in his head as Minerva walked them through The Leaky Cauldron and right into muggle London. 

He flinched when she put a hand on his arm, still thinking of Yaxley’s unwelcome touch, and her lips thinned as he choked out an apology. She shook her head and gestured to his cloak before transforming her own into a cream-colored coat. He understood then and raised his wand - still gripped tightly between very numb fingers - and fumbled his way through the spell, changing his wizarding apparel into a winter coat. 

“Did you find something for everyone?” Minerva asked gently, as she led them down the street. 

He tried to think of everything he bought, frowning when he realized he’d forgotten the one person whose gift mattered the most: hers. “Just about.” he mumbled, hating the way his voice betrayed his weakness. It was no wonder his students didn’t listen; he was pathetic. How he’d ever been able to lie to the Dark Lord and not get killed was beyond him. Perhaps Yaxley had a point: he used to be so impressive. 

They entered the first open establishment they saw, a hole-in-the-wall pub with yellow paint and wooden paneling that had once seen better days, but the imperfections were overshadowed by the dozens of framed photographs that dated the place back to the fifties. The lights were hazy, casting an ambient glow onto the green vinyl seats, and soft music - jazzy Christmas songs, from the sound of it- was playing over the speakers, a strange contrast to the clinking of glasses and stifled laughter coming from the patrons at the bar. 

Minerva requested a corner booth and took the side that kept her back to the door, wordlessly yet pointedly, and Severus exhaled with a relief he didn’t wish to admit to. They were offered a laminated menu, but Min ordered the special for them without enquiring anything about it - and Severus was beginning to see a pattern there - and two pints of the house ale, and he wasn’t sure whether he was grateful or embarrassed for her help. 

“I believe I found the perfect gift for Albus.” Minerva started talking, once they were alone again, and reached into a bright pink shopping bag from Gambol and Japes, pulling out a six inch slab of what looked like granite. 

He stared at the object for a solid minute before he gave in and reached for it, taking the smooth square of white-speckled stone and examining it. It had no divots, no fault lines, no imperfections of any kind and he idly wondered if this was a very simplistic paperweight or an attempt to distract him from his impending anxiety attack. “I don’t get it.” he finally conceded. 

“It’s a puzzle box.” Minerva took it back and turned it over a few times. “Only the most advanced spellcaster could ever dream of solving it.” 

That piqued his attention and he reached for it again. “Hold on, I want to try.” He glanced around the pub before tucking his wand into the sleeve of his jumper and began casting a number of spells, starting with the most basic he could think of - it came from the joke shop, right? There was humor to be found in unexpected simplicity - and even casting a few that he definitely hadn’t learned at Hogwarts. 

He gave up, frustrated. 

Minerva, on the other hand, was grinning. “This will keep him entertained, don’t you think?” she asked, putting it away. 

“It’s going to keep me up for the rest of my life.” Severus replied. 

Their food arrived then, burgers on pretzel buns with grilled mushrooms and swiss cheese, and Severus was quick to reach for the chips. Whether it was her intention or not, the distraction had worked and now he worried that she would ask about his run-in with Corban Yaxley. Given the look on her face, it felt inevitable, so with a stifled sigh, Severus cast a whispered muffliato and a muggle repelling charm over them. 

“Just say it, then.” he mumbled.

“Say what?”

He glared at her. “I ruined our outing with my overreaction, there at the end. I can tell you’re thinking it, so don’t bother lying to me.”

Minerva blinked and reached for her ale. “Actually, I was wondering if it would be in poor taste to gift Hagrid with a cookbook.”

“What?”

“Surely you’ve tried his rock cakes?” Min asked, biting into a chip. “I just feel he could benefit from a proper recipe. I’m sure he would be an excellent baker, if he just measured the flour correctly.”

He took the out for what it was. “You’d need to find a big enough copy of The Joy of Baking.”

They were nearly done with their meal, their glasses long empty - downsides to the repelling charm, he supposed - when Minerva asked quietly, “Are you alright?”

He nodded. 

“Had fun?”

Again, he nodded, because he did have a good time. His chance encounter at the end hadn’t even gone badly - he always worried what would happen if he ran into an ex-Death Eater in public, worried he would choose his words wrong and give himself away. The Dark Lord might be gone, but his cover needed to remain intact, Merlin forbid, the worst ever happened. He just wished he had kept it together better. 

He had to learn to keep it together better.

Minerva didn’t pry any further. He cancelled the spells while she talked about Filius’ plan to form a carolling group separate from the Frog Choir and then glared at her when she mentioned it was open to the staff as well, because he could tell where that conversation was going. They were interrupted by their server - small mercies - with their bill, and Severus rifled through his satchel for the muggle money he always carried. 

They were standing just outside the door, shrugging back into their coats, when his attention was caught by a colorful flyer for a christmas lights festival. 

“We should go.” he told Minerva and bit back a smirk at her surprise that he was suggesting an activity for them to do, instead of her. 

“Really?”

“I recall you mentioning it was something you did with Elphinstone.” Severus kept his voice casual, shrugging the weight of what he was offering away. “I think we should go. This weekend.”

Minerva was still staring at the flyer, but when she finally replied, her voice was warm. “This weekend, then.”

-- a/n: maybe i got carried away again?? where’s the actual plot?? there isn’t one baby!! just 4.7k of general chaos

[dewitty1]

Isolated Thunderstorms and Scattered Showers

triggerlil @triggerlil

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Pansy Parkinson/Ginny Weasley, Anthony Goldstein/Wayne Hopkins, Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas, past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley - Relationship Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas, Luna Lovegood, Anthony Goldstein, Wayne Hopkins, Harry Potter Characters, Original Characters Additional Tags: Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, Invisibility Cloak (Harry Potter), Slow Burn, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Pining, Denial of Feelings, Some Humor, Panic Attacks, Harry Potter has Anxiety, Apologies, Questioning Sexuality, Brief Mention of Coma

Summary:

Post-war, Harry needs space. Everything is too much all at once, and time and time again, he finds himself pulling the invisibility cloak over his head, just for a bit of peace.

Returning for eighth year is hard, especially when you're considered a war hero, and your name is Harry James Potter. It's just that things go a little wonky when Harry starts following Malfoy, and finds that he can't (or doesn't want to) stop.

Excerpt:

Malfoy seemed to finally notice his sleeve was still rolled up and pushed it down hastily. "Why have you been doing it?" 

"I don't know. Everyone is always looking at me, or talking about me, or something." Harry couldn't believe he was telling this to Malfoy, this thing he had never said out loud, but now that he was talking he didn't know how to stop. "Sometimes it feels so hard to breathe, like the pressure of what everyone expects is sitting on my chest, or…." Harry trailed off, suddenly embarrassed. "I don't know."

Malfoy let out a slow breath. "I understand." 

Harry sat up a bit straighter, turning to face Malfoy. This close, openly staring at each other, both soaked, it felt terrifyingly intimate. 

"The son of a Death Eater, a Death Eater in my own right—people are always wary around me. You know, crowds will part as I walk through, because no one wants to be near me."

"I'm near you," Harry said dumbly.

"Yes, I see that." Malfoy smirked. 

"After that moment on the train, I just…." Harry wanted to look anywhere but Malfoy as he said this, and yet he couldn't look away from those glittering grey eyes, which seemed to be prying out every secret Harry had ever held. "I couldn't stop looking for you."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow nonchalantly, but Harry could see his fingers tighten, gripping the stone. Harry brought his own hands down to the cold steps, which cut into his fingers painfully.

"It was like sixth year all over again," Harry bemoaned, letting that admission hang heavy around them. 

The rain was finally beginning to let up, the setting sun sending light scattering across fresh puddles and rippling across the grounds. 

"Hopefully not, since you thought I was up to something." 

Harry blinked against the sudden brightness as the sun shimmered across the Great Lake in the distance. "No, not this time." Harry let his hand shift an inch towards Malfoy's. "And… I'm sorry," he bit out, something inside him rearing at the idea of apologising to Malfoy, but he tamped it down. "I'm sorry, for erm, in the bathroom." 

Malfoy nodded curtly. "Well if we're giving apologies, I suppose I'm sorry for, you know, most of it." 

"You suppose?" 

“I—No, I am sorry. For all of it. I was… a real twat. I was terrible, more than terrible. I hated myself, and I hated everyone around me, and it’s not an excuse, but I see that now. How terrible I was, I mean. I made mistakes, and I want to make up for them. And I’m sorry… I’m sorry.”

Harry moved his hand another quarter inch. He wasn’t sure how to respond to something so sincere. "You really were a twat."

"You're not supposed to agree with me, you git."

“Then what would be the point of your apology?” 

“You’re right,” Draco sighed. “Prick.”

"Of course I am." Harry crept his hand even closer. There were only a few centimetres separating them now. “Dickhead.” 

"I hate you."

"Well, I don’t," Harry said, and he realised that he meant it. He could sense Malfoy's hand next to his own, and didn’t dare to move any closer. Could Malfoy feel it too?

The sun had almost set, and a chill carried on the evening air. "What are we going to do now?" Malfoy asked.

Harry shrugged. "Well, we’re not enemies." 

"No," Malfoy agreed. “But we’re not friends.

Harry nodded. “Not friends, but not enemies.” 

"Even though I have the dark mark?"

Harry couldn't forget the images of green skulls bursting across the night sky, the floating masks in the graveyard, the dark mark slithering across people's wrists when Voldemort called for them. But he also saw Malfoy's blotchy and terrified face as he showed the mark to Dumbledore, and right now, sitting on the steps, he saw that Malfoy's knuckles were white. 

"You made mistakes, you did bad things, but that… doesn't mean you're a bad person." 

"Saviour Potter strikes again—"

Harry felt a tiny flare of anger. "Oh fuck off, Malfoy, I'm not trying to be all holier-than-thou. I'm serious. Snape had the dark mark, but he took actions to prove himself more than that."

Malfoy sighed, turning away, and Harry pulled his hand back to cross his arms. 

"We should go inside," Harry said, standing up. 

"Wait, Potter," Malfoy said, grabbing the edge of Harry's robes. He stood up awkwardly, dropping his arms to his sides. "If we're not friends or enemies, then what are we?"

"I think…" Harry started, steeling himself. "I think we’re nothing on the way to being something."

"What does that even mean, you idiot?"

"It means I don't want to use the invisibility cloak anymore, and I don't want you to avoid everyone anymore."

"The school year is almost over. Isn't it a bit late for that?"

Harry shook his head. "It's only spring, Malfoy." 

"Whatever, Potter. I'm cold and wet, I'm going inside." 

"Cast a drying charm, or aren't you a pureblood wizard?" 

Malfoy rolled his eyes, pulling out his wand. He rolled it in his palm. "Why did my wand react to you?" 

"I don't know, Malfoy." 

"It felt different after you gave it back to me."

"Do you think it's because of… us?"

Malfoy scowled, and Harry steeled himself, holding out his hand. Malfoy regarded him with surprised disdain. Harry imagined they were both aware of the parallels, and for a moment, he worried Malfoy would just turn around and walk right into the castle. Say fuck all to apologies, to being a better person. Harry had rejected him once, why give him a second chance? But, tentatively, Malfoy clasped Harry's hand. Malfoy—no, he was Draco now, maybe had been for some time—Draco’s grip was firm but his skin soft. And just like when Harry had held on to Draco’s wand, he felt a rush of energy, of comfort, the feeling of coming home, and judging by Draco's widening eyes, he felt it too. 

"What does that mean?" Draco whispered with a tremor in his voice, as they let their hands drop to their sides.

