#he's like. the inspiration for the dark part of Recreat i guess

[thesinglesjukebox]

YOASOBI - "IDOL"

Not a Jocelyn cover -- though there are parallels...

[7.79]

Ryo Miyauchi: You can call "idols," in particular the human exchanges and the parasocial relationships built around them, a lot of things. Using the words of Ai Hoshina from the manga-turned-anime Oshi no Ko, Ayase and Ikuta Lilas call it a lie. A performance would have neutralized, artifice would have made the critique more academic, and maybe fake would have softened the blow. A lie digs deep because it implies that I, the fan, am partly complicit in believing what I'm convinced to be true, whether or not I am aware of being sold to. And YOASOBI say the quiet parts fucking loud, starting from the most bombastic production they've made: a monstrous blast of brass, a blinding flash of synths, a trap-pop breakdown, and a gothic choir singing "you're my savior, you're my saving grace." But as "IDOL" places the onus also on the idol herself for knowingly selling a lie to her beloved fans, how could anyone resist buying into the spectacle? Ikuta embodies the superhuman ability of Ai Hoshina via her vocal performance: not only does she seamlessly maneuver through the trickiest melodies and a demanding production, she inspires in us the feeling that we can recreate the magic, too, as evident from the countless TikTok dance snippets and YouTube vocal covers uploaded this year. She fakes it until she makes it, fabricating her value before her reputation catches up to the level of work put in. But she also convinces herself this is how to love until her little fib starts to feel true. In a macabre, perfectly meta way, it's the idol's own dying words that give the song its most validating, emotionally moving moment, as she finally speaks her love into actual being: "I, I said it at last/I know it's not a lie as I'm voicing these words/I love you." I, for one, know all this is a lie, though it doesn't make the feelings any less real. [10]

Crystal Leww: Structurally and sonically, "IDOL" borrows elements that I associate with the two major, somewhat external-facing Asian pop music scenes -- the racing feeling and sweet vocal of J-pop and the cut-and-paste nature, especially second-verse half-time rap, of K-pop. It's been fun to observe this cross over into both -- on TikTok you can see not only J-pop idols covering the dance but a big contingent of K-pop idols doing the same. Ironically, all these idols are doing the little dance with a smile to a song about the dark side of the idol industry, which I guess is something that all idols from all countries can agree on after all. [7]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: There's too much going on here! Which, frankly, I love. Every single second of "Idol" feels stuffed to the gills with sonic ideas, burning through riffs and hooks like they've got an infinite supply. Some of it is more familiar to YOASOBI's earlier work (those mathy guitar-synth-piano passages, some of the more bombastic orchestral touches), while other parts feel more novel (those cadences on the verses call to mind J.I.D and Ski Mask; the "Heys" at the end are so very Mustard-coded; someone please tell me where those choral touches are drawn from). But it all comes together mostly by virtue of the raw power of juxtaposition. If you slowed this down and tried to dissect the individual parts of "Idol" I'm not sure it would all hang together, but why would you want to do that? The sick thrill of "Idol" -- both in sound and in lyrical message -- is in the rush and overwhelm of Big Pop Moments TM, of the joy of each individual detail as it wears you down in turn. [8]

Dorian Sinclair: Ayase is a hell of a writer and producer, and on "IDOL" he makes something that feels new for Yoasobi, even if he falls back on a few of his favourite tricks (that busy keyboard line does not feel meaningfully different from the one in "Yoru ni Kakeru" or a half-dozen songs since, even if there's a lot more around it to distract you). But if there was any doubt that Lilas Ikuta is as essential, "IDOL" should conclusively lay that to rest. It's two, or even three, unrelated songs that have been glued together, asking completely different things from the singer and doing little to ease the transition between sections. She navigates the transitions effortlessly, skipping between registers and delivery styles and making the whole thing cohere with her performance. The song's about a fictional character, but it's Ikuta's coronation. [9]

Taylor Alatorre: "IDOL" serves as an interesting companion piece to another viral Japanese smash of 2023, "INTERNET YAMERO" from the game Needy Streamer Overload. Both tread similar thematic ground: the tyranny of the public image, the codependency of entertainer and audience, the desperate search for a "savior" or "angel" in the wreckage of a mediated age. The latter, however, due to its origin in an indie visual novel, is able to shed all concerns of good taste and indulge its most ear-piercing denpa fantasies, of the kind that would be unbecoming for the theme to a Doga Kobo anime. The constraints placed upon "IDOL"'s composition may be necessary, and even beneficial to the franchise as a whole, but they are palpable throughout. It stretches against its need to serve as both a credible idol song and as a fashionably cynical take on idols, and as a portent of dark events to come -- a tough mandate indeed. Even with all of its trap interludes, wotagei chanting, and Square Enix gospel choirs, Oshi no Ko's theme ends up sounding not all that different than any random OP on the MyAnimeList top 200. Which is to say, it still pretty much bangs. [7]

Katherine St Asaph: Blurbing Stray Kids' "LALALALA" last month, I wrote: "I'm a complete mark for any pop song that sounds like its true spiritual home is on a Warcraft soundtrack." Nothing has changed, nor will it. Other things I'm a complete mark for: orchestra hits, key changes, faux harpsichord. [8]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: The half-time, militaristic reprise of the intro sequence got a chuckle out of me, as did the swiftness with which it abandons the idea. I've heard countless songs that have given me constant sonic whiplash, but "IDOL" is the rare one where you can envision that everyone involved was full-on grinning, excited to see what they could get away with. [6]

Brad Shoup: The audacity! My favorite bit is Ikura's swiping the "HUMBLE." flow for funsies: just one tool furiously, cartoonishly tossed out of YOASOBI's bag. It's like watching someone solve a Rubik's Cube while setting off a series of controlled demolitions. [9]

Nortey Dowuona: The hammering of the rap parts is so deafening; the rapping, filtered and compressed to the nth degree, has to be left alone to capture your attention. The piano line emerges at the pre-chorus but is quickly squashed by the drum programming that lightens the farther it stretches away from rap, leaving the voice to settle into the song instead of battling the synth horns stolen off a Southside beat from 2014. The theme rewards you with a brief piano line and the overly processed voice singing in the comfortable center of their range, allowing you to appreciate the creative excitement with which the producer and composer combined all these stylish sounds. But next time the production team composes a song like this, either find a vocalist who can comfortably handle the heavy-handed hammers of the rap verses, or tamp down to let this light uwu cutesy vocal shine. [8]

Michael Hong: YOASOBI's songs often sound like they could afford to be a touch faster than they are, and it's no different here. The topline of "IDOL" comes off as stiff, particularly across the opening clangs and the jumps of the chorus. As the duo race through all these ideas, Ikura stalls into a moment of exhaustion, as if the track's punch has started to weigh heavy on her. [4]

Ian Mathers: This one is genuinely baffling to me. I can't really parse out why some parts of it make my brain feel like it's fizzing pleasurably, while other parts trigger the avoidant feelings I get with certain strains of prog rock. Even worse, I'm not sure I can keep track of which parts are which from one listen to another. I love/don't love when it gets more measured and stompy. I love/don't love when it gets quieter, or when it just fully goes for it. Depending on which way this resolves in my brain, I'm either never going to seek out "IDOL" again, or going to start playing it on a loop. Hard to score that! [7]

Anna Katrina Lockwood: After reading up on Oshi no Ko, the anime for which "Idol" is the theme, this song made sense in a new way. It sounds like an idol group song shoved backward through a hedge at SMTown Tokyo in 2013, or a Dempagumi.inc song that was written by Yoo Young-jin and then performed with way more fervor than required. While I don't think it's required to enjoy this song, being familiar with the format of the titular idol, a profession with a decent amount of regional variation across Asia but entirely distinct from the Western boy/girl group, makes "Idol" more effective to me. The song really captures the troubling parasocial aspects of the idol industrial complex, issues that I feel a duty to grapple with as a long-time idol group fan. Parasocial attachment is by no means exclusive to idols, but the heady mix of accessibility, human as allegory, and physical beauty increases the likelihood of issues, sometimes with serious consequences for the idols themselves. This is all without even mentioning "Idol" being the runaway megahit of the year in a particular niche, which doesn't really demonstrate anything other than the song's wide appeal. Hey, a good song is a good song, and it's nice when that trumps everything. [9]

Leah Isobel: "IDOL" is so literal, and so garish, and so much, in a way that doesn't normally work for me. Its rapid consecutive U-turns, its pileup of shiny baubles, makes me feel like Yoasobi is playing a trick -- like they're using these techniques to gussy up what is, at heart, a relatively familiar story about the underbelly of fame. And then the final key change-into-chorus transition happens and, yeah, okay, I get it. The shifts in mood and mode raise the stakes so high that the last turnaround feels like squeezing an ocean through an arrow slit: for one person to hold the attention of millions is, after all, an impossible virtuosity. [7]

Tara Hillegeist: To love a piece of art is not, by necessity, to identify myself with the work involved in its making or feel any precious defensiveness about its merits. Indeed, when appreciating art for what it is and what it can be, it is often a richer form of love to come to that feeling through studiously antagonistic critique instead of immediately sincere affection. I already know all the work's faults, the reasons it's a failed work; and yet I still find it worth your time. There is a chasm of difference -- the kind that runs down the vein of this discourse, more often than it cuts across -- between loving art and loving "an artist," in the singular, as the bespoke creature/object/entity/producer/"person" that makes the art in question. There are many ways to prevent myself, as a critic, from falling into that trap, as many ways as there are critics. And with so many of these ways of putting distance between myself and my subjects of choice, it's easy to grow jaded and callous, to forget that these performances began as people, to make light of this business -- for it is a business, for what it does to the lives at its forefront. To crack jokes about the strain it puts on them to be the wick at the center of the candle, while we watch them flicker, flare out, and fade. Distance renders my protections as perverse as the alternative.

To find myself in love with "the artist" that makes the art I love, though -- there is no escape from the parasocial realignment of one's approach that follows. A part of me has already accepted it will betray the sensible ethics of the arrangement between that art's creator and its consumer, on behalf of a belief in the righteousness, the decency, the fundamental moral worthiness, of this image I've chosen to perceive within the actions of an otherwise total stranger -- a betrayal all the more dangerously stupid on my end for the obvious awareness that this is the image they want to sell me on. As an appreciator of art, as a fair critic, the worst mistake I can make is to take that performative sincerity at its word. It's even worse when that collapse of situational awareness leaves me with a sense of entitlement, in either direction -- a sense that the transaction involved is anything more than the exchange of the pleasure of creating for the pleasure of consuming, that in return for the joy I take in their ability to synthesize "truth" into "performance," I now owe them a debt in the form of devotion ... or, worse, that they owe me anything in kind. No matter how chaste or compassionate or self-effacing the gesture may feel, it remains a trap. I'm in love with being lied to. They're in love with lying to me. At best, it only leads to the tragedy of heartbreak -- a tragedy all the more cruel if one of us really meant it. It's enough to send one screaming to the madhouse, thinking about it seriously. Maybe that's why we all try not to. But sometimes, we let ourselves forget. It's so easy to do -- as easy as we say it is not to do it.

There was this ... girl, I liked, on the come-up in the entertainment world. She'd started as a wrestler, and I'd been what you might call a fan of her mother, a well-established name in the industry. So I was already paying attention when her mother introduced her in the ring to say she'd be pursuing the family business. I was already a fan of hers when it was announced she too would step back from wrestling to pursue a career in the wider entertainment industry. I thought she deserved the limelight, that she was made for it, that anyone could see how hard-working she was and how much she'd earned their adoration. In turn, I felt entitled to following her personal Twitter, because seeing her messages on my timeline -- whether upon waking or before bed -- and giving them the occasional like made me feel like I was supporting her in her pursuits, whatever she did. As a wrestling fan, seeing her succeed felt like its own reward, "one of ours" making good, one step at a time. In K-pop terms, you could've said she was one of my biases; in Japan, an "oshi," from the verb for "support."

Maybe you've already guessed how this story ends. It made international news, after all. They changed laws because of it. Her mother made sure they did. But for me, the volcanic upheaval that resulted was on a much more personal and unavoidable scale. All I saw, at first, was someone struggling to put her best foot forward and finally getting what looked to be her big break -- on a reality show, but one of the most popular reality shows on television at the time, where thousands of people could see her! I'd wake up every morning, eager to see whether she'd say anything new about it. So I was already awake and alert, locked down in COVID quarantine on that cold morning in the spring of 2020, when she tweeted out her suicide note for all her friends and followers to see, and followed it up with picture proof of how deeply serious she meant her attempt to be. I sat there, a helpless voyeur, those pictures a constant companion. I waited, one of the lucky few, to learn whether what my "support" had led me to witness being done "live" could be undone, or whether I'd have to live the rest of my life knowing my last memories of someone I thought I'd valued as a person would be those bloody images, all because I "cared" so much to keep tabs on her social media on the regular.

Within the hour, we all knew the answer. Her friends and family were able to at least get Twitter to take the images down before they had to put out any further statements themselves. By the time the wider world awoke to learn the news, the pronouncement of her death was a matter of recorded, impersonal fact, accompanied by photographs of her alive in the ring and on set, rather than the catastrophic tableau of judgmental violence that the internet and the television crew drove her to inflict upon herself. The price I would pay for my mistake, in thinking my support of her entitled me to knowing as much about her as was publicly knowable, would be that my witness was as much my own fault as my worthlessness. I could only live with what I'd seen and damn myself for why.

I threw myself into other spheres of my interest -- "virtual YouTubers" -- in the vain hope that my awareness of the failings of the genre would cushion me from such a tragic mistake another time. I was no stranger to the cynical mode in which the subculture operated, using surreal motion-tracked avatars as a means by which tech startups could showcase and sell their proprietary apps. I was hardly uninformed on its casually abusive handling of their talent and lax management policies. Before I'd ever started engaging with any of the talent responsible, I'd heard about managers needing to be fired for power-harassment who went on to stalk and threaten their former clients. I already knew about performers needing to go on hiatus because their audiences turned violent over the sound of their mic accidentally picking up a roommate's presence. I already knew about performers needing to reveal their own behind-the-scenes identities to prevent themselves from being replaced as the voice of the model they'd made famous.

Naturally, the artists I grew to appreciate most in the scene were the ones most aware, if not outright forceful, about reminding their audience where the boundaries were between the audience, the audience's perception of themselves, and themselves, the person putting those perceptions and boundaries in place. One of those artists mentioned that one of her favorite manga was this niche series that she felt was the most relatable and compelling depiction of the ins and outs of being, at once, both a performer and someone who had performers she loved in turn: a series called Oshi no ko. I jotted it down as something to look into, later -- it sounded like a pretty out-there title, so I didn't expect I'd find many, if any, translations of it; there certainly weren't any being published legally at that time.

But she kept bringing it up, and soon I started hearing other VTubers doing the same, so I took the curiosity more seriously. Two or three volumes in, a strange horror overtook me. The events that led to what I was reading were anything but events that I had any connection to, although I'd noticed similarities between them and real events in the industry. But now the characters in the manga had been roped into performing on a reality show, one of the most-watched television shows at that time ... and there it was. Ripped from reality, turned into performative art: the same events that I could never forget happening, had never really forgiven myself for putting myself in the position of being a helpless witness to. They had been turned into a cathartic lie -- because in the fictional tale of Oshi no ko, the protagonists, who had become her friends, were able to prevent her story from ending the same way: the way, in the fiction, that they hadn't been able to prevent their mother's ... and the way, in reality, that they couldn't have prevented their inspiration's. Through the artists' efforts, I realized I wasn't suffering that heartache alone. I, too, didn't deserve to regret having lied to myself enough about what I loved that I turned that love into a lie, that I loved a lie that can never be true. Maybe that, too, is a lie, but it's no less a lie than the belief that as an audience, our personal responsibilities should ever matter to anyone but ourselves. Cut to the spring of 2023: Oshi no ko, shocking me to the core, receives an animated adaptation. Tapped for the opening theme is YOASOBI, a group comprised of a former idol and a former Vocaloid producer, mostly known for moody, emotional rock songs. The song they make for it is this one: "IDOL"; the charts make the rest into obvious history, and the lyrics speak for themselves. So now that lie belongs to the rest of you. For what it's worth, I hope you love it as much as I did. [10]

[mischief-lies-and-stories]

My Nearly 7-Hour-Long Loki Playlist

I have over 100 songs on a playlist for Loki. I use Apple Music, and I would recreate and link a Spotify playlist, but the account is linked to my Facebook and I don’t want to reveal my full name so I’m not going to do that. All of these songs should probably be able to be found on Spotify, though. I pulled inspiration for this playlist from many versions of Loki from the comics, movies, show, and my fanfic characterizations, as well as the various ships I include him in (post on these forthcoming). This post will be quite long given how many songs I have on this playlist, but I will try to restrict my explanation for including the song to a few words about the pairing or version of Loki the song calls to mind or some specific lyrics that made me think of him. Also some brief spoilers for some of my fics. 

“Next to Me”, Imagine Dragons: How Loki views his relationship (brotherly or romantic, you choose) with Thor.

“Two Hands,” Passenger: Post-Infinity War Loki to Thor (again, you can decide type of relationship), includes the line “Our sun is all but set,” which I titled one of my Infinity War fix-it fics as a callback to Loki’s words, “The sun will shine on us again.”

“Timber and Coal,” Passenger: soft FrostIron

“Thunder,” Imagine Dragons: Thor

“Immigrant Song,” Led Zeppelin: essentially the Thor: Ragnarok theme song

“Thunder,” Passenger: Thor

“I’ll Keep You Safe,” Sleeping at Last: Thor and Loki (The line, “Your darkness will be rewritten/Into a work of fiction” feels very Thor reassuring Loki that he can change.)

“All Through the Night,” Sleeping at Last: title of part one of my FrostIron series, Nights on the Roof

“Saturn,” Sleeping at Last: Canonically, Loki mourning Frigga. Or Loki mourning Thor in part 2 of my Visions Made of Flesh and Light series, written just after the first trailer for Infinity War, before we knew Loki dies but saw Thor floating unconscious in space.

“Pompeii,” Bastille: This is mostly from the repeated line “How am I gonna be an optimist about this?” Either my point of view, because I added this right after Endgame, when Loki bit it in Infinity War and didn’t come back. Or the series finale of Loki, after everything goes to shit. 

“Icarus,” Bastille: Loki: Agent of Asgard angst of Loki burning. (They talk about this a lot and I put that into fics a lot because it’s such angsty imagery.)

“Devil’s Backbone,” The Civil Wars: Some of these songs are my opinion on Loki.

“Glory and Gore,” Lorde: I think I found this on a different Loki playlist. It just fits him.

“Poison and Wine,” The Civil Wars: Thorki

“The Last of the Real Ones,” Fall Out Boy: FrostIron

“I’ll Be Good,” Jaymes Young: Loki: Agent of Asgard (and also Journey into Mystery)

“After the Storm,” Mumford and Sons: More Loki: Agent of Asgard angst. Just this Sisyphian struggle he constantly has of trying to be good and do the right thing and rewrite who he is, and then either self-sabotaging or falling back into the box other people have made for him. 

“Thistle and Weeds,” Mumford and Sons: More angst. Sometimes when I hear angst, I just think Loki.

“Gale Song,” The Lumineers: “It’s a lonely road for the tired man.” My AoA boi again.

“Long Way Home,” The Lumineers: My guess is this was also inspired by the Visions Made of Flesh and Light series.

“Gun Song,” The Lumineers: Mostly for the line “One day I pray I’ll be more than my father’s son.”

“White Lie,” The Lumineers: God of Lies

“Nobody Knows,” The Lumineers: Every year at the camp I go to, we hold a memorial for those that passed away that year, and every year on the slideshow of their pictures they play this song. So this song is just forever seared into my brain as a mourning song. At this point in playlist creation, Endgame is out but Loki is not, so Loki is still super dead and I’m mad about it. 

“Second Child, Restless Child,” The Oh Hellos: Loki to a goddamn T.

“Like the Dawn,” The Oh Hellos: Thorki, hence my fic Like the Dawn.

“Her Sweet Kiss,” from The Witcher: Either Mobius about Sylvie and Loki or Theo about Amora and Loki, it could go either way. 

“In Case You Don’t Live Forever,” Ben Platt: Thorki or FrostIron

“Kiss Quick,” Matt Nathanson: FrostIron, if I remember correctly.

“Ghost Town,” First Aid Kit: Thorki (“But I’ll come back to you someday.”)

“Golden Leaves,” Passenger: Thorki (“Do you remember how this first begun?/ Teeth were white and our skin was young.”)

“I Was Wrong,” The Oh Hellos: Loki showing remorse and trying to be a better person. 

“Temporary Love,” Ben Platt: FrostIron (Specifically Nights on the Roof FrostIron)

“Cedar Lane,” First Aid Kit: Thorki 

“If I Walk Away,” Josh Groban: Thorki

“Wait For Me,” from Hadestown: I think this was either Phantom Limb, which is my Theo/Loki fanfiction that links Where Mischief Lies to the rest of the MCU. Or I also had a FrostIron idea that didn’t go anywhere that I was temporarily calling Valhalla Heist, where Loki and Tony break out of Valhalla and fall in love along the way, so like kind of Orpheus and Eurydice a little bit. And then also the similarities between this song and “Where you go, I go,” which is the recurring vow FrostIron makes in the Nights on the Roof series. 

“My Fault,” Imagine Dragons: Loki’s guilt and angst

“Bitter Water,” The Oh Hellos: “I know I shouldn’t love you, but I do.” Thorki, because incest.

“Before You Go,” Lewis Capaldi: “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, but I was just kidding myself.” Enemies-to-Lovers. And more specifically, Thorki during Loki’s death in Infinity War, “Before you go,/ Was there something I could have said to make it all stop hurting?”

“River,” Sam Smith: Angst

“Keeping Your Head Up,” Birdy: FrostIron (Specifically Nights on the Roof, as usual)

“King of the World,” First Aid Kit: Loki’s motivation through most of his history.

“Scars,” James Bay: That point in Ragnarok when Thor and Loki part ways on Sakaar, but then Loki follows him to Asgard because they love each other (again, brotherly or romantic, doesn’t matter, it fits for either). 

“Heirloom,” Sleeping at Last: The angst of having to deal with a dad like Odin, who’s a frickin’ dick. “You are so much more than your father’s son/You are so much more than what I’ve become.”

“Sandstorm,” Passenger: “Lover, oh my lover/I know I’m not easy to understand/Cover, darling take cover/For I am the sandstorm/And you are the sand.” Angsty FrostIron

“Bad Habit,” Ben Platt: Thorki

“C’est La Mort,” The Civil Wars: “Say your good-byes, but darling if you please/don’t go without me.” This is some Thor crying over Loki’s body as the ship explodes around him type of angst.

“I’m With You,” Vance Joy: FrostIron

“How Long Will I Love You,” Ellie Golding: Thorki

“I Won’t Give Up,” Jason Mraz: FrostIron

“I Never Told You,” Colbie Caillat: Thorki

“North,” Sleeping at Last: I feel like this relates to all of my ships, always, ever. It’s one of my favorite songs. But this is where the title for my FrostIron wedding fic comes from, Give Us Bread, Give Us Salt, Give Us Wine. It just has wedding vibes. 

“Achilles Come Down,” Gang of Youths: Icarus-like burning vibes. Avengers-era MCU Loki or AoA Loki

“Chemicals,” Dean Lewis: Thorki

“Remember When It Rained,” Josh Groban: Thorki angst, especially with the rain imagery and Thor being the god of thunder.

“Left Behind,” from Spring Awakening: Thor mourning Loki. (And also sometimes I play around with killing off Tony. It’s never going to be canon in my FrostIron series, but I play around with hurting Loki sometimes.)

“Very Full,” Tom Hiddleston: I love this song. It’s the song he sings in Asgardian (Norwegian) on Lamentis in Loki. I wish we had the rest of the song; it’s so good.

“Everything,” Michael Buble: Thorki

“Eavesdrop,” The Civil Wars: Either FrostIron in the most recent part of my series (part 6), or Lokius once they reunite after the events that happened in the season finale. Because it starts, “I don’t want to talk right now/I just want your arms wrapped around me in this moment.”

“Hold My Girl,” George Ezra: Don’t mind me, just pretending to serenade Sylvie. 

“Jump For My Love” and “Fire,” The Pointer Sisters; and “Jupiter”, from The Planets, by Gustav Holst: A while back, Tom Hiddleston did like an AMA or whatever with Tumblr. I didn’t watch it, I don’t know how you watch them, and I don’t care. But Tumblr is Tumblr, so they do “ads” where they make you see some of it. And one of the things he was asked was, “What is some music you think Loki would listen to?” And he said that Loki would either listen to something classical with like a redemptive arc, like “Jupiter” from The Planets, or he would listen to disco dance music like The Pointer Sisters (of which I grabbed “Jump For My Love” and “Fire” because I didn’t feel like listening to their entire discography). And he was right! I don’t know how he was right; it seems very unlikely that these songs fit, but he’s 100% right, and it’s insane how right he was. And “Jupiter” makes me cry every time. There’s no words, it’s completely classical, and I cry every time. Because he’s right, it’s Loki’s arc in music form, and it makes me cry.

“All I’ve Ever Known,” from Hadestown: “I was alone so long/I didn’t even know that I was lonely.” Lokius

“Hymn for N,” The Cottars: Sylvie

“Lokius,” Natalie Holt: The score from Loki. 

“She Used to Be Mine,” from Waitress: Oh my God, this song is so Sylvie, it’s crazy. This song also makes me cry, because I love Sylvie and she’s perfect and this song breaks my fucking heart.

“A Long Time Ago,” First Aid Kit: Thorki

“Shotgun,” George Ezra: This song has nothing to do with anything, EXCEPT for two lyrics that make me think of my friends in the Void. And they are: “Home-grown alligator” and “time flies in the yellow and green.”

“Send Me a River,” The Cottars: Sylvie

“RAIN,” Ben Platt: Lokius

“For the Dancing and the Dreaming,” from How to Train Your Dragon 2: I’ve decided that this is a song they sing on Asgard. I wrote a ficlet (that I haven’t posted anywhere yet) of Loki from my FrostIron series singing this in Asgardian (Norwegian) to Tony. 

“Vargsangen,” Johanna Grussner: This is a Scandinavian lullaby (I think) about wolves (if I remember correctly). I was trying to find a song for Loki to sing and this is one of the songs I found that I liked, but ultimately went with the above song for the ficlet instead.

“Light,” Sleeping at Last: Thorki (“May these words be the first to find your ears/The world is brighter than the sun, now that you’re here.” The sun will shine on us again, essentially.)

“The One,” Kodaline: Lokius, namely from Choose Me. 

“Dark Moon,” Bonnie Guitar and “If You Love Me (Really Love Me),” Brenda Lee: two songs played in Loki.

“Don’t Go Breakin’ My Heart,” from Ella Enchanted (I know this is a cover, but this is the one on the playlist): FrostIron

“Paradise,” George Ezra: Lokius

“So Will I,” Ben Platt: FrostIron, namely Nights on the Roof

“Love Will Find a Way,” from Lion King 2: Either FrostIron during part 6 of Nights on the Roof or Lokius after the season finale of Loki.

“I’m Still Here,” from Treasure Planet: AoA Loki and Loki (“And how can the world want me to change?/ They’re the ones that stay the same.” “They can’t tell me who to be/ ‘Cause I’m not what they see.”)

“Won’t Look Back,” Josh Groban: Nights on the Roof FrostIron

“Where Do I Go From Here?” from Pocahontas 2: AoA Loki and Loki

“If I Say I Love You,” Mumford and Sons: Lokius

“Ten Thousand Miles,” Altan: Thorki, especially Loki trying to get back to Thor after being killed by Thanos

“You Are Enough,” Sleeping At Last: Lokius, a la “You can be whoever, whatever you wanna be, even someone good. Just in case anyone ever told you any different.” Could also be me, slapping the shit out of Loki, being like “Get your head out of your ass. You are worthy.”

“Carry You,” The Native Sibling: Lokius

“Half a Man,” Dean Lewis: angst

“Overcome,” from Cyrano: Thorki, probably

“Break My Heart Again,” Finneas: Anything angsty is Loki related

“All These Things That I’ve Done,” The Killers: “Last call for sin/While everyone’s lost, the battle is won/With all these things that I’ve done.” More angst, honestly.

“Sweet Child O’ Mine,” Guns N’ Roses: He’s not even in this movie, and I’m so mad about it, but the theme song for Thor: Love and Thunder.

“Ain’t No Rest For The Wicked,” Cage the Elephant: Again, another song I found on another Loki playlist, but very Loki.

“True Love,” P!nk: Okay, listen. This is exactly how I feel about Loki. “Sometimes I hate every stupid word you say/ Sometimes I wanna slap you in your whole face/ There’s no one quite like you/ You push all my buttons down/ I know life would suck without you./ At the same time I wanna hug you/ I wanna wrap my hands around your neck/ You’re an asshole, but I love you/ You make me so mad I ask myself/ Why I’m still here, oh, where could I go/ You’re the only love I’ve ever known/ But I hate you, I really hate you/ So much I think it must be true love.” All of the lyrics are relevant. Loki is a dick and I love him. 

“Come What May,” from Moulin Rouge: “Never knew I could feel like this/ Like I’ve never seen the sky before/ I want to vanish inside your kiss/ Everyday I love you more and more.” Is it thorki? Yes. Is it FrostIron? Yes. Is it lokius? Yes. Is it Cloudki? Probably. (If you don’t recognize that one, stay tuned; I’m planning a ships post soon.)

“Rat A Tat,” Fall Out Boy: Just Loki vibes. Also, “If my love is a weapon.” Love is a dagger, anyone?

“Victorious,” Panic! At the Disco: Vibes again, I think, sorry.

“After the Gold Rush,” k.d. lang: I think the last verse was giving me Ragnarok and beginning of Infinity War vibes.

“I Was an Island,” John-Allison Weiss: Lokius or FrostIron

“Allies or Enemies,” The Crane Wives: Thorki 

“Easier,” The Crane Wives: Loki at the end of Defenders: Beyond (It’s a very long explanation, I would just say to read Al Ewing’s Loki arc, AoA and DB and then you’ll get why this fits at the end.)

“October,” The Crane Wives: Lokius

“Let Me Fall,” Josh Groban: End of AoA Loki in his moment of Ego-Death (“Someone I am is waiting for courage/The one I want, the one I will become will catch me.” “Though the phoenix may or may not rise.”)

“Caleb Trask,” The Crane Wives: “So you’ve got bad in your blood/ Brother, you’re one of us/ So you’ve got bad in your blood/ How long you gonna wait for those azaleas to bud?” Just Loki.

“I Am My Own Muse,” Fall Out Boy: Loki vibes, and also the line, “Let’s twist the knife again.” Love is a dagger.

“Beloved,” Mumford and Sons: Lokius

“All Things Shall Be Peace,” from Were the World Mine: “Take comfort, he no more shall see my face/Whom I do love and will do till my death.” Lokius from Loki’s perspective in the finale (though I think we’re going to get the original Mobius back very soon).

“Unwritten,” Natasha Beddingfield: Sylvie just killed He Who Remains, and the Sacred Timeline has gone up to a point. And now what happens beyond it is anyone’s guess. “The rest is still unwritten.”

[stevethehairington]

Many for you 🎁 🏷 🌻 🎬 🤖 🎨

ahh triciaaa, ty for sending these in!! so many!! i love it!! ty!

🎁 Have a piece of a WIP you want to share?

ooh yes!! this is from the latest wip i've started!! if anyone (minus the people that already Know) can guess what this is inspired by i will give you a gold star lol

Steve rolls his eyes and shakes his head, smile still tugging at his lips. He rolls his shoulders back and casts a glance around the room. “Anyone else?” He asks. “Is that it? No one else wants to try to steal my crown?” “I’ll take a whack at it.” The group parts, and there stands Eddie Munson, in his leather jacket and obnoxious sunglasses. That bandana of his that’s always trailing out of his back pocket is tied around his head, pulling back some of his hair. Steve can see the sharp line of his jaw now, the full of his cheeks. He looks pretty. He looks good. “Munson,” Steve greets, as Eddie saunters over to the table, swinging a sock full of change. The coins clink noisily against each other.

🏷 Is there a tag you like to search for when looking for fanfics to read?

hm, not really? like, i do pretty much all of my reading on ao3 (with the exception, of course, of the ficlets and such i see on here from people i follow!) and when i'm first starting out in a new fandom/pairing tag then i tend to keep things pretty broad upon my first browse through. especially if there's not a lot of fics written yet bc being picky/specific yields less results. if the fandom is big and there's a wide selection to browse from then yeah i can be a little more selective which is great!!

but basically, i kind of just search for fics depending on the mood i'm in. so i'll adjust my parameters to fit that. so if i'm looking for a specific trope or dynamic i'll add those tags and search there. but if i'm not then i'll keep it pretty broad.

i do always filter for complete though. i am not a wip reader and there are only a veeeerrrry select few exceptions to that rule i make.

(occasionally when i'm really bored i'll go through the steddie tag on here and check out some of the ficlets there that i don't see on my dash already, but that's not as often)

🌻 How often do you read your own fics?

not like suuuuper often or anything but like it does happen often. and like, i know some people get weird about reading their own works, but nah, not me lol. i'm not embarrassed by that. i'm my own biggest fan and i'll fully embrace that lmaoo. in the case of most of my fics, i wrote them for me first and foremost, like they're concepts and situations and scenarios that i wanted to see done, they're things that i like to read about, and yeah, i think i did a pretty good job bringing those concepts and situations and scenarios to life, so yeah, of course i'm going to read them lol.

🎬 If a movie or show were based on your fic, which fic would you choose and who would you fancast?

omg that is SUCH a hard question dskjfs i could answer with so many of my fics lmaoo.

is it cheating if i give two answers? sdkfjsld. bc i really can't chose and i've already narrowed it down from more than two 😂 yeah, i'm giving two answers:

i would say either i want to hold you hand or if you have a minute. i feel like both of those would translate very well to the big screen lol.

i want to hold your hand because i think the story for that one is very like cinematic? in the sense that there are so many scenes in it and they flow from one to the next in a way that would be easy to recreate on film, and also like i can just picture certain scenes (the hand holding scenes specifically!) and the music that would help build the tension of them and the lighting (the glow of the movie screen illuminating them, in the dark but still lit up) and just yeahhhh. that one would be lovely to see as a movie.

and then if you have a minute because oh mannn i had THEE most vivid image of that one in my head while writing it, and like the same kind of deal - i think it would be sooo cool to see the music included (the trailer would ABSOLUTELY have somewhere only we know playing over it) and the cinematography of it all, like just picture all the forest shots and the RAIN and that cute lil diner on the side of the road, oh god it would be sooo good to see on film.

i feel like the fancast part of this question is a little silly because in an ideal world it would literally be the same actors and actresses that play these characters in the og source material lmao, so joe and joe where y'all at i've got your next movie deal!!

🤖 Are non-fandom friends aware that you write fanfic?

i've only told one like non-fandom friend that i write fic - my best friend back in high school.

but, my sister also does know that i write (she does too lol) and i know she's read some of my stuff and we've shared ideas with one another before too so yeah.

i'm pretttttty sure my parents probably know too? but like. it's one of those don't ask don't tell kind of things lmfaooo. like, when i was waaaay younger they caught me writing fic in the middle of the night when i should have been asleep and, well, let's just say that was a VERY awkward conversation the next day. so like, they know that i write gay fanfiction bc of that lmfao, but they don't really bring it up and neither do i. that being said, even if they know i write it they don't know what fandom/pairings i'm writing for lmao so that's a plus i suppose.