“I’m not sure,” Harry replied honestly. “That there’s more to all this than we thought?”

Malfoy smirked. “I guess we’ve always kind of gravitated towards each other.” 

Harry tried to quell the blush that bloomed on his cheeks, but when Malfoy’s eyes glinted and the tips of his ears turned pink, he knew he had failed. Harry turned, and Draco finally cast those drying charms. 

Silently, they headed back into the castle. Even though people whispered as they walked through the Entrance Hall, Harry felt better knowing it wasn't just about him anymore, but him and Draco, that they were sharing this burden. There were still lots of things to talk about between the two of them, but they had made a tentative start. Harry wasn't sure what was going to happen next, and as they made their way to the eighth year table in the Great Hall, he wasn't even sure what he wanted to do after all this. Stay on at Hogwarts? Or was there something better out there waiting for him? 

(◍•ᴗ•◍)♡ ✧*。

[georgescatcafe]

vermillion — 1

rating: t warning/s: period-typical homophobia pairing/s: georgenap genres/tags: cowboy x city boy au, rancher sapnap, rich george, coming of age, slow burn word count: 3,152 summary: When Sapnap gets sent into the city to get quick cash for his family’s struggling ranch, he’s not expecting much from the experience—lights aren't very blinding when held up to the Sun, and he's not exactly there to play around. But then he meets George, a boy built on money, who quickly sweeps in not just paying customers but also Sapnap, leading him into what any ruddy country boy would call the mouth of the Devil: high society. Cue a summer spent by each other’s side while feelings run unbidden, uncaring of deadlines and restraints.

It should be enough for the pair—and for awhile, it is, right up until it isn’t.

+ao3 +masterpost

;;

PART I

1994

Going to the city alone isn’t too different from going with his Pa. The drive there is mild, skies blue, sunny, fields on both sides of his muddied pickup stretching out endless and golden, ready to be cut down. Nick is sixteen now, old enough to head to the market on his own, license shiny and new, brain bright and sharp. He’s been preparing for this, and now it’s time for him to show off what he knows.

He had thought the 80s were bad, his dad cursing some figurative Big Man (Nick’s pretty sure he just meant the government) and constantly pushing hard on the ranch to make ends meet. They aren’t farmers, their neighbors having it way harder than they could, but it was rough, and it’s still rough—everything is so expensive, so now Nick is their last hope, Pa working the ranch, son sent off to the city to try and get some immediate cash. It’s hard to deny freshly cut steaks.

They’ve got horses too, pretty ones, some sold to be racers, but mostly pretty ones. Nick’s been planning to propose they start some summer thing, parents bringing their kids to the ranch to ride the horses, get the wind in their hair from something other than a car with its windows down. Not this year, though. (The highway sign tells him his exit is in two miles. Nick focuses back on the road.) This year, he’s busy.

;;

Pulling into the market’s parking lot, Nick doesn’t feel blinded. Really, opening the truck door finds him with a lungful of stink, and his thoughts are drowned out by the honking of horns and shouting of pedestrians. He thinks he hears a bell tower in the distance—does this city have a college?—but he can’t be sure.

It’s nothing glamorous.

Rounding his truck, he gets the coolers out the back, gets the papers too, lists of cows they’ve got, some horses, sheep, goats. Pa wants to get rid of them, but Ma likes to make sweaters. The sheep can be costly, but sweaters cost others, so Nick guesses it all balances out. They’re not getting rid of any chickens this year, but Nick’s two coolers definitely have some plucked birds. He blinks, remembering the eggs. He’s got some of those to sell too, and they don’t even need to be refrigerated. He’ll get them later.

Finding his shop is easy. The signs pointing out where everything is are all done in a looping, confusing cursive, so Nick forgoes reading them to just follow the sight of flannel and the smell of smoking meat. And there it is. A booth, the sign above it not in cursive (thank God) and declaring the name of their ranch in bold. Once Nick’s got all his things in place, he comes to stand proudly at it. PAPPAS RANCH above, Nick Pappas below.

Things go a lot slower after that. People don’t really flock to him, people don’t even come up to him. If anyone does, it’s at a meandering pace, like the wind might’ve pushed them more than them deciding to look. It’s a little humiliating, but Nick does his best to sell what he can. He’s not really concerned about the meat, and the animals are all still alive and fine on the ranch, but he is concerned about cash, and he knows they need it. Customers are vital. There just… aren’t any.

He leans back on his heels, surveying the marketplace. It’s quaint, kind of cute. Not as rugged and rough as the one in town, more proper-looking. To be expected. He people-watches. The people are people. No one is particularly interesting. Another customer is blown towards him. Nick sells them a couple twelve-ounce filets. He pays a little more attention after that.

Still, that’s the only big purchase he gets, and he tries not to let it sit on his mind too heavily when he heads back to his truck, coolers and folder and cash in hand. The night is warm, and he’s grateful for it when he settles in the bed of his pickup. In hope of saving some money, he’d turned down his parents’ offers of a hotel, the reluctance of giving up cash clear on his dad’s face anyway, so now Nick is left to sleep in his truck bed, surrounded by coolers and tarp and blankets. When he rolls over, he winces. He’d put the cash in a little safe then tucked that little safe under his makeshift bed. It sticks out uncomfortably underneath him. Oh well. He literally made his bed. Now he’s lying in it.

;;

Morning comes before he’s ready for it, and he finds himself glaring at the Sun as it creeps over the horizon, taunting him with cotton candy skies and sweet birdsong. The night wasn’t much better, with the safe in his back, with the city still awake long after the market closed. Despite his exhaustion from the drive, from standing, sleep did not come easily, and Nick feels the effects of that as he sets up shop all over again, goes to the market’s little bathroom installed down the way to change clothes, to splash water on his face. He groans when he remembers his toothbrush, still in his truck. He goes to get it anyway.

So, his start is a little slow, so what? Nick ties his bandana tighter around his head when he reaches his booth, double-checking his inventory before smiling at the woman who runs the booth across from his. She tips her hat at him in return.

There’s more people coming around today, which is good, and it makes sense. It’s a Thursday, which, while it isn’t the weekend, it’s getting there, and Nick eagerly anticipates it.

He makes a deal for one of their cows, sells some filets, some chicken thighs and veal—it’s a better day. He’s hesitant to call it good.

;;

Like the day before, Friday comes bright and early, uncomfortably so. He climbs out of his truck, gets his things—the whole rinse, wash, repeat. And then he’s back at his booth, saying hello to the woman across, again she tips her hat, and he’s drumming his fingers on the tabletop.

Nothing.

Nick takes a breath, holds it, lets it out. Things are fine. He’s fine. Rome wasn’t built in a day; Pappas Ranch doesn’t sell their entire inventory in two. It’s fine.

It’s still early, a whole day ahead, and though Nick braces himself for disappointment, he tries not to let it show, still standing tall beneath the sign above his booth. He just needs to be approachable, smile, be the charming boy his Pa raised him to be.

It works when two women walk by, mother and daughter, probably, arms linked, the two of them chatting only to stop at Nick’s booth, the mother smiling politely at him and daughter waving. “We’re having guests over tonight,” the mother says.

“How many?” Nick asks. And the deal goes through.

And it works with an older man, eating only for himself, but wanting to stock up for the weekend. A full guys’ thing. But it’s just him. Nick tells him he gets it, and he’s a few chickens shorter, a rack of lamb ribs gone.

It’s around lunch that things slow down, leaving Nick mildly surprised, but not entirely annoyed, as he uses his own pocket change to get some fruit from a farmer in another section, and an elderly woman three booths down gives him a little bit of smoked pork free of charge. It’s a meager, but good lunch. He’s leaning up against the wall, apple in hand, surveying the business still going on, when he spies someone who looks his age, hair a dark brown, eyes the same, dressed a bit more upscale for a market, even if this market is in the city. Nick pushes himself off the wall when the boy makes his way over to him. It’s a very deliberate walk, and Nick stands straighter for it, not showing off or anything, more like sizing up the competition—the competition for or on what, only Nick’s subconscious knows.

“Pappas Ranch,” the boy reads, and Nick almost laughs at the accent coloring his words. “Are you Papa?”

And the question is so reasonable yet so absurd, spun wonky with the accent, that it makes Nick laugh and reply with a name not quite right either: “Nah, I’m Sapnap.”

It’s such an… outdated name, given to him as a kid by an enthusiastic pen pal and then latched onto by his parents, fading out of fashion the moment he hit double-digits, when he started working his way up the ranch. The name is dumb too, zero sense without context, still stupid even with it, and he feels every bit of its stupidity when the boy studies him, unamused.

“Sapnap?” The word comes slow off his tongue, and Nick resists the urge to flush a bright red.

“Yeah, what about it?” He plants his feet firmer in the ground, wanting to shift from foot to foot but refusing. Refuses to take back the name too.

“Sounds dumb.”

Nick stutters out some excuse that falls flat before straightening. “What’s your name then, hotshot?”

“George,” and oh, isn’t that hilarious? Talk about outdated.

“My name might be stupid, but at least it isn’t lame as hell!”

George, of course, doesn’t like that, and that fact makes Nick grin, eyes growing wild when George grips the edge of the table between them to lean forward. “Fuck off.” Their noses nearly touch.

“This is my booth,” Nick replies.

“My city,” George shoots back, and Nick stops himself from rolling his eyes.

“It’s a city.” Nick raises a brow when George merely huffs, leaning against the booth. He spies the apple in Nick’s hand, and Nick fights back the urge to hide it, possessive. “What?” It’s his lunch. What about it? Workers eat too. Not that someone like George would know that. Nick gives him a cursory once over that George ignores, still focused on the fruit.

“Where’d you get that?” George asks. “It looks fresh.”   

“It is,” Nick points towards the booth he got it from, “over there. Everything here is fresh, dumbass.”

“What time is it?”

“Noon, I reckon.”

George studies him, still leaning against the booth, head coming closer and closer to Nick’s the longer he stares. “Your lunch?” Both of his hands now press down on the table between them, fingers splayed. His nails are short but nice. Nick’s have dirt under them. He holds his apple tighter.

“Yeah. What about it?”

“Come with me,” George says, and Nick frowns as George moves away from the booth to nod his head towards the main road. “You can take a break.”

“Not really,” Nick wants to reply (break? Lunch was his break. He’s got to work!), but then George pivots and starts walking away, and he can’t have that, so he follows. “My stuff—”

“Will be safe, chill out,” George tells him. He glances behind and meets Nick’s eyes. Nick wonders if the other will crash into any of the various obstacles around them, booths, pedestrians, goods, fucking rocks in the walkway or something, but he doesn’t, just keeps walking. Part of Nick hopes he crashes. Wants to see him trip, fall, ruin his pants—they’re fancy, clean with those pressed lines down the middle. In the middle of the market, however upscale, they look stupid as hell. To see the knees covered in dust, caked in dirt, it’d make Nick pretty happy. He smiles at the image, and George, though brows end up quirked in confusion, offers a smile back.

Nick stumbles, a direct opposite to his imagination, but it’s because it’s not the city that’s blinding—it’s George’s smile. He blinks, glances behind himself; does George have a particularly white smile? Artificial, does George reap the benefits of being rich? Does the sun glint off those bleached teeth? But the Sun is still high overhead. And George’s teeth were white, but not white enough to be fake. Nick shakes his head, not wanting to get caught up in the thoughts, merely following after the other still. They’re out past the market now, heading deeper into the city. Delicatessens, bakeries, designer shops, and corner stores line the road, and Nick stares into the windows of them all with rapt attention. Sapnap, that’s what he told George his name was, and maybe here he is: Sapnap, someone else, someone new, someone who could walk by George’s side like it’s where he’s been his whole life, like the city is all he knows.

Looking at the elite walking by, Nick knows it wouldn’t be sustainable, not for him, but just for a bit, he can pretend. He glances over at George, who walks on ahead, easy, unassuming if not for the sun in his hair, spinning it into gold, unassuming if not for the set of his shoulders, the quiet confidence with which he carries himself. Carefully, he attempts to imitate the other.

They walk for another few minutes, and Nick is starting to worry about his things, about whether he’ll make it back in time for the after-school rush, the dinner rush, the weekend—when George finally stops and pushes open the door of a restaurant named something Nick can’t pronounce.

“Is that French?” he asks George.

“Yeah,” George replies, “I can’t pronounce it, though.”

“I thought all rich people knew French,” Nick says.

“Next state over,” George tells him. “Or in the east maybe. I’m taking Spanish.”

“My cousin knows Creole.” George hums before smiling at the host and asking for a table for two. The fancy atmosphere, however much a consequence of location and George’s upbringing, the host’s look over George’s shoulder at Nick, table for two—all of it sends Nick’s skeleton rattling, bones shaking and shivering under layers of skin and muscle, his brain easily equating these things to a date. But George isn’t like that. He’s just fancy. And Nick isn’t like that either. This is just what rich people do in the city. What everyone does in the city. They get lunch.

When they’re seated, Nick tugs at his collar. He’s not hot, but God, has he grown uncomfortable. He’s got dirt behind his knees he’s sure, and when he speaks it’s not that smooth, sweet voice George has got, and the slight beard he’s finally started to get only makes him all the scruffier. He’s a fish out of water, and he’s growing more and more certain it shows.

“Sapnap,” George says, “are you alright?”

And oh. Right. He’s not Nick. To George, he’s Sapnap, and George is taking Sapnap to lunch, which means he thinks Sapnap is able to be seen in a place like this, if not alone then with George, so it’s fine. Nick’s hand falls from his shirt to the table, where it curls around napkin-wrapped cutlery. “Yeah,” he replies, “I’m fine. Uh. Can you read this menu?”

“It’s in English, Sapnap.” George’s tone is dry, but it’s a joke, and his eyes squint with his smile. Nick smiles back.

;;

Despite their smiles, despite sharing a meal, they don’t get along. Nick wants to help provide for lunch, but he also can’t, not really, so they argue over that, and they argued over what to get too, because Nick is a firm believer in trying everything so let’s just split stuff, George, but George is apparently a possessive little bitch, so his idea was continually shot down, but then when a waitress came by, George ordered what Nick had suggested, so they argued over that, and when they left, George argued for a treat and Nick argued that he had to get back to work.

Nick won that one, but George stuck by his side as they traced their steps to the market.

Despite their inability to get along, they become what Nick thinks might just be friends.

“If I lost all my shit ‘cause of you,” Nick starts, but George just rolls his eyes. And when they reach his booth, it’s fine, like George had said it’d be, but Nick does lament the lost customers in the time spent out. He still has an afternoon ahead, but he still took off way more time than he’d have liked.

“It’s fine,” George tells him, hopping up onto the front little ledge of the booth. “I’ll help you sell it, or something.”

“You don’t have anywhere to be?” Nick asks him, checking his inventory one more time, just to make certain nothing’s been stolen.

George shakes his head, kicking his feet slightly, not stopping even when it makes the booth begin to sway. Nick steadies it with a careful hand, and George sends him a grateful look, though he still kicks his feet. “It’s summer.” He watches as Nick pulls out a chunk of meat, chuck, drops it onto the proper counter set up behind the pretty covering the booth makes, and sets about cutting it into pieces. “Nothing to do.”

“For you,” Nick says.

“For me,” George agrees.

Nick fixes up the beef, thinking about the restaurant, the roast he saw somewhere on the menu—that’s what people’ll use this meat for, he’s getting creative—and leans back, fingers curling around the countertop. “So what exactly are you proposing?”

George shrugs. “I can get you good food; I can advertise good food. You can cut what will one day be good food and keep the cash.”

“You’d do this for no pay?” Nick asks.

George tilts his head back, exposing the long column of his throat. Nick watches as sunlight catches his skin; George hadn’t seemed to sweat much, but now Nick sees where it’s damp on his skin, the light making it shimmer. Nick looks away. It didn’t look gross. George finally lowers his head. He doesn’t look gross. “I don’t need it,” George says. “And I’m not stupid. My dad works with some people from the city stockyard. You need the cash, don’t you?”

Nick fights back the urge to make a face. “Yeah. Did you remember that before or after you made me get lunch with you?”

George at least looks a little guilty. Nick takes what he can get. “Look,” George finally says, “I’m not terrible at marketing. And I know what people here want. Can you really say no?”

He can. Nick could say no and tell George to leave. Could say no and thanks, but lunch actually sucked (it didn’t). He could say a number of things that would get rid of George’s company.

He doesn’t.

“Just don’t get in my way, okay?” He and George lock eyes. George nods. Nick tightens his grip on the counter, surveys the steadily crowding market. “So who’re you going to reel in first, hotshot?”

;;

next

[theglguidetowebcomics]

Full review: Girly

What’s Pink, insane, NSFW, hilarious, and somehow heartwarming at points? This comic is a ride and a half, and I’m genuinely surprised more people haven’t heard of this one… I’ve been wanting to talk about this one for a WHILE. 

So let’s talk about the elephant in this room… Because I think it just ate someone’s couch. 

Slightly NSFW review with spoilers below.

Girly, by Jackie Lesnick was a webcomic that ran between 2003 and 2010, (and really has some of those early webcomic hallmarks). Its monochromatic pink, vertical, with a poppy early cartoon feel. It’s also listed as a romantic comedy, which is… correct, but cuts a whole lot of what makes this comic good, short. 

This review was always going to be one of the 4 I really struggled with. And not just because I lost it the first time without a back up in a code glitch, got distracted by a pandemic, then procrastinated my way to finally making a second version in my new backup folder… No, well also yes but no. This was a comic I read when I was younger (and should NOT have read  when I was younger), and have always had a soft spot for. I’ll admit as much as this comic has its flaws or weird moments or just weirdness in general, its one of the few comics I’ve found myself rereading in its entirety more than once. And no matter how much I know it's coming, find myself sobbing, uncontrollably, at the final panel. There’s surprisingly a lot of heart in this comic, and a whole lot of honesty in just the direction the author took this weird little thing. But, first let me take of those rose tinted glasses as much as I can… (actually that might not work too well with a pink comic seriously whats with all these early 2000s lesbian comics being PINK?). And give this old comic a look and a bit of a dust. but , first...

Sex.

Getting to the point - page 3 of “Girly”

Girly is a NSFW comic. It’s not shy about it either. It hits the audience (and the main character) over the head with it literally in the first pages. It has sex positive characters, a sex positive world, some characters with… sex powers almost, and Dildos, a whole lot of dildos. Some even with smiley faces on them. It’s a pretty unavoidable part of the comic that makes up a large core of it’s humour and is baked into its wacky world. So if that’s not your thing, and it’s not really skippable in this case, you won’t like this comic.

But, if you’re alright with that part of it this might just be a hidden gem. Moving on.

Art

Artwork is always interesting in webcomics. They’re usually one man shows, have a weird niche / strong influences, and or usually go on massive journeys as the art improves. Girly is no different here. 

Girly starts out rough. Some poses are wonky and its a bit scratchy. Technically speaking it has a few issues, which is fine. Its a free webcomic, from the 2000s that didn't copy and paste faces. (Won’t name names, you know who you are). You can’t be too harsh on a free comic, though.

However, what the art style does, even early on is set the style and feel of the comic. Anime inspired faces, bold outlines, and blocky silhouettes that were really popular with 90’s and 2000s cartoons. It has a newspaper, manga comedy strip vertical style, too. It fits the style of story well as a poppy wacky story. It's the perfect art style it could take.

Its rough in the beginning, but moves on from its scratchy days, to loose pen brush, to finally a polished free hand poppy style. It gets more technically advanced as it goes along, but it keeps its core style throughout. It’s fun, a little unhinged, and just pares perfectly.

The one issue I have with the art is it comes off as a bit cramped. It certainly matches the energy of the story, but it also feels like it doesn't let the characters have any breathing room in the frame. It comes off as squashed, and can make some character poses hard to read. That’s the only complaint I can find though. The issue even fixes itself later in the story, but just very very close to the end. It looks great there, but the majority of the comic is a little cramped. Still that’s just a small complaint.

Nitpicking here but some panels need a lil more room

This a humour comic foremost. It's the biggest part of what makes Girly specifically Girly.

Humour

The humour is mostly wacky nonsense, playing off its insane characters, physics defying world, everything being dialed up to 11. It also works a lot like satire, poking at what influences it, and playing with cinematic expectations. The first page has Otra shooting someone into space on a rocket because they annoyed them, the first “adventure” the character’s go on is stealing everyone’s pants because they couldn’t find anything else to do. Then there’s the kidnapping adventures, knight trials, and slice of life shenanigans that happen. All of it as wacky as the last. I haven’t really found any other lesbian comics like it. Its not everyone’s tastes, but it is certainly unique.

If you’re into a willy wonka tunnel of over the top characters and plots, you’ll like Girly.

Characters

Girl is a LONG comic, it ran for 7 years. The art evolved, the story writing, jokes, and themes along with it. It was originally meant to run for only 50 strips... and it ended up with 764. 

so, there’s a lot to unpack.

Firstly, the premise of the story is somewhat simple. It focuses on Otra. The kinda straight man to the entire universe. She starts out almost depressed, out of place, and bored of the wacky inhabitants of her world. Until one of those wacky residents smacks her over the head with a giant dildo and won’t leave her alone for the next 7 years of run time. 

What follows is the sullen Otra being pulled around by the always cheery and zany nonsensical Winter as the sidekick for bizarre adventures. Otra’s depressive grounded view keeps the bizarreness funny, while Winter cuts through her negative attitude and causes a lot of the over the top plot. Leaving Otra to warm up to the world, and Winter to get less reckless as they balance eachother out. It’s a fun dynamic, and works as an emotional core of the story. No matter how weird the plot and rules of the world are, their relationship keeps the story somewhat focused and rewarding to see develop.

An example of bold wacky character designs from even early on

The comic isn’t just about them, though. As an ensemble comic there's plenty of side characters that go through arcs and beats as well. From el chubacabre, the man that woman find so irresistible that they sleep with him as soon as they see him; detective Clapjaw the street wise detective who is very bad at his job; Officer Hipbone and police guy from the cute P D; captain fist the ever popular bad at his job superhero who gets all the credit; the news reporter obsessed with captain fist; the woman with babies; Steak;  the elephants that just… appear and eat buildings; among many many others. A lot of whom also have nicely written character arcs and depth in later chapters. Many of the character however are simple and remain simple, which isn’t a bad thing. For such a large cast, having a diverse range of strange characters with strong identities and looks even if a bit simple stops it from getting bogged down. It strikes a good balance. Plus there’s plenty enough of characters with more depth later on. 

 All the character’s are insane, and over the top in a way that really sets up the world they live in and how it works... as dysfunctional as it is. There’s something very Cartoon Network about all the characters, but with some wider influences. something about  dumb characters, with very specific goals and quirks that work on their own physics to feed into the high energy insanity of the world. Its entertaining to read, and leads to a weirdly charming feel of the comic. 