🎨 If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

omg honestly literally ANYTHING. like, i will be forever grateful and indebted to and in love with ANYONE who is inspired enough by my writing to want to create art for it. like that's just INCREDIBLE and AMAZING to me and anyone who does that will automatically earn my undying love and support (assuming they did not already have it before lmao).

buuuuut if i had to pick specifics ooooh, man i think any scene from my fic under my umbrella would be fantastic, it's one of my favorite fics i've written and i just love the vibes of that fic and rain my beloved and i will never say no to seeing sopping wet drowned cat eddie munson immortalized in art lmaoo.

or also the screaming rock scene/steve and eddie holding hands running through the forest when it starts to pour or the diner pancakes scene from if you have a minute would be incredible too.

or or or - sdlfdsk lmao i could list off so many scenes i would love to see art of i'm not going to lie. but yeah for real, literally seeing any of them drawn out would just be so mind blowing and so incredible so yeah i'm not picky 😂

fanfic writer ask game

[fairymint-archive]

🎈 Headcanon;; Cade Zeppelin, aka Red Villager/Balloon Fighter, took the Smash PR spot for villager and has been considered the ‘face’ of animal crossing because he’s photogenic, but also has probably some of the biggest responsibility out of the villagers (at least on this blog) His village is right by the city where he grew up, and he’s more of a mayor of Pencilvania as well even if he moved into the outskirts. This is the same city featured in Balloon Kid, and he is responsible for the balloon presents as well as his buddy Pietro.

His faces range from cute to scary, but lean more towards the latter. His morals are a tad on the sleazy side in all honesty, but he has good intentions, just isn’t the most kind when carrying those out. He’s not a Killager, but isn’t above vigilante murder and black market cannibalism either when it comes to criminals in his city.

[cacoetheswriting]

library hours

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!Reader Warnings: maybe a swear word or two, really just FLUFF ft. baby spence Word Count: 1.3k Summary: A late night at a university library leads to reader meeting a tall brunette genius. [fyi i wrote a reimagined version with professor reid x reader. you can read it here]

A/N: dedicated to the amazing @ellesgreenaway​ for inspiring this little fic & giving it a title!!  ❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️

-

There was something you always enjoyed about the going to the library.

Perhaps it was the way every single person that walked through the threshold had a purpose. A mission to complete. Perhaps it was the quiet. The solace you felt sitting alone in a corner researching various topics, for class and for recreational purposes.

The university library had quickly become your second home. A location you frequented more than your own dorm room. It wasn’t always to study, no. You people watched. Doodled. Even napped there from time to time. The place brought you peace, and by the time you senior year rolled around, you saw the librarians more than your college friends.

The university library was also the place where you first met a certain young brunette genius - which in time became the main reason why you liked it so much.

Lights were slowly being turned off section by section. A vacuum came to life in one of the aisles. People started to scramble from their seats - shoving their things into their backpacks, throwing out empty coffee cups into the overflowing bins, checking out books they might still use that evening.

All signs indicating it was time to go.

Dolly, one of the librarians, ushered towards you. Her jacket draped over her shoulders, her bag in hand. She gave you the usual spiel of how you can stay until the janitor is finished cleaning, to which you politely nodded along. She wished you a pleasant night, and with a “see you tomorrow” she hurried out the door.

Once she was out of sight, you groaned under your breath and ran your fingers through your hair. You had an assignment due tomorrow, one you started hours ago and only managed to formulate three total sentences. Your gut was telling you there was no way you were going to finish now, especially since you had about thirty minutes until you would have to leave.

Leaning back in your chair, you fluttered your eyes closed in an attempt to collect your thoughts. The tranquil feeling didn't last long as you were abruptly brought back to reality by a loud bang. You quickly sat back up and scanned the space for the source of the noise.

A tall brunette man, not much older than you, stood a few tables away, a heavy looking book at his feet and a shameful look spread across his features.

“The library is closed for the night.” You stated. The brunette scrunched his nose briefly. “B-but you’re here.” He remarked before leaning down to pick up the book he dropped.

“I have permission to be here.”

“What if I do too?” He challenged, taking a step towards you although still keeping a safe distance.

You folded your arms across your chest and arched a brow. “Well, do you?”

The brunette didn't respond. Instead, you noticed how his cheeks flushed a shade of red, how he clutched the book to his chest, and how his fingers tightened around the strap of his bag.

You couldn't help but smirk as you let your arms fall back down to your side.

“I’m just kidding. Come on, join me.” You said, pointing to to the chair across the table from you. “We have about twenty-five minutes before we get kicked out, might as well make the most of it.”

He hesitated for a split second, hovering in his spot. It wasn't until you turned your attention completely away from him, and back to the book in front of you, that he made his move.

“You’re not some sort of killer, are you? You’re not here to murder me?” You asked, looking up as he sat down. His eyes widened and he quickly shook his head in response. “Ehm... N-no.”

“That wasn't a very reassuring no, but I guess I’ll take it.” You nudged in response, and proceeded to work away on your assignment. As you worked, you could feel his eyes burning into you.

In any other situation, with any other stranger, the feeling would have made you uncomfortable. But there was something about the timid stranger that was quite welcoming.

“I-I actually, uhm, I profile serial killers. I help catch them.” He said after a moment of silence. Once again, you glanced up from your notes to look at him. Intrigue greeting your facial features. “I just started with the FBI.” He stated.

It wasn't a brag. No. It was a statement to make you feel more safe, and you couldn't help but smile at him. “So, mister FBI, what are you doing in a university library on a Thursday night?”

“Doctor.” He corrected.

“What?”

“Doctor FBI.” He said, corners of his lips twitching upwards. “I have PhDs in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering.” Now, that was a brag.

You chuckled softly. “You don't happen to have a PhD in History under your belt, do you? Because that would be very helpful right about now.”

“No, but I do have an eidetic memory and can read twenty-thousand words per minute.” He declared. You stared at him in disbelief, your mouth parting ever so slightly in shock.

“Did they make you in a lab or something?” You teased, although you could tell he didn't find it amusing. He furrowed his brows, lips pursed into thin line. You chewed down on your bottom lip, feeling slightly ashamed for poking fun at the guy who was nothing but be nice to you. “I’m sorry.” You mumbled faintly. “That was rude.”

“It’s okay.” He quickly reassured, and shot you a timid smile. The two of you stared silently at one another. There was something amicable about the seconds that passed as you looked into his hazel eyes. Something harmonious. Friendly. Strong.

You cleared your throat. “There uhm, there’s this dinner not far from here. It’s twenty-four hours so they won't kick us out. Would you like to come with me? We can share a pie. I mean, if you’re into that. Or, or we can just have coffee-”

“Y-yes, I would love to.” The young doctor answered all too quickly causing you to grin at him.

Soon enough you were both packed up and up on your feet, heading towards the library exit.

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky making the million stars shine all that brighter. They looked like perfect sugar granules spilled on a dark surface, accompanied by the glowing moonlight. Breathtaking.

Street lamps glittered ahead, illuminating the streets. The two of you walked side by side, almost in sync.

“Does that big brain of yours possess information on Roman gods?” You asked while nonchalantly hopping up on the curb. You spread out your arms like a tightrope walker, and with one foot carefully placed in front of the other you continued your journey.

The wind blew lightly through your hair, your brunette companion observing quietly. A smile creeping up on his lips. “Because if you do, I might ask for your help with an assignment.” You glanced at him briefly.

“I-I do actually, ehm. The... The Ancient Romans were extremely religious, and believed their success was due to their strong beliefs. They believed that if you maintained a good relationship with the gods, they would be kind to you.” He briskly cleared his throat. “There were twelve Olympian Gods in total. Jupiter, Juno, Mars, Mercury, Neptune, Venus, Apollo, Diana, Minerva, Ceres, Vulcan, and Vesta...”

You let out a soft kindhearted laugh. “Okay doctor FBI, slow down. Wait until we get to the diner so I can really appreciate your genius.”

He blushed, feeling thankful that the darkness around prevented you from seeing. “It’s Spencer. My name, uhm, my name is Spencer.”

You stopped in your tracks and elegantly hopped off the curb. Spencer turned in his spot so that he was now facing you completely, only an arms reach away.

“Spencer...” You tested the name on your tongue, a smile embellishing your features. “It suits you.” You retorted before proceeding to introduce yourself, “I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, Spencer.”

-

masterlist

spencer reid taglist: @no-honey-no​, @calm-and-doctor​, @idroppedmygourd​​, @averyhotchner, @wowitsel, @elldell1204, @hey-there-angels, @reidabookforonce, @ellesgreenaway

[a-crepusculo]

Not the One (Ethan x MC)

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x Dr. Marchia Bisognin (F!MC) Series: Water Under the Bridge Series | Part 1 Series Premise: Their relationship is put to the test when a new opportunity arises for Marchia. Rating / Category: Teen / Angst, AU Warning(s): Adult language Word Count: 1355 words

A/N: Yup, you’ve guessed it, folks. This mini-series was inspired by none other than Queen Adele herself. I don’t know why I’m inflicting so much pain on my precious babies, but here we are lol. Again, I would very much recommend you to listen to Water Under the Bridge - Adele throughout this series, for some extra ~angst~ 😬

The roaring thunder reverberated out across Washington.

And tonight, it matched the thundering in her heart.

For a moment, a single strand of blinding white light flashed in the sky—shattering the darkness that surrounded it. Then, her green orbs followed the ambulance that raced past her car window, the loud yet familiar siren sound surprisingly provided comfort for her wounded soul.

Marchia drove on, and on, and on; watching the windscreen wipers swish down the heavy rain. She could pretend to be anybody, here, right now, in this vast new city. A hotshot lawyer, a girl that is chasing her first true love, an aspiring painter trying to find her artistic musing—anything but her own self.

Anything but being the Marchia Bisognin.

She snickered at that thought because the irony isn’t lost on her.

As the traffic light turned red, all vehicles came to a sudden halt. Although she was able to physically stop her moving car, her mind kept sprinting at a high speed; forcing her to recall the last image of him.

How did it come to this?

A week ago, she was admiring the sight of her boyfriend preparing dinner; sleeves rolled up, laboring over their stove, effortlessly recreating her all-time favorite Georgian Stuffed Chicken with such ease. It was a skill that he has perfected after years of experimenting in the kitchen.

After finishing up the exquisite feast, they moved to the balcony. Both of them enjoyed the magical dance of moonlight that twirled on the atmosphere above. She stood beside him, capturing every tiny detail of his charming demeanor, and engraved it to her memory—like she always does.

Their evening, however, was interrupted by the incessant buzzing that came from her phone; bringing life-changing news that could shatter the foundation of their relationship.

Memories of that night were still fresh, vivid in her eyes, amplified by a well-known song that started playing on the radio.

[Boston, One Week Ago]

“And you didn’t even bother to let me know?” he scoffed, his jaw clenched tight.

“I wanted to,” she retorted, biting her lip a little too hard. “But with work, and the upcoming study we’re working on, and our wedding—”

“Of course,” Ethan huffed, putting a hand on his chest in mock understanding. “Of course you’re too busy to inform me that you were accepted as a member for the Medical Advisor to the President. My sincerest apologies.”

His bitter remark felt like a slap on her face. Fresh, tiny sullen tears welled up in her eyes as her expression turned guarded, emotionless. There was tension in her shoulders, tightness in the lines of her features—exhaustion and alcohol threatening to overwhelm her system and create chaos.

From across the balcony, she stared at him in stoic silence, noticing the steam that was puffing out of his ears.

“Look, sayang,” Marchia exhaled sharply, feeling the dread in her stomach weighing her down. “I’m sorry, I truly am. It was never my intention to hide it.”

To her surprise, he quietly chuckled at this—a bleak, humorless noise that reminded her of the specter of a man he used to be.

He titled his head at her, azure eyes staring into hers curiously, as if to detect any lie slipped in her words. “I can’t just drop everything and leave to Washington with you, Marchia.”

A storm of doubt and vexation was blazing in her eyes when she glared back at him, deep set of crease on her forehead. It became a dance, a tango between the two, an unspoken scuffle; both moving in tandem, unwilling to yield their power and surrender.

“Why not?”

“Because I have responsibilities here.”

“Oh, and you didn’t have one when you left to the Amazon?”

Neither missed a beat.

“I don’t see how that is relevant,” Ethan snapped, running his hands through his annoyed face.

Her countenance grew heavy with pain and sadness. “You left, Ethan. Without a word, without any goodbye. And somehow, at this very moment, you’re acting like I’m going to do the exact same thing.”

“Maybe it is.”

It felt like time has stopped and clung to this specific moment; the coldness of his response baffled Marchia. Of the ups and downs, the highs and lows, the push and pull that they have gone through together—is this how much he believed in her?

“I would never leave you, E—”

He replied in a clipped tone. “Then stay.”

A stark of irrational ache made her stomach churn again. It is her dream to do more good, to be more than just her little self, and this was the answer to it. And in an instant, the implication of his verdict led her to think of the worst-case scenario; scaring the living shit out of her.

“You know it’s not that simple,” she answered, shoulders slumping down in defeat.

“Or I’ll leave.”

Those words came hurling like a dagger into her chest.

The couple stood still, less than a meter away from each other, as silence fell around them like a heavy blanket—acutely suffocating.

“Is that how little you trust me?” she returned in a strangled whisper, exclaiming the nagging thought that have been stuck on her mind. Her lovely face turned rigid, struggling to keep tears from falling down again. “Is that how little you trust us?”

“Again, it has nothing to do with trust—”

This time, words came out of her mouth before she can stop them.

“Because,” she yelled, finally allowing herself to match the rising pitch in his voice. “It has everything to do with trust, Ethan. Can’t you see?”

His irritated silence is her answer.

In hindsight, his eyes seemed to be burning with fury. Yet, Marchia knew him better than anyone to know the meaning behind it, to truly see it for what it really is—that he is using it as a mask to hide the blossoming pain inside himself.

“Things are always good... until it’s not. And when something bad happens, you turn around and leave,” her voice trembled at the end. “When will you stop running away?”

Her question was ringing in the closed space between them like a gunshot. As the seconds ticked by, she waited for the familiar baritone voice to disprove or respond to her statement. To do anything, really.

Yet, the air surrounding them suddenly shifts, and the worst part came:

He did not even try to disagree with her.

With a growing sense of fear, she knew that there was nothing stopping him from setting off right now; not even the five-carat diamond that encircled her ring finger. Before she could even process her feelings, however, his feet padded across the marble tiles and marched towards the entrance door.

And he left her all alone.

Again.

Crestfallen, she realized that she was left with her own messy tangle of thoughts; trying to puzzle out the one question she could not solve. Once again, the room was congested with brooding silence that could possibly go on forever—leaving a bitter taste on her tongue.

Hollowness swallowed her chest and troubles her breathing. This time around, there was no antidote to the pain she is feeling; dullness of the night blurs the jagged edges and simplified the raw truth that was served in front of her.

Without noticing it, the tears finally came, and the rest followed in an unbroken stream.

The frantic, doleful sobs echoed off the walls in their living room; pushing her further into the abyss of sorrow. Marchia squeezed her eyelids shut in hopes that her hot tears would stop, but they kept coming anyway.

Her body is wracked with an onslaught of sobs and tears; fueled by an emotion that she can no longer suppress. A feeling that she does not want to contain anymore—opening the floodgates of pain and letting everything out. Falling down to the floor, those streams of tears were flowing faster than her heartbeat.

Perhaps right now, all she wanted to do is cry until the sun rises at the crack of dawn.

Additional A/N: Ouch. I’m blaming Adele for all of this.

I’ll be tagging in a separate post!

[fireflyinsummer]

An Amalgamation Waltz 1839. |01|

> pairing: min yoongi x reader

> genre: FallenAngel!AU

> words: 23k

> warnings: hints of smut (heavy make out), a scene of harassment (nothing explicit), violence. possible heresy. forgive me. a third party’s unrequited feelings for OC. don’t know if i did this right, it’s 3 am right now.

> summary: When it comes to the both of you, a lifetime is not enough. And when it comes to you, there’s really no lines he wouldn’t be willing to cross. Even on the brink of a war that could destroy the world as we know it, you’re everything.

  “ (...) ‘Would you be able to love someone as tainted as him?’ he asked wistfully.

  You lifted your upper body, compelling him to a sitting position as well.

   ‘I’ve never had to,’ you pecked his lips chastely, even though he still kept his eyes trained on the grass underneath you.”

a/n: my love for Paradise Lost gave birth to this. i really like this one :) gonna be posting the second (and last) part soon! no need to say that PL was just an inspiration, this isn’t exactly based on the poem. 

                                               “(…) Here at least

We shall be free, the almighty hath not built

Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:

Here we may reign secure, and in my choice

To reign is worth ambition though in hell:

Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven.”

     The sudden thud on the wooden surface of the table made you jolt and close the book, heart rate increasing considerably.

  “Y/N.” His voice was deep, dragging your name through his teeth to evince his annoyance. The bustling café was already at its peak hours and you didn’t even notice the time as it passed you by.

  “Yes, Taehyung?” You ogled your grumpy friend, his noisy arrival being due to the study material he tossed in front of you.

  “You said you’d help me with English lit. I was waiting for you at the library for about an hour and your phone is off.” As you remembered why you were even in the café in the first place, you threw him a guilty look. He pouted. “Hey, what does that Milton guy have that I don’t? And the fancy words don’t count.” You giggled.

  “John Milton has nothing on you, Tae. He’d probably need my help to get through this semester as well.” The joke seemed to almost let you in his good graces again, but you knew he still needed the bribery. “I’ll buy you your favorite if you forgive me.” You could tell he was fighting back a smile upon hearing your offer, his mood suddenly uplifted.

  “Okay. But don’t think I’ll let you off the hook that easily.”

  “I wouldn’t dare. Wait here.” You went to the balcony to pay the check and get his frappuccino to go. Taehyung was a sweet guy who liked sweet things, and that also applied to his coffee. His sweet tooth earned him a nickname from you – Marzipan. Waiting for the bartender to finish your order, you looked over where your best friend was digging through your copy of Paradise Lost without much enthusiasm.

   You had moved in next door to his house about fifteen years ago, and you two instantly initiated a solid friendship. As much as you could say about three-year-olds. Despite him being one of your favorite people in the whole world, the both of you were into totally different things. He went to parties, you enjoyed some lone quality time. He played all sorts of sports, you preferred to stick to your writing and, sometimes, the piano. You were still working on the latter. But even though you seemed to be totally opposites, he still got you like no one else could. He was the person you told all your secrets to, not that you had that many anyway, and you liked to think – no, you were sure of it – he felt the same way about you.

  “Here’s your overly-sweet drink, Marzipan. I don’t even know if you can still call it coffee,” you scowled.

  “Don’t diss my frappuccino, it’s the sole reason of my forgiveness.”

  “Yeah, right. So, you wanna get going? I’m sure you have a lot of thoughts on that book already.”

  “It was very average so far, if I do say so myself. I don’t know why you like it so much,” he teased you.

  “Well, that’s what the private lessons are for. So I can teach you good taste.” You pushed the door open and immediately shivered as you felt a cold gush of air. It was snowing.

  “Here, take my coat. Why don’t you ever wear decent clothes in the winter? I swear to God, I don’t know how you never caught something serious, like pneumonia or whatever,” he scolded.

  “You don’t have to. We’re near home anyway,” you tried to reassure him, but he was, as usual, outwardly ignoring it. “Really, Tae, it’s no big deal. Let’s go.” He was ready to fight you on this one, but you were already walking away. He took a few hurried steps to catch up.

  After a ten-minute walk, daylight was almost completely gone, lit lampposts following its wake. You both hit the front door rug with your feet several times before getting inside, your mom was a bit freaky when it came to cleaning.

  “Mom, Tae’s here!” You shouted from the living room, guessing she was in the kitchen. “We’re going upstairs for a bit! School work!”

  “Okay, honey! Tell him that dinner will be ready soon!” She responded.

  “I love you, Ms. D’Angelis!” He shot back. Yes, you had an italian background. When she heard his voice, she made sure to come out and greet him.

  “Love you, too, honey”, she pecked his forehead and he beamed. They liked each other way too much for their own good. “And you,” she pointed in your direction, “give mamma a kiss.”

  You sighed before attending to her request. It was in your best interest not to fight it. “Okay, enough of this. We’ll be upstairs if you need us.”

  “Have fun, kids.” You sure would. Taehyung might beg to differ.

  The rest of the night was somewhat peaceful. You had helped Taehyung as much as you could before your mother called you out to eat, claiming that you shouldn’t starve the boy and then make him eat a cold meal. He couldn’t agree fast enough. For the most part, that was your life. Uncomplicated and comfortable, which was plenty for an eighteen year old. When you went to bed after practicing the piano for a little while, you were completely unaware of the pair of pitch black eyes that observed you through the window. But he was fully aware of you.

  ||\\

                                                                    [Fear of the Water, by SYML]

  You knew it was a dream. From the moment your brain processed the heavenly sight that unrevealed before your eyes, you knew. It was breaking dawn, the soft orange light kissing the ocean like a long lost lover. You were at the end of a cliff, but couldn’t find it in yourself to be afraid. You looked down at the waves that broke into the rocks almost violently, the salty breeze somewhat comforting. You loved the sea.

  Taking a few deep breaths, you barely noticed the crack. The sound came from somewhere behind you, but you didn’t want to look away from the view, neither did you want to wake up. When you heard it again, you recognized footsteps. You turned around lazily, curious as to whom it would be the visitor of your reverie. When you fixed your eyes on him, though, you stopped breathing for a moment and your heart surely skipped a beat. He was a stranger in a number of ways, for he was seemed truly unworldly. Maybe ethereal was the word you were looking for. His violet eyes were scrutinizing you from head to toe. Beautiful. His hair was dark as it fell like a silky curtain on his forehead. Not a single flaw on his skin or his body, but none of that was as breathtaking as what lied on his back. Great, large white wings, so beautifully outstretched that you felt unworthy of looking at them.

  You opened your mouth a few times, but nothing would come out. Probably for the best, you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself in front of what was probably your mind’s greatest creation. How you could come up with him was beyond you. You wanted to ask his name before it all ended and you had to go back to real life, back to average. You wanted to touch his face, his wings, see for yourself if they felt as they looked. You wished you never woke up. As he took a step closer, you took your own back, startled at the sudden movement. Before you realized your mistake, it was too late. You had lost your balance. You knew it would be over soon. Taking one last look at the stranger, you saw as he stretched one arm to reach you, but to no avail. Too soon, the wind was ricocheting your skin and you were falling.

  You woke up with a loud gasp as you searched for air, finding it oddly rarefied. When you registered the annoyingly high pitch of your alarm, you whined. Real life was the last thing you wanted to face right now, but if you told your mother that you’d stay in bed daydreaming about a figment of your imagination, she would personally retrieve you from the bed and toss you into the shower. Made sense.

  Getting ready as quickly as you could manage, you felt excited for no obvious reason. Maybe it was the afterglow of the dream, but now you were eager to get out of the house, as if you wanted to find him. Which was insane, because you knew he did not exist. Come to think about him now, it was getting harder by the minute to remember his face. You panicked.

  Running towards your desk and grabbing a pencil and your notebook, you tried to recreate him on paper, which was a lost battle from the start. Even if you were some doodling genius – you were definitely not – you would never be able to do him justice. You doubted anyone who had ever stepped on this planet, past or present, ever would. It was not the kind of beauty that could be explained or demonstrated, but rather felt. He wasn’t just inhumanely pretty, wings and all. There was something about him that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. It may sound cheesy and totally deranged, but you felt whole in those few shared moments, like you knew him your entire life. Your mind didn’t recognize him, but your body did.

  Groaning at the piece of paper and throwing the pencil at your baby-blue wall in annoyance, you gave up. It was pointless, his features were already escaping your mind. You didn’t know why you were so hung up on a dream, honestly. Seeing that you were a little riled up, you decided to let it go and just finish getting ready for class. You could see through the window that Taehyung was already waiting for you.  

    ||\\

 “So, how did it go?”

  He pouted before answering. “It went alright.” Lies, he was a big fat liar.

  “C’mon, Marzipan, be honest with me for a second.”

  The nickname finally broke him down. “Fine, I hated it. I remember you telling me about every important detail of the subject yesterday, but I couldn’t put it on paper. Plus, why the fuck does he have to elaborate the questions so much? Most of the time I didn’t even understand what was being asked. Literature sucks,” he whined indignantly. You could tell it was taking a toll on him.

  “Don’t worry too much about it, okay? I will help you. We’ll both graduate this year, yeah?” you reached his hand on a reassuring squeeze.

  “If you say so.”

  “I do.”

  “Then sure. But you have to take me seriously, Y/N,” he warned you. “No more losing track of time in coffee shops.”

  “Hey, I bought you a frappuccino, that incident should be six feet under by now,” you accused and he mumbled a grumpy response.

  The both of you spent half of the morning taking the lit test. You thought you did fine, though the questions really were a little bit tricky. Walking side by side with Taehyung, you didn’t notice him at first. But once you realized there were no seats available right next to each other, your eyes eventually landed on his.

  “We can’t sit together through this class, we’re too late,” Tae grumbled, trying to get your attention back to himself, but to no avail. “Y/N? Hey!” He flicked your forehead and you yelped.

  “Did you just… flick me?” you seethed.

  “I wouldn’t have had to if you weren’t lusting over the new guy. Who is he, by the way?” If you acknowledged the hint of jealously in his tone, you didn’t show it.

  “I was not lusting over anybody,” you huffed.

  “If you say so.”

  “Stop saying that.”

  “Grumpy. Is it because I caught you?” You just snarled and took a seat at the front row, while he chuckled and chose the one in the back.

  To be honest, you were lusting a little. Those eyes seemed oddly familiar, though you couldn’t quite put a finger on why. The rest of the day passed by smoothly; you were able to sit with Taehyung for the remaining classes you had together and even helped him a bit with some homework. After a while, your new classmate was nowhere near your mind, despite that funny feeling you got every time you looked at him. Maybe it was because he was stunningly handsome. Who knows? You never cared much about those things, but you were only human.

  On your way home with Taehyung, you felt eyes burning on your back. You turned around and found him staring, expression unfathomable. He wore a black lather jacket, jeans and a black shirt, his dark hair beautifully disheveled. He gave you a wanton grin and you scoffed. Well, you knew his type, and it unnerved you to death.

  Preppy playboy. Nothing more, nothing less.

  He cut off the eye contact abruptly, heading towards a grey motorcycle. No shit, huh? You almost laughed at the predictability. You weren’t exactly into bikes, but that looked expensive. And it suited him perfectly.

  “Holy-… do you see that? That’s a Triumph fucking Rocket,” Taehyung gasped, shaking your elbow lightly. “A 2500cc engine capacity Triumph Rocket. Man, his parents must be loaded. That’s not a high schooler’s bike,” he said, almost dreamy. Yeah, you saw that coming from a mile away.

  “You talking about the new guy?” You asked nonchalantly, turning your head as you resumed walking.  

  “Don’t even try to pretend you weren’t ogling just now,” he accused.

  “You’re obsessed with our new-found bad boy. Maybe you should date him, Tae,” a snicker left your lips at his appalled expression.

  “Shut up,” he pushed your shoulder. “I’m just curious.”

  “As in bi-curious?”

  “Okay, that’s it, I’m leaving you behind,” he grumbled as he fastened his pace. You chuckled, trying to catch up with his long legs.

  When you arrived home, you noticed an attempt of a drawing on top of your bed. It looked like a poorly doodled angel. First things first: though it definitely looked like something made by your hands, you didn’t have any recollection of it, let alone of leaving it on display like that. You looked around, searching for something, but nothing else seemed out of place. Trying to shrug the uneasiness off, you picked some clothes off the wardrobe and went for a warm bath.

    ||\\

  It was a Saturday afternoon, so you planned to do the usual: hit the library and grab some coffee on your way home. Taehyung had promised to watch a movie with you this weekend, but a surprise party to one of his friends came up. He’d invited you to tag along, more out of habit than anything else. Your answer was always the same when he asked you to spend time with his peers; you weren’t even remotely fond of them. They had maybe one functioning braincell and a whole lot of conceit. Not your crowd at all.

  “Mom, I’m leaving. Do you need me to get you anything?” You said, already on your way to the front door.

  She was sprawled on the couch, gazing attentively at the TV.  “No, honey, thank you. Are you going out with Tae?”

  “Nope, something came up, we rescheduled. I won’t be long.”

  “Okay, then. Be careful!”

  “Will do!”, you shouted from the outside.

  It was closing time when the sweet old lady had to gently kick you out. You weren’t surprised when you found out your phone was dead; you probably had a billion calls from your mother and, if she was desperate enough, maybe even Taehyung. Letting out a sigh, you grabbed your stuff quickly and waved goodbye to the librarian as you made your way out the door, grumbling to yourself about not being able to pick up some coffee now.

  The air was hazy and cold, you couldn’t see more than ten feet ahead, and the streets were oddly empty. You tightened your coat around your body and quickened your pace, not willing to spend more time outside than you needed to. Seeing that all the stores were closed, you realized that Martha (the librarian) probably let you outstay your welcome a little bit. You cursed at the freezing night and your cheap coat. Taehyung was right, you should buy warmer clothes.

  Lost in thoughts, you were stupid enough to miss the drunken noises coming from the end of the street. There was a group of three men coming your way and they all seemed to have ingested an unhealthy amount of booze, laughing loudly and pushing each other playfully. You felt cold sweat fall down your spine but just tried to ignore it, hoping that you’d be able to pass them by without being noticed.

  “Y/N?” His voice was dragged, and he was tumbling around the words. It was only then you realized they were from your school, the boy in the middle being Jimmy, Taehyung’s drink buddy.

  “Hi”, you tried to stay as far away as possible, but the one with the fashionably boring rectangular glasses didn’t let you, hooking his arm around your neck. He reeked of cigarettes and whiskey.

  “C’monnn-“ he hiccupped, “don’t you wanna par-tay with-“ another one, “-us?”

  You repressed the urge to gag as your pulse quickened.

  “Not really. I have to go,” you almost managed to untangle his disgusting arm from you, but he kept it in place, holding you tighter. “Let go of me.”

  You were annoyed. And scared to death, to be honest. These boys didn’t exactly live by a moral code, and the four of you were alone in the middle of nowhere. You didn’t trust them.

  “Aww, don’t be shy, princess. You’re always so… boring. Makes me curious about what you’ve got going on under all… that.” The last one, Ian, made his way towards you, snickering menacingly. He wasn’t as drunk as the other two, and if you could give a hunch, you’d say he knew exactly was he was doing. That scared you even more. Feeling the brick-wall hit your back, you realized you were cornered, a curse escaping your dry lips.

  “Look, I really have to g-“ he cut you off by pressing his body into yours, making you lose your breath for all the wrong reasons. “What the fuck, man?! Let go of me!” You were visibly growing desperate as you tried to punch his face and his chest, but that only earned you a chuckle from him as he held both your wrists with one hand.

  “Feisty. I like it.” You almost puked right then and there, the bile stuck in your throat making you scowl. He let his filthy fingers slide down your sides, until he could grope your ass.

  Your stomach sank, heart drumming against your ribcage as you held back a whimper.

Okay, think.

  Taehyung had taught you the basics about self defense a thousand moons ago. And yet, you realize that it was nothing like the real thing. You balled your clammy fingers tightly, knuckles white as you scanned every corner of your brain to try and find a way out.

  “Tae will kill you if you touch me,” your voice trembled. You couldn’t help it.

  He laughed whole-heartedly. As if the mere thought was actually funny to him.

  “He wouldn’t dare, sweetheart. Besides, I think he actually wouldn’t mind sharing his bitch with us for the night,” he stated. “He’s not using it anyways,” he punctuated with a roll of his hips and, this time, as you felt the pathetic bulge inside his pants, you couldn’t hold back a tiny sob. Because fuck, this was it. There was no way you could take down three grown men on your own.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The voice was low and steady. It made your skin crawl. You snapped your head and looked at the dark haired man standing behind the boys. Ian lazily turned around, still keeping your wrists wrapped tight in his hand.

  “None of your business, newbie. Now get out of my sight before I lose my patience.”

  When he chuckled, it was different from Ian’s. It was darker, rougher, and concealed a vicious ferocity that you knew was there. You knew because, as he disregarded your aggressor and looked you in the eyes, you almost feared for them.

  “Ian, dude, let it go.” Jimmy instantly sobered up and tried to avoid any confrontation. To think he spent time with your best friend but would let Ian harass you without saying a word was disgusting. “Come on, your old man will kill you if you get in trouble again.” So that was his main concern. Still looking out for his shitty, abusive friend. Men’s sorority really is misogyny.

  “You should listen to your friend. Believe me, you won’t survive me when I get my hands on you,” he stated matter-of-factly. You felt the sincerity in your bones. And so did Ian and his stupid cavalry. “Leave.”

  Ian sighed, but relented. You felt a hot wave of relief as he disconnected his body from yours, leaning on the wall for balance as your legs wabbled.

  “You better watch out,” he spits.

  “Y/N, I... I’m really sorry,” Jimmy said as he scooped his friends and dragged them away from you. “You too, Min. He’s just drunk. We would’ve stopped him if it got too far.”

  He’s lying. You can tell.

  “Get the fuck out of my sight,” he growls, his composure faltering for a minute. As they stray out of view, he turns his gaze to you.

  “Care to tell me what the hell are you doing walking alone in the middle of the night?”

  He’s angry.

  You scoffed, adjusting your coat around your shoulders and straightening your back.

  “Thank you for the help, but I’m too old for a babysitter,” you say. “Besides, I don’t even know you.”

  He looks at you and, as if trying to regain some sense and control a fit of rage, he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose before exhaling a long puff of air.

  “Alright. My name is Yoongi,” he takes you by surprise as he snatches your wrist in an iron grip, “And I'm fucking walking you home.”

  As he drags you across the street, you want to yell at him. You want to tell him to fuck off, you preppy bastard. But you don’t.

  Because the truth is, you’re so fucking grateful. God knows what would’ve happened if it wasn’t for him. As he calms down, he drops your hand and slows his pace, allowing you to catch up without having to make an effort. You want to talk, but you choose to stay quiet.

   Now that you weren’t so skittish anymore, it finally dawned you how the snow was beautifully spread throughout the streets, the trees, the buildings. Everything that was cool, cold, blue, held some fascination to you. Summer was never really your season – it had always been winter. To be able to curl up on your couch with a warm blanket and a hot cup of coffee, it was heavenly. You always thought that, if you could see the world through a color palette, it would be in different shades of blue.

  The snow was not the only thing that you were entranced by, though. Yoongi was, from what you saw so far, much like winter to you. Harsh when needed, cool, but also peaceful and comforting. He didn’t urge you to talk about the incident; he didn’t urge you to talk at all. His mannerisms caught your attention from time to time – how he constantly ran his long fingers through his hair, how his eyes seemed to flutter shut lazily a few times in a row, or how he carried himself so elegantly that it almost made you jealous. He looked terribly familiar, too.