Story and plot

For the bit people actually want to know about. What is it about?

Just a little bit of influences...

For the style itself the comic comes off as a mix between early 2000s slice of life-y anime, 2000s cartoon Network, and a dose of 2000s webcomic sarcastic action/adventure flare. It definitely has one of the most pronounced styles that I’ve seen, and even if it's very much a webcomic of it’s time it also goes a bit beyond that into something that feels personal to the author and honest. Its a batshit comic. But, it wears its influences on it’s sleeve and really plays with tropes and ideas the author found engaging at the time. It somehow comes off as refreshing in just how willing it is to go weird or niche for no other reason but because it wants to. It's what I appreciate most about the comic. It’s honest.

The overarching story of the comic is without a doubt about Otra and winter growing together as people. But with a comic that’s run for 7 years a little bit more happens in the journey, at least you hope it would. Girly runs on chapters, 15 in total (with 15 having sub chapters due to being the story’s climax), and each one of those chapters follows a different plot or adventure with Otra’s and Winter’s developing relationship gluing them together. 

The plots themselves are wild and vary a bit in quality. But for a long comic that’s understandable and expected. They go from solving elephant problems, super villains, body swapping, fantasy parodies, and all sorts of strange things. Sometimes a few plots drag and a few character arcs feel a bit bland. It still manages to be entertaining all the way through though. The plots themselves work to get the character’s to play off each other and explore the strange world it takes place in. Exploring evil teddy bears, or an entire town devoted to cheap gags. No matter what, all the plots work in fleshing out the world and pushing character’s out of their comfort zone or forcing them to change. There are some that are less fun than others, but none of them manage to be boring or useless. Which for a long comic such as this, is quite an achievement.

Conclusion

Girly is a hidden gem, Its an insane sex positive comic. A loose style and even looser physics. It’s bold and unabashedly itself. But, at its core it's about the love story of Winter, the wacky insane woman needing to slow down and open up, and Otra, a sullen woman who’s deemed herself only worthy of being on the outskirts of society. It’s two people growing together in a world that’s up to its ears in care bears, sentient dildos, earth shattering cloning, and jabs at 2000’s paste it comics. And somehow it all sticks together.

The characters resonated, at least with me, which may be the nostalgia talking. But by the end of the comic I can’t help but  think back on how long it took them to get there. The bits that made me laugh (a lot of them), the stupid parts, and the character’s arcs, as over the top they could be at times.  It may not everyone’s cup of tea. But it has a lot of heart at its core. (If you get past all the dildos). 

For all it’s flaws and weird bits. I still find myself going back to Girly. 

Maybe now, some more people will too.

[nellie-elizabeth]

His Dark Materials: The Scholar (2x05)

OOF. This was a good one. Maybe the best episode of the season thus far, even though my boy Lee was absent.

Cons:

Pacing-wise, there were a couple of wonky things in moments of tension here. I liked that the confrontation over the alethiometer was expanded, but while Lyra and Mrs. Coulter were having their confrontation, Will and Boreal kind of had to be in stasis, and it was a bit awkward.

Same with the moment when Lyra and Will see that Tullio has fallen to the spectres. The threat level there was sort of off, as the two sisters hugged him and cried. I remember from the book that the two younger siblings were pretty much fully feral and it felt like they might really attack and hurt Will and Lyra. And speaking of hurt Will, another thing I'm missing from the books is how badly Will is supposed to be doing, health-wise, because of his hand. In the book, there are constant reminders that he hasn't stopped bleeding, and he is in real pain all the time. That really upped the tension, as while they were working on their other goals, they also had this looming health threat slowing them down and causing added drama along the way. I haven't gotten that same sense from the show.

Pros:

So, I'll start this week by just continuing my affirmation that Lyra and Will's relationship is being excellently portrayed here. There was a sense of fun, of childlike excitement, as they planned their heist to get the alethiometer back, even as they both took it very seriously. I liked that blend, and also how that moment of joy and anticipation was broken when they saw the price Tullio had paid for Will getting the knife. They know to take this seriously. But also, we get Lyra smiling, pleased that Will is improving with the knife. And their joy of discovery as they see that the various worlds line up along some points of landscape and architecture.

I continue to enjoy Mary Malone. I think she's a character who has enough grounding to make her believable, but also still has that zany, a little unhinged atmosphere to her. It makes her the kind of person who would be willing to take Lyra seriously long enough to discover the truth about Dust. She's willing to uproot her life and go through a mysterious window, leave her own reality entirely, and I... believe that about her. I believe that's the way she would behave!

This episode belongs to Mrs. Coulter, though, and I think we all know it. Just... I cannot tell you the feelings I felt, as a woman, watching this episode. All of the stuff with Coulter and Boreal was pitch-perfect. This asshole thinks to impress her with his gadgets and his wealth, and I could just feel my soul leaving my body when she had to sit there and listen to him talk about himself. The moment when she left the monkey behind, and he ran to the window while she left... chills. Boreal doesn't love her, he wants to possess her, and everything he learns about her makes him more terrified of her but also more covetous.

And then that conversation with Mrs. Malone. Doctor Malone, she corrects. This was such a powerful moment, because Mary has no idea what's going on here. She doesn't understand the revelation Marisa is undergoing, just being in the room with this woman who has a career and respect from the scientific community. Mary is just asking innocent questions about Mrs. Coulter's degree, and papers she might have published. This flusters Marisa, but not because she doesn't know how to lie. It's because of what she's realizing, about this world, about the opportunities she might have had here. She's used to using her intelligence and her charm to get what she needs out of men back in her own world. But the idea that she might be able to forego the game, and just write the papers, just do the work, under her own authority? She's never lived in a society that gave her that option, not really. Contrasted to how much she was playing the game with Boreal before, this revelatory moment, and her behavior towards him afterwards, shows a big shift in Marisa Coulter's worldview, even if her motivations and immediate plans haven't changed.

So, like I said, there were some pacing issues in the confrontation between Will and Lyra, and Boreal and Mrs. Coulter... but overall, I still thought it was such a smart idea to expand this section from the book. It starts off a stealth operation, but it ends up being a lot more dramatic and, well, cinematic, which is only appropriate for a visual adaptation of the scene! The most intense part? Well, Lyra sicc'ing Pan on the monkey, and then staring with fury and pain and fear and raw power at her mother as she writhed in agony. Like. Wow. Incredible acting from Dafne Keen, she really knocked it out of the park in that moment of intensity.

So, the kids have got the alethiometer back, and Mary Malone is through the window and on her journey. So excited to see the rest of the season! I think there are only two episodes left!

9/10

[solecize]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. you never forget your first love. sometimes you don’t want to. other times, you can’t. 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. yuta x reader 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. fluff / angst / high school au 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. mature language, death, mentions of a car accident, violence and verbal abuse 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 7.7k words 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒. i finished this at 5am so its a little wonky and definitely not proofread

FOURTEEN.

the sun barely peaked out from the far horizon of the osaka skyline and the sweet smell of morning dew filled your lungs. a heavy backpack weighing down your shoulders, you hated walking to school in the mornings. clunk. clunk. clunk. the sound of your shoes drumming against the pavement guiding your path became a steady rhythm and your concerns of the day to come drowned within them; a physics test in the morning, a presentation at the end of the day, and the fact that you forgot to pack yourself a lunch. again. these thoughts settled into a roaming and wandering pace as you made your way to school.

wisps of golden rays broke though and in between branches and houses that you strolled past. specifically, the one house that you continuously walked back and forth in front of. ‘come on,’ you thought, waiting for the right moment. this routine that you’d been practicing since elementary school occurred at the almost exact same time every single time.

then, you heard the front door click. with that, you rushed back a couple steps and ignored the army marching through your chest. punctual as ever, yuta was ready. thankfully for you, that meant that you could ‘casually’ run into him on your way to school and walk together. that was the only thing you liked about walking in the mornings.

“oh, hey. good morning.” yuta bore a small smile, as he looked at you over his shoulder and locked the front door. the boy had yet to caught on to the fact that your presence was suspiciously always on time for him to exit his house.

your expression lit up when the eyes of the boy who you so deeply admired met yours. “good morning, yuta.” your smile leapt to your eyes.

as he did every morning, he jogged his way over to where you were and began walking at your side. the mere presence of him just an elbow’s touch away caused the bottom of your stomach to not just do backflips, but an entire gymnastic routine. somehow, you managed to catch your breath.

SIXTEEN. 

“and then, he went all ‘bang!’” your hands waved wildly, the words were overflowing from your lips and the rush of adrenaline still fresh in your veins.

miho watched you with a single raised eyebrow, half used to your antics, but was still bewildered at your longstanding crush on soccer star nakamoto yuta. even under the dim streetlights of that hazy and humid september evening, the rogue flush glowing at the apples of your cheeks was too obvious. she simply giggled and looped her arm around yours.

the narrow streets were littered with clusters of students from your school, laughter and chatter being heard from a mile away. the joyous buzz in the air was due to the soccer game that just occurred against the team’s arch rivals, which was won in a last minute dramatic fashion. the saviour of the night? he was walking towards you.

wait, what?

although surrounded by other team members clad in navy blue tracksuits, yuta easily stood out. everyone and anyone bombarded the guy as soon as he came within sight, wanting to congratulate and praise him for his talent and efforts. for some reason, though, there was a different gleam of purpose in his bright eyes.

your heartbeat quickened, but your steady walking pace remained. this was mostly due to miho’s pointed look, as she saw the way you nearly froze up at the sight of yuta—as you always did. up until this point, you weren’t sure what got to you. his charming smile, his kind heart, the way he poured passion into everything he did . . .you were a goner. however, you also had a pile of homework waiting for you when you got home and couldn’t slow down for him, who probably had a celebration to get to.

still, that didn’t change the fact that yuta was making a beeline in your direction. you thought you were imagining it, until you heard him call your name. then, a second time. at this point, you turned around without even realizing that you’d lost control of your body.

“oof—” he ran straight into you the moment you turned around. you wobbled for a second, but yuta’s strong arms caught you almost instantly.

his eyes widened. “oh, shit, i’m so sorry—”

“—no, it’s, um, it’s okay, really!” you exclaimed and wanted to shrivel up when you realized how high your voice became. miho snickered behind you, but you ignored it.

a grin stretched across yuta’s face and the butterflies in your stomach awoke. something about his presence, his spirit lit a spark inside of you. he absentmindedly ran a hand through his hair and opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it and proceeded to play with the words on the tip of his tongue. you weren’t sure what was going on.

yuta asked, “did you enjoy the game?” at this point, he was full on ignoring the passerbys, save for the polite head nod for the congratulations he was receiving. all of his attention was on you.

“yeah, of course,” you nodded, maybe a little too vigorously. “you were really great out there. i mean it.”

“couldn’t have done it without my trusted medic.”

FIFTEEN.

you weren’t sure how exactly you were coaxed into this, but it seemed to have happened in the blink of an eye. everyone in your study group slowly began to flow out of yuta’s home, until it was just the two of you and studying wasn’t the main priority anymore. you weren’t in any rush to go home, considering your home was just a five minute walk away, and, of course, not wanting to pass up the opportunity to spend time with yuta.

“i don’t think i’m exactly fit for this,” you told him nervously, as he lead you onto the empty street by hand.

the evening went from homework to goofing around on youtube. the two of you had been exchanging music and favourite artists, which finally came down to stumbling across soccer clips. yuta then had the brilliant idea of teaching you soccer after you reminded him how much you loathed sports. for whatever reason, that brought you here.

yuta scoffed. “trust me, you’ll get the hang of it easily.”

the breeze blew softly, a relief on a hot summer night like this one. you sighed at the humidity and watched yuta. he dropped the soccer ball onto the ground and it hummed against the concrete, as he started to dribble it.