  “Why are you staring?” His bluntness caught you off guard, but still couldn’t disturb the peacefulness of the moment.

  “Just curious.” It was true. “Apart from the motorcycle and the superhero complex, I don’t know much about you.”

  “Well, there’s not much to know.”

  You hummed in response. “What are you doing here, then?” You ask, and his feet come to a halt.    

  “What is this, an interrogation?”

  You scoff, and you both start walking again. “Just trying to make conversation. Besides, I’m actually curious,” you ponder. “People don’t move into this town very often,” you kick the snow under your feet. He sighs.

  “I’m here with my… brother,” he hesitated before continuing, “he’s my guardian, sort of. We used to move a lot. Work thing.” He couldn’t hold back a grimace, but it disappeared in a second. You wanted to ask about his parents, but felt like you’d be crossing a line, so you kept your curiosity to yourself. “Now you tell me,” he said.

  “Tell you what?”

  “About yourself. Your family. Whatever you want to.”

  “Um, let me see. I live with my mom. We moved from Italy when I was about three years old. My dad… my dad stayed.” You didn’t want to get into it, and he immediately noticed, just nodding for you to continue. “She’s been taking care of me by herself since then.”

  He hummed in understanding, sparing you a few glances that you couldn’t quite decipher.

  Before you knew, your house was already in sight. You wished you lived farther, just so you could keep that strange interaction on for a little longer.

  “Well, this is me,” you announced. Lying about your address had crossed your mind somewhere along the way.

  “Sorry if I was a jerk,” he surprised you by saying. You mouth opens and closes a few times before you say anything.

  “It’s okay, I guess. I was pretty riled up, too.”

  He nodded. “See you Monday, then?” His voice was deep and silky.

  “Yeah. Hey, I… I’m glad you showed up when you did.”

  “I am, too,” there was a dark undertone in his voice. “Good night, Y/N,” he surprised you by leading his right hand to the top of your head and lightly messing your hair before walking away. You stood still for a minute, until your mother opened the door.

  “Y/N?! Darling, why did you take so long? I was so worried!”

  “Um… Sorry, mom. I ran into a friend and my phone was off.”

  “Well, you should’ve at least borrowed your friend’s phone to let me know, things aren’t like they used to be around these parts anymore, it’s getting pretty danger-“

   She kept talking as she let you in, but you couldn’t concentrate. That night, you dreamt of him.

   ||\\                            

 “(…) Farewell happy fields

Where joy for ever dwells: hail horrors, hail

Infernal world, and thou profoundest hell

Receive thy new possessor: one who brings

A mind not to be changed by place or time.

The mind is its own place, and in itself

Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.”

     You didn’t think of yourself as an early riser, but when Monday morning came, you woke up before the alarm – and seemed almost delighted to do so. To be honest, you really tried to ignore the eagerness to see him again, but to no avail. The day before was thoroughly torturous, flashes of the short period of time you spent together coming back to haunt you now and then. At some point, you were so annoyed that you just lied on the bed and attempted to blast your eardrums off by listening to some crappy rock band at full volume. It didn’t work, obviously, and now you probably had hearing damage. The cons and cons of obsession.

  At this exact moment, for the first time in your entire friendship, you were banging on Taehyung’s door first. Because you just couldn’t wait a minute longer.

  “Damn it, woman, was is it with you today?” The sound of his voice was muffled. That, or you were going deaf, there was no way to tell for sure.

  “You’re going to make us late, Marzipan!” At that, he opened his bedroom door slightly, just enough so you could peek at his disheveled hair and sleepy face.

  “It’s dick o’clock in the morning, we have at least forty minutes until we leave,” his voice was rugged and he had an aggrieved look plastered on his pouty face.

  “I brought you coffee,” you smiled at him while raising the thermal cup.

  “Stop the madness and go wait for me downstairs, Gilmore girl,” he grunted. “Dad probably misses you, the poor old man. Keep him company, will ya?”

  “Don’t be silly, Mrs. Kim need his sleep in the morning.”

  “Then shut up and don’t wake him,” he grunted, closing the door shut, but it took him just a second to reopen it. “Wait, if dad’s asleep, how did you get in?”

  “I, uh… Might or might not know that you keep a spare key inside the porcelain elf’s hat,” your lips tugged upwards sheepishly.

  “Of course you do, you little imp. I’ll be down in a sec,” he grumbled and shut the door again.

  Taehyung had asked you a couple of times why you were so anxious to get to school that morning, but you just brushed it off with an excuse that you knew he wouldn’t buy. There were several reasons as to why you wanted to keep things to yourself for now. Mainly, it was because you were afraid that he’d be furious enough to break Ian’s face in front of everybody once you told him the whole story. Not that you felt any sympathy, but rather that you didn’t want Tae to get in trouble. You’d tell him as soon as you could, though. You didn’t care for the idea of him being friends – or whatever they were – with Jimmy.

  As soon as you stepped into school ground, you discreetly searched for his motorcycle in the parking lot. It wasn’t there. You tried not to let the disappointment show on your face, but you couldn’t help it. He didn’t come today. Who cares? As much as you wanted to force some sense into your stubborn brain, you were still hoping he’d show up, even if you didn’t talk to each other. You just wanted to see him, is all. Great time to start acting like a stupid teenager, Y/N. Kudos.

  You were in the middle of a pretty heated argument with yourself as you entered the classroom. Taehyung picked a desk in the middle, as he usually did when the both of you were able to sit next to each other. You were almost putting your stuff down at his side when something caught your attention. There. You felt a girlish jolt of excitement when you saw Yoongi sitting at the last row. His silky black hair was damped, probably from the shower, and he was wearing a black, long sleeved shirt, v cut. You were about to divert your eyes, but then he stared right at your face and calmy removed his bag from the chair next to his. He smirked, as if defying you to take a seat. Annoying little piece of-

  “Tae, do you mind if I sit somewhere else today?”

  “What?” He looked at you, confused. “Where do you want us to…” Your eyes flashed to the end of the room and he followed your gaze. “What? Why would you-”

  “Do you mind?”

  “Uh… No?”

  “Okay, great. See you soon.” You knew Taehyung was confused, so you should probably be thinking of what to tell him when this class was over. But for now, you just carried yourself to the empty spot in the back. Yoongi was looking at you with an amused expression, hiding his little smile behind his intertwined hands. You wanted to wash that smug off his face so bad. You took a seat and his scent assaulted you, warm and musky. Almost irresistible. You saw Taehyung from across the room gazing at the both of you with an inscrutable countenance.

  “Is your boyfriend mad that you sat with me today?” He audaciously asked.

  “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “I see. Must be hard, then,” he looked almost sympathetic.

  “What?” Your face contorted into confusion.

  “Nevermind. Tell me how was your Sunday,” he said while opening his notebook and doodling something you couldn’t decipher yet.

  “So we’re friends now?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Shouldn’t you ask me first?” You lifted your brow.

  “You’re bossy today.”

  You were about to give him a proper answer when the teacher barged in, almost breathless. As the class began, focusing on Hess’s Law was your main priority, it really was. But you couldn’t help the tingle crawling up your skin every time he unintentionally bumped his arm into yours, because he was still drawing, keeping his head down since Mrs. Edwards started talking. Still, you couldn’t move. No. Focus. You held onto the edge of your desk with one hand, knuckles white, as you kept the other taking notes on the subject.

  “Relax,” he softly whispered, not taking his eyes away from his notebook. You immediately loosened the tight grip of your left hand.

  “I’m relaxed,” you lied, imitating his tone. He chuckled, lifting his head to show you the most beautiful gummy smile. God, why was he so distractingly handsome? His soft, pale skin, his cat-like eyes. His hands, Lord, you wouldn’t even dwell on his hands. Everything about him was appealing, alluring. His voice, his smell, his gaze. He was devilish.  

  All of a sudden, he ripped off the page he was working on. You tried not to get even more distracted, keeping your eyes on the board, until he touched your arm with his hand. You tensed. “Here, keep this if you want to,” he said, passing the folded paper to you. Curiosity washed over your face and you were about to unfold it, but he stopped you. “I don’t think you should open it now.”

  “Why? Is it, like, an erotic sketch?” You could tell you broke his demeanor a little, he seemed both shocked and amused.

  “I wonder if that kind of thought crosses your brain very often. You’re filthy, Y/N,” he smirked. You almost choked at his tone and his words. He was teasing you, and you refused to go down without a fight.

  “Well, I don’t exactly know you, do I? You could be a perv.” He bit back a chuckle.

  “I’m an honorable man. You’ll see.”

  “Will I, now?”

  “Yes. We’re friends now, aren’t we?”

  “You haven’t convinced me yet.”

  “Challenge accepted.” The two of you stared at each other for a few seconds, then the bell rang. He grabbed his stuff and got up, then tilted his head and asked, “Do you want a ride… friend?”

  “I thought you didn’t ride here today.” Confusion stained his expression before he realized the meaning behind your words. You could see the enlightenment in his face and suddenly banging your head on a wall wasn’t all too bad. He was too cocky for his own good, and now you’ve just made it worse. Way to go.

  “I parked on a different spot,” he responded.

  “Yeah, sure. Uh, anyways… Thanks for the offer, but I’m going home with Tae.”

  “Suit yourself.” Before walking away, he turned around and said, “I’ll save you a seat tomorrow, Y/N.” Before you could elaborate an answer, he was already out the door, and Taehyung was in front of you with that ‘what-the-actual-fuck’ face he made every time he was caught off guard.

  “I’ll explain on the way home,” you sighed.

        ||\\

  You were both in the safety of your bedroom when you told Taehyung everything. From how Ian tried to do God knows what with you, to why he wasn’t able to. Pure luck. It was pure luck that Yoongi happened to be passing by, and it was pure luck that he’d bothered to check what was going on. You told him Jimmy was there. You saw the guilt and rage clawing their way to his chest, and there it was; the reason you were wary to tell him in the first place. Taehyung was explosive, a force of nature when he let himself indulge.

  “I’ll kill him. Why did you hide that from me?” Even though he was trying his best to hold back, you could still tell how furious he truly was. “Answer me, Y/N, I’m not fucking around here,” he didn’t mean for it to sound like a scold, but it still did.

  “I knew you’d be mad,” you retorted.

  “Of course I’d be fucking mad. I don’t think you understand just how mad I am.”

  “I know. Tae, really, nothing serious happened. It’s not worthy getting yourself in trouble for it.”

  “How can you even say that?” he barked.

  “Promise me you’ll let it go,” you asked softly.

  He looked like he’d just heard the worst profanity fall from your lips. “I don-“

  “Promise, Tae,” you were using your serious voice now, the one you used to tell him that no, it was not okay for him to mess with your books back when you were kids. You took it to the heart too often. He stared at you for a moment or two before sighing.

  “Okay,” he grudgingly said. “If that’s what you want.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you,” he said after a moment.

  “It’s not your fault. Really, it’s not.”

  “I know. I’m just… sorry,” he let his head rest on your lap. You hummed and stroke his hair for a while. These little moments of utter understanding and peace was one of the reasons he was your best friend. The person you could rely on, always. And he could always rely on you, too.

||\\

   A few weeks passed you by in the blink of an eye. After the infamous events of that night, you and Yoongi grew closer each day. Not that it was always easy, he was infuriating at times; you had to be sharp to keep up with the incessant bickering. But, for what it’s worth, you were able to gather that he was much more than just a little shit, even though he tried to deny it. 

   And you suppose that’s one of the reasons to why your stomach flutters and your heart skips a couple of beats when he gets too close. 

   Probably a month too late, you come across that piece of paper Yoongi had mysteriously given you the first morning you sat together.  You took it in your hands with a gasp and carefully unfolded it, taking a sharp intake of breath at the drawing. It was a pair of eyes – your eyes, perfectly detailed by strong, yet delicate, traces. It was beautiful and left no room for doubts as to whose they were. The cocky bastard was actually pretty talented, you had to give him that. Before you had much time to think about it, your phone rang. You hesitated a moment before picking up, the number was unknown.

  “Hello?”

  “Did you like it?” The voice on the other line was coarse and drawn, and you recognized it immediately.

  “How did you get my number?” You asked while laying yourself on the bed, staring at the ceiling. 

   He had become a constant whenever you were at school or at the library. Nothing beyond that. The call was a pleasent surprise.

  “I have my ways. Will you answer at least one of my questions anytime soon?” There was a hint of a boyish amusement in his tone, and that instantly made you lighter. You liked him better in a good mood.

  “You don’t answer any of mine, so why should I bother?” You shrugged, even though he couldn’t see you.

  “That’s hardly fair. What do you want to know, George?”

  You scoffed at the nickname. “First things first. I want to know how you got my number.”

  “It’s not so hard to get privileged information on the students’ personal data if you’re charming enough. Ms. Parker has a soft spot for me.” Of course. You should’ve seen it coming.

  “You’re shameless,” you scolded half-heartedly, taking a plushie in your hands and squeezing it.

  “It’s one of my many qualities. So, can you answer me now?”

  “Hmm… I might’ve liked it,” you stated, referring to the book he’d recommended. “But you’re already a pretty conceited man, so I should probably spare you the details.”

  He was silent for a while, and you almost mention the drawing you found in your backpack. But then, he’s talking again. “So you think I’m pretty, huh?”

 “Are you… Have you-“ you stammered in astonishment and he chuckled. “Do you actually select the words you want to hear?” you asked and he hummed.

  “Where are you?”

  “Home,” you answered without much thought.

  “I’ll pick you up in ten. Be ready.”

  “Wait, what?” You jolted out of the bed, dropping the plushie on the floor. “You can’t just… decide that. What if I’m busy?”

  “You’re not.”

  “What if I don’t want to?”

  “But you do,” He sounded almost confused. And he was right, you did want to. Somewhere deep inside your brain there was a voice saying that you should’ve objected at least a little bit more. But, against your better judgement, you kept quiet, and soon enough your silence gave you away. “I’m hanging up now. See you soon, George.” You meant to talk back to him, but he’d already ended the call. That, arrogant, insolent, contemptuous jer-

  Before finishing that thought, you remembered you didn’t have much time. So you took a five minute shower, put on a little mascara and went out of the bathroom to find something to wear. There wasn’t enough time to go wild, so you just went for your favorite pair of mom jeans and tucked a burgundy sweater in. After brushing your hair and your teeth, you were ready.

  As soon as you were done, you heard a horn and rushed to the window. There he was, in all his glory, hips resting against his stupidly cool Triumph Rocket. Black boots, black jeans, black long-neck shirt and his usual leather jacket. Wonder what his favorite color might be, you scoffed. He shot you a smirk that made you hold your breath for a moment. It now occurred to you that you had no idea as to where he was taking you. Also, was it a date? A friend thing? Shit. You should’ve said no. You sighed. It was too late now.

  Before running downstairs, you sprayed a little bit of perfume on the nape of your neck and your wrists. Chloé, your signature scent.

  “I’m going out for a bit.”

  She was sitting by the window with a hot beverage on her hands and a book on her lap. Like mother, like daughter.

  “Last time you said that…”

  “I know,” you cut her off gently. “But I have class tomorrow. I promise I won’t be long.”

  “Is your phone charged, young lady?”

  “Yep, it is.”

  “Then call me if anything happens, alright?”

  “Sure thing. Bye, mom,” you gave her a brief peck on the forehead and rushed out the door.

  He was waiting for you at the porch, even more breathtaking now that you could see him up close. His musky scent was stronger and his pale skin was glowing. He was drinking you in with mysteriously piercing eyes.

  “Come,” he said, taking you by the hand.

  “Where are we going anyway?” you asked. As the both of you approached his motorcycle, you were trying your best not to trip.

  “You’ll see.” He took a helmet off a compartment that you didn’t know to exist and cupped your face to hold you still before he put it on you.

  “Is this like a Hitchcock movie? Will you take me just far enough so I can meet my fate by the end of the night?” A hint of dread crossed his features, but he composed himself soon enough.

  “Do you believe in fate, Y/N?” He asked, fixing the straps under your chin, his fingers setting your skin aflame.

  “I don’t know,” you couldn’t pinpoint exactly why, but his countenance urged you to provide a proper answer. “Faith is just not my strong suit, I guess,” you mumbled.

  Yoongi pondered about what you said for a moment. “Hold that thought, yeah?” Then he climbed the vehicle. “Hop on,” he started the engine. You were now too aware of the fact that you had never ‘hopped on’ one of those. “Don’t worry, I’m a really good driver,” he tugged his lips upwards.

  “I just… I’ve never done this.”

  “What, ride a motorcycle?” He asked and you nodded. “Trust me. I wouldn’t let anything happen,” he reassured you.

  I know. So you climbed the damn thing and held tight onto his waist, almost comforted by his warmth. He felt the sensitive skin on his back crawl at the contact. Especially between his shoulder blades.

||\\

     You spent the entire ride with your eyes closed. If you had any doubt that Yoongi was a mad man, those god-knows-how-many minutes on the back of his motorcycle had erased them completely. He was going fast. You could feel the wind ricocheting your face relentlessly, and every time he had to make a turn, your stomach fluttered. Sometimes, he turned his head just a little bit, as if checking if you were at least breathing, but you would grit your teeth and snap at him to look ahead, tightening your grip. You could feel him chuckle, his whole upper body being assaulted by small tremors.

  But when you finally arrived at your destination, it was all worth it.

  “Do you like it?” Expectation washed all over his ethereal features.

  “Do I… like it? It’s amazing,” your eyes sparkled with wonder and astonishment at the sight of the ocean. You were at a relatively high spot, like a small cliff, and you could smell the delicious salty breeze that you adored so much. But what truly amazed you, what really took your breath away, was the electric blue lights sparkling all over the wave crests. “Bioluminescence! How did you find this place? Can we go down?” You asked with the biggest smile, a childish excitement seeping through your tone. He giggled, the most magnificent, angelic sound you had ever heard.

  “I’d rather if we didn’t. I don’t want you to meet your fate at those slippery rocks, it wouldn’t be very Hitchcock-y,” he joked. You felt a bit disappointed but chose to let it go. The night, the sea, the sky; it was all too beautiful for you to allow yourself to be petty.

  He took a few steps ahead and sat closer to the edge, wind whisking his hair and making his catlike eyes narrow. You followed suit, sitting in lotus by his side. You both took a minute to appreciate the sight, falling into a comfortable silence, that was soon broken by his husky voice.

  “I come here a lot when I need to remind myself of who I am. Of where I’m from,” he said, still looking at the waters below, eyebrows furrowed. “I never thought of bringing anyone else here before.”

  “So why did you?” Your voice was small, whispered.

  “I don’t know. I guess…” he stopped for a moment. “I possibly just wanted to make sure you were okay. And I don’t know any place else that feels more like home to me. Perhaps I also wanted to share it with you.” Then he turned his gaze to you, eyes reflecting the moonlight. He was divine, bewitching. Especially now, when he seemed to be opening up to you for the first time. You felt your heartbeat speed up at his confession.

  “Thank you,” you said softly, diverting your gaze to the waves. “I can understand why you’re so fond of this place. It’s blissful, feels like heaven.”

   He humms, fixing his gaze on the crashing waves above you.

  “Y/N.” He was surveying your face now, as if trying to read you. Expectant. 

  “Yes?”

  “Do you believe in heaven?” His voice is a whisper and, for a moment, you wonder if you’d heard him correctly. 

  That was probably the last question you’d expected from him, it took you completely by surprise. You inhaled deeply, searching for the right words, but ended up blurting what first came to mind.

  “For all I know, heaven is here. Hell, too. I want to be better, yes, for the people I love. I want to be better for whoever needs me to be, because I know how tough this can get. If there’s an afterlife… at least I’ll know that I tried to be good for the right reasons. So yeah, let’s say I don’t dwell on it. Whatever happens, happens.”

   By the time you finished talking, there was something sparkling deep inside his onyx eyes that you couldn’t recognize.

  “That’s sort of refreshing,” and there it was again. The sheepish gummy smile you adored so much, so utterly genuine and divine you thought you’d die.

  “What about you?”

  “Yes. Heaven, Hell, the whole ordeal. Except for God.”

  “But… How would it be possible for all those things to exist without God?”

  “That is not what I said,” he let out a humorless little chuckle. “Let it suffice that God is… I believe, much too real. Just not how humankind paint him to be. I believe God exists; I just don’t believe in him. Not anymore.” His tone was raw and melancholic. You ached with the need to console him, because he seemed adrift; and that bothered you more than it should.

  Without realizing, your face had gotten closer to his, and suddenly he was all over the place. All you could see, smell, hear, it was all him. He must have known, because then he traced your features lightly with his long, graceful fingers. You thought that was it. That was heaven.  

  You closed your eyes so you could savor every second of it, heartbeat going wild and butterflies assaulting your stomach. He lifted his other hand, and now he was cupping your face gingerly, like you were made of glass. Every touch ignited something foreign and glorious inside of you.

  He shifted, moving closer, and his scent hit you, unyielding, but you didn’t dare to open your eyes. When his lips finally brushed against yours, it was enough to set something off, and your hands made their way to his neck on their own as you let out a shaky breath. You pressed yourself harder and sucked on his bottom lip, before caressing it with the tip of your tongue, earning a groan from him.

   Well, shit.

  He took the hair in the nape your neck in a dainty – yet firm – fistful, asking permission with his tongue to deepen the kiss. There was no denying him, you could never. His taste, God, you could spend eternity tasting every single bit of him. When he licked past your teeth, you moaned, and it was so utterly pleasing, sinful, that he felt compelled to go harder, mercilessly swirling his tongue inside your mouth. There was no room to breathe, the neediness for one another unbending.

  You don’t know how much time you spent in that haze of mind-numbing desire, but neither of you dared to stop. Until your phone rang.

  You jerked away, pupils blown wide from the intensity of the moment, skin flushed. You were both panting, eyes trained on each other, searching, scrutinizing, waiting for a reaction. His reddened, glistening lips were parted slightly and he seemed displeased to cut the moment short. Even so, he managed to talk.

  “You should probably get that,” he gusted, trying to catch his breath.  You couldn’t find it in yourself to do anything but nod.

  You took the device out of your back pocket and checked the ID caller, brows furrowing. He mirrored your expression.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s a girl from school. We have history class together. That’s… odd,” you said. You and Sarah have never had a real conversation, one that didn’t involve Napoleon or Julien Sorel. You just had her number saved because of a paper you had to do together a while ago. “Hello?”

  “Y/N? Thank God,” she sounded truly relieved. “Look, I’m sorry to bother you but… We’re at the school’s gym and-“ she let out a loud gasp, and only then you noticed the noise in the background, an uproar of voices and… Did you did hear a punch?

  “Sarah? What is it?”

  “Tae’s here. Y/N, you should come…”

  Your blood ran cold.

  “What? Is he okay? Sarah, tell me what’s going on. Now,” you blurted, already standing, missing the way Yoongi’s face contorted in confusion and concern.

  “We tried to stop them, we really did, I-“

  “Sarah,” you grunted.

  “Okay, yeah. Him and Ian are at each other’s throats right now, it’s pretty bad. Y/N, I don’t think it’ll be long before someone calls the cops. I just thought I’d let you know, ‘cause-“

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” you cut her off, and then hang up.

  You were a lot of things at that moment, but mostly worried and angry. You had told him not to, you had told him to let it go, and he went behind your back. You heart rate was through the roof, adrenaline rushing through your veins. But this time, it wasn’t out of passion.

  “Y/N,” Yoongi had a wary look on his face. “Tell me.”

  “Can you take me back? Tae’s in trouble.”

  ||\\

  He hadn’t meant to. He really hadn’t meant to break his promise, but he knew it was bound to be broken the minute he made it. The idea of someone else touching you was torturous enough, but to think of them doing it without your consent actually drove him crazy with rage. Those unbidden images of you scared, asking that piece of shit to stop, only for him to hold you tighter, closer, wrapping his filthy hands around you… it wouldn’t stop coming to him, even though he’d tried his hardest to restrain them. It had haunted him ever since you told him. He felt sick. He hated himself for not being there for you, with you. Like the disgraceful best friend he was, he’d canceled movie night to get wasted. Ugly feelings, even the ones he didn’t care to admit, pierced their sharp claws at his chest. Guilt, exasperation, jealously.

  He’d tried to suppress the bitterness from watching you with the new guy, he tried to be just glad that he was there and hold out against it, because if he wasn’t… The point is: he really tried. But the way you looked at him made Taehyung’s stomach sink. He’d never seen it before, and he craved it like a man in the desert did a single drop of water. He wanted to be on the receiving end of that gaze more than anything.

  He’d go mad if he stayed inside, so he went out for a jog. Your mother had told him you weren’t home, and he figured you’d be at the coffee shop near school. What a big surprise it was when he found Ian next to a blue SUV that was parked near the gymnasium. He choked out a chuckle; it was just too tempting. Rage boiled trough his veins, and at that moment he knew he couldn’t hold back. He couldn’t not break that scumbag in half, even if that meant he’d be going against your wishes.

  So he did. Every punch, given or taken, satisfied him little by little. Because he also deserved to be punished, he thought.

 ||\\

    “What was that shit that you pulled? After I explicitly told you to stay out of it! Why now?”

  Taehyung had a bloody nose, a deep cut just above his eyebrow and some pretty ugly purple spots all over his upper body, staining his previously pristine skin. When you and Yoongi had arrived at school, you discovered he’d been taken. By a police officer, nonetheless.

  You’d been so mad. But now that he was in front of you, all screwed up in torn clothes, the speech you had prepared escaped your mind. You just couldn’t understand his impulsiveness, and the fact that he was in a tiny, smelly cell because of you was infuriating.

  “We both knew it was bound to happen eventually, so I figured rather sooner than later,” he answered nonchalantly.

  “Taehyung,” you said through gritted teeth

  “What, Y/N?!” He snapped. “You wanted me to let him get away with it?”

  “Yes! Yes, I literally told you that that’s what I wanted!”

  “Well, too bad,” he darkly said. He knew he was in the wrong here. But he was just too riled up to think straight.

  “Okay,” you said, taking a sharp intake of breath while running your fingers through your hair, “Okay, let’s be practical about this. Your dad is coming, right? We can talk about it at home.”

  “Fine,” he said, avoiding your eyes.

  “Fine,” you, too, knew how to be petty. “I’ve got to go outside for a minute. Behave,” your gaze flashed to an officer for a second, but quickly made its way back to Taehyung. When you realized he wouldn’t give you an answer, you just sighed and carried yourself out the door.

  As soon as you stepped out of the threshold, you saw Yoongi leaning on his motorcycle, arms crossed and head hanging from his shoulders. You didn’t know what tonight had meant. You wanted to at least try to figure out if he felt the same as you did, but you had bigger problems. And to be honest, you’d rather sleep on it. It was all too intense and hazy.

  “Hey,” you said, walking slowly towards him. He lifted his head and offered a tiny smile.

  “Your boyfriend really hates my guts, doesn’t he?”

  “He’s not-“ you cut yourself off when you realized he was just messing with you again. Of course he is, he stuck his tongue down your throat just an hour ago. “Anyways. I guess Tae will be out in a couple of hours, but I have to stay here and wait for Mr. Kim. Thank you for… tonight.”

  He nodded. “No problem, George. I’ll call y-“

  Suddenly, his eyebrows knitted together and his whole body tensed as he straightened himself. If you ever told anyone about this, you’d probably be admitted in a mental facility. But you swore that, for an instant, his eyes changed colors, going from pitch black to a deep violet. It happened in a heartbeat, and then he wasn’t looking at you anymore, but at something past your shoulder. You felt a chill run down your spine as you turned around to see what caught his attention.

  A tall, broad-shouldered man was walking towards you. As his lean figure got closer, the tension grew almost palpable, and you could see from afar he had a small smile plastered on his plump lips. But it wasn’t comforting at all. Instead, it was vile, almost sadistic. Your head snapped to Yoongi again, and you saw how he didn’t move a muscle, fists closed tight and jaw clenched. That made you panic a little.

  “Yoongi, what-“

  “Y/N, go inside,” his voice was hoarse and restrained, like he hadn’t talked in weeks.

  No, you wanted to say. That man, whoever he was, screamed bad news. He walked like a predator, and you felt like his prey. Though your self-preservation instincts were going wild with every step he took, something stronger made you want to stay. You knew he wasn’t here for you, but for him. And that sparked a need to protect him that you didn’t know to exist, nor where it came from. However, you just kept quiet and waited for the man to catch up, not missing the murderous aura emitted from Yoongi.

  At last, he stood in front of you, reddish hair and twisted smirk still on his face. You could see him clearly now, and he was beautiful. The kind of beauty you’ve only seen once.

  “Has anyone actually pressed charges this time, little brother?” His voice was deceivingly soft.

   Brother?

  “How did you find me?” Yoongi asked with an icy voice that almost made you shudder.

  “Is that how you greet your elders? Father would not be pleased.”

  “Well, you’re one to talk, aren’t you?”

  “People are still hung up on that, I see,” the man chuckled. “Yoongi-ah,” he said, his feet taking him closer at a slower pace. Yoongi kept his ground, knuckles white from his balled-up fists, while you instinctively took a step back. That’s when they both seemed to acknowledge your presence. Yoongi’s eyes bulged slightly, his pale skin becoming ever paler, while the other wore an unreadable expression on his face.

  “I told you to go inside,” he almost growled, taking your wrist in an iron grip and pulling you to stand behind his back. You didn’t understand. You didn’t understand any of it. Why did he seem so threatened by his own blood? The man was scary, sure, but was he actually dangerous? Your head was spinning, so you held onto his jacket to keep yourself vertical.

  “Were you not planning on introducing me to your friend, baby brother? That’s just rude, you know how much I love meeting new people.”

  “I’d advise you to be careful now, Jin.” The threat in Yoongi’s low voice was noticeable even to you, but Jin didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, he relished on it. His little brother didn’t get all protective over just anyone, and the fact that he didn’t want the eldest to know about you pointed straight to a weak spot. One which he intended to take full advantage of.

  “Easy, Prince, no need to get riled up,” Jin chuckled again, lifting both hands in a sign of peace. “What do you take me for?”

  “Neither of us can deny your nature, can we, brother? It’s the reason why we’re here in the first place.”

  “It’s true. Have you told her your name yet? Since you appear very comfortable sharing such details in front of her.”

  “What are you doing here? I thought I had made myself clear the last time we saw each other,” Yoongi changed the subject, hoping you wouldn’t pay much attention to his question.

  Jin’s face turned serious for the first time before he spoke. “They approached me, Yoongi-ah. It would seem that they need their Flam-“

  “Quit it!” Yonngi growled. “Hold your tongue, I don’t want to hear any of it. You need to go.”

  “Not until I have delivered my message.” The well-proportioned man stood his ground.

  Yoongi took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He could not have this kind of conversation in front of you – in front of anyone, for that matter. Jin was breaking the rules; an old habit of his. “Then I need you to wait for me at home. I suppose you already know where I live, don’t you? I’ll meet you there soon.”

  “Alright then. Y/N, it was splendid meeting you. I do hope I get to see you again soon.”

  Yoongi scowled as he watched Jin turn on his heels and disappear in the night. For all he knew, Jin would never get this close to you ever again. He was caught off guard today. He then turned around, black orbs scrutinizing you for a reaction.    

  There were many things going through your mind at that exact moment. Too many questions, he could tell. You looked at him in a grimace of confusion and horror.

  “How did he know my name?” That was the first thing that popped into your mind. You hadn’t said your name, neither did Yoongi. “And who’s ‘they’? And did he really just call you prince? Is that a pet name or something?” You blurted out, sensing you wouldn’t have too much time to elaborate the questions the way you wanted to.

  He looked into your eyes, face contorted in what you could only describe as a desperate hesitation, brows furrowed and lips pressed into a fine line. He was pondering his options. You knew that because, when he made up his mind, you could clearly see the taint of resolution.

  “I can’t answer your questions,” he muttered.

  “Why not?”

  “I’m really sorry, Y/N. Please, just forget about this. All of it.”

  “What are you talking about?” you were on the brink of losing it at this point. First Taehyung, and now this. He wasn’t making any sense. But his eyes spoke to you in ways he couldn’t. Only then, you understood. “No,” you said with a resolution of your own. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Listen, it’s okay if you don’t want to tell me right away, whatever it is, just don-“

  “Y/N.”

  “Yes?!”

  “Close your eyes.”

  “Why?”

  “Listen to me just this once,” he groaned, stepping into your personal space. He twisted your hair in one hand, holding your face securely to his. When he rested his forehead on yours, your eyes gave into his wishes, closing on their own. “I’ll be gone for a little while, George,” your breath hitched, but you didn’t interrupt him. He gave you a light peck on the mouth, lips soft and moist, breath hot on your face. “I have to settle some things straight. Be good for me while I’m gone, yeah? Don’t do anything stupid,” he frowned.

  “Will you come back?” your voice almost cracked, ‘cause you weren’t so sure of his answer. You felt foolish. You’ve only known him for a short period of time, after all. But the intensity of your feelings, though you couldn’t discern them clearly yet, scared you.

  This felt horribly like goodbye – it was, at least for now – and you hated it.

  “Do you want me to?”

  “Yes,” you answered straight away.

  “Alright,” he nodded. “Then I will.”

  You didn’t dare open your eyes when he stepped away from you after one last chaste peck on your lips, nor when you heard him start the engine of his Triumph. But when you felt a warm hand on your shoulder, you jolted slightly and your eyes fluttered open.  

  “Let’s get you inside, kid” Mr. Kim said softly, brushing away a lonesome tear from your cheek. “Then you can help me scold my boy for making us come all the way to the police station on a school day, how does that sound?” he tried to uplift your spirit, and you offered him a half-hearted smile.

   ||\\

                                                       “Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell;

And in the lowest deep a lower deep

Still threatening to devour me opens wide,

To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven.

Oh then at last relent: is there no place

Left for repentance, none for pardon left?”

     It’d been four weeks since the last time you saw him. A whole month since he’d disappeared completely. At first, you waited anxiously for him to reappear out of nowhere. For him to just slide into the classroom, like he’d done the first time. But as time passed by and the third week came, you grew worried. He didn’t get specific about how much time it would take for him to do whatever it was, but you imagined it would be one, maybe two weeks. But now, a month later, you were beginning to wonder if he’d even come back at all. If something had happened, if he was okay…

  No. He promised.

  You’d rather not dwell on the possibility of something going wrong – hell, you didn’t even know what he was doing or what was that strange conversation he had with his deviant brother in front of the police station. You had a few theories, though. Not that you’d ever utter them out loud.

  Number one: mafia. Maybe not The Godfather sort of thing, since that seemed pretty outdated, but rather… Scarface, perhaps? So you had come up with the idea of Jin being a druglord; nothing more, nothing less. It made sense, to be honest.

  Number two: well, number two wasn’t exactly clear on your mind, but had something to do with super rich parents and an insane heritage. He could be the prince of an empire, right? You didn’t know anything about his family, except that his brother was blood-curdling.

  You just wished to keep your head in the right place until he explained the situation to you. If he explained, that is. Sighing, you tried to contain your derailed thoughts and get back to the real world, where Taehyung needed you to pay attention to Mamma Mia! for the nth time.

  “Alright, that’s it. You didn’t even sing along during S.O.S and that’s where I draw the line,” he said, taking the remote from your hand and pausing the movie. It was a cozy night and you were both plopped on the couch wearing socks and sweatpants.

  “When have I ever sang along during S.O.S, Tae?”

  “I remember it vividly, we were eleven. But that’s not the point,” he retorted. You bit your lip and kept your eyes trained on the frozen screen of the TV, already sensing where this was going. “You’ve been like this for a while now.”

  “Like what?” you pushed, trying to feign innocence. You were not in the mood for this right now. You just wanted to stare unseeingly at the TV and have some private time with your own thoughts until the movie was over.

  He sighed. “Look, I can only guess what’s going on,” he scowled, but tried to compose his features into a serene mask before speaking again. “But I need you to not be in your own head for a minute.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. I want to help,” he said, taking your hand in his. The touch was warm and familiar.

  “I know, Marzipan,” another sigh. You took your hand from his carefully and got up. “I’m going to the store, you want something?”

  “What, now? Y/N-“

  “I just-, I need coffee and snacks if we’re pulling this off. If you want me to keep my eyes opened during Moulin Rouge, that is,” you pointed out matter-of-factly

  Taehyung shifted in his seat, face contorted in confusion, wariness and a hint of hurt. “Do you want me to go with you? It’s late.”

  “No, it’s fine. You can stay and plan ahead, I’m sure we’re not stopping at the next one.”

  He watched you silently while you fumbled for your keys. When you found them, he muttered: “Don’t be too long.”

  “I won’t.”

  As soon as you crossed the threshold, the cold air of the night hit your skin, making you shiver slightly. You closed the door and hid your hands in the pockets of your sweater, bringing it closer to your body in a poor attempt to keep the warmth from escaping.

  Walking towards the convenience store located a couple of blocks from your house, you let yourself get lost in headspace again. You knew you weren’t being fair to Taehyung. As much as you wanted to talk about this situation with him, you couldn’t. It felt like betraying someone who hadn’t even put their trust in you to begin with. Yes, it was unfair, and maybe you were being a shitty friend every time he tried to have a serious conversation about the subject and you brushed him off with an excuse, like getting coffee in the middle of the night.

  You sighed, not really willing to wallow in guilt tonight, and just tried to focus on your immediate task. One step after the other, then one more, and you could already see the lights of a tiny single shop, the only one opened this late at night. It belonged to Mr. Newton, a sweet old baker who treated you kindly every time he was filling up for his cashier.

  You entered the store and heard the little bell announce your arrival. Much to your surprise, Mr. Newton was working there that night. As he saw your expression of detachment, he frowned. So you tried to arrange your features in a polite smile before speaking.

  “Hello, Mr. Newton.”

  “Y/N, child, why are you wandering alone when it’s already this late?” he asked softly, though clearly concerned for your safety.

  “Don’t worry, sir,” you answered, walking towards the cooler where they kept the iced coffee and taking two in one hand, as you went for the chips next. “Tae and I needed a little snack. Movie night.”

  He nodded and you placed the items on the counter for him to scan.

  “Well, then. Tell that kid to come by whenever he can. My wife wants to send some essential oils for Mr. Kim’s aromatherapy sessions,” just as he’d said it, he got a bit closer to you, as if the next words to come out of his mouth were a secret. “Truth is, she misses him. The boy is the only one who can stand her cooking.”

  Despite being moody, you chuckled wholeheartedly. No one could be indifferent to Taehyung’s charms, it seemed.

  “Yes, sir, I’ll tell him.”

  As you went through your wallet to pay the old man, you heard the little bell once again. Mr. Newton greeted the new client, but you were too engrossed in finding the right bills to snap your head in the newcomer’s direction. However, the inquisitive sound that left the old man caused you to steal a glimpse, catching auburn hair and broad shoulders in their wake. You stood still for a moment, trying to recall why those locks seemed so familiar. Until it hit you.

  “Jin?” you breathed, not loud enough for anyone in the store to actually hear you. Just as you muttered his name, he closed the door and turned left, disappearing from your sight. You gasped. “Keep the change, Mr. Newton!” you said – audibly, this time – leaving a ten dollar bill on the counter and grabbing your stuff as gracefully as you could muster, rushing to the door like your life depended on it.

  “No running in the store, kid!” he tried to scold you, but could already feel the cool breeze as you opened the door and looked around, expecting to find his brother. Only this time around you weren’t scared, no. You wanted answers, heart beating fast at the possibility of hearing from Yoongi, maybe even seeing him… Okay, no, not the time for this, first things first.

  When you realized he was nowhere to be found, you ran. Left. He went left. You passed by a few houses and almost tripped on a stray cat, turning your head to the side to check on it and apologizing profusely as you picked up your pace again. A few blocks later, you were already out of breath. You came to a halt and put both hands on your knees, gasping and feeling your lungs burn.

  Trying to ease your labored breathing, you realized that you were probably going crazy. A halfhearted chuckle escaped your parted lips. You were disappointed, even if actually meeting the redhead meant trouble. Trying not to let frustration and melancholy get the best of you, you decided to just let it go and head back home. Even if it was Jin, he probably wouldn’t tell you anything anyway.

 ||\\

    The snow under your feet was slippery as you got out of the library, leather backpack and navy-blue beanie on. You held a large cappuccino on one hand, careful not to spill it as you dodged passers-by and umbrellas every now and then. The streets were a little crowded that afternoon, and you were dying to get home and relish on Mrs. D’Angelis’ famous chicken noodle soup. Maybe she’d even grant you a warm glass of wine if you asked properly. You tried to occupy your mind with ordinary, day-to-day thoughts, trying to ignore the flutter on the pit pf your stomach.

  During that entire week, you were constantly under the impression that something was off. When you were going to school with Taehyung, or grocery shopping for your mother, there was always that tingling feeling on the nape of your neck that told you that someone was watching. Then you’d turn around and nothing. No one was ever there. The uneasiness was uncomfortable, but you didn’t feel endangered, just really jittery. And your motto was: no better medicine for anxiety than tons of caffeine.

  “Mom, I’m home!” you crooned, taking your coat off and discarding the empty thermal cup.

  “In the kitchen, honey!”

  The smell was splendid. You took a deep breath, already yearning for the hot meal, and kissed your mother on the cheek while she stirred… something.

  “Uh, smells nice,” you praised, making your way to the fridge for a glass of water. “I’m shocked Tae hasn’t come knocking on our door yet. Maybe his flair is broken because of the flu.”

  “Is Taehyungie sick, honey? Why didn’t you tell me?” she almost whined.

  “It’s nothing, just a bit of phlegm. But I’ll take some of these,” you pointed to the pots, “for him and his dad later.”

  “You really should. Now go upstairs and change before dinner.”

  You mumbled a response and climbed the stairs to put on some good old band t-shirt and sweatpants. You didn’t notice the broad-shouldered frame behind the door, and as soon as you closed it behind you, you felt a cold hand covering your mouth, while the other held you in place by the waist. Your whole body tensed, eyes bulged and breath hitched. Fuck. You were prepared to let out a loud scream, but his whispered voice stopped you.

  “It’s me, it’s me,” he shushed you. As a reflex, your muscles relaxed. “Gonna take my hand off your mouth now, George,” he informed, slowly moving his hand from your face.

  Of course it was him. His smell was all over the place, his touch still left little electric jolts on your skin. You snapped your head and turned around to face him. You realized your memories could never do him justice. He was so heartbreakingly handsome, you could cry. Pale skin, shiny disheveled raven hair. You noticed the circles under his eyes were darker and he seemed exhausted. Regardless, when your eyes fell on his lips, your body reacted before your mind could.

  Your hands made their way to the nape of his neck, caressing and gently pulling his hair. At the same time, you clasped your lips together on a desperate kiss. His surprise didn’t stop him from matching your frenzy, grunting as he sucked your upper lip and asked permission with his tongue, one that you promptly granted. Henceforth, your tongues performed an erotic, lewd dance as they fought for dominance, swirling and exploring each other’s mouths.

  Only when the back of your knees touched the bed did you realize he was moving you towards it. He broke the kiss for a moment to mercilessly throw you on the soft duvet, and you let out a surprised moan when he immediately covered your body with his, mouth returning to yours. A primal need surged from within you when you felt one of his hands roaming at your side lustfully, gabbing tight on your ribcage, your waist, your hip. He hoisted your leg and you hooked it around him, holding back a loud moan when he pressed his erection to your groin. You could feel your panties drenching from the sudden contact, a new wave of desire making your core ache.

  “Y/N-“ he tried to speak through heavy breathing, his lips never leaving yours long enough for him to finish a sentence. “Baby,” he groaned, obviously trying to say something, but you weren’t ready yet. You rocked your hips against him, earning another lecherous noise from his rosy lips as he closed his eyes shut.

  You used that moment of weakness to knock him to his side, climbing on top of him as you clamped your thighs harder on his hips. His eyes went dark at the sight, a devilish smirk tainting his beautiful features. You didn’t give him time to say anything, taking his lips on another bruising kiss. His hands on your ass, squeezing and groping, and you felt him throb inside his pants. You moaned, a gush of wetness coming out as you clenched around nothing. You couldn’t form coherent thoughts anymore, pressing yourself harder against his bulge as you rolled your hips, searching blindly and desperately for a sweet release that was already so close…

  “Hold it, baby.” His voice was stern, and he pinned both your wrists on your back, his hands seeming incredibly big when closed around them. He was sitting now, hot, labored breath hitting your lips, heightening your senses and sending shivers down your spine. You crumbled under his dominant demeanor, feeling an inconceivable need to obey, and instantly stood still. It surprised him as much as it did you, and you saw a smug grin plaster itself on his face. “That’s it. Be good for me so I don’t lose my mind.”

  You let out a breath you didn’t know to be holding and weakly nodded, mind still clouded with want. He let go of your wrists and gently pecked your lips, sitting you down on the bed instead of his lap. Father knows he would be physically uncapable of having a proper train of thought if he didn’t.

  “So… I guess we have a lot to discuss first, don’t we?” his smile was sheepish now, hands going through his hair in a nervous tick.

  “Yes,” you breathed out. “What happened? I was so worried, Yoongi, you have no idea. I didn’t even know where you were or what the hell you were up to, I-“ you took a moment in order to stabilize your voice. You knew you were affected by his sudden absence, you just didn’t know how much until now that he was actually in front of you. “I don’t even know what the worst case scenario could be, but I bet my thoughts came pretty close,” you chuckled humorlessly.

  “I’m sorry, I never meant to worry you. If I knew I’d be gone for that long, I would’ve told you before I left. I missed you so much,” he confessed, voice lower than before, and rested his forehead on your own.

  “Tell me. Please, I need to know,” your brows furrowed.

  “I met my brothers,” he paused, waiting for a reaction that never came. It’s not that you were not surprised by the information that he had other siblings, you just wanted him to finish it before you spoke. “Jin aside, I spent… years apart from my family. You could say that we didn’t leave things on the best of terms when I left father’s, so it was a surprise for me when I learned that they wanted to talk. Notwithstanding that it’s out of need, not love.” His heavenly features contorted in hurt and resentment, and you felt you own heart clench. You gave him an eskimo kiss as a sign of reassurance and he smiled timidly. “They offered to take me back. It’s… certainly a grand gesture for the likes of us,” he shook his head slightly and knitted his brows.

  “Isn’t that a good thing? Don’t you miss them?” you didn’t know why your voice was so small.

  “Not anymore, no.” His gaze was intense and made your heart beat impossibly faster. “I do miss them. They used to be my whole existence, the reason for every breath of mine. But now… now everything’s changed.”

  “What’s changed?”

  “You.”

  Your breath hitched. If it was anyone else, if it was any other situation, you’d laugh at the cheesy line. But this was him, and that, too, changed everything. That one word was enough to unleash butterflies in your stomach, enough of them to knock you breathless. The truth behind his statement carried a heavy meaning, one that you yearned for and that made you giddy. His onyx orbs were wary, and you wondered if he was blind to the utter relief plastered on your face. It was selfish, but you couldn’t help it. Not when it came to him.

  “H-How come?”

  He chuckled. “Don’t get bashful on me now, George, I’m pretty sure you understand.”

  You tried to scowl, but the grin was insistent on your lips. “Alright, let’s put a pin on that. You still haven’t told me everything. What did your brothers want?”

  “Y/N, there are certain things about me and my family that I cannot tell you. It wouldn’t be safe.”

  “You don’t trust me?” you were mainly curious, but a hint of hurt could be heard, too.

  “That’s not it. It just wouldn’t be safe for you.”

  “Is your family involved in something… illegal? Is that why?”

  “Not illegal, no,” he chuckled.

  “Then I don’t understand.”

  “I know. But please, George, don’t be stubborn about this one. All I’m asking for is a leap of faith,” his eyes were pleading as they bore into yours. Was he aware that he could probably convince you that the sky was neon green if he looked at you like that?

  “It’s a big leap,” you mumbled.

  “I know. Just trust that I have good reasons,” he smiled softly.

  You sighed. “Fine, Romeo, keep your secrets. Just tell me if you get too deep into whatever it is that the Min’s are hiding. I care about your safety just as much as you care about mine.” You forced the heat back, secretly hoping that it did not reach your face in time for you to actually blush.

  “Doubt it,” he grinned. “Dinner is ready, Mrs. D’Angelis will be coming for you soon. I should get going.”

  Your face paled as you rushed to the wardrobe, retrieving some clean clothes from your drawer. “Wait,” you stopped on your tracks in the middle of the room, glaring at Yoongi through narrowed eyes. “How do you know that?”

  “I have my ways,” he shrugged, then tugged his lips upwards on a daring smirk. “It’s a secret.”

  “If you keep giving me clues I might just figure it out. Go on.”

  He chuckled and stood up from the bed, walking languidly in your direction. He touched your nose with the tip of his index finger, tracing it’s way all up to your forehead, then coming down to your jaw, where he grabbed firmly. His lips were smooth and slightly damped as they softly touched yours in a chaste kiss. A ragged sigh of pure bliss escaped you, and you tried to fight the haziness.

  “Bye, George,” he was still lingering when he spoke. As he broke the contact and turned to the window, you woke up from the trance.

  “Stay,” you breathed out. He looked at you with a hint of confusion. “I-I mean, you can stay if you want. I can bring you some of mom’s soup and we can eat it here. But you don’t have to, if you’re bus-“

  “Okay,” he deadpanned.

  “Okay. Yeah, uhm… I’ll go change in the bathroom, you can make yourself comfortable.”

  “Already am,” he said as he threw himself on the bed, bouncing a little. His countenance was amused and he eyed you intently, toying with the elephant plushie.

  “Of course you are,” you snorted, carrying yourself to the bathroom.

  That night, you both relished on your mother’s cooking while watching some old movie about Cole Porter on your laptop. You were sure that it wasn’t his cup of tea, but he payed attention to it nonetheless. After you were done, you offered to take the dishes downstairs, since your mother would probably have a stroke if she knew there was a boy in your room. You stopped by Taehyung’s to check on him and offer his favorite hot meal, but it didn’t take more than five minutes. You were on a hurry, and he knew better than to question it.

  Back upstairs, you and Yoongi curled up under the covers and tried to find something interesting enough to watch for what seemed to be ages, your head resting on his chest and his hands holding you securely by the waist. It wasn’t long until you fell asleep, and only then did he leave, pecking your forehead gently before jumping out the window.

  ||\\

  “Get in.”

  “No,” you tried to end the discussion then and there. As expected, you failed.

  “Y/N, you can’t go back on pinky promise. You should’ve thought this through.” His goal was to sound stern, but in reality you could see the hint of a pout on his lips. “It’s my birthday.” Okay, there it was. That was definitely a pout.

  “No,” you closed your eyes shut and facepalmed – for good measure. “Don’t give me those eyes, I’m not looking,” the sound was muffled by your hands.

  He wrapped his incredibly large fingers around your wrists and whined: “Come on, we’re already here. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “Why on earth would you say that?” you instantly took your hands from your face and shot him a glare. He had the nerve to chuckle.

  “You can’t possibly expect me to do this alone.”

  “You can’t possibly expect me to do this at all,” you retorted, kicking the snow piled up near the curb, shunning away from his puppy dog eyes.

  “You promised you would! I’ll do it, Marzipan. If you win this round, I’ll get a tattoo with you as a birthday present,” his voice was high pitched.

  You snorted. “I was out of it, mental faculties completely fried. Drunk on power and merlot. Plus, I’m pretty sure you cheated, you could never beat me at Mario Kart,” you grumbled.

  “I did not cheat,” he was outraged. “I’m a lawful man, I abide by the rules, and they are clear: a bet is a bet.”

  You honestly have no idea why you let him talk you into this. Perhaps because you’ve been feeling guilty lately, and therefore didn’t have the heart to turn him down when he broke into your room to collect his victory this morning. It’s a good present, right? To get tattoos with your best friend? He had been trying to convince you since three birthdays ago. You hoped it would be enough to ease a bit of the weight on your chest.

  Truth is, you had been spending too much time with Yoongi these past few weeks. After what happened when he showed his face again, it became routine that he came by almost every night when your mom fell asleep. You’d talk, watch movies, kiss… But what you enjoyed the most were those moments where you curled up in his embrace, face buried in the crook of his neck, and neither of you would say a word. You’ve always appreciated peaceful silence, but those moments were so much more. You felt truly connected to him, in a way you’d never felt with anyone else. Like you were both pieces of the same puzzle, cheesy lines aside.

  Or when he would be the one to rest his head on your chest, blinking lazily as you twisted his silky, raven locks in your fingers. Perhaps those were truly your favorites, as you felt the incontrollable urge – need – to be protective of him, to never let anything disturb his serene, almost childlike countenance, so bare before you in the night’s veil. Before the sun came up and brought back the little wrinkle between his eyebrows.

  During the day, you often returned to his safe haven – one that ultimately became yours, too. The waves breaking against the rocks, the salty breeze, the deep blue of the ocean, you had gotten acquainted to it all in a heartbeat. On occasion, you’d bring warm, fuzzy blankets, hot cocoa and books, spending an entire afternoon on your own personal eden.

  You never meant for any of it to get in the way of your friendship with Taehyung, but counterbalancing proved to be harder than you first thought. Although you may have gotten too caught up, inevitably distancing yourself a bit, you were now eager to make it up to him. He was like family, after all. So here you were.

  “Fine, have it your way. But I’m telling mom that you put me up to this,” you threatened. The snow under your boots making a crunchy noise while you crossed the street to get to the tattoo parlor.

  “She won’t believe you. I’m a saint. I’m her Taehyungie.” He was beaming.

  As soon as you got in, you saw a man sitting behind the counter. He was buff, and you’d bet that pretty much his whole body was covered in piercings and tattoos – mostly about dragons and snakes. Looks aside, his voice was warm and welcoming when he greeted you.

  “Welcome, kids. My name is Eli, how may I help you today?”

  All the drawings and pictures on the walls seemed to have detained Taehyung’s attention, so you plastered a polite smile on your face before answering.

  “Hi. My friend over here came to get a tattoo,” you pointed at the boy beside you and he scowled.

  “We both did,” he smiled at the receptionist.

  “Alright. You have to sign a couple of forms before we get into details. You’re both legal, right?” the receptionist asked and you nodded. “Peach. Just a second,” he turned his attention to the computer in front of him, taking a couple of papers from the printer soon after. He handled you each a consent form. Before you signed yours, you exchanged a look with Taehyung, almost having a whole conversation – bickering – with him through knowing looks.

  “Here you go,” Taehyung handed the papers to Eli.

  “Cool. Do you guys have something in mind? We have a few drafts you can check out. But if you already know what you want, Hyunjin can draw it when you get inside. Don’t worry, he’s good.”

  “I have something in mind,” Taehyung offered a bright boxy smile. “I guess I’ll just explain it to him, then.”

  “Great,” Eli turned his eyes to you, realizing that you definitely had not made up your mind just yet. “If that’s the case, I’ll let him know that you’re going in,” he said to Taehyung, who nodded in response. When the buffy man went to the back, he glared at you through narrowed eyes.

  “I’ll come back with permanent ink on my skin. You better not chicken out by the time I’m done,” he threatened.

  “Hope you don’t regret it within the year,” you taunted.

  “I won’t,” he snorted.

  Eli returned a second later, excusing himself to lead Taehyung to the tattoo artist. In the meantime, you picked a binder that was resting on top of the counter to take a look at the drawings he’d mentioned, hoping to find something you’d actually like – or at least an inspiration. Most of them were very intricate, and although they were beautiful, you wanted something simple. Less is more when you’re tainting your skin for life because of a bet.

  You were turning the pages with such disinterest that you almost missed it. It seemed unfinished, just a sketch, and you couldn’t quite pinpoint the reason as to why it caught your attention in the first place. It was a dragon intertwined in a circle, it’s countenance exuding fierceness and strength. Inside the circle, however, was just an unembellished arrangement of lines, one that was strangely familiar and alluring. 9-7-1-12-6, if you think about a clock.

  “Oh, I see you’ve found Lee’s work. What do you think?” Eli pulled you out of your headspace.

  “Uhm… Yeah, he’s great. His drawings are pretty authentic.”

  “Uh huh, he’s been working on those for a while now. So, do you have any idea what you’re gonna get yet?”

  “Not really. I mean, I liked this one,” you pointed to the page you were previously analyzing. “Do you know if it means anything in particular?”

  “Yes! Actually, it does, but I can’t really remember what. I think it’s a sigil, though. You know, one of those thingies people believe to be magical.”

  “Mhm.” You really didn’t know why you felt the need to purge those next words, but you were saying them before you could stop yourself. “This is it.”

  “What? You’re gonna tattoo that?” Without even knowing what it means?

  “Yes. I liked the dragon.”

  ||\\

  His lips were soft against your collarbone, leaving a trail of goosebumps on their wake when he moved them lazily to your jawline, wet little kisses making you squirm and sigh. His index finger was tracing patterns on your bare thigh, caressing and examining as if he’d never done it before, as if you were a made of glass. The sun had graced you with its appearance for the first time in weeks, and you wanted to enjoy the good weather as much as possible, so you had convinced Yoongi to lay on the grass by your side.

  “Tired of Miss Brontë already, love?” his velvety voice evinced his amusement.

  “Can’t read. You’re distracting me.”

  He chuckled lightly, delivering small puffs of air on the crook of your neck, and raised his head just enough to look at you, blocking the sunlight and making it possible for you open your eyes. Before he’d made his mission to disturb your concentration, you were reading for him, like people do with kids before they go to bed. It became a thing after the first time you did it, and now he picked a different book every week or so. When you’d asked about it, he just shrugged and declared that ‘It’s just nice. I like hearing you.’ This week, it was Wuthering Heights.

  “Continue, please,” he adjured, laying his head on your chest as a demonstration of good will. You grabbed the book you’d previously set aside and opened it, leaving one hand free to play with his locks.

  “That, however, which you may suppose the most potent to arrest my imagination, is actually the least, for what is not connected with her to me? and what does not recall her? I cannot look down to this floor, but her features are shaped on the flags. In every cloud, in every tree—filling the air at night, and caught by glimpses in every object by day, I am surrounded with her image. The most ordinary faces of men and women—my own features—mock me with a resemblance. The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her.”

  His eyes were no longer closed, he was gazing at you.

  “Do you pity him?” he suddenly asked.

  “Heathcliff? I don’t.”

  He nodded slowly. “So, you think there’s no redemption, then?”

  “Not for him. He lived and died as an antagonist. Some might think his cruelty is just an expression of his frustrated love for Catherine, or that he conceals at least some virtue, a romantic heart. They expect him to be anything but what he constantly proves to be, they expect misunderstood heroes. But he himself acknowledges his sadistic nature.”

  He stood still, seeming to be lost in thoughts while tracing invisible patterns on your shoulder and refusing to meet your eyes.

  “Would you be able to love someone as tainted as him?” he asked wistfully.

  You lifted your upper body, compelling him to a sitting position as well.

  “I’ve never had to,” you pecked his lips chastely, even though he still kept his eyes trained on the grass underneath you. “Hey,” you dig your nails gently on the nape of his neck, asking for his attention. When he raised his head, the wrinkle between his eyebrows was there again. It worried you that, since he’s been back, it’s been a constant feature of his. Every now and then, his face twisted into an inscrutable grimace. “You understand, don’t you?”

  A half-hearted nod was your response, and he built up the mask to conceal his discomfort once again.

  “Enough vitamin D for you? I can’t stand the heat,” he grumbled.

  “Yeah,” you chuckled, pressing your lips to his forehead and standing up, stretching a helping hand. “Where do you want to go?”

  “My place.”

  Which was code for: Your mom is home and I want to pass out on my bed nuzzling you.

  “Whatever you want, grandpa.”

  “Be a brat and I’ll hit the throttle,” he threatened, positioning himself on top of his Triumph. Sometimes he took full advantage of just how dreadful you found his two-wheeled vehicle. And it always worked. You snorted, climbing on the back seat and wrapping your arms around him. “Hold tight, George.” His warning was delivered with amusement, but you knew better than to take it lightly.

  The fifteen-minute trip went as smoothly as it could, and even though you’d made sure to keep your eyes closed, you still felt dizzy and light-headed when he parked into the old building’s garage. He sensed your distress and got off the motorcycle slowly, careful when untangling you’re your arms from his waist and never completely breaking physical contact.

  “Open your eyes,” he murmured, one hand on the small of your back and the other placed on your hip. You took a deep breath and your eyelids tentatively fluttered. His lips brushed your right cheek as he effortlessly lifted you and put you down on the floor, covering the entirety of your hand with his and making a beeline for the elevator.  

  Yoongi’s apartment was on the fourth floor, which happened to be the last one – the building was a small, fading-yellow rectangle in the middle of a quiet neighborhood. In a way, it suited him. Secluded and discreet. Perfect for a misanthrope such as himself, given that you’d never even bumped into one of his neighbors – and you’d been visiting quite regularly. On another note, however, it was uncannily unpretentious for someone like him.

  He stopped for a moment on the front door, fumbling for the keys in his pocket. As soon as he opened it, you made your way to the couch, crashing with a sigh, face buried in the cushion. A minute had passed before he plopped on top of you, compelling a puff of air out of your lungs. You grumbled something about manslaughter, but the sound was muffled. He ignored you, making himself comfortable by nuzzling your neck and taking off his shoes using only his feet. You chuckled, making an effort to turn on your back so you could catch a breath.

  “Sleepy?” you asked, running your fingers through his hair. He hummed a response, content with your ministrations. “I, uh… have something to show you.”

  He raised his head from your throat, eyeing you curiously. “What is it?”

  “Bedroom,” you commanded.

  “Oh, I see,” he taunted, but stood up nonetheless. You rolled your eyes.

  You guided him to his room and closed the door behind you. He leisurely sat on the bed, waiting cautiously for you to proceed. You sucked in a deep breath, growing doubtful under his gaze. Pushing all insecurities aside, you unzipped your shorts.

  “Y/N, what are you doing?” he warned in a low-pitched, deep voice, orbs darkening considerably. You dismissed it, tiptoeing closer to him. He straightened his back and raised his eyes to meet yours, searching for any indication of what you intended to do. You pushed the waistband down, letting the piece of clothing pool on the floor, but he didn’t flinch, attention still focused on your features. When you hooked one finger on the hem of your white panties, he quickly snatched your wrist on a tight grip, brows knitting together. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, baby. You know that, right?”

  Your chest swelled with warmth and affection. After the night he came back, things heated up a couple of times. Once he’d realized how tense and anxious you got at first, he began to hold back, withstanding your advances. You never verbalized anything, but he had a hunch, and pressuring you was definitely not on his to-do list. He was being respectful and caring, and although you shouldn’t accept nothing less, it made you feel safe. He made you feel safe, always.

  “Let me show you,” you murmured, a soft smile blooming on your face. He seemed puzzled, but ended up nodding warily. When you moved your finger, slightly pushing the fabric down to expose your hip, he finally had the guts to jeopardize his restraint and look down. You didn’t know what you expected his reaction to be, but that certainly wasn’t it.

  His breath hitched and he paled, eyes almost bulging out of their sockets. He didn’t move a single muscle, whole body tensing up. It was as if he couldn’t fully comprehend the sight before him, like he couldn’t believe. He composed himself soon enough, but you could still see the glint of shock in his eyes. It didn’t make any sense.

  “When did you get that?” his voice came out flat and a few octaves lower than usual.

  “A couple of weeks ago,” you frowned. The tattoo that marked your hip was now almost fully healed. You were doubtful in the beginning, but now you kind of grew fond of it. “What’s wrong?”

  “Do you know…” he cleared his throat, fingers twitching. “Do you know what it means?”

  “Not exactly,” you confessed sheepishly. “The tattoo artist said it was a religious symbol and… Truth be told, I’m not even sure why I did this. Just felt right,” you mumbled, realizing then that you probably sounded a tad out of it. You held your lip between your teeth, unsettled.

  “Yes. It’s the sigil of one of the seven archangels, love. It’s… Michael’s… sigil,” his jaw clenched, but his tone was now softer. “It’s used to invoke strength and protection. The ancients believed that, if you will it enough, he will be able to hear your prayers and, perhaps, be of assistance,” he laid his hand flat on your skin, stroking the symbol with his thumb, oblivious to the little jolts of electricity the simple gesture sent through your body. An unfamiliar mixture of dejection, despair and awe flashed through his onyx eyes, and you wondered what it was that he wasn’t telling you that could’ve possibly elicited such reaction.  

  “How do you know all that?” you wanted him to focus on something other than whatever it was that poisoned his thoughts.

  “Father taught me,” he shrugged.

  It’d been a while since he last mentioned his family. But you knew he was thinking about them whenever you saw the accentuated wrinkle every time he furrowed his brows, or when his muscles felt so tense to the touch that he was akin to marble against your skin. He was worried, he had been for a while now. And it scared you. You needed to know.

  “Yoongi…” the uncertainty that laced your tone made him squeeze your flesh encouragingly. “Where is he? Your dad.”

  “Home,” he stated tersely.

  “I know, but… Where is home? And what about your brothers? I know you said you don’t speak to them anymore, you just never explained why.”

  “We’ve already talked about this. They’re home, too. Y/N, just forget it,” he shook his head, avoiding your gaze.

  “Why do you build this wall between us every time? It’s frustrating. I can help-“

  “You can’t,” he deadpanned, breaking off any contact when he got up, making his way to the door. His demeanor screamed for you to back off, that he had no interest in continuing the conversation. But you were done being left in the dark.

  “Why is it so hard for you to trust me, huh?”

  “I already told you that it’s not a trust issue,” he raised his voice. “Why can’t you accept that I don’t want you to get caught up in the middle of my mess?”

  “Well, I am caught up in the middle of your mess!” you roared. “You were gone for an entire month and have been on edge ever since you got back. Something’s going on, I’m not stupid.”

  “Jesus Christ, Y/N,” a deep growl escaped his throat. “It’s none of your business, if we’re being honest here. They’re my problems, I’m the only one who can fix them – hell, not even that.”

  “If you could stop being such a jerk for a second, you’d realize that they became my problems, too, as soon as I fell in love with you. But you’re so far up your own ass that we can’t even discuss things without yelling at each other,” you spit the words. “Do you know what it’s like for me to watch you struggle like you’ve got the whole world on your shoulders? Especially when my hands are tied,” you stepped closer to his figure, heart hammering on your chest after your little speech. It was nothing but a whisper when you said, “You’re not alone, you idiot.”

  His whole expression softened, and you could recognize a faint smile on his velvety lips. Taking a deep breath, he closed the distance between the both of you and let his hand rest on the column of your neck.

  “I am an idiot,” he nodded, visibly calmer. “And you’re stubborn, you know that?”

  “Might have heard something about it,” you grumbled.

  He hummed. “Forgive me. Could you?”

  “Maybe. Will you… I mean, I just wish you’d open up a little. I’m scared, Yoongi,” you confessed.

  “Me, too.”

  “I know. That’s why.”

  He shook his head and lowered it until his skin touched yours. “I’m scared of your reaction, baby. I don’t know if you’ll want me once you discover the truth,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

  “I’d say you’re safe. Unless your family is trying to coerce you into becoming a real life Michael Corleone. You didn’t shoot anyone in the head, did you?”

  He chuckled wholeheartedly and took a step back to maintain eye contact and mock you properly. “That’s your theory? That I’m a mobster?”

  You looked down sheepishly, before answering nonchalantly in a small voice, “One of them.” He couldn’t help himself, even though his hand was pressed tight against his mouth and his eyes were glistening with unshed tears of amusement. He tittered.

  “May I know the others?”

  “No,” you glared.

  “Oh, George, what if I ask nicely? What if I say please?”

  “Not even then.”

  “How about pretty please?” You shook your head, trying to pass through him to get to the kitchen, but he encircled his arms around you from behind before you could grasp the knob. “And what if I tell you that I am, too?” he breathed in the shell of your ear and you held your breath for a second. You didn’t need him to vocalize what you already knew, but you felt butterflies fluttering anyways. Still, you kept your ground, suddenly very conscious of the fact that your shorts were still pooled on the floor near the bed.

  “Closer, goodfella. But not enou-“

  The loud bangs on the front door cut you midsentence. You felt Yoongi’s body stiffen before something that sounded terribly similar to a low growl broke out of his throat.

  “Get dressed and stay here,” he ordered, authoritative. He didn’t spare you a glance before exiting the bedroom, and you felt a dreadful feeling claw up your insides, piercing your gut and making you nauseous. Pulse thrumming viciously under your skin, you fetched your shorts and wiggled it up, fastening the belt with shaky hands. Stop overreacting, you told yourself over and over, growing more anxious by the second. You couldn’t understand why, to be honest.

  Taking deep breaths, you forced your fidgety fingers to stay still as you fell limp on the soft mattress, eyes closed. Your mind wandered to the safe haven: cotton clouds and baby blue sky, the smell of the grass, the books scattered around you and him. For a minute, you could truly take the edge off. Until you heard the noise of glass shattering on the wall.

  Getting off the bed as fast as you could, your head spun. You opened the door quietly, careful not to expose the presence of another person in the house, and made a beeline to the kitchen. While you looked franticly for something that could be useful as a weapon, you tried to stay attentive to the sounds. They were muffled, but you could discern at least two voices, apart from Yoongi’s.

  Alright. Great.

  As any sane person who’s watched more than a few movies would do, you went for the most obvious choice. Knives. Better safe than sorry.

  Almost counting your steps, you tiptoed your way to the living room. The voices were not very loud, but you could easily understand what was being said now that you were closer.

  “It’s imperative that you return with us now,” a dulcet, almost high-pitched voice uttered softly. “I am sure you are aware of your responsibilities. It’s time.”

  You stayed hidden behind the icy-white wall that separated the two rooms, gripping the hilt of the knife so tightly that your knuckles turned white. Maybe you shouldn’t be eavesdropping, that was clearly a family matter. Maybe you should lock yourself in Yoongi’s bedroom and do as he said. But the truth was that you were far too curious – and now far too enchanted by the childlike voice – to stop yourself from prying.

  “I believe you have already forgotten about the current state of affairs, then? Father exempted me from my duties as soon as he banished me from the Gates and sent me to exile,” Yoongi spit. You could see it clearly in your head as he ran his fingers through his hair in annoyance. He sounded… different. You didn’t have the courage to tilt your head and steal a glance, afraid they’d catch the motion.