“you gotta pass with the inside of your foot,” he explained, though you were a little too mesmerized by his gorgeous calf muscles. “like this!” yuta demonstrated and passed the ball over to you like second nature.

somehow, you managed to stop the ball. it had to be either luck or the fear that it was going to crash into one of mrs. nakamoto’s potted plants. your eyes widened in shock. considering you could barely walk without tripping, this was an accomplishment.

he beamed. “great, now pass it over to me.”

what was intended to be a soft, gentle pass ended up being a hard kick to the, well, danger zone. it all happened so fast and before you knew it, the ball hit him with a loud smack! and yuta was trying to resist doubling over. his face contorted and body folded over in swallowed down pain, wincing.

you gasped and rushed over, endless apologies coming out. “oh my god, ohmygod, ohmy—”

“it’s okay, it’s okay!” yuta was gasping for air and you wrapped your arm around his shoulders, trying to help him stand up.

despite being in obvious distress, yuta still managed to laugh upon seeing your reaction. he didn’t realize how much he liked being aided to until you went out of your way to help him back inside and give him an ice pack. he didn’t realize how much he liked teaching his favourite thing to another person until he forced you outside and taught the basics of soccer to your clumsy ass.

most importantly, he didn’t realize how much he could like a person until you.

SIXTEEN.

you rolled your eyes, but you were, without a doubt, dying inside knowing that he remembered that day. “ha. hilarious.”

others continued to weave around you two and you were certain that it looked a little odd, probably annoying, that you were just standing in the middle of a crowded sidewalk. even miho had whispered that she would catch up with you later and snuck away. however, yuta didn’t budge.

“can i walk you home? it’s getting dark and i’m sure you can handle yourself, but just to be extra safe. . .” yuta offered and this took you by surprise.

“you guys just won the most important game of the season, isn’t there some sort of team celebration that you have to get to?” you raised your eyebrows, but allowed him to lead the way to your neighbourhood.

he shrugged. “everyone’s tired. besides, i wanted to, erm, talk to you.”

looking behind you, it seemed that the boys from the team were indeed dispersing, but strangely enough, were all looking in your direction. as if being caught red handed in a robbery, they all froze on the spot when they met your eyes and turned the other way immediately. yuta noticed this and grumbled something under his breath, but you didn’t catch it.

“about. . .?”

“uh, well, we’ve been friends for a while now, right?” yuta scratched the back of his neck with a tension in his movement.

shit. he found out about your crush on him. surely, he just wanted to let you down easy or something. you chomped down hard, teeth grinding against each other in pure agony. this was not happening. you managed to nod your head slowly.

he continued, “well, there’s something i’ve been meaning to tell you.” his eyes, full of fire, wandered all over, except to meet yours. “ask you, er, actually.”

you blinked, trying your best to ignore the bubble of hope forming in your chest. “what do you mean?” because there was no way he was talking about what you’d been dreaming of for god knows how long.

he slowed down in his tracks and for a few moments, there was a calm.

“i like you.” yuta finally spat out, the wind knocked out of him and you nearly fell over attempting to halt in your route. “and i wanted to ask if you’d go out with me.”

cashmere moonlight illuminated the aged roads of osaka where joy danced in the air—the joy of victory, youth, and, now, first love. time seemed to suspend just for a few moments and it tasted like fireworks. a round of whoops emerged from where yuta left him teammates behind, but it was all white noise to you.

everything was blurry and unimportant, except for him.

SEVENTEEN.

“why did we invite these two?” miho groaned, watching the two of you from the other side of the room.

it hadn’t even been a minute since entering the karaoke lounge, but you and yuta were already cuddled up in the corner of one of the couches. he had pulled you onto his lap and you let out a loud giggle at the contact. snaking his arms around your waist, you knew that you were not leaving this place for the rest of the night.

yuta raised an eyebrow. “that’s awfully rude. we’re your friends.” his signature cheeky smile formed and you couldn’t help but press a kiss on his cheek.

“you guys have been on this lovey-dovey honeymoon shit for, like, a year now,” one of yuta’s teammates groaned.

“sucks for you guys.” you grinned in response and began flipping through one of the song books.

it was the middle of the summer going into your last year of high school and you were certain of it—you didn’t have a single care in the world. it was the last summer of pure freedom and everyone felt it all around them. it was a ticking time bomb, a countdown that result in late nights out with all of your friends. tonight it brought you to karaoke.

yuta tucked a piece of stray hair behind your ear. “i like this colour on you.” you’d just dyed your hair a few shades lighter than your natural shade a couple of nights ago as apart of a dare. of course, you did it, but the more you looked at it, the worse it seemed to look.

“really?” you raised an eyebrow at him.

“duh. you look good in everything.”

you brought your face close to his ear, so that the conversation could only be heard between the two of you. “you should go sing something.”

“uh, what?” his face scrunched up jokingly, but you gave him a knowing eye.

it started off one day when you were chilling alone, just watching mamma mia on his couch. for whatever reason, yuta knew enough of the songs to be able to sing along. that’s when you discovered his gift of possibly the sweetest, smoothest voice you’ve ever heard. angelic, you insisted, but he was always too shy and didn’t acknowledge it.

since then, you’ve paid extra attention when you catch him singing under his breath, humming, or even just whistling. everyone told him how good he was, but he didn’t even consider it. nevertheless, it was the same glimmer in yuta’s eyes when he sang his favourite song as the one when he was on the field.

suddenly, the weight beneath you shifted. yuta had pushed you off his lap effortlessly, taking the song book. this forced you to stand up on your feet and left you confused.

he beckoned his friend that held the microphones over and took them from him. “what are you doing?” you asked.

“let’s sing a duet, then.” at this, all of your friends cheered in response to this unusual action from yuta. he’d always be the one to just sit in the corner with his drink, hype up everyone else, and maybe give some background vocals in the form of yelling.

“oh, really?” you laughed, not believing what was happening.

“what? i like trying new things with you,” yuta declared with a grin and passed a microphone to you, which you barely caught. “you better keep up.”

the night unfolded just like that, with nineties throwback jams and laughter all around. miho captured the memory on her polaroid and you kept several of these pictures to stow away, probably in some shoebox under your bed. however, for now, you lived these pictures. you lived them with yuta, always pushing each other to your boundaries and always with the best of hearts.

SEVENTEEN.

it started with that one time at the amusement park when you nearly lost your shit at the top of the ferris wheel. then, he noticed the way you squirmed trying to walk across the metal grates downtown where you could see just how deep it went past those holes. you never wanted to join your friends when they would have lunch on the school rooftop.

you had a fear of heights.

one promise was made clear between the two of you at the start of your senior year in high school: to make the best out of it. yuta figured that this meant pushing you to face what scared you the most. this was the first of them.

with a sigh, you suddenly found your shoes to be the most interesting thing in the world. “i really don’t know about this.”

“we took a three hour bus ride to get here and you’re not sure about this?” yuta folded his arms across his chest. “you’re the one that suggested we all go to the beach.”

you gnawed on your bottom lip. “well, yeah, but i meant to go swimming or tan or play volleyball! this—” you beckoned down to the aquamarine ocean line, “—is not what i meant, yuta!”

kicking a piece of rock, it flew right off the edge and deep down into the shore below. you watched it and the distance it made, which only caused you to stiffen up even further. the cliff had to be at least twenty meters high and despite the beautiful crystal waters, it felt like diving into a black hole. your eyes remained glued to the mocha dirt between your feet, as the sight only pumped your blood faster and faster.

yuta chuckled softly and you smacked his arm. “this isn’t funny!”

raising his hands up in defense, he approached you slowly. “come on. you’re the bravest girl i know.” your boyfriend tried to tip your chin up, but you tore in away. “you’ve been telling me for years about how you’ve wanted to get over this.”

“yeah, but we all know i’m a pussy ass bitch.”

he rolled his eyes, but wrapped his arms around you from behind and kissed your temple. “come on. if you do it, i’ll buy you food.”

you scoffed. “you think i’m that easily bought?”

even though he didn’t say a word, the look that yuta gave you was enough to indicate his agreement. you looked between him and the seemingly endless jump that awaited you just a few steps away. squinting at the sun, you let out a loud breath.

“well?” yuta asked hopefully.

you rubbed the ring on your left hand, a habit formed in the confrontation with your nerves, and braced yourself. in a twist of fate, you found yourself walking a few steps back and for a second, he thought that you were leaving. then, yuta saw the look on your face and grinned. it was enough for him to know. squeezing your eyes shut, you tried to steady yourself.

“you have to jump right after me, okay?!” you didn’t mean to yell, but everything began to muffle except for the pounding in your ears.

yuta said, “you got it, baby.” he began clapping and whooping, building up your energy at your side.

it was like flying. you ran and ran until your entire body was wrapped around blankets of air and freedom. you finally opened your eyes, wide and bright, to the world around you. it was pure lunacy. it must’ve lasted forever, because when you emerged from the sharp waters and gasping for air, yuta was already right beside you.

a boil of hysteria formed at the base of your throat. one giggle lead to another, until you were having a full on fest of laughter. you couldn’t stop and watching you, yuta couldn’t help but start laughing, too. you flung your arms around him in the tightest embrace, still shaking from the nerves, but in the best way possible. you planted a deep kiss on his lips and he groaned.

“i guess that wasn’t so—” you were cut off by yuta’s lips, capturing yours once again.

SEVENTEEN.

everyone knew you and yuta to be the couple that was late to almost everything. however, most were not aware of the fact that it was almost strictly because of him. sometimes, you had to step back and marvel at just how good he was at wasting time when getting ready for something.

“oh my god, is it possible to take any longer than this?” you yelled at him from his bedroom balcony, as you absentmindedly scrolled through your phone. at the same time, you ignored the angry messages from your friends, wondering where the two of you were.

the sound of the blow dryer finally came to a stop. “relax, there’s no need to rush.”

“it’s the last school festival we’re ever gonna have and you don’t wanna rush?” you quipped back.

this happened every time, so you weren’t nearly as irritated as you should’ve been. this was considering you woke up extra early to pick out your outfit and actually attempt real makeup on your face. it made you a little nervous, considering you made enough effort to brush your hair and throw on the nicest skirt you owned, albeit after digging through your closet for who knows how long. you arrived at yuta’s almost an hour before you were supposed to leave and without surprise, he was still in bed.

since this happened every time, you had one simple method that worked every time. all it took was one iced cube for nakamoto yuta, the mighty star player of your school’s soccer team, to squeal like a four year old and scramble out of bed. soon enough, he was in the shower and belting to chris brown at the top of his lungs.

he definitely didn’t get out soon enough.

you got up to bang on his bathroom door, but before you could do so, it swung open. yuta was fully dressed in casual attire of an oversized hoodie, a jean jacket, and black sweats. a baseball cap nestled the top of his pristine hair and you immediately swiped it off.

“hey—” yuta began to protest, but then his eyes scanned your appearance and his jaw was left hanging.

clearly, you didn’t notice, because you continued ranting. “if you took all that time to blow dry your hair, why the hell did you put on a hat?”

“you look. . .”

“we are so late and—”

he clamped a hand over your mouth, only getting a further rise out of you. “can you just listen to me?” but, this didn’t stop your attempts and yelling through his hand.

yuta didn’t let go until you had the bright idea to lick his hand, at which he let out a chorus of “yuck, ew, gross” and spun around to wash his hands immediately. you snickered at his reaction, but were still heated.

he gave you a dirty look. “damn, a guy can’t tell his girl that she looks beautiful?”