  “Father warned you about the consequences of your stubbornness, Michael, but you were very much unyielding in your misconceptions,” the second person said, gruffy and curt.

  “It is not a misconception to care for our own flesh and blood.”

  Wait. Michael? Had he been listening to your conversation earlier? If the man wasn’t so deadly serious and the air so dense, you would’ve laughed – although you felt that it was probably not the right time to let out a full-throated  guffaw to mask an anxiety attack.

  “Our own flesh and blood abused his role as a persecutor and bent the rules for his own selfish purposes. Azrael is fortunate if Father ever forgives him, albeit we both know he will. Brother, I know you hold the highest regards for truth and justice, but it was not your place to question an order.”

  You could hear the crude man pacing around the room as he spoke. Hoping to stay unnoticed, you sneaked a peek. The first person you landed eyes on was not at all taller than you, and you supposed that was the first man you’d heard. His hair was silvery, almost platinum blonde, styled in a way that evinced his beautiful forehead. The way he carried himself was elegant and graceful, like a ballerina, and his appearance suited his youthful voice perfectly. The second figure to catch your eye, though, was the complete opposite. Tall, lustrous olive skin and brown hair, he was intimidating at first glance. His steps were heavy on the floor, nearly clumsy.

  “Perhaps there lies the problem. We are never to question, even whilst we deem fit. Azrael is the embodiment of corruption and amorality; it’s consensual, we are well aware. No matter how devious, he is needed. Casting one of the Seven out ought to never be an option. Be that as it may… There are only five of us within the Gates now. Was I supposed to receive graciously the task of exiling our own brother?”

  You were growing considerably annoyed by their choice of words. Why the hell would they be talking like your great-grandparents? All cells in your body were telling you that it was supposed to be cringey, but in reality it was nothing but alluring. Charming. And that’s where all the annoyance came from.

  “It is unwise to go against His instructions. Are you a rebel at heart, Prince?” The man stopped his pacing to let the words tumble out of his mouth, venomous. You could tell by Yoongi’s countenance that he was about to lose his composure, and in a way you were yet to see. His body were trembling slightly in fury, and his lips were compressed together in a well-defined line. You were astounded, however, by his eyes. In that moment, you couldn’t move even if you intended to. They were tinted in a deep violet, just like you had seen before at Jin’s encounter, except that, this time, they hadn’t gone back to black.

  “This has nothing to do with the Rebellion, Raph-“

  “Then why disobey? Do you plan to defy Father as well? It would be entertaining to watch you fight your antithesis for the throne of the underworld,” he chuckled.

  It all happened in an instant, but for you it felt like slow motion. Yoongi was convulsing within himself, as if attempting to refrain a great deal of energy from breaking free. Once you saw blood oozing from his closed fists, you knew it was a lost battle. But never, ever, could you have foreseen what came next, what kind of energy – power – exactly he was trying to repress. For a very brief moment, everything stood still. If you had been able to avert your eyes from him, you’d see the silvery-hair figure shudder. You’d see the faint smirk on the lips of the man who caused Yoongi’s outburst, even though he was, deep down, a tad terrified. But you did not have time, nor will-power, to pay attention to anyone but him, ablaze amethysts shooting daggers at the man before them.

  Then everything came crashing down. Your beliefs, the world as you knew it, it was all taken away ruthless and abruptly once you saw white feathers rip through black shirt. You gasped audibly, falling to the floor with a dull thud as the knife clinked at your feet. None of them noticed, too entranced by the interaction that unrevealed itself. Yoongi got to his prey at an unhuman speed, grabbing him by the throat and caging him against the door. The horrid sound was enough to make you wince through your stupor, and, if it were anybody else, their skull would have cracked. The man, however, only clenched his jaw to suppress a whimper.

  “How dare you speak ill of your Leader like this?” as his voice went down a few octaves, Yoongi’s hold tightened visibly. The man-child seemed as ready to meddle as he would ever be, though still too frightened to actually move. “How dare you, brother, mention the Chief of the Heavenlies in the same breath as his nemesis? Mere one hundred and fifty years, Raphael, and you already built the temerity of being impertinent towards me? Or have you simply forgotten who I am?” his wings were whooshing, as if he was preparing to – quite literally – take flight at any given moment. They were stupendous, bigger than he himself, and so snowy-white, so untainted. Truly immaculate, contrasting with his raven hair.

  His angelic features, albeit glorious, could never outstand the magisterial way to which he spoke, imposing authority. Like he was born for it. Everything about him in that moment urged you to bow before his feet, and you weren’t even the one holding his darkened glare. It was entirely alien to you, a facet of him you could barely conceive, let alone process. Raphael undoubtedly recoiled at his words, but tried to conceal it.

  “Then show me. Do your title justice and lead us to victory, as I know there is no wrath nor passion greater than yours. Not for a moment have I forgotten who you are, Flaming Warrior, but you certainly have.” Raphael spoke, and it fell to the ears like a prayer.

  As Yoongi’s wings retracted once again, you breathed what seemed to be the first intake of air in hours. He slackened his grip on Raphael’s throat, who then bent over in a fit of coughing. The boyish man’s shoulders visibly relaxed, and he let out a sigh. Of course, the little truce was bound to be broken the minute one of them laid eyes on you. It happened to be the blonde.

  “Michael, there is a human on your floor,” he whispered, resembling a kid more than ever with his eyes wide open. “Why is there a human on your floor?” he snapped his head, shooting the question directly to Yoongi’s face, and you saw his body stiffen. “Oh, Father! She’s heard our names! Brother…”

  “Silent,” his voice was gruff, and he turned to scrutinize your figure. You weren’t sure of how you looked from the view of an outsider, but you felt… Shock, maybe? Fright? You didn’t know who and what was in front of you, and all you could think was how come his eyes are pitch black now?

  “Yoongi, we violated the law,” the man you now identified as Raphael said.

  “Namjoon,” his eyes never left you as he spoke, “take our brother home and certify yourself that he does not mention today’s events within the Gates.”

  “B-But the protocol-“

  “Does not apply to her, Jimin-ah,” Yoongi cut him off, “If you still need me to fight by your side, that is.”

   He seemed appalled by the perspective of that being an option. “Needless to say, brother, of course we do!”

  “That means I am in charge, then. So, at your superior’s orders, will you be able to keep this to yourself?” Yoongi craned his neck to glance at them through his peripheral vision.

  “If it is what you want, brother,” he mumbled, averting his gaze to the floor in respect.

  “Well, that being the case, I fear we might have to end this dreadful visit already. Notify our soldiers that I am to be expected soon.”

  “Yes, sir,” Raphael responded with a worried frown tainting his beautiful face. He touched the cherubic-like man on the shoulder and they both left the apartment.

  Yoongi’s feet were glued to the floor, the same spot he’d been standing since landing eyes on you. Your breathing was labored and hitched; your throat so dry that it felt like sandpaper. He took a little step forward, slowly stretching one hand in your direction. You let out a low whimper, recoiling until you were almost balled up, knees pressed tight against your chest. He immediately withdrew his arm and flinched.

  “I told you to stay in the bedroom.” His voice was flat, it wasn’t a scold.

  “W-What- What the hell just-“ a sob broke through your throat, and only then did you notice hot tears striking your cheeks. “Y-Yoongi,” you weren’t sure of what to say, let alone if you were actually able to choke a whole sentence out.

  “Are you afraid?”

  Yes.

  Fuck, yes.

  Were you afraid of him, though? Granted, his whole countenance while exerting power over someone else sent chills through down your spine. But that was not the man standing before you now, no.

  “Who are you?” you asked, trying too hard to keep a clear head.

  He straightened his back. “My true name is Michael,” he muttered.

  “You know that’s not what I asked,” you objected.

  “Yes,” he sighed, “I know. Can you keep an open mind?”

  “An open mind?” you scoffed. “I’m here, aren’t I? After seeing a pair of wings growing out of your shoulder blades.”

  “You are,” he chuckled humorlessly. He then walked tentatively in your direction, sitting on the floor as well when he deemed close enough. “I’m one of the Seven.”

  Your face twisted in confusion. Your brain was trying to deny what your subconscious already knew. “Go on.”

  “My brothers and I… we are one of Father’s first creations. Have you ever heard of the seven archangels, George?”

  “Yeah,” your voice was nearly inaudible.

  “It’s easier for you to understand, then. We are responsible for maintaining harmony in Heaven. That, occasionally, includes keeping things in order between the Gates and Earth,” he paused, searching for anything in your face that would require him to stop. “I am… let’s say, of great importance to keep the balance between our worlds, including the nether regions. You might have already gathered that I’m their leader, so to speak. I am in charge of all heavenly troupes, every single one of Father’s soldiers is under my command, as well as I am under His. In times of war, I am indispensable. That’s why they call me Warrior Prince; amongst other things.”

  “So it’s… all real?” your voice almost cracked. “Hell, heaven… God?”

  “Pretty much, yeah.”

  “Then why are you here?” you murmured under your breath and his expression darkened.

  “Immortality can make you petty. Do you remember meeting Azrael? I guess you know him as Jin. Azrael is… unique. Known as the Persecutor, he was the first reaper to ever exist – created before I was, even. He harvests human souls in due time and delivers them to a realm that suits them best. Paradise, Purgatory or Hell. My brother can be misunderstood very easily; his job has brought to the surface a sadistic persona. We all deal with evil from time to time, it was born in our home, but… Azrael is death, it’s a heavy burden to carry. Infinite lifetimes dealing with the worst sentiments a human can ever experience is bound to leave some scars. He can be mischievous and quite a pain in the ass, to be honest,” he huffed, “but his loyalty is admirable. So, when he made an egocentric mistake, Father reunited us all to discuss the best course of action. Much like a trial, if you will. The point is: they banished him to live amongst his… victims for a certain period of time. I could never agree to that, I believe every single one of the Seven serves a purpose, we are all needed to maintain natural balance.”

  “So you rebelled?”

  “No,” he scowled. “I’m not a rebel, I’m… a nonconformist.”

  “It’s the same thing.”

  “Not for us, it’s not.”

  “Okay. Then what happened?”

  “It’s a long story, if you want me to explain it correctly.”

  “I do. And you’re everlasting, so I bet we have some time to spare.”

  “Right,” he snorted. “My people is a bit traumatized when it comes to defiance, you probably know why.”

  “Because of the devil, right?”

  “Lucifer deeply despises all of his nicknames. But yeah, he’s the reason. A very long time ago, Father decided to expand our family. My brothers and I were content, but when He presented the idea of more… more of us, more love, we agreed on the spot. See, He was never, ever, the tyrant your kind makes him to be. Until Lucifer, that is. He was… exquisite, my brother. From his birth, each and every angel to exist used to say that Father got inspired by me when creating him, but in a very distinctive way. As much as possible, we were the flip side of each other, although extremely similar still, if that makes sense. With time, our bond grew stronger; we became inseparable. Almost everything we did was in each other’s company: from training in the fields to reading manuscripts under the sunlight. My brothers and I didn’t have much to worry about, it was a very peaceful existence. We had not come to know sin yet.

   Needless to say, it did not last. Because we were oddly alike and yet so different, comparisons were nearly inevitable. I didn’t mind them back then, so I thought he would never take it to the heart either. I was wrong. Lucifer distanced himself slowly but surely, and with each passing day, he tried harder to triumph over me in a childish competition, one that existed strictly in his head. He’d become resentful, and his animosity soon spread like wildfire towards the others, too. None of us were able to comprehend a feeling we had never experienced ourselves, so it took us years to make sense of the situation. By the time we did… I guess it was already too late.

   When Father created your kind, the hierarchy became even more apparent: only us, the archangels, were allowed to interact with humans – even so, only to a certain degree and always serving a purpose. Father wished your… species to stay untouched by our graces. Masterpieces, as long as kept apart, he had said. You see, your people got it terribly wrong. Lucifer was never jealous of humans – in fact, he holds deep contempt for them. He was jealous of us, of me, because my new responsibilities evinced that we had different roles on the chain of command. If rancor was his first sin, fury came to be the second. He endeavored to make a point of how unfair it was of Father to ‘play favorites’ and provide the Seven with greater might. My brother was a very shrewd, intelligent being, but his envy made him blind to a lot of things.

  Lucifer used the following years to spread his beliefs right under our noses, and therefore was able to gather a herd of angels who succumbed to blatant lies just as much as he did. That was the beginning of the rebellion. His ability to lead was remarkable, but he could never be a true leader – not that he intended to, anyway. The reason is pretty obvious: my brother did not care the least about those under his directions, they were means to an end. His main goal was to dethrone the Seven, and for that he forged a deadly weapon: the flaming sword. The uprising initiated a war that none of us were ready for, not even him. For seven days, we fought. For seven days, we continuously killed our own. I suppose you already know the end to that story.”

   You were so fascinated by his narrative that you’d already forgotten the reason he brought up the subject.

  “I think so,” you said. “The real thing is actually so… different from everything I’ve ever heard.”

  “I know. Tales never accomplish the whole truth.”

  “But what does that have to do with the reason you’re here?”

  “Like I said, my kind does not tolerate defiance after everything that happened. When Azrael was sentenced, I didn’t exactly make an effort to hide how I felt about it. They didn’t take it very well, so if you ask any of them why I was exiled, they’ll say it was for disobedience. When, in fact, it was because I reminded them too much of him,” he sighed, and you both fall into a pregnant pause. “How are you taking this?”

  “I’m not sure. I guess I just didn’t have enough time to process yet.”

  “I know,” he twisted a strand of your hair in his slender index finger.

  All of a sudden, a realization fell heavy on your heart.

  “Is your time up?”

  His brows knitted themselves together. “My time?”

  “Yeah. You said you’d stay here… for a predetermined amount of time. Is that why they came to get you?”

  “No, George,” he let out a puff of air from his nose, “that’s not why they came for me.”

  “Then why?”

  “Think about it. Why would they need their General for?”

  You shook your head, trying to make sense of what he was telling you. Oh.

  “You said you were indispensable in times of…” your whisper faded to an end.

  “War,” he completed.

    ||\\

                                                                                                                                  “While they adore me on the throne of hell,

With diadem and sceptre high advanced

The lower still I fall, only supreme

In misery; such joy ambition finds.

But say I could repent and could obtain

By act of grace my former state; how soon

Would height recall high thoughts, how soon unsay

What feigned submission swore: ease would recant

Vows made in pain, as violent and void

For never can true reconcilement grow

Where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep:

Which would lead me to a worse relapse

And heavier fall: so should I purchase dear

Short intermission bought with double smart.”

      There was a thin layer of snow covering the streets once again. The friction between the tires and the asphalt was barely there, and if the circumstances were different, that would be your main concern. The wind howled as you cut through it like bullets, and you tightened your embrace around his waist, somehow enjoying the numbing air of a cold late-afternoon. Eyes wide opened this time. When he finally parked in front of the porch, you quickly hopped down and took the helmet off, placing it in the seat you had previously taken. Before you could say or do anything, Yoongi seized your wrist with a leather-gloved hand.

  “I’m positively opposed to this,” he blurted in a last attempt to change your mind.

  “I know.” You tried to free yourself from his iron grasp, but to no avail. It was getting easier to read his features, and you could tell he was still unsure. But you were not. “Yoongi, it’s my call.”

  “Don’t I have a say in it?”

  “Ultimately… no.”

  “Want you to be safe, that’s all. Let us be reasonable about this, why don’t you?”

  “I thought you understood better than anyone that I don’t get to be reasonable about this,” you sighed with impatience. “Please, I—”

  “Okay,” he loosened his grip. “I’ll wait here.”

  “Okay.”

  The light was off in the living room, your mother wasn’t home yet. You told yourself that it was better this way. Making a beeline to the stairs, you went over the little list in your head once again before entering your bedroom.

  Set of clothes, toothbrush, toothpaste, laptop… What else?

  You looked around, the baby-blue walls somehow mocking you, an excruciating reminder of simpler times. Memories of your childhood swirled inside your mind. All the times you and Taehyung would play hide and seek, the squeals he’d let out whenever you caught him off guard, how he was certainly faster than you, but would let you win a childish race every now and then. The familiar scent of caramel and coffee roaming around the house in the wee small hours of the morning after movie nights, your mom’s chocolate chip pancakes for lunch on Sundays. It all felt like a lifetime ago.

  Hauling your backpack across your shoulder, you had a weird feeling that that was it. That was goodbye. Although Yoongi had promised you’d be back safe and sound in a couple of days, you knew things could go wrong. It was a pondered decision; you were aware of the risks, he’d made sure of it. Still, leaving his side when there was a real possibility that he might not get out alive was just… not conceivable. Logically, you understood that, if things went south, you would not be able to do much. You did not care much for logic these days, anyway.

                                     [Cheers Darlin’, by Damien Rice]

  Stepping out of the room and shutting the door as quietly as possible—for no apparent reason—you hopped downstairs two steps at a time, making sure to avoid staring at other parts of the house that could trigger another episode of nostalgia. Too focused on the task of trying not to focus, you missed the six feet tall barricade blocking the entrance to the living room, crashing into it face-first. If it wasn’t for the unrelenting grip keeping you in place, you would’ve certainly hit the floor.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the flat baritone voice resonated throughout the empty space.  

  Of course. You closed your eyes tightly, taking a deep breath before even contemplating lifting your head to make eye contact.

  “Do you need something?” in a poor attempt to shield yourself, you parroted his dead intonation.

  “Do I need something,” he hummed. Then he chuckled, fists clenching around your forearms. “Are you leaving?” he spat. “What about your mom, huh?”

  “It’s just a couple of days. I’ll call her.”

  By the scowl plastered on his face, your dismissive attitude hadn’t worked the way you planned it to. You had to do this quick, like ripping off a bandage. If anyone could give you a run for your money in this situation, that would be Taehyung. You knew he’d try to persuade you into staying, so you couldn’t risk it. For both your sakes.

  “I see,” he remarked. “Were you planning to tell me you’re running off with your boyfriend or you’d just leave me to figure it out on my own?”

  His venomous words burned out of his mouth at lightning speed, tainting his tongue with a pungent aftertaste.

  “You know I would never do something like that,” the hurt that laced your voice was evident, but, maybe for the first time, it didn’t make him feel half as bad as it should.

  “Do I?” he scoffed. “For the past few months, it feels like you’ve already left. Wouldn’t make much of a difference if you actually did, I guess.”

  That did it. You felt tears well up in your eyes, but you were determined to not let them fall.

  “Okay, I’m not doing this,” you whispered, not trusting your voice enough to speak properly, and pulled your arms out of his grasp roughly. You darted for the closed front door, feeling sick to your stomach at the thought of spending another minute inside the house. He clutched your shirt tightly, as if it was a lifeboat.

  “Wait,” his fists clenched tighter. You could sense him getting closer, but you didn’t have the guts to turn around and face him just yet. He buried his face on your right shoulder, holding your hip now, nails bound to leave little crescent moons on your skin. “M’sorry,” he mumbled. “I hate this.”

  Your heart ached. You hated it, too. Pushing Taehyung away was never your intention, but you finally came to understand all the times Yoongi had kept a safe distance before. To keep you safe. You couldn’t risk it, not with Marzipan.

  “It’s fine, Tae.”

  “It’s not,” he shook his head, brushing his nose on the fabric of your blouse. Inhaling deeply, he moved to the nape of your neck. You shuddered. “None of this is fine,” a peck on the bare skin of your neck, and your entire body tensed.

  “Taehyung…” you warned.

  “Don’t,” he begged, turning you around. You were adamant on avoiding his gaze, so your eyes kept darting between your feet and your hands. “Don’t go.”

  While he rested his forehead on yours, one hand on your cheek and the other thumbing your collarbone, you knew what was about to happen. You knew, and, still, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him. You knew, but it was Taehyung, your best friend. Marzipan, the little boy from the house next door. Boxy smile, disheveled hair, sweet-toothed Taehyung. How wrong could it be? You were saying goodbye to a part of your own soul. How wrong could it be?

  When his lips touched yours, soft and ravenous, you really wanted it to feel right. But the answer to your previous question was: too wrong. You loved him, yes. But he wasn’t him. Didn’t taste the same, didn’t feel the same. His movements weren’t slow yet demanding, his hand wasn’t drawing invisible patterns on your lower back, his smell wasn’t musky enough. It just didn’t feel right.

  “Tae,” you tried to end the kiss, but he led his mouth back to yours like in a trance, nibling on your lower lip. “Taehyung, stop!”

  By the end of it, you were both panting. It dawned you how big of a mistake you had just made, and guilt made you nauseous. Neither of them deserved what you’d just done, neither of them deserved to have their hearts broken because you were such a fuck up.

  “I-I’m so sorry, Tae,” your voice cracked. He was about to answer, but you didn’t want to hear it. You couldn’t breathe, your skin was on fire and there was a big, nasty lump in your throat. You bolted out the door, only to be met with Yoongi’s inquiring gaze. It seemed to have broken a damn, and heavy tears tumbled down your cheeks. He rushed to meet you halfway, brushing the tears away as soon as his hands reached your face.

  “Hey,” he shushed you. “What happened, baby?”

  “Can we go home, please?”

 The crease between his furrowed eyebrows deepened, but still, he chose not to pry any further.

  “Of course, love. Of course we can,” he softly muttered, although still hesitant to take his hands off you.

  You climbed onto the familiar grey motorcycle and hid your damped cheeks on his jacket. The beast rumbled, gaining speed as you cut through the air. The ghost of Taehyung’s lips on yours haunting you the entire way back.

[sagamemes]

the sheridan tapes  📼  part one.   here and under the cut, you can find a little under 120 lines of dialogue from the horror podcast the sheridan tapes, specifically from episodes one to three, edited for roleplay purposes.  tw: police, murder, supernatural elements, mentions of apocalyptic scenarios, near death experiences, injuries, vehicular crash, recreational drug and alcohol use.

❝  jesus, [name]. you’re not making this easy, are you?  ❞

❝  makes you wonder... do these things follow me because i chase them, or were they always following me?  ❞

❝  darkness and complete disorientation does a number on the human brain.  ❞

❝  i don't think he was a werewolf.  ❞

❝  i’d call it the customer service smile. you know, the one that says  ‘ thank you for shopping with us, please die now ’.  ❞

❝  i’ve found the more showy the text, the less impressive the actual phenomena.  ❞

❝  my job here is kind of… shaky at the moment.  ❞

❝  [name] was also engaged in the study of the impossible in his free time.  ❞

❝  so it’s just me who drives you up the wall then?  ❞

❝  well, you’ll be happy to hear i haven’t been having any fun. no weed, no ghosts.  ❞

❝  there hasn’t been a new lead on her case in more than half a year.  ❞

❝  so here i am, wrapped up in a blanket, staring at my little fireplace, so bored i actually decided to call my sister for once.  ❞

❝  it’s a little town near bandon. very little. nice little mini-market, and that’s about it.  ❞

❝  i doubt i’ll sleep much tonight. that’s okay. i just feel like looking at the stars for a while.  ❞

❝  it's probably for the best. i am simultaneously exhausted from the drive and absolutely wired from the coffee.  ❞

❝  i wonder if there will still be ghosts out there when that happens?  when the earth is gone?  ❞

❝  glad to hear you’re enjoying yourself, then.  ❞

❝  knowing doesn’t make things any easier, but it does make them a little less frightening.  ❞

❝  that’s all just a lazy way of saying that the real explanation is too difficult—or too horrible—for them to accept.  ❞

❝  it almost killed me, but in the end it settled for putting me in pt for a year while i figured out how to use my hands again.  ❞

❝  he muttered something about my time being up. or maybe he said it wasn’t up.  ❞

❝  i don’t really care that i didn’t get any writing done today.  ❞

❝  nothing. not a single idea worth writing down, no itch i needed to scratch or question i needed to answer.  ❞

❝  guess there really is no such thing as bad press.  ❞

❝  i have no idea what a writer’s  ‘ process ’  usually looks like, but i’m pretty sure it’s not this.  ❞

❝  see what i have to deal with?  god… siblings, am i right?  ❞

❝  what can i say?  i have a soft spot for gothic architecture.  ❞

❝  computers have never been very good at reconciling paradoxes.  ❞

❝  they’re pretty much over funding my little expeditions.  ❞

❝  that kind of smile doesn’t normally show that many teeth.  ❞

❝  you know, that’s only scary the first few times you do it.  ❞

❝  one day, it will be dead. one day all the stars will burn out, go dark and silent. one day, everything will be so dark and so cold that no new stars can ever be born. the old ones will blink out one by one, like candles going out, and then… nothing. silence. darkness. void.  ❞

❝  the simplest explanation is almost always the right one.  ❞

❝  i don’t remember getting in my van, putting the key in the ignition, or speeding away from that house, but i must have.  ❞

❝  no, no, i’m fine, i’m fine, just go bother someone else.  ❞

❝  i haven’t eaten, moved, or written anything all day.  ❞

❝  but maybe that's just the fact that it is two in the morning and my brain is running mostly on caffeine.  ❞

❝  given how good a [job] he is, i know it’s not the first time he’s done it.  ❞

❝  i escaped, but i knew that whatever was in that house has just marked me as prey.  ❞

❝  calm down. think. you’re just going to confuse yourself.  ❞

❝  just wanted to tell you a couple of us are headed out to marvin’s for drinks if you want to come.  ❞

❝  one of the most disappointing things about living in america is the lack of genuinely haunted houses. out of all the supposed haunts i’ve visited, maybe one in ten seems like the real deal.  ❞

❝  sounds… peaceful. not many distractions, then?  ❞

❝  something tells me this tape wasn’t played in court.  ❞

❝  one of the neighbours must have called 911.  ❞

❝  my infamous accident. it almost killed me.  ❞

❝  i just woke up to footsteps in the kitchen. i don’t know who, or what, but there’s someone in here with me!  ❞

❝  could you shut the door on your way out, please?  ❞

❝  uh, wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.  ❞

❝  the fire that i said went out?  yeah, it just started burning again.  ❞

❝  so i asked him to lie.  ❞

❝  it'd really be just a few of us. maybe me and [name] and one or two other tagalongs…  ❞

❝  apparently, the press had a lot of questions too.  ❞

❝  i’ve driven more than 8 hours and drunk enough bad coffee to give an elephant heart palpitations. i’m sure as hell going to get my money’s worth.  ❞

❝  oh sorry, am i bothering you now? what happened to  ‘ call anytime you want, [name] ’ or,  ‘ you’re always welcome here, [name] ’ ?  ❞

❝  i’ve forgotten to charge my phone. again.  ❞

❝  i… think i’m going to turn around now.  ❞

❝  well sorry if i wanted to have a nice talk with my sister for a change.  ❞

❝  will it just be left there forever? our legacy? look upon our works, ye mighty, and despair?  ❞

❝  no matter how far away from home you are, no matter how different the constellations might look from where you’re standing, you can always look up on a clear, dark night and feel like you’re about to fall right into it—the terrifying, endless expanse of nothingness.  ❞

❝  i know authors can do some crazy things to get out of writer’s block, but i’ve never heard of one resorting to arson.  ❞

❝  why do you always think there’s something wrong?  ❞

❝  ours is not to question why, ours is but to digitize and stay the hell out of trouble.  ❞

❝  so let’s try walking backwards. just keep an eye on it.  ❞

❝  i got lucky. or maybe i was just fast enough to escape.  ❞

❝  maybe there are secret passages behind the walls and corridors.  ❞

❝  no matter how far i walked, i couldn’t find the way i came in.  ❞

❝  well, i /know/ i’ve had worst nights. i just can’t think of any right now.  ❞

❝  i do want you to have fun, [name], i just don’t want you to get yourself killed doing it.  ❞

❝  i mean, obviously, i do care, that’s the whole reason i made this trip. to get away from the noise and focus.  ❞

❝  i might have… forgotten to tell anyone where i was going.  ❞

❝  before i get started, there’s just one thing i need to say. i have absolutely no patience for the unexplained, or the things people call  ‘ unexplainable ’,  ‘ supernatural ’, or  ‘ paranormal ’.  ❞

❝  i told [name] that i needed to get out, to get inspired.  ❞

❝  okay, if someone is messing with me, they’re going to be very sorry, very quickly.  ❞

❝  [name] lied his ass off to save yours.  ❞

❝  a crash like that does funny things to your head.  ❞

❝  i still don’t know how he got there without me noticing.  ❞

❝  any plans i had to travel abroad went up in smoke.  ❞

❝  i thought of pulling out the bad cop routine.  ❞

❝  strange how something so dead can be so beautiful.  ❞

❝  it hated me:  hated what i do, and more than that, hated who i am.  ❞

❝  lots of tall tales. and more than a few ghost stories.  ❞

❝  oh good, you’re still here!  ❞

❝  reviewers absolutely grilled it:  said it was a nonsensical rip off of the dark tower, whatever that means.  ❞

❝  i jumped out the window. cut my hands on the glass, but thankfully not bad enough to need stitches  ❞

❝  i told her, tonight.  ❞

❝  for a minute, i wondered if that would really be so bad. it was a fitting way to go, given my… well, everything.  ❞

❝  i suppose that’s a universal constant—maybe the only one.  ❞

❝  i never let myself get this turned around. especially not at night.  ❞

❝  i don’t know if it’s actually haunted. but if not, then it was sure as hell convincing.  ❞

❝  i’m not one of those people who thinks she’s the spawn of satan or something ridiculous like that.  ❞

❝  unless i’m prepared to accept that she was murdered by something that crawled out of a funhouse mirror, this isn’t much help with the case, either.  ❞

❝  i have to try and work some actual cases the rest of the time. you know, cases that might have some answers i can find.  ❞

❝  it's cold, damp, and dark as night. i'm in my element, at least.  ❞

❝  your place is waiting for you.  ❞

❝  yeah, i’m all good. great… hanging in there, you know?  one day at a time.  ❞

❝  oh, i see you. you think i’m still scared of [thing], huh?  think you can freak me out?  ❞

❝  trust me, i’ve had a hell of a day, and you do not want to mess with a pissed off…  ❞

❝  and tell my sister i'm sorry.  ❞

❝  oh god, it's cold.  ❞

❝  the night sky really is beautiful out here.  ❞

❝  tell him he shouldn’t have been such a good liar.  ❞

❝  i’ve been listening to this for the last two weeks now.  ❞

❝  it’s not even that i’m having bad ideas. i’m not having any at all.  ❞

❝  can’t get away from the work, no matter what i do.  ❞

❝  i made sure i switched off my phone before i came up here, just in case.  ❞

❝  god, these things smell of weed.  ❞

❝  yeah, well… just wanted to make sure you’re okay, you know?  ❞

❝  [name] is dead. that's all there is to it.  ❞

❝  no, i need to get out of here. it’s been a long day.  ❞

❝  a lot of the art i found was just paintings of a night sky full of stars.  ❞

❝  my job is to look the facts dead in the face and find an explanation. one that will hold up in a court of law.  ❞

❝  personal and career choices, i guess you’d call them.  ❞

❝  damn. i could’ve sworn i felt something strange about this place when i hiked through this morning… or maybe it was a different part. hard to tell this late at night, anyway.  ❞

❝  well, let’s just say a middle-aged man-child running out panicked and tearing at his eyes would hardly be a marketable image.  ❞

❝  i didn’t mind that i’d be alone—i always expected that to be how i went.  ❞

❝  i’m sure that’s on my personnel file by now, as if it could get any more problematic.  ❞

[carewyncromwell]

Cinderelly, Cinderelly, night and day, it’s Cinderelly~... ^.^ Okay..before I jump into the next part of the Cinderella AU, here’s your usual appetizer of random historical/etc. notes!

Although carriages were developed centuries earlier, actual coaches like the kind we think of from Cinderella stories were first developed in the late 16th century in Hungary, specifically a little town called Kocs. (The word “coach” and its alternatives in other languages, such as the German Kutsche and the Spanish and Portuguese coche, are thought to have been derived from the Hungarian kocsi, meaning “of Kocs.”) They then really caught on in the rest of Europe after Queen Elizabeth I of England started using them in the 1580s. The terms “coach” and “carriage” are often used interchangeably, but if one wanted to pin-point the advancements coaches specifically made in contrast to carriages of the past, there are a few differences one can pick out in how they’re built. Coaches generally are four-wheeled enclosed vehicles with doors and/or windows (glass was added in later centuries), and often include a “boot” seat on the outside for a footman and/or luggage to sit on. Coaches also generally have a reputation for providing a smoother ride than previous modes of transport because they’re suspended between the wheels rather than directly over or beside them. After the invention of the coach, one can find carriages (royal ones, in particular) adopting some of these same attributes.

Sadly wheelchairs really weren’t a thing in the 16th century. The first self-propelled wheeled chairs were developed in the mid-17th century and refined in the 18th, with sedan chairs or litters (A.K.A. chairs you carried) generally being used by the nobility prior to that. But there’s no way in Hell I’m not going to give McNully the independence he deserves, so I used a completely anachronistic design inspired by this antique wheelchair I found online, made circa around the 1840′s. Hey, this is a fantasy world anyway, so bleh. :P The flower detailing on the wheel is supposed to evoke an emblem I see being on Florence’s green and gold coat of arms (get it? “Florence?” “Flora?”). You might also notice that McNully has little Snitch-like “wing” frills on each of his buttons! XD

Another fun thing I learned while doing research -- although cloaks were often worn for warmth during the medieval period and beyond, in England during the Elizabethan era, their use was actually actively discouraged and even prohibited, as they were associated with criminals and rebels! Therefore it was common for a lot of English noblemen and women to wear thicker clothing made of wool and accessories like muffs, gloves, and even jackets for warmth instead. I tried very, very hard to find historically accurate examples of period-worthy jackets and capes for women around the time of the Renaissance, and was very frustrated to find a lot of fantasy-esque costume pieces or historical clothing from later eras that were simply mislabeled -- but I did find one lovely recreation of a 16th century wool jacket, so that’s what I used as reference for Carewyn’s jacket in this sketch, though I personally imagine it as a dark red, so as to better blend with her burnt orange and beige servant’s uniform. Bill’s uniform is based off a real castle guard uniform from early 16th century France, though with a much simpler color palette (I see Royaume’s colors being blue and red). Like with McNully’s chair, there’s a crown on the chest of Bill’s uniform, which I see being on Royaume’s coat of arms (“royaume” is literally French for “kingdom”).

In her canon, Carewyn was born when Jacob was nine years old. Although in most of Carewyn and Jacob’s canon post-Portrait-Vault, they end up being only two years apart in age, that’s only because Jacob stopped aging while trapped in a Portrait for seven years. From Carewyn’s fifth year on, Jacob and Carewyn in canon therefore act much more like contemporaries, even though Jacob actually kind of ended up partially raising Carewyn alongside their mother Lane.

Previous part is here – whole tag is here – Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee and I hope you all enjoy! xoxo

x~x~x~x

Every day over the next week, Carewyn met Orion at the gate of the palace of Royaume, and the two would spend an hour or so together. Orion would ask her about life at the palace, Carewyn would playfully respond, and sooner or later, they’d end up getting diverted and talking about something else completely, whether the upcoming Winter Festival, the language of flowers, art, poetry, the meaning of life, music, fencing, or (after seeing a rather beautiful eagle flying overhead) what it might be like to fly. Carewyn honestly wasn’t entirely sure what Orion got out of their meetings besides entertainment, and naturally she couldn’t afford to indulge in such entertainment too long, when she had so much work to do around the castle and she still had to find out where Jacob was positioned. But she had to admit, with the King and Queen having invited Iris over to stay in one of the guest suites at the palace for the remainder of the month, Carewyn didn’t mind having an excuse to stay far away from her cousin. Lately Carewyn had actively planned her days so that she could clean the guest suites at teatime, when Iris would be in one of the foyers with the King, Queen, and Prince on the opposite side of the palace. She did not want a repeat of the other day, after all...particularly since she’d also need time to change out of the nicer, collared dresses she’d wear when spending time with Orion.

Orion, meanwhile, was of course getting a bit more than entertainment out of his and Carewyn’s meetings. Through speaking with Carewyn, he’d sussed out some very helpful information about Royaumanian culture, the dynamics within Royaume’s royal family, and both their and their country’s financial state. One day he told his closest confidantes at court, Skye and McNully, some of what he’d learned...but Skye didn’t react quite as favorably as Orion had expected.

“...I gave Lady Cromwell a copy of the sheet music for ‘No One is Alone’ last week -- you remember the song, of course? And from what I understand, Prince Henri and the castle staff have quite taken to it. Not that I’m surprised -- Carewyn has a very soothing voice. I’m sure she performed it very well. But the Prince listening to the words at all is a good sign -- I even asked Carewyn if the Prince enjoyed them, and she said she believed so. She also found their message meaningful...one of Florence’s best-loved anti-War songs, and one about looking through another’s eyes and forgiving past grievances, no less! That can only be a good sign, for Royaumanians to take heart in it. It surely must have been fate that Lady Cromwell and I collided at the market -- I had a feeling we were kindred spirits, when she came to my aid, but now I am most assured of it. I might hazard a guess that she wishes for peace just as much as I -- for the sake of her brother fighting in the field, yes, but also selflessly for the sake of others, not wishing to see any other person in pain...”

“She sounds like a perfect knight in shining armor,” said Skye, her voice oddly cutting.

Orion looked up at Skye, startled by her tone. Her arms were crossed over the chest of her faded blue linen dress.

“Anything else you want to tell us about the fair Lady Cromwell,” she said rather icily, “or are you actually ready to talk about how you plan to end this War?”

Orion blinked slowly. “...I thought that we were already discussing that.”

“Really?” scoffed Skye. “‘Cause it sounds to me like you were busy gushing over your new conquest.”

“Conquest?” Orion repeated. His confused tone then melted into something more soothing and indulgent, “Oh -- no, Skye...you misunderstand me. I have no interest in courting Carewyn -- she’s just my contact point, with the palace.”

Skye gave a very loud, disbelieving snort. “Ha! Right, of course she is -- that’s why you can’t stop gushing about ‘Carewyn this’ and ‘Lady Cromwell that.’”

“Skye has a point, Orion,” said McNully, though his voice was a lot less confrontational. If anything he sounded almost sheepish. “I mean, about 85% of your report was about Lady Cromwell. You used her name over ten times just in the span of a minute.”

Amazingly Orion’s calm, hard-to-read expression didn’t crack. His hands clasped lightly in front of him.

“Lady Cromwell plays an essential part in this strategy. I’m an outsider looking in, without her insight -- a ship sailing blindly, without the light from a lighthouse to give me direction.”

“A lighthouse for a lost ship -- oh yeah, those sound like the words of someone who’s focusing on winning a war and not swooning over a pretty face,” said Skye scathingly. “Maybe instead of always running off and playing dress-up, you could actually bother to do your duty and go help fight on the battlefield for once!”

Orion’s lips came together tightly, but it didn’t make his expression any less composed. McNully shot Skye an uncomfortable, faintly disapproving look.

“Easy, Skye,” he murmured. “You know Orion -- ”

But Skye didn’t seem to hear McNully. Instead she tore into Orion.

“Face it, Orion -- you just like being treated like a commoner again and being able to make believe that you don’t have any responsibilities or worries...well, guess what? You’re not a commoner anymore! You’re the Prince of Florence -- you reckon little Miss Knight-in-Shining-Armor would take kindly to that, when she finds out?”

Orion’s dark eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly upon Skye’s face.

“Carewyn’s not an unreasonable woman,” he said softly. “I’m certain she would understand the reason behind my secrecy.”

This, if anything, only seemed to make Skye madder.

“Of course she would,” she muttered sourly. “Little Lady Royaume can do no wrong in your eyes, can she?”

She turned on her heel and stormed out, leaving Orion feeling very resigned and confused. McNully gave a heavy sigh, before facing Orion with a more serious expression.

“She’s overreacting, as usual,” he said, “but she’s still 60% right. It’s risky enough for you to get this close to anyone right now, when your position as Crown Prince is threatened by the likes of Lord Malfoy. He’d frankly love to have something like that over you. But someone from Royaume? The granddaughter of one of the most powerful, wealthy, and feared noblemen in their country? Orion, that’s dangerous.”

Orion leaned his hands on the table, looking down at the map of Florence and Royaume laid out on top of it.

“McNully, I assure you...my objective has not changed,” he said very levelly. “Everything I have done is for Florence -- for peace and balance. I admit, Lady Cromwell is a fascinating woman, and certainly one to be admired...but I spend time with her to gather intelligence I can obtain nowhere else. That is all.”

McNully looked doubtful, but didn’t directly address it. Instead he said, “I understand she’s your eyes and ears inside the palace, and the intelligence you’re getting is valuable...but don’t forget, she isn’t on your team. She’s on Royaume’s. And right now, Royaume is kicking our tail out there, on the battlefield.”

Orion’s dark eyes drifted away from the table as McNully leaned his arms on the table himself.

“It’s getting bad again,” he murmured very seriously. “I know you said the palace of Royaume’s strapped for funds, but somehow or another, they’ve scrounged up enough to get more cannons, and their troops have been moving them around every couple of hours so that our men never know where they’re going to be firing from next. It’s been very effective. Whoever’s been giving Royaume’s King and Queen military strategy lately, they’re a bloody genius.”

McNully clearly was irritated about this, given the flash that shot through his narrowed eyes.

“Your father sent me a request for a counter-strategy this morning. You know it’s likely if the strategy isn’t one he can execute on his own, he may ask both you and me to join him there, on the front lines.”

Orion did not respond. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but there was something oddly detached and avoidant in his posture.

“I know you don’t want that, and you know I have faith in you,” said McNully, “but your strategy is a slow burn, Orion. It requires both patience and time...and we might not end up having as much of those as you think.”

Once again, Orion chose not to answer. McNully sighed again.

“You know I’ll be right behind you in a coach, if you need me,” he said tiredly. “Just...mind that you use your head as well as your heart, all right?”

Orion threw on his black traveling cloak and headed back to Royaume not long after, hoping to meet up with Carewyn for an evening stroll. There was a notable chill in the air -- if it got much colder, he thought that any rain might instead come down as sleet or maybe even snow.

When Orion arrived at the gate, however, he was met not by Carewyn, but by KC. She was dressed in a high-necked gown made of black velvet and holding a leather-bound book and a stack of parchment in her arms.

Orion tilted his head slightly to glance at the piece of parchment on the top of the stack, which had several “X’s” scattered over an oddly familiar map.

“Plans to bury some pirate treasure?” he asked pleasantly.

KC gave a lightly amused snort. “No, just military plans.”

Her lightly freckled face then grew a bit more serious. “I guess you’re here for Carewyn?”

Orion had been ready to ask more about the military plans KC was holding, but decided not to circle back to it when she changed the subject.

“Yes. Has she been detained?”

“I guess so...” said KC. Her lips twisted into a concerned frown as she looked out at the darkening sky.

Orion’s eyebrows knit together over his eyes slightly. “You seem concerned.”

KC bit her lip. “Mm...it’s just...well, you see, one of the royal carriages broke down earlier today, when the Queen was riding through the country with Lady Yaxley.”

Orion raised his eyebrows. “Lady Iris Yaxley, do you mean? Carewyn’s cousin?”

“Yes. No one was badly hurt, fortunately, but the Queen, Lady Iris, and the coachman and footman were forced to ride the horses back and leave the carriage behind. When they got back, they asked the royal carpenter, Charlie Weasley, to go fix it. Charlie said that he probably wouldn’t have the proper tools to fix it here at the castle, so Carewyn offered to ride out with him, so that their horses could drag the coach together to the Weasley family cottage, about forty minutes away. The problem is,” she said with a deepening frown, “they left over two hours ago, and they’re still not back yet. Bill headed out after them on his own horse not long before you got here...he’s Charlie’s brother, so he knows the route they would’ve taken...”

Orion’s dark eyes had narrowed significantly.

“Which road did Sir Weasley take after them?” he asked, his calm voice nonetheless touched with the faintest edge.

KC pointed. “Northwest -- toward the mountains.”

Orion nodded. “Thank you.”

And with this, he turned on his heel and rushed back toward where he thought he might find McNully’s coach. He needed to borrow a horse.

Setting one of the black horses free of the black coach, Orion rode off toward the mountains, his slightly-too-long dark hair flapping freely behind him. The road was well-marked, but it soon veered off into dense woods as it migrated up toward the mountains. Orion had never gone so far west into Royaume before, let alone far from Florence before. Despite himself, he had to acknowledge the beauty of the landscape. The views of the castle below were breathtaking -- it looked as tiny as a toy, and yet the infinite glass windows made it sparkle like some diamond-like beacon in the darkening sky. He wondered if his own palace in Florence looked so beautiful to others, at a distance. As much as he himself hadn’t been raised a prince, it was difficult for him to look at his own palace as anything other than a cage.

As he went further uphill and the sky darkened, it also grew colder. Orion was starting to see his own breath on the air. He thought of Carewyn alone in the cold, perhaps hurt, and had to take several deep breaths to sooth his nerves. He was never in a right state, when he let his thoughts run too wild or his fears chatter too loudly.

Finally Orion caught sight of two familiar ginger-headed men, standing by an overturned coach, covered in mud and missing one of its back wheels. One of the men was the tall, freckled castle guard from the other day who Carewyn called Bill, dressed in his high-collared blue and red patterned uniform tunic and matching white feathered, blue-velvet hat -- the other was much stockier, but no less freckled, dressed in a burgundy-colored tunic and loose brown pants and boots, and he wore his ginger hair in a ponytail not unlike Orion’s when he was at court. When Orion approached them, Bill immediately reacted with suspicion -- Orion explained what KC had told him and asked where Carewyn was, and was incredibly startled to hear her voice coming from over the edge of the cliff.

“I’m down here!”

Orion couldn’t help but feel a flash of concern. He raced over as if to look over the edge, but Charlie lashed out an arm in front of the taller man to stop him.

“Uh, I wouldn’t look over if I were you, mate,” he said, having trouble biting back his laughter despite himself.

He pointed at the broken carriage. Hanging over one of the doors was what looked like the burnt orange and beige skirt of a dress and several wool petticoats.

Orion blinked a few times in great surprise, his tanned cheeks darkening with a faint blush. Bill, however, reacted with anxiety.

“Carewyn!” he shouted over the ravine. “Are you in your underwear down there!?”

“Ugh -- well, I couldn’t very well climb down into this briar patch and wrench this wheel loose in my dress, could I?” Carewyn called back up rather haughtily. “At least my bloomers are slightly akin to the sorts of trousers you all wear.”

“You’ll catch a death of cold out here!” said Bill.

“I’m all right,” Carewyn reassured him. “Ulk -- ugh -- I have the wool jacket Andre made for me on...”

Charlie took a step forward, his eyes moved up toward the darkening sky pointedly so as not to look over the edge as he called down,

“Bill’s right, though, Carewyn -- it’s getting colder by the minute...and it’s getting dark too. Are you sure you can lift that thing up and over all by yourself?”

“Ugh...I admit, it’s a bit difficult!” she called back. “But I think I can manage.”

Recalling Carewyn’s blatant refusal of help in retrieving her horse, Orion -- still fighting back a slight blush -- called over the ravine himself.

“We do not question your capabilities, Carewyn,” he said patiently, “but would you like our help?”

“Ugh -- don’t be silly,” said Carewyn, sounding faintly haughty. “You, Charlie, and Bill would break your necks, climbing down here. And I’m still in my undergarments -- I have no interest in anyone seeing me prance around without proper clothes on, thank you.”

“It’s no use,” Charlie muttered under his breath, “I’ve tried to offer her help for the last hour, but she keeps putting me off, saying she’s fine. I don’t get why she feels like she has to do everything by herself...”

“Probably because she’s always had to, Charlie,” said Bill quietly. His voice betrayed a lot of sympathy and sadness as he exhaled through his nose.

Orion’s black eyes deepened with some compassion for Bill as he called back over the ravine to Carewyn,

“Your points are well made, my lady...but we’d still like to help you.”

“Ugh -- you can help me by leaving me my dignity and not looking over while I’m only half-dressed...ack...”

“Would you accept us doing more than that?”

“Urgh -- I am...sorry to have made you and Bill come out all this way -- but I’m all right, really.”

Bill glanced at Orion out the side of his eye, and then back at the cliff. Despite his distrust of the man, the eldest Weasley was sort of glad he wasn’t the only one who disliked how reticent Carewyn was to accept help.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said earnestly. “I was -- we were worried about you, Carewyn. You and Charlie.”

He and Orion glanced at each other. Bill wished the other man’s expression wasn’t so hard to read. The castle guard tried to twist his uncomfortable frown into a smile that Carewyn would hopefully be able to hear over the edge of the cliff.

“Come on...let’s get you and that wheel up and over so you can get back into your dress.”

There was a silence. Then Carewyn said a bit more quietly,

“...You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Wha -- oh, come off it, Carewyn!” said Charlie exasperatedly. “To hell we do! You think I was mucking about, calling you my pal and saying I needed to figure out a nickname for you? Now let us help you, or I’ll consider making that nickname an irritating one!”

There was another silence. Then Carewyn sighed very loudly and tiredly, and Orion couldn’t help but grin, because he could tell she’d finally given in.

“Oh, all right,” she said begrudgingly. “But I don’t really know how you’re going to help, when you can’t look at me.”

Orion closed his eyes.

“Describe your surroundings, Carewyn,” he said. “Paint a picture for me, with your words.”

“...Well, I’ve gotten the wheel out of the briar patch. I’m trying to roll it back up, but it’s as large as me, and the downward slope and the ice is making it difficult. Plus the wheel isn’t in great shape -- all of its spokes are broken, so there isn’t much for me to push up on, while rolling it uphill.”

“I would’ve told her to just forget it, but it’d be much easier for me to carve a new wheel if I have framework from the old one,” Charlie explained. “I’m already going to have to make the new spokes and hubcap completely out of wood instead of using any gold or metalwork, but it’s still going to take a lot of time...even more so if the old wheel framework can’t be saved...”

Orion considered the matter, visualizing the set-up down below on the inside of his eyelids. “...What’s left of the wheel...is it made of metal or wood?”

“Wood...but there seems to be some sort of metal lining around the rim, held on by nails.”

“That’d be for durability, I reckon,” said Charlie. “Wood alone would get chaffed badly on the ground, moving in a constant circle down cobblestones or over anything rocky.”

Orion opened his eyes and looked over the broken coach. His gaze lingered on the thick leather straps coming off of the front that no doubt would’ve attached it to their horses. Then he abruptly got up, rushing over to undo the straps from the carriage.

“What are you doing?” said Bill, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

Orion quickly knotted the long, thick leather straps together with several complex-looking and strong knots.

“Carewyn,” he called over very calmly, “I’m going to lower this down to you -- use the buckle and loop it securely around the inside rim of the wheel, so that it’s tight. Give it a light tug when it’s secure.”

He blindly tossed one end of the rope made out of leather straps over the edge of the cliff. After a minute, he felt a light tug at the end.

“Gentlemen,” Orion murmured to the Weasleys, “I’ll need you to hold this, for just a moment. Carewyn,” he added, as Charlie and Bill both grabbed the end of the makeshift rope and he let go, “I’m going to need you to step onto the wheel yourself and hold on.”

“What?” said Carewyn. “Orion, you can’t lift both me and the wheel -- it’s far too much! I’ll climb up and out myself -- ”

“Not to worry, my lady -- none of us will be doing the lifting,” said Orion serenely.

He led both his black horse and Bill’s chestnut horse over by their reins, and -- taking the makeshift rope from Bill and Charlie again -- he looped the end under the straps of both his and Bill’s saddles. He gave several tugs at all of the connections to make sure they were tight and secure before mounting his horse.

“Sir Weasley, if you would assist me.”

Catching onto Orion’s idea at last, Bill rushed forward so he could jump up onto his own horse.

“Mr. Weasley, you may want to have your hands ready to help Carewyn climb out when she gets close to the top,” said Orion over his shoulder. “Sir Weasley, together now.”

With a lot of effort and strain, the two horses were able to lift Carewyn and the broken wheel up and out of the ravine. Once Carewyn was out, all three men averted their eyes so she could put her dress back on. Once she was suitably redressed in her orange-and-beige dress, snood, and dark scarlet wool jacket, she, Bill, and Orion helped Charlie secure some makeshift posts he’d carved out of some nearby tree branches under the broken coach so that their four horses could lift it up off the ground and help support it without its second back wheel. Then the four hobbled the coach up the mountain the rest of the way to the Weasley family cottage.

The home of the Weasley family, affectionately nicknamed “the Burrow,” was built up against the side of a hill. Attached to the house was a large farm with sprawling pastures and short, rustic wooden fences. Its roof had clearly been patched up multiple times over the years with whatever kind of wood was on hand, making it resemble a patchwork quilt.

When the group arrived, Bill and Charlie’s youngest sibling and only sister Ginny immediately ran out to greet them -- she’d seen them coming up over the horizon and was beyond thrilled to see that it was her eldest brothers. Bill and Charlie’s teenage brothers Percy, Fred, George, and Ron soon followed along after. Fred and George -- who were identical twins -- were quick to crow that Charlie had brought them an early birthday present (namely, the coach), and Percy scolded them that clearly it was for work and they should let it alone. Orion and Carewyn ended up staying back at a distance, both faintly baffled by the amount of warmth and noise emanating from the seven siblings as they chattered amongst themselves, constantly stepping on each other’s feet and interrupting what everyone else was saying. Neither of them had ever encountered a family quite like this before. When Bill and Charlie’s parents, Arthur and Molly Weasley, emerged from the house, however, Molly very quickly bustled every last one of them inside, including Orion and Carewyn.

“In you go, the lot of you,” she said in a forceful, but very warm tone of voice. “You all look like you need some supper-- ”

“Oh -- no, Mrs. Weasley,” said Carewyn very quickly, “I couldn’t impose -- ”

“Nonsense, dear!” said Molly, as she took Carewyn’s hands and led her inside. “Why, you’re positively freezing! To think, you came all the way out here without a proper muff for your hands...”

“I had to help Charlie with the carriage,” Carewyn said, her eyes drawn away awkwardly rather than looking at Molly, “I couldn’t hope to have my hands free, using a muff...”

“Then both of you should come inside and get warm,” said Arthur, startling Orion with an amiable clap on the back. “Any friend of Bill and Charlie’s is a friend of our family.”

Carewyn had never been the subject of such coddling and generosity before in her life. Her mother had always taught her to treat people with respect and compassion, of course, but she had been a soft-spoken and understated person, and their family life had always been very quiet. And of course at the Cromwell estate, it had been less modest and quiet, but far less affectionate as well. Never had she ever visited such a loud, crowded, and faintly uncomfortable place that still nonetheless felt like a home, full of warmth and love.

Even Orion found himself feeling a bit unsettled by the Weasley family’s overwhelming hospitality. He’d been in plenty of unruly, crowded, and loud settings like this before -- but none of them had ever been quite this...well, jovial. It made it so that Orion yearned for peace, quiet, and returned distance, and yet also couldn’t help but marvel at the positive vibes that rippled off of this family and how much they could give, despite clearly having so little. When dinner was served, Orion had to politely decline a bowl of beef stew because he didn’t eat meat, and Molly Weasley immediately handed the bowl off to Ron so she could set about making Orion his own plate, piled high with cheesy mashed potatoes, sauteed mushrooms, and roasted cauliflower seasoned with garlic and chives.

The Weasley family and their guests sat in an uncomfortable, messy half-circle around the large brick fireplace, laughing and talking as they ate. After supper came the dessert of hot, fresh apple dumplings, and after dessert came some hot tea and scones. After all, said Molly Weasley, having guests over was a rare treat, so they were going to celebrate appropriately. Neither Carewyn nor Orion could remember ever having felt so full in all their lives.

As everyone enjoyed their scones and tea, stories and songs were swapped around the fire. At one point in the evening, twelve-year-old Ginny -- who was perfectly thrilled to have another girl around, for a change -- begged Carewyn to sing for them. Apparently Bill had told his family all about her lovely voice. So, with some encouragement from Charlie, Arthur, and Molly, Carewyn bit back a broad, amused grin, took a deep breath, and started to sing.

“Mother cannot guide you...now you’re on your own.

Only me beside you -- still, you’re not alone...”

Orion had thought to himself that Carewyn must have done the song from his youth proper justice while singing for the Prince, but hearing her sing it in person, seeing her smile at him and her eyes sparkle as she did so...it was a completely different matter. As before, Orion felt all of the tension in his shoulders ebb off of him, as easily as dirt was washed away in warm water. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, tilting his head a bit so that he could hear her better, as his breathing and heart rate slowed. Even with his eyes closed, he could hear a smile in every word Carewyn sang...even when she likely wasn’t smiling at all, he thought. How could she be smiling, when lines like “sometimes people leave you half-way through the wood” and “people make mistakes -- fathers, mothers” rang with such emotion and pain? Was that pain visible on her face? Orion thought not, given Carewyn’s sense of grace and composure...but he heard it, all the same. He felt it -- her heart, aching with a kind of deep, blazing empathy Orion had never encountered in anyone else before.

When Carewyn came to the end of the song, Orion opened his eyes at last. The Weasleys all clapped, delighted, but he barely heard them as he turned to Carewyn.

“...That was remarkable,” he murmured.

Carewyn smiled. “I’m glad you think I did it justice.”

“Mm,” said Orion. “I’ve...never heard anyone drown like that, before.”

Carewyn couldn’t bite back a laugh. “Perhaps I didn’t do it justice then, if I sounded like I was drowning...”

“You were drowning in the words’ meaning,” corrected Orion. “Enveloping and submerging yourself in them -- allowing them to pull you in and take your breath away.”

He smiled, his black eyes very soft upon Carewyn’s face.

“It was...very moving.”

Molly’s face spread into an indulgent smile as she reached forward and patted Carewyn’s hand. “It was absolutely beautiful, dear.”

“Orion’s right, Carewyn,” agreed Arthur. “Your feelings really came through. I could tell the words mean something to you.”

Carewyn offered a polite smile, even as her eyes drifted away. “...I suppose they do.”

“It sounds like a lullaby, sort of,” mused Ron. “Even if it talks about your mother not being around.”

Ginny tilted her head toward Carewyn, Ron’s words prompting concern.

“...Do you not have a mother, Carewyn?”

The rest of the family went very quiet -- some like Percy shot Ginny warning looks, while others like Molly and Ron couldn’t help but glance at Carewyn in similar concern.

Carewyn’s gaze had drifted off onto the fire. Although she was turned away and her face was stoic, however, Orion could see her eyes rippling like turbulent ocean water, before she closed them solemnly.

“...I had one,” she answered softly at last. “She died when I was twelve.”

“Was she sick?” asked Ron, very hesitantly.

Carewyn bowed her head and gave a single, silent nod. Everyone in the room knew what that meant. The Plague had swept through both Royaume and Florence several times, over the span of the War -- one of the worst years was about nine years ago now...probably the same year Carewyn had lost her mother.

Orion’s black eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly upon her face. Molly looked like she wanted to envelop Carewyn in the biggest hug and was only holding back the urge because of her husband’s tight, reassuring squeeze to her hand.

“Oh, you poor dear,” she murmured.

Carewyn raised her head at last, her expression once again touched by a small, resilient, pretty smile.

“It’s all right,” she said gently, her eyes only briefly grazing each of the Weasleys’ faces. “I’ll always miss my mother...but I’m getting along all right. And I still have Jacob.”

“Your brother?” asked Percy, and Carewyn nodded.

“He left for War the same day he and I moved in with our grandfather,” Carewyn explained.

“Your brother must be quite a bit older than you, then,” said Orion.

Carewyn glanced at Orion out the side of her eye, smiling slightly. “Nine years older, yes. You know...you actually remind me of him, a bit.”

Orion raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

Carewyn was forced to stifle a giggle behind her hand. “Jacob is also the sort to do things in his own clever way. Only he’s a lot more aggressive than you -- and more talkative, and arrogant, and overprotective...”

“And uglier,” inserted Fred.

“And smellier,” added George.

“With a long crooked nose and ears like a bat’s.”

The younger Weasley siblings were all laughing now. Carewyn had to cover her mouth to stifle her giggling.

“No!” she choked. “I don’t mean it like that! He’s wonderful, really. He’s just...well, an absolute idiot about how to interact with other people. He’s completely brilliant, mind you -- he could give you whole lectures about anything from geography to mathematics to physics...but coming up with spontaneous gifts for no occasion at all, just based on someone’s interests? He’d need some prodding, to do something like that.”

She smiled at Orion, who couldn’t help but grin fully in return.

“It was truly nothing at all, Carewyn,” he said. “With your love of music, it felt like that song would be something you would appreciate.”

Arthur glanced at Orion curiously. “Where is that song from, Orion? I’ve never heard it before.”

“I learned it as a boy,” Orion answered. “I would hear it sung outside the window of the workhouse, sometimes.”

Molly looked very troubled. “Workhouse? Orion dear, you don’t mean to say you grew up in one of those terrible places?”

Orion felt Carewyn’s gaze on him. When he looked back at her, her almond-shaped blue eyes were rippling with concern as well, though much gentler and more empathetic than Molly’s. He tried to offer her a smile.

“Let’s just say the words spoke to me as well, at the time,” he said lightly. “Not just to me, either...all of the boys there, one way or another, were where they were because of other people’s ‘terrible mistakes.’”

Orion’s gaze drifted down to his own hands as he lightly clasped them in his lap.

“...The War doesn’t touch you the same way here, but...the closer you are to Florence...the more the reality of it hits you in the face, every day. Even when you’re not on the battlefield itself -- even when you’re just at the border -- you, and the ones you care for, run the risk of getting caught in the crossfire. And on the border of Florence and Royaume...in those towns where it’s hard to tell where one country starts and another begins...tensions are like gunpowder. One spark from the tiniest match can set it ablaze -- can make everything implode, and force you to start all over again.”

His face was unreadable, but his black eyes were endless, rippling with the recollection of the fire and smoke -- the red and blue colors of Royaume, on the saddles of horses -- the life leaving his mother’s eyes -- his own heavy, terrified hyperventilating...

He closed his eyes and took several very deep, measured breaths before continuing.

“In such a place...one can find people desperate enough to want to lash out at others, to avenge their pain,” said Orion solemnly. “But there was one sweet old woman who owned a flower and herb shop near the workhouse. She’d had to rebuild her establishment several times over the years, and from what I understand, she finally had to leave town not long after I did...but every time she caught wind that the army was coming to town, looking for new recruits...she’d sing the song just loudly enough that we boys could hear it through our window.”

He absently played with the crudely carved circular charm on the cord around his neck in one hand.

“And although there were those who still enlisted afterwards...many others did not.”

Carewyn’s eyes widened.

“‘While we’re seeing our side,’ ” she sang again, more softly, “‘maybe we forgot...they are not alone. No one is alone.’ ”

Orion’s lips spread into a smile as he looked at Carewyn, his black eyes rippling gently as he nodded.

“So it’s against the War, then,” murmured Charlie. He glanced at his parents, who both looked concerned.

“Did that woman with the flower shop give you that?” asked Ginny curiously, indicating the charm around Orion’s neck.

“Yes,” said Orion. “She gave it to me one night when I tried to run away, to soothe my nerves. Its effects wore off by the next morning, but I’ve never really had the heart to throw it out.”

Percy sputtered, looking very pale. “Th-then she was a witch?”

“Whoa,” said Fred and George, looking almost too eager.

“Did she turn all the army into pigs?” asked George.

“Did she lure you in and try to cook you in a soup?” said Fred.

Orion smiled indulgently. “Of course not -- ”

“Well, thank Heavens for that!” said Molly, shooting the twins a very reproachful look. “Magic isn’t something to make fun of, you two -- it’s frankly a wonder you weren’t hurt, dear...”

Orion frowned. “There was no danger, Madam Weasley, I assure you.”

“No danger! Orion,” Molly scolded him indulgently, “I applaud your courage...but nature has its own way of things, and any magic that twists it out of shape is more dangerous than it’s worth.”

To the Weasley family’s surprise, Carewyn actually spoke up.

“Mrs. Weasley, men tend fields, plant seeds, domesticate horses and dogs...treat illnesses and injuries...cut hair and wear makeup and put on heeled shoes to make ourselves appear taller. Would that not also be twisting nature’s intent?”

Molly actually faltered somewhat. “Well, yes, but...that’s very different from magic, Carewyn! Magic is...well, it’s wild. Uncontrollable.”

“It’s untamed chaos,” said Arthur more levelly than his wife. “A kind that’s done a lot more harm than good.”

“But it still can be used for good,” said Carewyn very firmly. “And if it has that potential, why must we treat it as though it and all of its users are inherently reprehensible? If magic can be used to save lives, or heal the sick, or even just calm a scared boy down after something horrible...”

She glanced at Orion out the side of her eye.

“...Then it seems to be like any other weapon or tool, or even any other person -- something that could protect or hurt.”

Orion felt like his heart was being flooded with warmth, and his entire expression melted with pride and something like affection as he stared at Carewyn.

She truly is a woman to be admired. The memory of Skye’s irritation and McNully’s warning rippled over Orion’s mind and he found himself faltering. Admire...yes. Anyone could grow to admire such a woman, couldn’t they? To respect and esteem her...to...grow an attachment, to her... Even I? Could I...?

The Weasleys exchanged uncertain looks amongst themselves.

“Come to think of it,” said Ron thoughtfully, “wasn’t there that old myth about fairy godmothers who grant you wishes?”

Fred brought an arm roughly around his younger brother’s neck and put him in a rough choke hold. “Aww, ickle Ronnie wanting a pwetty new dress?”

“‘Oh fairy godmother, I just gotta have a new dress for the Winter Festival!’” said George in a high-pitched squeal.

“Geroff!” growled Ron, as he pulled free.

“Oh, but that would be fun!” sighed Ginny. “Dancing at the Winter Festival, in the prettiest dress you’ve ever seen...you’re going to the Festival, aren’t you, Carewyn?”

“Probably not, Ginny,” said Carewyn gently, “I’ve got so much work to do...”

“Oh, but you have to!” whined Ginny. “The Festival’s tradition! Right, Orion?”

“So I’ve heard,” Orion said modestly, “but I’m afraid I’ve never attended a Winter Festival either.”

“What?!” said all of the Weasley children except Bill in thoroughly aghast unison.

“It’s the biggest celebration of the entire year -- ”

“Everybody in town will be there -- ”

“ -- well, aside from the noble tarts -- ”

“ -- but hey, who needs them?”

“Everybody makes the best mince pies and hot apple cider -- ”

“There’s dancing and singing and games and gift-giving -- ”

“You just can’t miss it -- ”

Before long, they’d completely gotten off the topic of magic all together, so the Weasleys could tell Orion all about the Winter Festival. Carewyn took the opportunity to start carrying dishes into the kitchen so that she could help Molly clean up. While she did so, Bill pulled her aside.

“Carewyn...can I talk to you? Alone?”

Carewyn blinked, but nonetheless put down the dishes she was carrying and followed Bill off into a secluded corner.

“What’s wrong?” she asked in concern.

Bill bit the inside of his lip, his brown eyes drifting over in the direction of the fireplace where the rest of his family was sitting with Orion.

“Carewyn,” he said slowly, “who is that man, really?”

Carewyn’s eyebrows knit together. Bill ran a hand over the undone collar of his tunic absently.

“He’s hiding something, I know it. And I’m sure you see it too. He dodges questions he doesn’t want to answer, and as much as he’s even told us tonight about himself, he never gives important details. He lived near the border, but he didn’t mention what town he’s from. He lived in a workhouse, presumably after losing his parents, but he never said what he lost them to.”

“Those things might not be easy for him to talk about, Bill,” Carewyn said softly.

“Yes,” said Bill in a bracing voice, “but he also hopped the walls of the palace, completely ignorant of how tight royal security is and why, has enough time to chase after you most every day, and gets paints from people he can’t identify and learns songs from people who, from the sound of things, practice witchcraft.”

Bill crossed his arms. He clearly was trying to be considerate to Carewyn’s feelings, but couldn’t hold back his concerns.

“Look, I...I understand you like the man. And I understand why -- Ginny and the others seem to have taken to him pretty well, too. But there’s no reason for someone to hold back that many secrets, unless they’re up to no good. He could be a cad, or a criminal, or maybe even something worse. Judging by his stance on magic, he could even be a magician himself...”

His brown eyes narrowed slightly upon Carewyn’s face.

“I’m just...worried about you, that’s all,” he said lowly.

Carewyn considered Bill for a long moment. Then, reaching out a hand, she gently took hold of Bill’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“Bill...I understand how you feel. And I’m grateful, truly grateful, for your caring. I hardly deserve it, and it...it means a lot to me.”

Bill frowned deeply, ready to say something, but Carewyn cut him off.

“But believe me when I say that people don’t just keep secrets because they mean to do harm. Sometimes -- for some people -- they’ve had to learn to hide themselves and shield their hearts...so much so that even when they encounter good people, it’s hard for them to let their guard down. Sometimes they’ve known so much pain that, even though they’re kind people, they’ve numbed themselves to a degree, just to protect themselves. Lied so much...that it becomes second-nature. Or worse, lie because they don’t know who they can really trust...because so many people have hurt them that they don’t know what trust even feels like anymore.”

Bill’s expression lost some of its edge, though it still looked wary.

“...And if he is a magic user?”

“Then he’s one of the good ones,” said Carewyn firmly.

Bill still looked a bit unsure. Carewyn squeezed his shoulder a bit more tightly, her eyes resting there instead of on his face.

“Bill, my brother is only alive, thanks to magic.”

Bill was startled.

“The Plague swept through our whole house,” said Carewyn lowly. “First the landlord and his family -- then my mother...and then Jacob. We were living hand-to-mouth, and I didn’t have anyone else to go to...so I went to the Cromwell estate.”

Bill’s brown eyes became a little smaller, darkening with grim understanding.

“...You went to your grandfather.”

Carewyn nodded. “He disowned Mum long ago, but he was still our family, so I thought he might be willing to help us. He agreed to take Jacob and me in and nurse Jacob back to health, so long as we paid back his generosity. Grandfather then tracked down a witch who could cast a spell to save Jacob’s life.”

Bill’s eyebrows furrowed. “Lord Cromwell hired a -- ?”

“Do not repeat this, Bill!” Carewyn said very sharply and urgently. “To anyone, do you understand? No one.”

Her eyes then softened visibly, becoming grimmer and sadder.

“Jacob was dying. There was no other option.”

Bill looked like he was in pain, just hearing this second-hand. He swallowed, and then gave a nod.