“not when the guy is the reason for them being an hour and a half late!” you cried. jaw set, you had to admit that this would normally get your heart pounding, but it was going to be your fist’s turn if he didn’t hurry. long gone were the days where you couldn’t speak the truth to yuta and now, you’d cuss him out at any given time.

he chuckled and placed a hand on your cheek. “well, you do. i don’t know what you did, but you look good, all dressed up and stuff.”

you let him bring you into a gentle embrace and melted into him almost instantaneously. “yeah, yeah, whatever,” you said into his chest. “by the way, i really enjoyed the concert you put on there.”

yuta’s ears turned slightly red, but he laughed it off. “thanks. i’ve been practicing.” he looked over and noticed the balcony door open, the curtains blowly softly against the wall. “were you just on my balcony?”

“yeah, it’s way too hot in here.”

“willingly? alone? at a high height?” he dramatically gaped and you hit his arm.

you replied, “ergh, yes, okay? let’s move on now.” you couldn’t bite back the small grin that was forming on your face and there was no way he didn’t notice it.

the two of you eventually raced out the front door and began a rock paper scissors competition to decide who would have to face an angry miho, who’d been waiting for you two for hours.

EIGHTEEN.

you shared all of the most painful moments of your life with yuta. he was there for you after every test you failed, every sad movie that pulled at your heartstrings, and every time you plucked your eyebrows. just thinking about him, you could easily remember the way his arms felt like home, when nothing else in the world seemed to matter.

“she’s going to be okay, come on. .  .” he murmured into your ear, as he stroked your hair. “please, just breathe, baby.”

“miho was on her way to see me! she shouldn’t have—” you couldn’t finish the sentence, a strangled sob choking your words to bits.

yuta rocked you back and forth in his arms as you tried to look for some sort of light, but the bland eggshell walls of the hospital corridor provided nothing to comfort you. there was no one else waiting for miho except you. you were all she had.

that day, she ended up surviving the fatal car accident. you were certain that you would have gone mad if it weren’t for yuta’s warm arms and the sweet nothings he assured into your being. he was your strength that day.

likewise, yuta shared all the most painful moments of his life with you. you were there for him after every injury he suffered on the field, after every screaming match with his hotheaded father, and every lost game that he took. you somehow made him laugh on his way to the infirmary. you found every way to cheer him up after a bad game. most of all, you were the one who cradled him and let him sob into your chest in the rare moments when he would lose all control after a fight with his dad.

it was about one in the morning when you awoke in a startle. the sound of a pile of your textbooks toppling over from your desk created what seemed to be an earthquake at an ungodly hour. you awoke to your heart beating wildly, unsure of what to expect.

thankfully, it was just your idiot boyfriend, who had no idea how to climb into a room through a window. unsure of what was going on, your first instinct to whisper yell at him about whatever the hell he was doing and the fact that your parents could have woken up, but then you saw. you saw his dead eyes and his slumped over figure.

“did he. . .”

you hadn’t seen yuta in about a week, ever since his father was hospitalized. he didn’t elaborate on any details when he explained the situation to you, but you knew it was fatal. he didn’t even want you visiting.

“yeah. he went real quick and just like that,” yuta took in a deep breath, “it was over.”

you immediately sat up on your bed and made room for him, to which he immediately occupied. all you wanted to do was reach out and touch him, to enclasp his hardened joints and cold skin. looking over at him, though, it seemed like the hardest thing to do. you’d never seen yuta so empty before.

you cleared your throat, while eyeing your bedroom door to ensure all lights remained off. “shouldn’t you be with your mom and sister?”

“i dropped them off at home so they could sleep. i wanted to call you, but,” yuta shrugged, “i’m here now.”

after that, yuta didn’t talk for the rest of the night. though he stared blankly at your popcorn ceiling as if he was in another world, you kept him grounded. you talked about anything and anything to distract him. the soccer game on television that evening, the new, hideous curtains that your mother put in the living room, how you just learned to do some basic sewing, the neighbourhood gossip. you talked until your throat strained and begged for you to give up. but, you didn’t give up until the first streams of ginger orange and rose emerged from the horizon beyond your tiny window.

by then, he coasted into a deep sleep into the crook of your neck and one arm slung over your torso. you buried your face in his hair, hand clutched in his. pain always hurt, but neither of you ever had to hurt alone.

EIGHTEEN.

you shared all of the most painful moments of your life with yuta, but you never anticipated the day when one of those moments would be because of him.

“what do you mean?” you felt like you’d just been punched in the gut, your lips parting in shock.

yuta pushed his tongue to the inside of his cheek and set down his soda on the rooftop ledge. “i mean, i’m leaving. i’m going to accept their offer of admission.” his eyes were downcast and he felt like he was holding onto all of the weight in the world.

“but-but, i—” you started, but couldn’t find the words.

nothing seemed real in that moment. you shook your head and turned away, finding the door to be the only option. however, watching even your smallest of movements, yuta knew you too well and easily predicted what you were going to do next.

he grabbed your arm before you could walk away. “can we just talk about this first?”

“like the way you talked to me about applying to schools overseas?” you shot, though your voice was quieter than usual.

like every other couple in the graduating class, your future was up in the air. it was floating and it seem like every time to made a move to reach out and grab for it, all that slipped through your fingers was pure nothingness. void. you didn’t want to think about it, instead opting to live in the moment.

however, with the changing leaves and the aforementioned ticking time bomb became the background music to your every day life. there always seemed to be something that popped out of nowhere to remind you of what you dreaded—the fact that you were running out of time.

yuta ran a hand through his hair. “it wasn’t the plan, i just kinda did it on a whim and i never expected. . .” his shoulders slumped.

it was then you realized that yuta was no longer living by the same hour.

although you avoided talking about it, you and yuta were with each other every step of the way since the year began. you thought the happy ending plan you concocted in your plan was officially set in motion and absolutely nothing could go wrong.

wrong.

though you knew deep inside that this wasn’t a bad thing, that you shouldn’t be upset at yuta, there was a nagging feeling at the pit of your stomach. every bad scenario that could possibly be generated suddenly flashed before your very eyes and at that, your entire body stiffened.

your heart ached and you couldn’t help but step forward to place a hand on his chest. “listen. i’m happy for you and i’m not trying to hurt your feelings, but,” you shook your head, “that shit really hurt mine.”

before he could say anything, you took off the sweater he’d given to just a few minutes earlier when the two of you arrived. the cold breeze felt like knives against your flesh, but you ignored it. for your entire life, you knew that you were as fragile as glass. however, you never truly felt it up until this moment.

“come on, it’s not that serious,” yuta said, eyes widened.

you replied, “it doesn’t matter. this is, um, just a lot to take in.” shaking your head, you broke free of his grasp.

just as you approached the stairs to return back to the school building, you hear yuta’s voice from behind you.

“i’m not letting this be the end.”

EIGHTEEN.

when the guests began pouring out of your front door, you took this as an opportunity to sneak out the back and around to escape the dreadful atmosphere. this wasn’t to say that you weren’t grateful for the careful orchestration done to ensure a successful surprise party, you were really blown away by the plan made by your family and miho. walking into your living room to be met with a crowd of people to celebration your recent acceptance to university was the highlight of your day and the second last thing you expected.

the last thing you expected had followed you out your back door, having kept a close eye on you since the start of the party. yuta had not spoken to you in a week, not since the reveal on the school rooftop. you stated that you needed space and he respected that, but there was no way he wasn’t going to celebrate your massive academic accomplishments, especially when he was the rock to keep you stable all of this years.

plus, miho would’ve killed him.

“hey, hey, hey,” yuta’s unmistakable voice chimed in behind you, “where are you going?”

“i needed some air,” you said, without turning around.

he jogged up to you and began walking by your side. you didn’t look at him. you weren’t sure why.

yuta said, “it’s crazy how fast everything’s going now,” he shoved his hands into his pockets. “it seems like yesterday we were just fourteen and screwing around, doing whatever without caring about tomorrow.”

“. . .yeah. i think i’m going to go crazy thinking about what’s going to happen tomorrow, or the day after.” the confession tasted bitter and it showed crystal clear in your features. “like, obviously, the party was great and all but it was just another reminder of all this shit building up.”

“you have no reason to worry,” yuta scoffed. “you have so much to look forward to. i know you aren’t afraid to be on your own next year.”

“but, that’s the thing, yuta!” you bellowed. “i’m not afraid, i’m terrified. i wasn’t going be afraid because i wasn’t going to be on my own, i was supposed to have you.” it took all of your strength to even attempt to stop your voice from shaking.

like you’d always done, you found yourself immediately melting back into his arms, like they were your rightful place. “believe it or not, i am so fucking ecstatic for you. i just—”

“—wish we wouldn’t have to go our own ways?” yuta finished for you, a sad smile playing on his lips.

you nodded. “it’s stupid, but you’ve been by my side forever. and i want the best for you and trust me, i know this school is perfect for you.”

“you looked into it?”

“of course i did,” you managed to laugh. “and it checks off every single box for your dream school.”

the conversation was a volcano, waiting to erupt in the shadows for quite some time. thankfully, it wasn’t destructive. the two of you sat down on the edge of the sidewalk, still not letting go of each other. similar to leisurely flowing lava, it was warm and of beauty unlike any other.

yuta cupped your cheek and you swore you would have given anything to freeze those few seconds of time to keep. “you know, no matter what happens, you’ll always have my heart.”

that night, yuta took you to the same arcade he brought you to on your first date at fifteen. you shared laughter and exchanged music like you had for many years. the fear settling deep into both of your bodies seemed to fade for that one night. because, although he wanted to be strong and reject it, yuta was as scared as you were.

“you aren’t making the wrong decision,” you assured him, over and over again.

just like that, the magma begun to settle. the fog started to clear, but you weren’t sure if whatever hid behind it all was what you wanted. regardless, for those few seconds in time, everything seemed to be okay.

EIGHTEEN.

"stop crying, loser.”

“i am not crying!” you insisted with a laugh, as you hastily swiped at the tears brimming in your eyes. “i am totally fine, this is totally happening.”

standing in the middle of the parking lot of the ceremony hall, you looked a little ridiculous. you’d long given up on wearing heels and opted to go barefoot, your makeup was smeared, and you already ripped your gown by accident when you stepped on it going down the stairs. yuta didn’t see you that way, though.

he saw you for what you were: the smart, strong, gorgeous girl that he’d been in love with for the past four years of his life. the first girl he’d ever loved. he’d gone on believing that you were going to be the last, too, but that dream was shattered into pieces now. somehow, he accepted this with a smile.

“i guess this is goodbye,” he jokingly extended his hand, to which you slapped it out of the way and nearly jumped on him for a bone crushing hug. yuta laughed and hugged you back just as tight, beginning to twirl you around and ignored the way his cap toppled off his head in the process. 

all of a sudden, you heard a loud honk. he let go of you and you noticed that your family was waiting for you to get in the car. you sighed. his eyes met yours and the silence was enough.

he pressed a kiss against your cheek, one last time. “bye, angel.”