“So that witch saved your brother’s life,” he said quietly.

Carewyn nodded, her eyes full of emotion despite the stoicism of her features.

“The spell she cast bound Jacob’s life to Grandfather’s will. Jacob was brought into the house on a stretcher just after dawn, and within a half-hour...he was up on his own two feet again.”

Carewyn closed her eyes. She could still remember Jacob’s blazing, relieved smile as he barreled down the stairs and threw his arms around her, cradling her like a baby.

“My Wyn -- my sweet Wyn -- ”

Not long after that, though...Jacob’s arms were yanked away -- all of him was yanked away -- held back by Blaise and Claire and Pearl’s husbands, who all had work to together just to restrain Jacob as he fought to reach her, screaming and raging like a mad man --

“WYN! NO! GET OFF OF ME -- WYN! I WON’T LET YOU -- CAREWYN!”

Carewyn opened her eyes, the soft longing fading from her face completely and leaving a much more stony expression behind.

Bill himself, however, looked more troubled than ever.

“You said your brother left for War the same day you and he arrived at the Cromwell estate,” he whispered shakily. “Do you mean that, right after saving your brother’s life...Lord Cromwell immediately sent him off to War -- all while knowing how few men return home alive?”

Carewyn’s lips came together tightly.

“Grandfather sent him to the front, so that Jacob could start paying back the debt I owed him,” she said, her voice very soft and oddly distant. “After all...a man who wouldn’t die, so long as he willed it...would make an excellent soldier.”

Bill looked horrified.

“Then...” he whispered, “...then Jacob’s only alive because your grandfather decides whether he lives or dies? You only know your brother’s still alive after so many years at war...because Lord Cromwell is bound to him through magic, and he’s holding his life over your head?”

Carewyn withdrew her hand from Bill’s shoulder and turned away.

“Carewyn...that’s monstrous!” said Bill, and he was unable to keep his voice from rising. “I didn’t even know magic could do something like that -- but -- but that’s nothing, compared to...”

He couldn’t restrain himself. He actually threw an arm around Carewyn and pulled her into a hug from behind. The small ginger-haired woman stiffened like a startled cat.

“Bill?”

Carewyn looked up at him -- were those tears, in his eyes?

“Have you...never told anyone else, about this?” Bill murmured.

Carewyn tried to turn around, her blue eyes welling up with regret and pain. “Bill...”

She brought a hand through his hair, trying to soothe him the way she used to for Jacob.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I -- I didn’t mean to upset you -- I only wanted to explain why I’m not scared of magic...please forgive me.”

Bill closed his eyes to try to hold back both his righteous anger and his tears.

“Forgive you?” he repeated in a choked voice. “For what, trusting me with the truth?”

“For making you worry unnecessarily,” Carewyn said forcefully, trying to ignore how uncomfortably her stomach was squirming.

Bill opened his eyes, looking both flabbergasted and more upset than ever. “Unnecessarily?”

He roughly grabbed both of Carewyn’s shoulders and forced her to look up at him.

“Now you listen here, Carewyn Cromwell,” he said, taking on the sort of tone he only ever used with his younger siblings when they were being rowdy, “you may get to decide if you want to interact with me or not, or rely on me or not, or accept my help or not. But you don’t get to decide whether I worry about you or not. And from here on out...”

Bill’s brown eyes were blazing with resolve.

“...I’m going to worry about you. Because I hate the thought of someone feeling like anybody else worrying about them is somehow a problem.”

Carewyn was left speechless.

Bill’s face broke into a broad smile through his tears. “Until your brother’s back from the War, Carey, I’ll be looking after you for him -- no arguments, no dismissals, no saying you’re fine on your own. Got it?”

Carewyn looked at Bill, perfectly stunned. Then her gaze fell away toward the floor.

“...It sounds like...I really don’t get a choice in the matter, then,” she whispered.

“Nope,” said Bill, grinning broadly.

Carewyn was unable to fight back the weak smile prickling at the sides of her lips, nor the emotion flooding her eyes, even as she kept her face turned away.

“...And I suppose ‘Carey’...is a suggestion of a nickname you plan to give Charlie, for me?”

Bill’s eyes sparkled fondly. “Well, every one of my siblings has a nickname, in case you haven’t noticed.”

[seriouslysam8]

Hullo, Sam. Sorry to keep bothering you, but I am so excited to hear you will take the time to answer my questions. I have more.

I am only about to start chapter 7 of Kalopsia, but can you please answer these ones?

1) Do you really think that’s why Fred and George gave the map to Harry over Ron, because he needed it more?

2) George tells Ginny that Harry needs constant validation, I’m not sure what you mean. Like does he want people to tell him they love him a lot?

3) Did you research real medicine and drugs to explain the potions? It was so detailed.

4) How do you choose such unique names for your stories? Kalopsia? Brio? And the others?

5) Why did you choose Malefic? Is it because it sounds ominious like Maleficent the evil queen?

6) Have you invented many places for your universe? How did you come up with the idea for Apricity Lane and Malefic Way?

7) Do you think that even after all these years (in Kalopsia) with three kids that Harry still believes he doesn’t deserve to be happy? Did the Dursleys mess him up that much?

8) Otis Maverick? Democritus Day? How did you come up with these names?

9) What inspired you to invent a crime show? Forensics, Bones, and Brains of Darkness is an interesting title. Is it a talkshow?

10) The Sky Mirror and walking into a storm is the coolest thing I have read! How did you come up with it? Why did you make that the entrance to Malefic Way? Where is it located in England and why did you choose that spot?

11) What inspired you to have Harry trapped in an alternate reality with potions? It reminds me of an old Supernatural episode.

12) Ron making plans to rescue Harry when he leaves the hospital is a cool thought. I like how you write Ron as being this cool Auror. What made you decide to keep him as an Auror? Do you think Ron is a better Auror than Harry or Harry better than Ron? Or is it more about their teamwork? I think it was Demelza who mentioned before they have the best solve rate in the department. Can you elaborate more on that?

Thank you.

1. I do think Fred and George gave Harry the map over Ron because he did need it more… they wanted Harry to know Harry was as much of a brother to them as Ron was and they wanted him to be happy. They thought the map would bring him some happiness.

2. Harry was never loved as a child. Harry doesn’t express his feelings well. George believes (and he’s right in this assumption) that telling Harry that he’s his brother, that he loves him, that he’s family is good for Harry because Harry often forgets it. Harry was so emotionally abused as a child that he needs reminding that he’s loved and he’s a part of a family or else he can kind of shut down and shut out the people around him. George always makes sure that Harry never doubts his place in the Weasley family for a second.

3. Yes, I did a lot of research into illicit drugs and medicine to craft this story.

4. I like looking up unique words and using those words to name stories and places or things within my stories. Like Kalopsia is an Ancient Greek word that means the delusion of things being more beautiful than they are. Brio means vigor or vivacity of style or performance.

5. Malefic means causing or capable of causing harm or destruction, especially by supernatural means. So Maleficent, if I had to wager a guess, derived from malefic. I liked the name so I named the village named it Malefic Way.

6. Apricity Lane and Malefic Way were the only two wizarding villages I’ve created so far. I didn’t want everything to be Diagonal Alley or Knockturn Alley. I wanted to explore new and different places. That’s why I made Apricity Lane an upscale and posh wizarding village and Malefic Way a more gritty and dark village.

7. Yes, I think Harry suffers a lot from the Dursleys’ abuse and neglect. That kind of upbringing just doesn’t go away. There’s a lot of emotional baggage that you carry your entire life with you. He has a lot of self-worth problems, problems talking about his feelings, problems with perception and over analyzing what people say/do.

8. Otis Mavericks I made up after looking over some popular British names and surnames and thought they went together. Democritus Day was actually named by @breaniebree

9. So, I wanted to expand upon wizarding media. So, Forensics, Bones, and Brains of Darkness (named by the brilliant @breaniebree ) is essentially like a real crime show that takes cases and then goes over them in-depth with experts and hired actors to recreate some of the moments from the crime.

10. So the Sky Mirror is a real thing in Nottingham. I was looking up different fun England landmarks and saw the Sky Mirror. I thought about having to stare into the mirror and step through it to enter Malefic Way. I’m pretty sure @breaniebree added the storm clouds to it.

11. The Supernatural episode. I thought it would be intriguing to do my own spin on it except I didn’t want a Djinn and then had to come up with why a wizard would realistically do such a thing and I invented Zephyr.

12. I wanted to keep Ron an Auror because I wanted to write stories where Ron and Harry continued to be partners. I love them together and couldn’t imagine not writing them as partners and making up some OC to be Harry’s partner. I don’t think Ron is better than Harry or Harry better than Ron. They both excel in different areas of the job. Harry has good instincts and can work out a case in his head. Ron has really good people skills and he is good at helping Harry work out his instincts into facts.

[clonecaptains]

HIGH DOSAGE - a first order!poe dameron x reader fic

rating: m - smut, sexual themes, sex pollen. 

word count: 2.8k

summary: Captain Dameron needs the location of the Resistance base, and you’re going to tell him. You’ve been given truth serum to tell the truth - or is it really truth serum?

a/n: finally it’s done!!! i struggled with this one! i’m newish to the poe fic side of the fandom so i’m sure something like this has been done before but i wanted to take a stab at it! this is a sex pollen fic and it IS consensual~. and was like 95% inspired after i watched ticky tacky and sucker punch. also i’m planning on adding more parts to this! there will for sure be a part 2. and as always feedback is appreciated!!

HIGH DOSAGE 

The cuffs and bindings around your wrists and ankles are beginning to hurt. You’ve been in this room for hours. There’s fear and adrenaline pumping through your veins, you’re on edge. Your mouth is dry, your forehead is covered by a sheen of sweat, and there’s a weird scent in the air. Is it supposed to be this hot in here? The air is thick. Is this an interrogation tactic?

If it is, you don’t know anything.

Truly you don’t.

Your uncle is part of the Resistance. He’d come to get you and was taking you to their base when the ship was intercepted by the First Order. Stormtroopers shot you and your uncle with a stun gun, and that’s the last thing you remember.

Now you’re here, alone, in this dark room strapped to a table. At least the table is tilted upright and facing the door, so you can see who comes in. At the moment, two Stormtroopers are guarding the door. They’ve been standing for hours, only rotating shifts once.

You don’t dare ask what’s going to happen to you, or your uncle. You know better than that. This is why you weren’t told the location of the base. Though you suppose now if something happens to your uncle you won’t have a way to find the Resistance if you don’t know. And what if they torture you anyways? Did they intentionally turn off the air-cooling units for this room? It’s so hot! And what is that smell?

Being alone isn’t even what’s bothering you. You’ve spent most of your life alone. You’ve only just recently found your uncle. You’ve lived a solitary life, not having much interaction with anyone. Strange as it sounds, having the Stormtroopers stand guard doesn’t bother you. It’s not exactly good company, but at least you’re not alone.

The quiet doesn’t bother you either, except when the main door hisses open. You jolt violently, the cuffs digging into your skin further from the harsh movement. It takes a moment for your heart to calm down from the scare, but when you see a uniformed officer in the doorway, nerves turn into fear.

Then…is that…arousal you feel?

You can’t get a good look at him yet, but you can see that with a flick of his hand he sends your company of Stormtroopers away.

He takes a step closer to you and removes his hat. The brim had been shadowing his face and now you can get a good look at him.

Is it fear or attraction running through your veins now? Because he is one of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen in your life. The crisp clean black uniform accentuates his broad shoulders. His jaw is sharp and clean shaven; there’s a light grey tint to his skin indicating he shaves often. Dark curls are on his head, they’re slicked back with gel – not a hair out of place. His face looks like it’s been carved from stone. His eyes are cold; his mouth drawn in a thin line, surrounded by soft plush lips. He still hasn’t spoken. He seems to be watching you look at him.

He waits for a beat longer before he begins to speak.

“I’m Captain Poe Dameron,” he says adjusting his black leather glove on his left hand. He gives you a look, raising an eyebrow – as if he’s waiting for you to acknowledge who he is. But you have no idea who he is, you’ve never even heard his name. “Does this not bother you?” he asks, he’s walking around the room.

“Am I supposed to know who you are?” you challenge back. “Because, I don’t.”  

“No?” his voice is cold, and somewhere behind you now. “Are you not with the Resistance?”

He’s standing in front of you again. He really is so handsome. What is wrong with you? He’s waiting for an answer, and you have no idea what to say.

“Not….yet.”

He cocks his head, “not yet? Either you are or you aren’t, sweetheart.” He steps up close to you, his face inches from yours. You can smell him, he’s smells clean. His aftershave is strong in your nose. His breath is warm fanning on your cheek.

“I-“ the temperature has only seemed to increase, and he smells so good. It’s making your head spin.

“What?” he tuts and runs a gloved finger along your cheek and jawline. You shudder and feel flushed. You can’t tell him anything, because you don’t know it.

“I’m not scared of you.”

“No?” he cups your jaw with his hand and forces your mouth open. “That blush on your cheeks says you’ve got something else in mind.” His voice is right by your ear and you shiver. “Do you like this?”

Do you? Do you like this? He seems to get more attractive by the second.

“What are you going to do to me?”

“Whatever you want,” he purrs, he licks his teeth and it makes a slight smack sound. Now it’s your turn to cock your head. Whatever you want?

His body is so close you can feel the heat from him. His stare is ice cold, but there’s somehow a heat hidden in his eyes.

“It should be getting stronger,” he tells you.

“It?” your head hurts now. Pulsing. What is he talking about?

“Do you not know?” he whispers in your ear.

Like shock to your core, you feel it then. A sharp pang of arousal, low in your belly. You try to shift to relieve the pressure building at your core, but you can’t. Your legs are spread and strapped down.

“What did you do to me?” you grunt.

“I didn’t do a thing,” he steps back, watching you squirm. He explains to you then that upon your arrival, after you were rendered unconscious and brought into this room – you were given a truth serum.

“But I don’t know anything!” you interject. He holds his hand up to your lips to stop you from speaking. The touch of him against you has your skin feeling hot again.

“You were given the wrong vial by mistake.” His lip snarls for a beat. A flash of frustration crosses his face. Not at you, but at someone else.

“What was I given?”

“Can you not feel it? Coursing through your veins?”

And you do feel it. Feel something. It feels like you’re on the edge of a high, but not quite there. It’s building, and as he steps closer, it burns hotter.

“What did you give me?” you shift. That pressure is building.

“One of my troopers was to give you the serum on my desk,” his fingers curls into a tight fist. You can hear the leather rub together. “Instead he gave you the pollen vial.”

If your brain wasn’t so clouded with the thought of how badly you need him to touch you, you’d notice his anger at those under his command not following orders.

“Pollen?” your blood is pounding; you need him to step closer.

“It’s from the outer rim,” he explains. “Used mostly for,” he pauses, “recreation. The high it gives during more intimate activities is said to be unparalleled.” He’s drawn closer to you again, and you swear you’ll die if you can’t touch him.

You’re visibly wriggling, trying to relieve the tension but it’s only making it worse.

“The dose they gave was too strong,” he says pulling back. “There’s only one remedy for what you’re feeling.”

Ah. You get it now. Whatever you want, he’d said.

“Let me guess,” you sigh, your frustration only growing. “To give me…what I want, I have to give you something in return?”

“That’s usually how these things work,” he flashes a grin. Even his teeth are perfect. You’d like to feel those teeth clamp down on your-

“Who says I even want you?” you shake your head trying to rattle these thoughts loose.

“I’d say you did,” he purrs.

What is happening?

Maybe if you close your eyes it’ll go away. Right? Just close your eyes and don’t look at his face – at that gorgeous face.

“That won’t work,” he chuckles darkly. “I’ve tried.”

You open your eyes back up to see him facing you with a brow raised.

“You’ve tried?” you scoff.

“My troopers took this from my desk, this was my personal stash,” he shakes his head. “They used the last of it on you.”

The more he talks, the less relief you feel and the hungrier you become for him. Arousal is pooling from your sex; your nipples are stiff. And your neck feels hot when you see his eyes flick down to your breasts. Any other time, you’d be horrified, but right now your desire for him is so strong. It’s all that’s in your head.

“Ok,” you wince, “what do you want? Just please, touch me.” You don’t care how you sound, begging for him. This ache between your legs is stronger than you’ve ever felt.

“Alright then,” he grins and takes a step forward, he’s so close you can feel his body heat. But he’s not quite touching you. “Where’s the base?” His gloved finger traces along your neck. Your shudder is violent. You think even if you did know you wouldn’t be able to tell him.

“I don’t know, I swear I don’t know.”

“You have to give me something,” he tuts. He’s standing so close, this is torture. You fully expected to be tortured but not like this. You’d rather the other kind of torture right now than the ache you feel that’s white hot.

“I don’t know,” you cry. “Please. They didn’t tell me on purpose.”

“They?”

Your uncle. You can’t sell him out, though you imagine he’s being tortured too.

You can’t imagine why someone would willingly use this. You’re in agony. Your skin feels hot. Your blood is boiling. It’s as if all your senses on are high alert. Your breasts ache, needing to be touched. Your ears ring from the blood pounding in your skull. Your clit is throbbing, needing a release. You’re soaking wet between your legs; the desire is painful.

And he’s just standing there, he has you right where he wants you. He didn’t have to use a truth serum; this is the truth serum.

Are you really going to give up your uncle for an orgasm? How long will this last?

A tear falls from your cheek. You’d rather deal with this pain then risk the life of anyone else. Even though the very smell of Captain Dameron in front of you is making you tremble.

“You really don’t know do you?” he asks. He’s done this enough to tell when someone doesn’t know.

“I swear, I don’t know.”

You look up at him and you see his face change. The face of stone has softened. Is that pity?

Without a word, his gloved hand cups your clothed sex. Your gasp is loud, finally some relief. You start to buck against his hand, chasing the high. But he won’t let you.

He presses his other hand against your stomach, keeping you still.

Are you really about to let a captain of the First Order finger you?

Oh.

“Yes,” you cry, “please, right there.” You whimper as his hand slides down your front and into your underwear. You cry out loudly when the smooth leather touches your clit. He presses down and you scream. Every nerve in your body is on fire, and it feels so good.

His finger is steady in its rubbing. Precise comes to mind, or at least if would if you were coherent. This is without a doubt the best feeling of relief you’ve ever experienced.

Your orgasm builds quickly, and you come with a strangled cry in his ear. You imagine if someone heard you, they’d think you were being tortured.

“You’ll want another one,” he tells you, working you through this high. And he’s right, you still have an ache.

“I want to feel your skin,” you whimper, hanging your head with a sharp gasp.

He pulls his hand from your pants, and you already mourn the loss. Your eyes follow his hand as he puts his middle finger in his mouth – tasting you. He bites the glove and pulls his hand from it. He flexes his fingers and slides them back down your pants.

The first touch of his warm finger has tears falling from your eyes.

“It feels so good,” you cry. You can’t even be bothered to care how badly you need him. And he seems to be happy to give you what you want. In fact, he’s a little jealous you’re getting this high he was planning on having.

He dips a finger in your heat, and you come faster this time than the last. You know this is stroking his ego. You can see the pride in his eyes, but right now it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen.

“More?” he asks, cocking his head. He’s greatly amused.

Your eyes flick down to his crotch, that’s what you want. And though his uniform is black, it does little to hide the desire he has coursing through his veins.

He pauses, he huffs out air from his nose. He’s thinking.

He surprises you then by releasing both your hands from your restraints.

“Why did you do that?”

He doesn’t answer, he avoids your gaze. You smile to yourself. It’s a small gesture, but it speaks volumes. He’s not interested in taking advantage of you.

“You sure you want this?” he asks, his hand on his belt. There’s no going back from this.

You nod and place your hands on his broad shoulders.

“The pollen will wear off as soon as you’ve finished, you’ll go right back to hating me after.”

Oh right. You forgot you’re suppose to hate him.

“I need this,” you tell him. You’re still in this pleasurable pained state.

He nods and unzips his pants. He reaches for your hips and tugs your pants down around your thighs. He pulls himself out of his pants and steps up to you, pushing your underwear aside, his tip touches your entrance, and your head falls on his shoulder.

When his cock fills your slick heat, you gasp and unable to control yourself – you grasp for his hair. That perfectly gelled hair is now a mess between your fingers. He grunts thrusting up into you, his teeth dig into your neck.

This is the high, now you get it. Now you know why this is used recreationally. You’ve never felt a high like this, or such a strong feeling of pleasure. Every nerve is on fire. You’re pulsing around him and your moans join together. You’re not sure if it’s the pollen or him, but he’s good. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

You’re close to your end, and you almost don’t want it to stop. You look at his face, his lips. You want to kiss him.

So, you ask.

“Can I kiss you?” you whisper.

“No,” he turns his head so you can’t reach his lips. He gives a deep thrust inside you and that’s the final push to send you in the strongest rush of a release. Your vision is clouded, and you feel like you might explode from your pores, pleasure seeping from your skin.

You shout then, and he grunts following behind.

He’d said it would wear off after you’d finished, but when he pulls out of you and steps back adjusting himself, you still think he’s handsome. Your vision clears, and you feel better. You feel good, really good.

But he was wrong.

Because when he pulls a rag from you don’t know where, and cleans your thighs, your heart skips a beat. He straightens up and your face warms – hot under his gaze. He’s quiet, you can tell he’s thinking again.

“They will have killed your uncle,” he avoids your eye contact again, pulling your pants back up covering you. “I’m sorry.”

You sniffle, but you aren’t shocked. What shocks you is his next move.

He kneels and unbinds your ankle restraints. You step down slowly, unsure if this is what he’d like for you to do. You look at him when you take your first step, and he takes a step back.

Facing him now you have the strong desire to kiss him. Is the pollen still in your system? Maybe it’s lingering in your bloodstream. While he adjusts his gloves back on his hands, you run up to him and grab his head. You pull him in for a kiss, and he doesn’t even move – but he lets you kiss him. You distinctly notice he doesn’t kiss you back – until you start to pull away.

When you do pull back, his eyes flick down to your lips and you see a sadness in his eyes. A guilt.

He smooths back his disheveled curls and puts his hat back on his head. Then reaches for your hand.

“Follow me,” he says, “I’m going to get you somewhere safe.”

//

i didn’t do a tag list for this one but im tagging: @pascalispedro, @damndamer0n, @tintinwrites, @poeticandors, @vintagemichelle91, @huliabitch, @himbopoes, @tarrevizslas

[vasoula]

The Peepshow

Summary: Two months after his redemption journey, Sasuke is back to Konoha and Sakura couldn’t be more happy about them spending a lot of time together. However, things take a hard turn when Sakura is assigned a special mission and she has to hide it from the rest of Team 7. Everything comes spiraling down when Sasuke finds out exactly what she has to do.

Tags: hard rated m, blank period, kinda AU-ish

Author’s notes: Please read, thank you!

Hello sasusaku fandom, it’s me ya girl, back after so many years to join the fandom once more. I have been missing this couple dearly and after going through a lot of fanarts, I stumbled upon my favorite girl and biggest inspiration strawberrycreampiefluff. She had made a mini doujinshi years ago, and I wanted to create a story about it so badly. So, I contracted her, got her blessings and created this mini monster fic you will read below (which she will hopefully recreate into a full fanart comic when she finds time - love you girl! - please support my friend’s art, it’s amazing!). This is a collab between us sort of. The first chapter is like a prologue - introduction to get the gist of things. This takes place after the last, but before sasusaku travels, kind of an alternate way of how sasusaku got together. I tried to keep the characters as close to canon as possible and this my first official full chaptered fic, so please be kind and leave comments and likes to show your opinion and support.

You can also read it on fanfiction and Ao3.

Next chapter

“Act one: Different mission objectives”

Haruno Sakura walks briskly towards the Hokage tower, her high-heeled shinobi sandals clanking against the pavement as she makes her presence known to the people who pass by. A few heads turn around, mostly males, to stare at her. She is known as one of the most beautiful women – if not the most – in Konoha. As the Fifth’s apprentice, she is working at the hospital as the top chief and she is well respected by shinobi villages all around the world for her talent in medical jutsu.

Sakura is currently dressed her hospital clothes, because her shift at the hospital just ended. She is wearing a button up white shirt that’s left slightly unbuttoned when it reaches her chest, a short black skirt and her white medical robe on top. She is heading to meet Tsunade who just asked for her to be present at her office immediately. The pink haired girl already knows what that means and what it entails.

It is a new mission.

That has to be it. It has been months since the last one, and her working hard as a medical ninja limited her chances of being sent into one. She is more than ready for it. However, she has a feeling this is only the start of bad news. Knowing her teacher, it has to be a special kind of mission. Being called so suddenly like that also gives her the heads up to guess the genre of it.

It must be a flower mission.

Yes, flower, Sakura thinks and nods to herself after waving at some people who greet her.

Flower mission is a term for female ninjas only. It is a code for a seduction mission.

Going and especially accepting a seduction mission is a big step for shinobi women. It is a very sensitive topic and it needs to be handled delicately and in secrecy. It is a powerful weapon which when used correctly, the mission will be done easily or quickly depending on the execution.

The three-man team pattern has most young girls create bonds or worse falling in love and it makes them attached in one way or another to their male teammates. That is why most ninja women have a difficulty seducing another man. The life of a ninja is usually short; you never know what could happen and the kunoichis value the idea of love. Still though, a woman’s power is strong and every kunoichi succeeds efficiently in their own little style.

The moment Sakura comes into the office, Tsunade’s head snaps up. The two women hold eye-contact for a few seconds before the younger medic closes the door behind her with a soft thud.

No one else is in the room, so Sakura guesses that whatever the fifth Hokage is about to tell her must be something of importance. She makes her way into the room and with elegant movements sits down on the chair that is positioned right in front of the desk. There are no formalities between apprentice and teacher when no one is around to watch, and since Tsunade made no sign to stop her, she also speaks first.

“Tsunade-sama, you called me.” It is not a question, but it is not a mere observation either.

The older woman sighs and puts her folded hands beneath her chin. Her eyes close for a moment and then she lifts her head upwards, giving Sakura a fond and soft look like a proud mother would give to her grown up child. A blonde strand escapes from her well-made and low ponytail and her red manicured fingers come forth to tag it back to place. An elegant move, and there is no wonder where Sakura took her beautiful ways from.

“Yes, I did,” Tsunade pauses for a second and then hastily continues, going straight to the point. There is no time for pleasantries. “I have a new mission for you.”

There is no surprise on Sakura’s face and Tsunade cannot tell if she already knew what her intentions are or she has simply masked her face with a facade of indifference. A true kunoichi right there, but then again…it could be the influence of a certain brooding male.

Before Sakura could ask more, Tsunade beat her into it and answers to her unspoken question. “It is a seduction mission.”

This time the girl reacts instantly and she blinks profusely, pink eyelashes fanning rosy cheeks repeatedly. “A-ah,” Sakura lets out a squeaky response, knowing the consequences of such mission.  

So I was right! It is a flower mission, she thinks and curses mentally. Here come the arising problems and she has not even started yet.

“I know, but believe me, I have no choice,” Tsunade put her palms atop of the desk and she pushes her chair back slightly, “This mission is specifically made for you.”

The woman knows what she is doing to her student right now, but seriously the girl is one of the best out there. Her exotic looks and endless beauty draws men like magnets to her. Besides, with her alluring ways and witty personality, she can bend even iron willed males, for example, Sasuke Uchiha.

Sakura has already made a list of problems at the back of her mind and her inner self screams in horror.

This is her first official seduction mission. How the hell is she supposed to break the news to rest of Team 7? She cannot straight go up to them and tell them. Naruto will surely react instantly and whine about it until the next decade. She has a feeling Kakashi, being trained under Tsunade, might already know something about this mission and that leaves her with one last important person to tell.

The man her heart yearns for.

After coming back from his redemption journey, Sasuke was a changed man. He was everything she had hoped for. Some parts of his character still remained the same that go back to his genin days, but she saw a new side of him that has been hidden for years, buried deep within all the hatred he harbored for most of his life. The last Uchiha has always been a cool character with a calculating thought process. The difference now was that he was free from the hatred and sins that plagued most of his life.

That is where the healing took place – right at this heart.

While he was away he helped many people during his journey across all the lands. That in return helped him find himself. He learned to love himself again and he stopped being angry at the world. He saw life from a different perspective and by the time he returned the storm inside his mind was calm once more.

Sakura’s heart flourished when he came back two months ago.

The two have been spending time together more than ever. They hang out after Sakura’s shifts at the hospital during the day either alone or with the rest of Team 7, sometimes including Sai. Other days, when their schedules are not so busy, Naruto comes and collects each one of them so they can have dinner at Ichiraku just the three of them. On special occasions, when the Hokage in training feels extra giddy, he will bring Hinata along and they will have something akin to double dates as he likes to call them.

It is an unspoken secret that the relationship between Sasuke and Sakura is a complicated one. They are at the stage where sometimes they act like they are together or other times they are on the verge of being in a relationship. Sakura knows what she is feeling that is for sure. The pure, unwavering love she feels for him is rooted deep within her and grows everyday as she watches him be happier and calmer before her eyes. They have had their moments of intimacy together before. Instances where they became close -  she remembers those intense feelings they shared through eye contact and hushed whispers when they were left alone.

The first one was after the war when Sasuke was in prison. The first time he expressed his feelings towards what had happened between them all those years. All the wrong and the ugly parts of himself he wanted to distinguish himself from.

In those quiet moments in the dark where he could not see, his eyes sealed like the criminal he was, he told her the truth. He trusted her now to reveal the ugly truth of Konoha and its elders. He divulged all the hardships his brother, Itachi Uchiha, had to endure to bring peace to the world. In a whisper, he confessed all about his clan like a dirty secret -like he was the sinner and she was the priest. And like the true healer she was, Sakura helped him see the good in him that she knew was still there and gave him disclosure. He accepted her kind words once more with a simple nod and a quiet thank you. But for Sakura, at the current time, it was more than enough. She saw the change in him. It was a small start but she would accept it. The young woman had endured harder things in the past after all.

Later that night, when she cried angry tears at the unfairness of the world, because now she knew finally about the Uchiha massacre, she knew all of them had to endure something hard in their lives and learn to live with it. But god if it did not hurt her that he was the one left suffering the most. And she just wished, she hoped, her love was enough to heal that part of himself that was trying to recover.

The second one was when he left for his redemption journey. While they had spend a few moments together before he left, nothing compares to that single experience. She knew she had to wait for him again, but this time it was not a tear jerking moment with her heart lurching in her throat. No, this time, it was her mind buzzing with all the implications his fingers left on her forehead and the fond look he was giving her.

The third one was when the Konoha 12 had their first night all together again. Of course Naruto had a hand in organizing once again. That little rascal, Sakura had thought then fondly. This guy was always trying his best to bring people together and he was doing a damn good job at it. The fact that he was able to persuade Sasuke into an outing like that was a feat itself.

Everything was going smoothly until the drinks started pouring in. Shots after shots of sake had Sakura feeling pleasantly tipsy that night, but she was not the only with that effect of alcohol on her. Somehow everyone had more than a little in their system and that did not exclude the moody male of Team 7. He was acting normal alright, Sakura would have told you, she was sure of it. But then, Ino Yamanaka, her notorious best friend was dragging her along the dance floor and she could not help but feel a hot stare at the back of her head. Goosebumps arising on her skin had her on edge. She knew then he was blatantly staring at her and he was not trying to hide it in the slightest. It was like then everyone knew what going on and her axis had sifted on its head. She could not fathom this would be the place where Sasuke would lose all his inhibitions, much less with everyone watching in anticipation his next moves. Naruto on the other hand, unbeknownst to her, was throwing just the right comments here and there, making Sasuke see Sakura from a different perspective. About time, if you had asked Naruto; he watched Sasuke analyze Sakura dancing as if she was a riddle ready to be solved.

Sasuke, at the hot age of twenty, was now a young man and finding a woman attractive was the natural course of life. However, for him these new profound feelings confused him. He did not know what he was feeling and all he wanted to do now was stare at Sakura until his eyes tired themselves out. He was ready to activate his sharingan just so he could commit that image to his memory.

That feeling in his chest was starting to bother him though and suddenly he felt all the stares on him from the intense chakra he was producing. Looking around he felt second hand embarrassment for himself, his ears getting red. Getting a shot of sake from the nearby table, Sasuke gulped down its contents and got ready to leave his position at the bar. He could not handle to keep his emotions in check any longer and this was bad. He was not ready to admit to himself what he was feeling and trying to suppress it any longer could do more harm than good. Better he left the situation right now before he put him and Sakura in a compromising position he was not ready to handle yet.

Right at that moment, Sakura decided to turn around, her dress sticking to her like a vice from all the sweat her intense dancing had caused. One look at Sasuke had time freezing. They held an intense eye contact for a few seconds, and her heart fluttered in her chest. She saw the change in him, she has seen that look before when other men had stared her way in the past. It was then she knew, tonight had been something more to him even though nothing has transpired between them yet. Maybe Sasuke was not ready to acknowledge these feelings yet, but Sakura had hope that this was the start of something new between them.

Feeling bold she started to approach him, confident in herself and brave enough thanks to the alcohol she had consumed. The moment she moved, she saw him flatter in his steps. He was about to leave and escape. The fearless Sasuke Uchiha was scared of what was transpiring between them, but she was not about to let him have his chance to escape this time. Sakura saw his jaw clenching and his hand flattering at his side from its place at the bar stool. He stared at her unblinkingly, waiting for her next move like they were about to have a fight at the training grounds.

Sakura then approached the bar like she owned the place and opened her mouth to say the most simple words known to existence.

“Hey, Sasuke”, she greeted in a whoosh, a breathless exclamation. She leaned against the bar stool and waited for the inevitable dismissal of denial.

Sakura found herself surprised however when he went rigid and leaned forward his towering body over her like he was about to whisper a dirty secret in her ear.

“You are different from the last time I remember you,” He confessed hotly, his mouth near her neck. If it was not for the obvious fact that she knew him well, any other person would have thought he was drunkenly leaning on her, but Sakura is not anybody and she understands this the way of him hiding his emotions from showing on his face in the shadows her neck provides.

What a weird way of seeking comfort from his own shyness, Sakura thought.

She idly recalled then that they were not in fact alone and Naruto was right behind them. When he started making obscene signs with his hands Sakura felt herself flush from head to toe, but the murderous glint in her eyes was apparently enough to stop Naruto’s crudeness.

“Eh, Sasuke-kun, what do you mean?”, she asked hesitantly, her hand raising and resting on Sasuke’s back in a sense of comfort. The soft material of his black shirt damp against her palm.

They were almost approaching the stage of hugging right in front of everybody.

Before they could complete the hug though, Sasuke’s head turned to the left, his cheek almost brushing against Sakura’s. The pink haired girl shyly turned her head slightly towards his direction, their faces almost touching. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the effect he still had on her and damn him if he he did not thrive on it.

He could think of all the nice things he could say to her, now it was the perfect time to take a step closer to approaching the inevitable connection they have. But his mind had other plans when the words slipped out of his mouth. In a teasing manner he was only capable of, he smirked and said, “More annoying than ever.”

He was sure she must have caught on his teasing by now. Using bitter words of the past to heal their wounds by putting another meaning to it. She was a smart woman and she could understand his actions better than anyone.

Sasuke knew she had caught on when he felt her fist punch lightly his stomach as if to punish him for insulting her.