TWENTY FIVE.

nothing was the same. your parents had long moved out of your childhood home and to the other side of the city. you lost contact with all of your high school friends and as far as you knew, they’d all moved to different points of the country. upon returning to your hometown, there was nothing left for you anymore.

dropping the last of your cardboard boxes, thankfully not one of the ones marked with ‘fragile,’ miho let out a loud huff. “finally! i thought this shit would never end,” she grumbled.

you kicked the box aside to the back wall of you brand new apartment. “thanks for helping me out.”

she was the last of your old friends to remain in osaka, having built her life here after graduation as a police officer. in fact, miho was the last of your old friends to stick by your side ever since. some were appalled at the turn of events that occurred  in your life and ostracized you. others simply faded away naturally. miho was the first of them to enter your life and you were in pure relief when she promised that she wouldn’t leave your side.

miho was the one you dragged into your washroom to take the five tests to see if they were really accurate. when yuta was long gone, she was your rock. when you had to go through school with a young kid, she was your source of encouragement through strings of letters, phone calls, and text messages.

she was the last constant in your life in the ‘before’ and the ‘after.’

“duh, do you know how excited i am for you to be back?!” miho squealed, hugging you for what seemed to be the hundredth time since you arrived back in town just a year before.

you beamed. “i just. . .can’t believe it.” looking out the window, you realized that you left so much of yourself when you left at eighteen. now that you were back, you weren’t sure if you wanted to pick up where you left off.

your oldest friend nodded in understanding. suddenly, there was a loud chime and miho checked her phone immediately, frowning at her screen. she shoved in back into her purse and sighed.

“i really don’t want to leave you alone, but i have to go,” she said.

you nodded in understanding. “it’s okay. go. i have to go grocery shopping for me and the little dude over there anyway,” you replied. “i’ll catch up with you tomorrow for lunch?”

the small boy sitting at your newly moved couch looked up at the mention of himself. he’d been occupied the entire time with power rangers reruns and you walked over to him, scooping him up in a cuddle. yosuke was at the age where he whined at every form of physical affection from his mother, even if they were the best of friends like the two of you were.

“of course,” miho said and followed you. she cooed at yosuke, who’s eyes were still glued to the tablet screen in his hands. taking his chubby cheeks between her manicured fingers and pinching them, the kid let out a loud groan and you gave him a pointed look.

you cleared your throat. “say bye to auntie miho.”

“bye auntie miho,” yosuke mumbled with a grimace painted across his face.

standing up, you began to walk miho to the door. she slipped on her heels, ranting about the warm weather in november, but to be honest, you were mostly tuning her out in favour of just appreciating miho’s presence in the first place. just like old times.

you opened the door for her and waved her goodbye. however, just as you were about to close it, the door beside your apartment opened. whether it was out of curiosity or some cruel trick by destiny, you look out to greet your neighbour.

what came next couldn’t have happened in your wildest dreams.

everything was the same. sure, he grew out his hair a little bit longer, but yuta looked exactly the same in that dusty parking lot, when the two of you were eighteen. a lollipop dangled from his mouth, like before, and his surroundings were drowned out by earphones plugged into both of his ears. he still wore his late father’s titanium watch, no matter how aged it was. yuta’s eyes met yours and you were a goner, like you always were. it was more than a punch to the gut, but a full on blow to the face and a kick to the shins. your entire body felt like it’d just been battered. you couldn’t breathe.

for half a second, he glanced away. then, the nooks and crannies of his memories that hadn’t been touched in years became triggered. yuta looked up and he could’ve sworn, everything in the world stopped. his mouth ran dry and the vulnerability that settled in his bones felt as though he’d been caught in the middle of a crime.

yuta wanted to say your name, to see if it was really you, but nothing seemed to croak out.

“this can’t be real.” you didn’t know you were saying this out loud, but the words just spilled out of your mouth. you felt like a wax candle, eventually vanishing the hotter your flame grew. this couldn’t be happening.

he sputtered, “i can’t—”

you suddenly became aware of your appearance and wanted to just hide away. with your hair twisted into a half-assed bun and clad in an old t-shirt and denim overalls, you looked more like the visiting plumber than a tenant.

“—believe it,” you finished for him, trying to let the oxygen enter your body. “um, sorry, i just moved in, so i’m not really fit to be seen by actual humans.”

neither of you were sure how to go about this, both wanting to go in for a hug, but hesitated. after a few awkward attempts, yuta eventually went ‘fuck it’ and just completely squashing you into an embrace. you weren’t sure how long the hug lasted for. maybe an hour. a couple minute. a few seconds. but even just a quarter of that was enough for you. the smell of musk and teakwood filled your senses and you were lost again, forgetting about what this reunion meant for you.

“you look great.” yuta just saw you the way he’d always remembered you. “you still look the same.” he chuckled, taken aback and blown away.

you scrunched your nose. “do i?” there was no way he was being serious.

“just like the night of the spring festival.”

that was what took you by surprise, the fact that he remembered that night, much less what you looked like. still, the whole situation was not fully processed in your mind. you shook your head, blinking your doubts away.

you tried to form your words. “what, erm, are you doing here?” the awkward laugh that came out of your mouth was enough to say it all. “i mean, last i heard, you became a big shot, working for some company in europe.”

“i moved back to japan a few weeks ago,” yuta revealed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “i wanted to work back home.” though the smile on his face was small, it was enough to bring you back to the bliss of your relationship with him.

none of this was real.

you were dizzy. seeing yuta felt like seeing a ghost from your past. this wasn’t supposed to be what moving back to osaka was about. seven years away meant seven years of growth and even harder, moving on. you finally snapped yourself out of the fragrant, intoxicating daze that was nakamoto yuta and realized you had to confront the reality.

“what—” you started,

he shrugged and leaned against his door frame. “why travel the world when you feel like you’re, well, missing something?” yuta asked. “i mean, i had a lot going for me. but, something felt wrong.”

this was just honesty from yuta. after years away from his roots, there had to be a reason why he traced his footprints back to home. maybe it was after pleading to the stars for an answer, but standing in front of you seemed like the twist of fate he’d been seeking.

“nothing beats home and family, right?”

it was too late. from the ringing in your ears, you didn’t hear the tiny footsteps plopping right behind you on your new, carpeted floors. you didn’t hear the distant video music come to an abrupt pause. you didn’t hear any of it and then, you felt a tug at your pant leg.

“i’m hungry,” yosuke yawned, looking up at you through his long eyelashes.

all the colour in yuta’s face drained. you rubbed the ring on your left hand and tore your gaze away from yuta and instead focused on your son. “okay, yosuke, go back inside and i’ll make you lunch, honey.” you forced a smile, but yosuke just gave a confused side glance at yuta. nonetheless, he retreated back inside.

yuta always imagined what it would be like if he crossed paths with you again. in most of these fantasies, you’d fall right back into his arms. he rarely considered the idea that you would have someone else. he didn’t even entertain the notion at all, the dead clutch of hope still remaining within him.

“yosuke?” he asked slowly, trying to memorize the details of the little boy’s face and all he saw were your features.

it was the hardest thing for you to say.

“yeah. my son.”

𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐂.

i like you (exo remake) - weathercast severely - ft island milk - f(x) at the end - chungha you were beautiful - day6

[nowis-scales]

Pre-Verdant Wind Endgame Update

An Update on the ol’ Three Houses Verdant Wind playthrough, since I’ve been neglecting documenting my journey properly for a bit:

• My current placement is Ch.20, so I’m only a few chapters away from the last one. It’s kind of a weird thought because I feel like I just hit the timeskip, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed that this will feel well-paced out. In terms of writing, I’m known for being a bit of a stickler for good flow. It’s why all of my fanfics take so long to update! I have to make sure my flow is perfect.

• The fact that they have been giving background information on characters has been so amazing. Learning that Raphael’s sister’s name was Maya and getting to hear about her has made me irrationally happy.

• Also, just generally, holy shit people sleep on Raphael and Leonie. Raphael often gets shoved to the side, and Leonie is treated like her only trait is liking Jeralt, and for me it all just culminates in the question of “so did you like... not do their support conversations, or...?” Seriously. I think Leonie might be one of my favourites in the game so far, and I adore Raph. He’s so sweet!

• The Flame Emperor reveal for some reason gave me “and I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for you meddling kids” vibes. I liked the venom Cherami Leigh had there as Rhea, too. I think I read from someone that in Japanese, Rhea’s actually super calm in that scene. I don’t think I have a preference towards the anger or the calmness, honestly. I think I just liked how smoothly the emotion came across. Plus, I’m a little biased, I’m fond of Cherami as an actress. I haven’t found a performance from her I haven’t enjoyed yet.

• I was really confused as to why Seteth showed up in my house after Chapter 12ish I think? I wasn’t expecting him to just be there after the paralogue, but I definitely wasn’t unhappy. I do like him! I just never use him, because I recruited Bernadetta and Sylvain, so I kinda have a full roster going... 

• I was also confused in the Gronder Field fight because I couldn’t see what people meant about Bernie getting set on fire. Then I remembered Bernie wasn’t on the hill because she was with me. I recruited her. Whatever this proves about me, I don’t know.

• I did end up beating Marianne’s paralogue! It actually wasn’t as hard once I levelled her up a bit and classed her to a Holy Knight. The big thing with her in that paralogue seems to be that she needs a decent amount of power and movement to really get by, so that’s what I’d recommend for anyone else playing it. Using rescue will also probably help you out, but I tried to avoid using Flayn there because it’s kinda easy to kill her. 

• Admittedly, I’m not 100% sure how I feel about the support system. In some ways, I think it’s better that not everybody has that forced S-Support. Oftentimes we were either squeezing a love confession out of two characters who were unlikely to have one, or characters with decent potential might get snubbed because their connection was less apparent to the writers (and unfortunately that still does happen in the case of same sex S-supports in 3H). Having the conversations only go to a certain point is helpful, but at the same time, the inherent romantic undertones of several of the A-supports do make things feel strange. If it weren’t for the fact that I know characters can have only one partner as their paired ending, I would think lots of them were in a polycule. Nothing wrong with that as long as everyone’s comfortable, but because I know they can only have one person in their ending, I find it pretty jarring.

• I think it was interesting that they went to do the fights for breaking into Enbarr and then taking down Edelgard back-to-back. I’m glad they did, honestly, because while I don’t usually like to do two fights next to each other unless I’m grinding, it doesn’t mess with the suspension of disbelief. It would be stupid to break into Enbarr and then just run right back to the Monastery.

• I have still not completed the randomized quest from just after the timeskip. You know, the one I was yelling about with the weeds? Still haven’t gotten any weeds. I think I might just have to give up on it. It’s hilarious that my luck is so good that it’s actually bad.

• The fact that Byleth is praised for having more of a personality than Corrin is the biggest slice of bullshit I have heard from this fanbase in a long time. Byleth is literally designed to be a silent protagonist with nothing going on with them – they even came up with a story reason for why Byleth is such a blank sack of meat! In the kindest way possible, I don’t think most people realize that they are implementing whatever personality they want onto Byleth. Personally, I don’t find anything relatable about being stoic, calm, and not inclined to anyone (until plot happens, of course). I’ve always been the overly enthusiastic and caring type, with a tendency towards nervousness. Trying to relate to Byleth was like trying to relate to the experiences of a cactus. While I definitely don’t think Corrin is the strongest of the modern FE avatars – that award goes to Robin – they still had some things I could understand and relate to. If you’re not the type of person who loves the cool, “I fight for my friends” types like Ike, though, you’re likely to have a hard time relating to Byleth. If you can manage that type of character, then you’re more likely to have present them with a personality of their own.

• Actually, while we’re on the topic of Byleth getting praised for things Corrin got dragged for, the fact that Corrin is still cited as the character who receives the most “player pandering” is ridiculous too. Do a lot of characters like Corrin? Yeah! But most of them who do are deeply traumatized in a way that inclines them specifically towards Corrin. The Nohr siblings cling to each other due to their abusive childhood, the Hoshido siblings all in some capacity seem to suffer from abandonment issues (oldest) and/or attachment issues (youngest), and the official foursome of retainers have also had some sort of abandonment struggle in their past (forced separation from parents, murdered loved ones). While the cast of Three Houses needs therapy and is traumatized too, there is no reason why the inclination moves towards Byleth. Bernadetta feels safe around them just because. Edelgard is obsessed with them just because. Marianne learns to feel better about herself just because. Why are there so many exceptions for Byleth, and so many just without explanation? I don’t hate Byleth by any means, but these two things make my opinion of them lower than it would be otherwise. It kinda sucks that my image of Byleth is tainted by the fanbase’s hypocrisy, but I know I can’t have everything.

• The gameplay overall for 3H has been pretty fun! I love the addition of the Demonic Beasts, as annoying as they are to fight. There’s a charm to having some of your stronger units working to take on the soldiers blocking the path, meanwhile your army’s more intermediate strikeforce works to keep them safe by bringing down the beast. Once you get the hang of it, gameplay with the new additions is fun. The only thing I don’t use is Divine Pulse, but that’s because I’m on Casual and usually when I want to rewind, I want to just plain start over. So I use the old “turn off and start again” trick.

• Edelgard’s death scene was actually pretty good. I must confess that I went out of my way to avoid Edelgard in the academy phase, as I knew how hard the game was going to hit me with the “she’s obessed with you” thing and I wanted to see how wonky it would feel if I didn’t speak to her much. I was right that it’s incredibly awkward in terms of writing when you haven’t spent the time with her, but surprisingly, her death scene still holds up. Good voice acting, animation, and music. My only beef with it is something they have done in FE before, and it’s something I wish they’d stop. If a character is dying, you either let them have a few last breaths after their last lines or you kill them mid-sentence. It’s probably just a personal nitpick, but hearing them get their last word out without struggle and then immediately die just makes me aware of how badly the directors wanted the whole line to be in there. I can totally understand it but I find it so troublesome in the grand scheme of things that I just can’t.

• I also like that in the fight against Edelgard, they tried to make it ambiguous who had the key. Immediately as it told me that, I decided it was Petra and ended up being right. I was kind of sad to kill her though, to be honest. I don’t know her well, but she’s probably one of the Eagles I like more.

• The fight against the Death Knight at Fort Merceus ended up being surprisingly pretty easy. In fact, while I paved the way for most of my army, Nader ended up making it to the Death Knight just as Claude did. He did most of the damage – I’m not kidding, the Death Knight was down to 1 HP – and then Claude took care of the rest. It was a weird fight. They said impregnable a lot leading up to it.

• I understand why they kill Dimitri off-screen at the Gronder Field fight, but I was admittedly a bit disappointed. Again, Salli Saffoti does a good job doing Hilda’s voice for it, but I would have liked to see it animated. It was also nice to have that little rapport with Dedue! If only we could have allied with the Lions a bit more. Everyone always says Claude and Edelgard have similar goals; however, it’s their methods that differ. Claude seems to align himself a bit closer to Dimitri, so I’m usually a bit confused by the idea that Edelgard and Claude would work together. I was spoiled on enough to know her background and story, and even so, I think that her methodology is just a bit too violent for his tastes. But that’s just my two cents.

 Alright. I think that’s about all I can drain out of my brain from the top of my head. With that, I am off to kill the slithers! We’ll see how this goes. Wish me luck!

[idkwhatimdoingbutitscool]

Stick and Pokes

pairing: Han Jisung x Y/N (female reader)

90′s!au, sk8r boy Jisung!au, high school!au

genre: angst and fluff

warnings: cursing, self-medicating (with weed),  and needles.

You were just about to crawl into bed as your window slid open. You gasped seeing your boyfriend Jisung smiling at you while crawling through your window. His backpack and skateboard made him anything but graceful. You sighed in relief, “Ji! What the fuck? You nearly gave me a heart attack!” “Sorry, babygirl. I just wanted to see you,” he whispered. He stood still by the window, waiting for premission to get into bed. 

He looked perfect without even trying, standing there in his flannel pajama pants and black hoodie. His curly hair only emphazied the effortlessness of his appearence. He coughed, interupting your thoughts. You moved over and patted the area of the bed next to you. He jumped onto the bed and slid under the covers. You laid your head on his chest and wrapped your arms around him. He kissed you on your forehead and you slowly drifted to sleep.

“Y/N! You’re going to be late for school!” your mom yelled, waking you. Fuck, you thought, Jisung. You heard your mom’s footsteps marching up the stairs to your room, “Seriously, Y/N! Get up!” Before she can open the door you pushed a sleeping Jisung off the bed and out of sight. The door busted open. “I’m up,” you say. She groans, “You have 10 minutes before the bus gets here.” “I know, mom,” you yell as she closed the door behind her. Jisung sat up and rubed his face, “Good morning, beautiful.” His dimpley smile made it so hard to yell at him. “Jisung! You have to go,” you commanded, getting out of bed. He giggled, “Or I could take the bus with you.” “Fine, but you have to meet me at the bus stop,” you comply. He kisses your cheek and sneaked back out of the window. 

You got ready, ran out of your room and down the stairs. Your mom was waiting for you in the kitchen, “Don’t forget breakfast.” You groaned an grabbed a banana on your way out. As you approached the bus stop you saw Jisung standing with one foot out of the bus talking to diver, doing his best to stall him. He was so cute while standing there nervously waiting for you. You started to sprint, grabbing his arm as soon as you reached the entrance of the bus. He jumped in surprise. “Hi,” you greeted the bus driver who rolled his eyes and shut the door behind you. You and Jisung sat next to each other on the bus, listening to music on his walkman.

You sat in math, a feeling of emptiness was burning a hole in your chest. You just wanted to feel something. The only thing that made you feel was Jisung. He ignited something in you that you couldn’t describe. When you two were together it felt as if time stopped and all of the responsibilities of your everyday life disapeared. You needed him in that moment more than ever. As of late school and your home life left you feeling isolated and empty. Thank fuck, you thought as the bell rang throughout the school. You start packing up and run out of the room. In your haste you bump into Jisung in the hallway.

“Woah, hey,” Jisung said, grabbing your waist, “Are you okay?” You nod, “I’m just really ready to go home.” “Speaking of, do you want to stay at my place over the weekend? My parents are out of town, so we’ll have the place to ourselves,” Jisung sounded almost uncertain of what your answer would be. Giggling, you replied, “Yeah, of course. Just as long as we can stay at home and smoke all weekend.” “What else would we do,” Jisung laughed. He put his arm around you and walked you to your locker. You took out the books you needed and put the in your backpack, “Okay. Let’s go.” Jisung nodded and we started to walk.

Jisung lived close to school so you guys could walk. During the walk to Jisung’s He put his skateboard on the ground and pulled you onto it. Each time you wobbled Jisung would laugh and proceed to reasure you that it was okay and you wouldn’t fall. He held your hands and pulled you on the skateboard until you got to his driveway. He helped you off his board and then kicked it up. You walked through his garage. He picked you up and carried you bridal style and carried you into his room. You were giggling as laid you down on his bed and kissed your stomach. 

He looked up at you, “Want to smoke?” “More than ever,” you sighed, throwing you head back against the bed. Jisung started rummaging through his desk door. He pulled out a plastic bag and pulled out one of the blunts. You sat up and he put it to your lips. After digging through his pocket and fishing out his lighter, he lit your blunt. You breathed in immediatly, eager and ready to feel the release that would soon follow your first inhale. Jisung lit a blunt for himself and sat on the bed by the pillows above you. “Ji,” you asked. He hummed before blowing out smoke. You continued, “Can you tattoo me?” He laughed, “Sure. Let me just get some stuff.” He jumped up and ran out the room.

Laying on there on Jisung’s bed with your eyes closed made time go by so slowly. Either that or you were just high as fuck. After a couple more puffs you felt your body get lighter. The feeling of you floating started to hit causing you to giggle. Either that or you were just high as fuck. Jisung came back into the room. “Babe. I got everything. What do you want,” Jisung asked holding up supplies, the high not yet hitting him. You laughed, “Just do what you want.” You  held out your arm for him to work on. He took his lighter and sterilized the needle. Jisung then spun a thread around the needle and dipped it in some ink.

The needled entered your skin. You giggled and your legs squirmed, “It tickles!” Jisung laughed at your reaction, “It’s supposed to hurt, and stop moving.” You looked at your arm. Blood started peeking out from your skin. He took your arm to his mouth and licked off the blood. His eyes then met yours, “No peeking!” Before you could turn away Jisung stretched over and kissed you. You could taste the metalic taste mixed with the weed as soon as he deepend the kiss, slightly opening is mouth. He pulled away leaving a sour after-taste against your lips. 

“Ji,” you whispered, “I love you.” He laid his hand on your cheeck, “Y/N, I love you, too.” You laughed, “Okay now get back to work,” you shook your arm, “and stop making my heart feel all melted and shit.” He chuckled and nodded, crouching down to keep stabbing the needle in your arm. It did not take him as long to finish than you expected. Once he release your arm with an overexaggerated, “Ta-da!” you looked at your tattoo to see a deformed, black smiley face covered in blood. “I love it,” you told him. Which was true, despite how ugly it actually was. You thought it added to the charm.

After letting you take a peek at your newly inked skin Jisung took back your arm and wiped it off. “Sorry that it’s kind of wonky,” he pouted. You were wuick to reassure him, “No no no! I love it! He needs a name though.” “Gerald is a cool name,” JIsung laughed and soon after started coughing. He took another drag from his blunt. “You think that’s going to help you stop coughing,” you questioned. “No, but what else is there to do?” You huffed and threw your back down on the bed with all your force. 

Time stopped as you closed your eyes. Your thoughts started to engulf you, What’s the point of doing anything? Fuck. I don’t want to be here. “I don’t want to be here,” you said outloud without thinking. “Do you want to go home,” Jisung asked, eyes looking as though he already missed you. “No, I just... I don’t know,” a tear rolled down your cheek. “Y/N, what’s up. Come on. You can tell me anything, you know that, right?” he grabbed your hand, to which you pulled away almost immediatly. “I don’t want to be anywhere,” you babbled. Crying for four days straight was now only a voice crack away. 

Your boyfriend sat next to you and put his hand on your outter thigh, “Y/N, do you mean,” his voice trailed off. All you could do is nod. “Baby,” he winced at the thought of you in pain. Jisung quickly wrapped his body around yours, pulling you close to his chest. He whispered as he tucked your hair behind your ear, “What can I do to make you feel better?” You could not hold back anymore, “Nothing.” You started to sob. You tried your best to calm down, but you could not. Even though Jisung was right there next to you, you still felt nothing but hurt.

All Jisung could do was hold you. He would occasionally inject saying that everything would be okay. What else could he do? You did not expect anything from him. What he did was so kind. You really wanted for his comfort to make you feel better, but it did not. He cooded in your ear, “I love you.” You told him you loved him too and how much you apperciated him inbetween sobs. “Do you need anything? Maybe some water?” he asked after kissing your salty cheek. 

You nodded and Jisung let go of you, leaving you feeling cold. When Jisung came back you sat up and wiped your tears, “I’m sorry. Thanks.” You took the glass and sipped the liquid to stop your cries. “Don’t be sorry, Y/N. I love you so much, all I want to do is to be here for you,” his eyebrows furrowed, “I just want you to be okay.”