“That is not a very nice way of complimenting someone, Sasuke-kun,” she whispered angrily, facing him completely. Any traces of wonder were gone from her emerald eyes replaced with mirth and she continued, smiling menacingly at him, “I thought I taught you better than that.”

“Hm,” Sasuke hummed in response and stood straight once again, looking down at her.

By now they had become a spectacle to their friends, the black haired male could feel Naruto almost bristling with excitement from behind him and he was not about to disappoint his friend who has been pestering him to get on with his feelings already.

“I guess we should spend more time together so I can get better at it.”

The double meaning behind his words was evident.

Sasuke Uchiha then patted Sakura Haruno’s head like it was the most natural thing in the world to do and smiled down at her gently.

His female teammate took a big breath through her nose, rosy cheeks glowing, and crossed her arms across her chest. She had him where she wanted him.

“Damn right we should!”

That was one week ago from her current position at the Hokage office. Just when she was making a great progress with seducing Sasuke, she has to go and approach another man for a mission. Talk about making matters weird between them. The worst part is the fact that she has to tell him. She wonders what his reaction is going to be considering they are not together yet. Is he going to act jealous or indifferent?

Who is she kidding? He is just going to glare her with this stupid scary look he gives in assassination missions to terrify people off the moment the words come out of her mouth and that is it.

“I haven’t finished yet,” Tsunade literally saw the thoughts displayed across Sakura’s face. It is like her life passed before her eyes, and her skin got a tad paler.

“Of course there is more,” the pink haired girl mumbles sadly while looking down, but the Hokage lets it slide.

“You will have back-up,” Tsunade says and sees with the corner of her eye Sakura sucking in a breath, “the rest of Team 7 will be with you,” and then next thing she knows the girl is chocking on air.

“W-what?” Sakura coughed out, giving her teacher a desperate look.

She feels like she is the center of the world and it is slowly closing up on her. Life suddenly looks less appealing, because good old Team 7 is back on track again with Sakura’s first seduction mission as a head start.

“Tsunade-sama, please tell me you are joking.” The pink haired medic grabs the sides of the armchair and hopes it does not break and crumble along with her composure.

The young woman also hopes her teacher is having some kind of twisted pleasure out of this because she is certainly not feeling happy with the news.

Tsunade wants to reprimand her student for losing her temper, but she understands what the girl is going through and also knows she in no better position to talk when it comes to matters like this. Still though, ears and eyes are everywhere and they must keep a low profile when in the Hokage’s office.

“Sakura,” The curvy female looks at her seriously, “Team 7 will be the back-up of this mission and that’s final.”

I am doing it for your sake, Tsunade wants to say but keeps quiet instead.

Somehow, Sakura understands where her teacher is coming from. This will be a test for both sides. It is a test for her that is for sure. A test for patience, a test for her relationship, a test for her seduction abilities both on the target and Sasuke, because let’s be honest, who is going to calm down the last Uchiha other than her?

Sakura closes her eyes, takes a calming breath through her mouth and then controls the pattern as taught by Ino’s yoga lessons. She could do it this.

The young female opens her pretty green eyes once again and then stares at Tsunade straight in eye, a determined expression on her face. The will of fire is practically seeping through her and her fiery temper is burning up again but for another cause.

“That’s the spirit,” Tsunade says proudly and hands her the scroll that has been lying on the wooden desk the whole time. “This is your target, Misty Jade.”

The first thing Sakura does when she steps into the house is to check for a specific chakra signature around the area. Sasuke pays frequent visits to her house nowadays you would think he lived in there, having keys and all, but alas.

She lets out a long sigh of relief, glad that she did not detect Sasuke’s compelling presence. Thank heavens, cost is clear. The twenty year old girl suspects that the males of Team 7 had already been called to Tsunade’s office, the second she was out of the vicinity. She mentally praises her teacher and then she decides to prepare for battle. The kunoichi briefly wonders how the hell she is supposed to deal with this. She has no clue how to handle this.

Sakura runs upstairs, heading straight to the bedroom. She slams the door open, scroll still in hand, and starts rummaging through her things in order to pack. After a few minutes of checking everything, she put all the necessary items in her mission bag. From medical supplies to energy pills to scrolls to clothes to a sleeping bag and lastly to the money she will need for the seduction necessities she has to buy. Finally finished, she sits down on the bed, crumpling the blue silky sheets in the process. Then, Sakura unrolls the scroll and reads.

Mission #B039                     Type: B-rank               Specialist: F (female)  

Stage: Pre                             Place: Village hidden in the Waterfalls

Target: Misao Takashi

Gender: Male

Age: 25 years old

Characteristics: Red hair, blue eyes and relatively tall.

Efficiency: Messenger

Information: Misao Takashi is an important messenger between two feud lords that control and lead illegal product transportations. Your mission is to seduce said messenger that has in his possession a folder with contract papers which contain info for the next meet up and also a pair of keys. This is the part one of the main ANBU mission that will follow after you succeed. Mission includes back-up. Good luck.

The kunoichi falls back on the bed with a flop, thinking how she should approach the mission. She idly scratches her scalp and tosses her body around from side to side, her long pink locks sprawled across the bed sheets moving along with her. Sakura knows what the village hidden in the Waterfalls is known for.  And if her guesses are right, a guy like him would go to a special kind of place. The men of Team 7 will also go there.

“This is just great!” Sakura shouts even though no one is in the room.

She stares up at ceiling, her mind thinking of all the possibilities and scenarios. The pink haired girl knows what to do to succeed in this mission, however hiding from Sasuke is the main problem.

With huff she stands up and starts pacing around the room while babbling nonsense and muttering profanities out loud, until the idea hits her.

“Of course,” Sakura jumps on the bed, “Tsunade-shishou is the solution!”

She lies down, calm once again, and grabs a nearby pillow, squeezing it close to her chest. The warmth it provides calms her for a second, but she resists the urge to snuggle it closer. The girl can already imagine the Uchiha’s frown when she will tell him that she will be staying at Tsunade’s for a few days in order to work on some papers that have to do with the hospital.

Sakura just hopes he will believe it for her sake and for the sake of this mission.

                                                        ❤︎    

“It’s dirty and disgusting in here,” Sasuke mutters angrily, sitting uncomfortably on the animal print armchair, “Why do we even have to do this?”

The hot pink, soft and furry material irritates him even more as his elbow barely glides on it, making it difficult for him to nurse his drink. It is too warm, too velvety.

The last Uchiha almost growls out of sheer annoyance. This mission is far too low for his standards. He cannot believe he allowed himself to be dragged in here. His pride is hurt goddammit. Yes, he may be a man, but he has never set foot in a pleasure house. Or as his best friend and ex-sensei like to call it: a strip club.

The atmosphere is suffocating him, the lights are too dim. All kinds of different and hypnotizing aromas assault his senses, making his clear mind drunk and hazy. He cannot tell if it is his alcoholic beverage that is making him feel this way or it is the misty cloud of seduction and pleasure filled nights that surround this place.

The men of Team 7 have been assigned on a mission just yesterday as a backup to an ANBU specialist. Sasuke was definitely not pleased with the news, but he could not go against the fifth Hokage’s orders as much he wanted to, so he mildly complained until he was shushed by Tsunade. So, here they are today, in the place that their target and the other shinobi are supposed to be. Sasuke Uchiha, Naruto Uzumaki and Kakashi Hatake, being expert ninjas, have already detected the target sitting in the middle of the area, near the front. And now they have to wait. If something goes wrong, only then they are allowed to interfere.

“Focus, Sasuke.” Kakashi says calmly, a white hospital mask covering his face instead of his usual ninja attire. “A mission is a mission.”

The grey haired shinobi is collected as always, and Sasuke cannot help but scowl.

As if the ridiculous place is not enough problems, they were also forced to wear formal clothes. Supposedly, they are ordinary men looking for some fun and not ninjas who are capable of killing anyone in the room within seconds. Thus, the men of Team 7 have to make it believable by dressing up fancily to blend in with crowd and to stay undistinguished.

“Well, it’s not that bad in here.” Naruto tells them with a foxy grin on his face, clearly excited to be in a place like this. A slight blush is covering his cheeks since he has been consuming a few portions of alcohol for an hour now. The blond is pleasantly tipsy and happier than usual.

“Shut up Naruto,” Sasuke turns to his left and addresses his best friend, “If Hinata found out you’re here, she would dump you.”

Sasuke is very irritated, and that results to more insults and jibs than normal. He crosses his legs, right ankle meeting left knee, just to move and do something out of spite.

“T-That’s not true!” The man immediately tries to explain, “I told her it was a mission and she was okay with it!”

Naruto’s face visibly falls, and he looks at Sasuke with his puppy dog eyes. However, before the blonde could set off, being an emotional drunk and all, Sasuke just looks at other side, ready to ignore the impending whining.

Is he even allowed to be drinking on such mission? Kakashi better do something, Sasuke thinks, complaining inside his head instead.

“Don’t fight.” Their teacher interrupts, knowing how those two are and how bad they can get when Sakura is not around to stop them.

He has even given them just enough freedom, permitting them to drink, because he knows they are the back-up of this mission and not the main person. Kakashi strongly believes that intervention will not be needed, considering this an efficient ANBU specialist sent by the Hokage herself.

So, Kakashi just sits relaxed, waits and enjoys the show.

The oldest member of Team 7 is wearing a dark grey button-up shirt, the collar slightly open and a pair of black trousers. Naruto has a similar style, except he sports a nice pair of jeans with a light blue button-up shirt that makes his gorgeous eyes stand out more. Sasuke opts for a more classic style though, completing his look with black trousers, a white button-up shirt (with the first button undone) and an onyx suit jacket to top it off.

It is an extraordinary night today since the place is filled to the brim with men of all ages and from different villages, plus, the interior design of the club is full of pretty decorations. As the shining neon letters say outside on the wooden board above the club’s name, Hustler’s Ho, it promises a night of busty tricks and naughty chicks, and of course a special guest. Sasuke didn’t pay attention to the name, it is useless information anyways.

The waitresses are all beautiful women holding silver trays with glitter and fruity scented oils applied on their bodies and every time they move under the low dimmed lights to serve the customers, their smooth skins sparkle teasingly. The atmosphere is thick with cigarette smoke, but despite that, the room somehow smells good because of the enticing scents that come off from all the perfume the females of the club have put on.

Red velvet curtains hang from the ceiling at the left side of the club and make up for entrances to the changing rooms, while the bar and the bathrooms are at the right side of it. In the center of the room is the stage where the lights shine the most since the ceiling has a lot of spotlights in all kinds of colors there. The rest of the huge area is only provided with low dimmed lights and that makes the dancers at the stage stand out more. The walls are painted a dark pink color and it gives the room a sense of obscurity and raw sexuality.

Great amount of money gets thrown at the stage as the ladies entertain the crowd with their dancing skills either on the poles or on the floor. Excited shouts of more can be heard even from where the members of Team 7 are seated at the back of the club. The dancers are barely dressed in Sasuke’s opinion; too much skin is bared for the eyes to feast. He averts his eyes, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

A dark blonde girl is currently dancing, her back turned to the pole, her hands up in the air touching the steel above her head. She is moving her lower half sexily in fluid left and right motions, her hips rolling expertly. The girl is wearing purple lingerie with her hair up in a high ponytail, and money is stuck in all kind of places from the men who put it there. She keeps it professional, but her face still expresses the hidden erotic feelings she wants to convey.

Then, all of a sudden, the music slowly quiets down and a deep male voice comes from the speakers. “Thank you dear, you were amazing as always! Please, grab your money and clear the stage.”

Sasuke silently scoffs and rolls his eyes at this. He should really stop drinking, the alcohol is making him show his irritation and that is not a good thing when on a mission. He has to keep his face impassive, bring forth a cold facade. Especially when in that said mission, Sakura is not there to calm him down and Naruto only breathes to make it worse for him with his antics. Of course, Kakashi is nonchalant as always.

The crowd gets almost completely silent, only a few murmurs can be heard now, and the unknown voice continues. “Only today, we have a special guest dancing…”

Without warning, a swift sound gains the attention of everyone inside the room. It is a whoosh of air fluttering against hard yet soft and velvet material that signals that the curtains have just been opened. The whispers get a tad bit louder at this, but get lost when the raspy voice resonates through the room once again. “Now, gentlemen, prepare to meet tonight’s special guest, a beauty and an exotic flower among the ladies…”

The sound came from the left side of the club, near the back. Heels clanking against the floor in a steady rhythm and elegant manner are the only thing that can be heard. The steps are light and slow paced. It has a nice ring to it, the continuous clicking is pleasant to the ears and everyone is holding their breath in anticipation. The males of Team 7 hear loud gasps, watching as men are getting blown away by the mere sight of this special guest. Heads are turned, all the attention clearly diverted behind. The pace has a unique air of confidence that no one can quite put their finger on. The woman has a stealthy and powerful walking. A soft tune starts playing as an intro while the woman comes closer and closer to the stage.

The dancer narrows the distance between her and the stage as she takes painfully slow steps towards it or so it seems to the eager men. The shadow that still hovers near the area where Team 7 is –thanks to the somber and tricky lighting– hides her, until finally, a curvy form starts to appear as she comes forth to where the light is. Her silver, almost dark gray, stilettos are the first things that show. A few agonizingly and torturous seconds later, long legs and fair smooth skin come into view.

Naruto reacts first, an exclamation leaving his lips. It is not a sharp inhalation of amazement, but it is a loud gasp of shock. His blue eyes widen and there are hazy no more. Cold sweat forms on his forehead, and he is feeling like someone threw cold water on him to wake him up and bring him back to the harsh reality. It is definitely not an easy feat to astound the ninja who is known as the best at surprising people.

The voice resonates through the room once again and the male starts praising the newcomer dancer, “An exotic babe, outstanding with high class skills.” The announcement is over, and the music gets steadily louder while the special guest is one step away from the stage.

She just stands still with her back on the cheering crowd for a few seconds as if to bewitch the already elated men with her beauty. The young woman is posing sensually and it compliments her already perfect body. She is captivating in every sense. Her legs are long and toned while her tights are voluptuous and her rear is curvy. Her waist is slight bent and it makes her behind stand out even more. Her back sparkles teasingly thanks to the glittery substance that has been applied on her skin everywhere on her body. She lifts her left hand up to course it through her silky long locks while her right one is resting on her inner tight in a provocative pose.

That unmistakable pink hair belongs only to one person.

Kakashi feels his mouth hanging open inside his mask. This event took a very fast turn for the worst and he does not like the ending result at all. She is the last person he could think of going up there if you had asked him about it. He closes his eyes and hums quietly awaiting for the impeding doom waiting to happen.

Sasuke reacts not a second too late and his breath hitches. A flash of light blinds him and he blinks his eyes twice in response. The lighting must be playing tricks on him, because there is no fucking way this is Sakura ready to go up there. He freezes and his face goes rigid. His calculating yet beautiful onyx eyes widen and his naturally pouty lips part slightly in shock. A wave of cool air passes by him –probably someone activated a fan to create more special effects for such a unique guest– and it makes his soft black hair flutter in the wind. An intoxicating scent fills his senses and clouds every ounce of rationality within him.

The special guest goes up the stage, turns around and Sasuke can breathe no more.

“Please welcome, Misty Jade!”

Sasuke Uchiha, for the first time in years, sees red.

[angryschnauzer]

In Another World

Summary: In another world, it was Jensen that got the role of Captain America, not Chris. You have dreamed of meeting Jensen ever since you saw him in his CGI glory in The First Avenger, and your comicon experience you discover to be underwhelming. But then you meet a cosplayer in the bar... and life takes an altogether different turn for you.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Comicon, Comic Convention, Strangers at a Bar, Cosplay, Captain America Cosplay, Unprotected Sex, Hotel Room Sex, Oral Sex, Fingering, Blow Job, Anal Play.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Female Reader (no race specified)

The above Jensen manip i cannot trace, it was sent to me years ago by a now deactivated tumblr user, with the signature half chopped off. Its the artwork that inspired this fic. In case you weren’t aware, Jensen auditioned for the role of Captain America but it of course went to Chris.

I do not operate a tag list, but feel free to go ahead and follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications, as you will then be notified when i post a new story. Oneshots will be posted on Tumblr and AO3, Multichapter stories will be AO3 exclusives.

Due to the amount of stories i have written over the years i no longer have a masterlist, instead please check out my AO3 HERE.

In Another World

You sat at your computer, staring at the screen as you streamed the latest press junket. Marvel was going all out with its ten-year plan for The Avengers and with this press tour for The Winter Soldier you had fallen in love even more with Cap.

 As the images streamed live from the far east, you watched as Jensen flexed his muscles and his co-stars laughed in admiration. He was born to be Captain America.

 But you weren’t the only one watching.

 In a small apartment in Boston another pair of eyes watched with an added level of sadness. He remembered the audition. Standing in the hallway with a bunch of other guys, all in their 20’s, all having a few bit-part roles under their belts in teen TV shows or low budget horror movies. The same green eyes that stared out of the screen had looked at him in the hallway, holding his hand out to shake;

 “Hey man. Jensen”

 “Chris”

 Jensen smiled;

 “Strong Boston accent there dude”

 Chris chuckled;

 “Say the same about you, what’s that Houston?”

 “Dallas”

 “Eh, close enough”

 They chatted for a while as the guys ahead of them in the line entered the room, only to leave 5 minutes later. They didn’t look up at the guys left, no-one wanted to read expressions to give themselves fake hope. The door opened and the annoying droll voice of the elderly secretary called out;

 “Ackles”

 Chris looked up, holding his hand out to his new acquaintance;

 “Break a leg man”

 Shaking it briefly Jensen nodded;

 “Thanks man”

 -

 You clung to your priority tickets, the excitement so intense you weren’t sure if you were going to puke or cry. You hoped for neither. It was your first convention and you had maxed out your credit card and called in sick from work when the special edition tickets had been released, refreshing your computer every ten seconds so that when they had been released online you had made your purchase within 30 seconds. 

 Now standing towards the front of the queue you were terrified. You had loved Jensen from the first moment you’d seen him in all his CGI glory in The First Avenger. You’d followed his career and had even gone back and watched his entire back catalogue. He was a natural for the role and the stealth suit from the most recent movie had made him look so handsome you had actually swooned when you had seen those first opening scenes of the movie aboard the Lumerian Star. 

 The con volunteers were doing an amazing job, herding the fans into some form of order, and as you got closer you could hear the laughter and squeals of joy as fans ahead of you were rapidly shown in.

 It was your turn. The flimsy black curtain was pulled aside, and you were pushed into the brightness of the well-lit area that was surrounded on all sides by vivid blue panels that bore the con’s logo. Jensen turned and smiled, putting his hand out and you found you were standing next to him. Your head swam;

 “Do you have a pose?”

 “Umm…”  You could see the con workers and volunteers moving their arms in a ‘hurry up’ motion; “I guess… a hug?”

 “Sure thing”

 He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pointed towards the bored looking photographer;

 “Smile sweetie”

 You did. You smiled, your saw blobs as the flash blinded you. You didn’t even register as Jensen pressed his hand to your back, thanking you before turning to the next person who had already been pulled through the black curtain. A volunteer took your wrist and pulled you gently through the curtain on the far side, giving you your photo number as they apologised it was so fast.

 The curtain closed and you stood there, blinking as you tried to focus on the small piece of paper you held. It was done. Over. You’d met Jensen and it had been so rushed you hadn’t even had chance to look at him. 

 The bile started to rise, you looked around and saw a trash can, leaning over it and vomited into the piles of used coffee cups and candy wrappers. 

 -

 The hunt for a bottle of water at a con hadn’t been something you would think would take so long; a lot of the vendors had already sold out, others the line was so long it would have taken you longer to get the water than the queue for the con in the first place. It seemed as if everyone was walking against you, or you were going against the flow of them, but when you finally got your water you drained the entire bottle, soothing your bile parched throat. Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand you heard an announcement over the PA system;

 “We apologise, but the Jensen Ackles panel won’t be broadcast out of the auditorium due to technical issues”

 “WHAT?” you grabbed your wrist, looking at your watch as your eyes went wide. You’d been so dazed by your photo op and feeling ill afterwards you had forgotten about the panel. You needed a drink, and something stronger than water.

 -

 Chris adjusted the helmet of his costume as he looked in the mirror. The men’s room was quiet, the main panel of the con was on and he couldn’t bring himself to sit in the same room as the guy that had won the role that had made him millions; of fans and dollars. 

 After not getting the Captain America role Chris had continued to take bit parts and small independent movies. He was recognised occasionally but he hadn’t hit the big time. In fact there were months when there was nothing coming in and it was only after someone had asked him to fill in at a kids party where one of the superhero guys had fallen sick at the last minute did the idea of cosplaying come to him. Now however he was well known in cosplay circles, even getting paid for some appearances. He was called a natural for the role, but that was the hardest to hear. He’d worked hard with his costumer and within just a few weeks of the latest movie coming out they’d successfully recreated the amazing Stealth Suit in its darker colours. 

 Checking his pants for his wallet he decided he needed a drink, and something stronger than a soda. 

 -

 Nodding to the bartender, you thanked him as he set the beer down in front of you before he went to the far end of the bar to pull the latest load of glasses out of the dishwasher. You sat picking at the label and tracing patterns in the condensation that gathered on the cool glass. You were vaguely aware of other people coming and going, and when the barstool next to you was taken you didn’t look up.

 “What’ll it be Cap?”

 The bartender’s greeting drew your attention from your drink, casting your gaze to your side and your breath was sucked from your body. You watched as the man set his helmet onto the surface of the bar before nodding to what you were drinking;

 “Same as the lady please”

 Your eyes travelled from where his hand sat on the countertop of the bar up the dark sleeve of his stealth suit, taking in his wide shoulders and up to the fluffy dark blonde hair, slightly messed up from where he’d been wearing the helmet. You couldn’t help it, but you were staring. Your jaw was hanging low as he turned slowly to you, his blue eyes sparkling with just the faintest hint of green as he looked at you and a self-conscious smile tugged at the corner of his mouth;

 “Hi…”

 “You’re… you’re…”

 “No, just cosplaying…” he turned back to his beer for a moment until you finally found your voice

 “No. You’re Chris”

 He set his beer on the countertop and turned to you, this time a genuine smile on his face;

 “Do we know each other?”

 “Well…” you blushed; “We spoke on Instagram” He cocked an eyebrow, but his attention didn’t waiver from you as you continued; “You’re ‘AlmostCap’, right? You posted about wanting advice on how to dye leather boots a deeper colour? I messaged you with the details of the dyes costumiers use”

 His face broke into a wide smile;

 “Oh yeah, that really worked! How did you know that?”

 “Majored in theatre design at college”

 “Well that titbit of knowledge brought the whole costume together” he motioned to his stealth suit and you couldn’t help but to look him up and down; “Without you I wouldn’t look this good”

 You snorted back a laugh;

 “I’m sure you look just a good without the suit”

 Bringing your beer to your lips you took a sip, not realising Chris had moved closer until his lips brushed against your ear;

 “Would you like to find out?”

 -

 The hotel room door crashed against the wall, the metal doorknob leaving a dent in the drywall. Chris had you pressed up against it, one hand holding you flush with his chest as his other hand blindly reached out for the door to close it. As soon as his fingertips grasped the cool wood he threw it shut with a thud that reverberated through the room. 

 Your hands clawed at Chris’s costume, desperate to find purchase, something, anything to hang onto and anchor yourself as he kissed you so hard you saw spangled stars. He’d put his costume helmet back on for the rather quick walk through the convention to the hotel where you were staying. His lips traced patterns over your cheek before he pressed kisses down your neck, whispering as he went;

 “I don’t normally do this…”

 “Me neither…

 “...especially in costume…”

 “Oh Chris…Cap…”

 “It’s Captain tonight, Princess”

 His fingers had found their way to the buttons on the front of your dress, skilfully plucking each one from its grasp on the thin cotton fabric, before his still gloved hand roughly cupped your breasts. As his lips found yours again, he groaned into your mouth as he weighed your breasts in his large hands, the rough leather against the lace of your bra sending chills through you. If Chris had a Captain kink you weren’t about to say no, hell, it would be one of your biggest fantasies. 

 You found yourself being manhandled towards the bed, Chris’s kisses hard and ravenous, and when he wasn’t kissing you his tongue was doing the most devilish things on your skin. The bed touched the back of your knees and you were falling back onto the covers, Chris following seconds later as he pressed you into the mattress. With a thick thigh he pushed your legs apart, the rough Kevlar fabric of his suit brushing against the delicate skin of your soft skin as his fingers sought out the juncture of thighs. The brush of the harsh leather of his fingerless gloves made you groan into his mouth as he tugged your panties to the side and his thumb found your clit. Rubbing small circles, he teased it from its hood, before his fingers slid through your folds to ease some of your slick moisture from you to smooth his efforts. 

 When his lips left yours you chased after them, but his voice made you settle back against the bed and open your eyes;

 “Uh-uh… stay there Princess”

 You watched as he brought his fingers to his mouth, before his kiss bruised lips closed around his glistening digits and he moaned as he tasted you;

 “You taste amazing”

 “Umm… thank you?”

 “Here…”

 He brought his hand to your mouth and you grasped it as you sucked gently on just the fingertips, watching as Chris’s already lust blown pupils widened even further;

 “Jesus fucking Christ, your tongue…”

 Letting go of his fingers with an audible pop, you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, resting on one arm as you slid a hand between your bodies and palmed his erection through his suit;

 “What about my tongue?” you grinned before you tugged him down to lay beside you. 

 Pushing up onto your knees you ran your hand down his chest and stomach, the costume warm from his body heat and firm to the touch. Your fingers clawed at his suit to try and find the zipper, and after thirty seconds of searching you let out a huff;

 “Ok, how the fuck to I get in here?”

 With a low chuckle Chris reached down and lifted a hidden Velcro flap that revealed the button and the top of the zipper, and you eagerly tugged the pants of his suit open. The large bulge in his boxers immediately filled the space of the open zipper, and you found yourself nuzzling against the hardness that the soft jersey fabric could hardly contain. Pressing open mouthed kisses to the hard shaft through the fabric, you felt Chris’s hands on your head, he wasn’t pushing but you could tell he wanted you. With a smile you just about tugged his boxers down enough to free his cock, the thick shaft standing proud from the fly of his stealth suit. You wrapped your hands around it, the flesh hot to touch and pumped him slowly. 

 “Ah fuck Princess…”

 “Yes Captain?”

 “Please…”

 He sounded wrecked, and as you leant forwards and licked at the bead of clear precum that was pooling at the tip you not only heard but felt the low rumble of his moan of appreciation. Wrapping your lips around the tip you started to suck, your tongue working over the hot smooth flesh as your fist worked up and down, pumping him slowly as you let the saliva pool in your mouth so you could take him deeper. In a moment when you pulled off to take a breath Chris’s hands were suddenly on your hips, moving you until you were kneeling on the bed and straddling his shoulders, and for a moment you squealed where his sudden strength had moved you with such ease.

 “Gotta taste you…” he muttered from beneath the skirt of your dress, his hands smoothing over the globes of your ass and you could feel his breath hot on your skin. His fingers tugged your panties to the side and he was pulling you down onto his mouth, his tongue swiping through your soaked folds. 

 For a moment you lost yourself, Chris’s efforts driving you closer to orgasm than you thought was possible, but you found your senses and leant forwards again, taking him as deep as you could and you felt his moan deep in your cunt as he almost came on the spot. Working your fingers into his suit you cupped his balls, feeling them tight and hot in your hand as you sucked hard on his cock. At the same time you felt Chris drive his tongue into your soaked hole and his thumb sought out your clit. Your orgasm was rapidly approaching, and you could feel your legs start to shake. The harder he drove forwards the deeper you took him into your mouth. You heard a muffled cry from between your thighs and you felt that first tremble of the thick vein that ran the length of his cock. At the same time you felt his fingers dance over the crack of your ass, one finger pressing lightly against your dark rose and you were cumming over his face as he pumped thick ropes of cum down your throat. 

 When your legs were about to give out you tactfully rolled to the side, laying on the bed next to Chris as he fought to catch his breath. With laboured efforts he wrenched his helmet off, and you propped yourself up on your elbows to watch as he started to fumble with his costume;

 “Gotta get out of this…”

 Watching a hot guy strip was not something you’d experienced before, and a hot guy dressed as Captain America? Well that was hitting all your buttons in one go. You smiled as Chris was muttering to himself;

 “Fuckin’ suit, so fuckin’ hot… fuckin’ drenched in sweat…”

 When he was down to just his pants you finally spoke up;

 “Need a hand there Captain?”

 Chris looked up and grinned;

 “You mind if I use your shower?”

 “Sure thing, it’s all yours…”

 Chris started for the small bathroom door, his utility pants hanging low on his hips before he paused and turned, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth;

 “Wanna join me?”

 -

 Showering with a guy you had literally just met was a surreal experience. The comfort and security of being partially clothed during a hook-up was completely stripped from you as you stood in the small shower enclosure the hotel room offered. Chris had looked absolutely sinful as he had stood beneath the cascading water; his skin patterned with multiple tattoos and just the right amount of chest hair that made you want to run your fingers through it as the hot water coursed over his body. Your fingers had trailed down over his hard stomach, tracing the trail of hair that led to his thick cock hanging heavy between his muscled thighs. 

 His lips had met yours eagerly again, and he soon had you pressed against the wall, his leg wedged between your thighs as you ground yourself against the firm muscle. Chris’s hands found your ass and eagerly pulled you hard against him, trapping his now angry cock between your bodies;

 “Fuck… you’re so fuckin’ sexy” he muttered against your ear, his fingers digging into your asscheeks; “You gonna cum for me Princess? Soak my thigh?”

 “Yes Chris, please…”

 “What do you need Princess?”

“Something…. Just more…”

 He pulled back from you, searching your expression for something, anything as he chose his words;

 “I can give you more…” The depth of tone sent a shudder down your spine; “I’m gonna ask you this and you can say no, and I won’t walk out that door if you say no, but do you like ass play?”

 You growled. You god-damn growled like a feral wildcat, nodding eagerly;

 “Yes Chris… fuck, yes…”

 He captured your lips for another fierce kiss as his hands slid over your ass and one finger trailed up the seam of your cheeks before pressing gently against your rear;

 “Now Princess” he muttered against your lips; “I haven’t got any lube in here so it’ll just be a gentle press, you tell me if you want me to stop”

 You nodded, biting your lip as he pushed forwards, one hand gripping your hip as he slid you up and down his soaked thigh, the other pressing gently but insistently against your back door.

 Just that stimulation alone was enough, and you were cumming hard, your head pressed against the cool tiles as Chris sucked a hickey into your neck. 

 You stood there panting as you tried to regain your composure, Chris holding you tight in his arms as he gently caressed you as you finally came to your senses. Nuzzling against his neck you felt him push his hips forward, his thick cock hard again against your hip;

 “Ready for another round?”

 “Anything for you Cap” you grinned.

 -

 The pair of you had fallen back onto the bed, half dry and oblivious to anything other than pleasure. Body heat rising, you felt your back naturally arch as Chris lay on top of you, pulling his knee up to part your legs further and you could feel his thick length laying hot and hard against your soaked folds. As his other leg pushed up and parted your thighs even further, you felt that first nudge of his tip at your soaked entrance, your legs instinctively wrapping themselves around his waist and with one firm squeeze you felt his breach your body and slide into you.

 The base noise that escaped your throat as you felt each glorious inch stretch your velvet walls was music to Chris’s ears, and he let you take the lead even though he was the one on top, letting your body grow accustomed to his size. His lips brushed against your ear as he spoke softly;

 “You’re doing so good Princess, feel so fuckin’ amazing, takin’ me so deep”

 You slowly relaxed your thighs grip on his waist and Chris started to move, sliding his hips back as he slid out, before pushing slowly back in. Propping himself up either side of you, you watched as his arms bulged as he looked down and watched as he pulled out again, your wetness liberally coating him. 

 With his tip just notched inside you whined at the loss, before with a powerful thrust he filled you completely;

 “Holy FUCK!”

 “Do you like that Princess? Like my thick dick splitting you open?”

 “Fuck Chris, yes, do it again… please!” you whined.

  The gorgeous man above you grinned down, seemingly turned on by your begging, and with a loud grunt he started to pile drive into you, his impressive girth stretching you in all the right ways, the slight upward curve to his shaft making your g-spot his number one target with every push. The man was a demon in bed, fucking you hard as he pressed kisses to your chest and breasts, all whilst uttering the dirtiest things about how good you felt, how well you were taking his dick. You begged for more and he eagerly gave it, fucking you through one orgasm before chasing another. His thrusts started to get sloppy, his hips stuttering and he cursed quietly under his breath;

 “Fuck… I’m gonna cum soon…”

 “Cum inside me… I’m on the pill…”

 He pushed a hand between your bodies, rubbing hard circles against your clit and soon you were coming, your orgasm triggering his, and you as your body milked the cum from his body you both felt like you had found heaven. 

 With a grunt Chris rolled to your side, his dick sliding out of your soaked channel and he lay on the bed, his head propped up on one elbow, his dick full and swollen at your hip, still shining with your combined fluids. Your body trembled with the aftershocks of your intense orgasm, and you practically purred when Chris gently ran his fingertips over your breasts;

 “That was fuckin’ amazing… I’m probably going about this the wrong way, but can I buy you dinner?”

 “That’d be nice”

 -

 Dinner had been a fun affair; you had redressed, and Chris had worn his stealth suit pants but just wore the thin Under Armour undershirt instead of the full suit. Although the hotel was well used to people in cosplay costumes during the conventions using their facilities, Chris didn’t want to draw attention to himself, instead he wanted his sole attention to be able to be on you rather than people asking for photos. Throughout your meal the conversation had been fun and light, Chris telling you how he had in fact auditioned for the Marvel role but didn’t envy the craziness that came with the now worldwide recognition that Jensen had to put up with. You had explained how you now worked for a theatrical costumer’s agency on the West Coast, but had heard about some openings for a new series production out of Vancouver.

 Chris laughed softly;

 “Typical… I fall for a girl that lives on the opposite side of the country”

 “You… you’ve fallen for me?”

 Chris paused, resting his hand over yours;

 “I’m sorry, I’m kinda sappy when it comes to relationships… and I gotta be honest, when I saw you at the bar, I recognised you from your Instagram and when you helped me… I was trying to play it cool…” he took a deep breath; “I hope I’m not scaring you off…”

 Leaning forward you pressed a kiss to his cheek;

 “No… it’s nice… its more than nice…”

 -

 Once the meal was over the pair of you stood in the foyer, unsure what to do before Chris pointed out the rest of his costume was in your room.

 “Where are you staying tonight?”

 “I was meant to be crashing on a friends couch”

 Grinning you pulled him close;

 “Did you want a bed rather than a couch?”

 “Fuck yes”

 Minutes later you were crashing in the door to your room, Chris’s hands and lips trying to cover every inch of your body, and this time with the knowledge of how his costume worked you knew exactly how to get his pants open, tugging them to the floor as you pushed him into one of the chairs and knelt at his booted feet. With his dick in your mouth he was soon hard again, but that was when he took control, standing and moving you until you were knelt on the soft chair arms looking out of the high rise window over the convention center and city below, the lights of the city oblivious as he flipped your skirt up and pulled your panties down, and filled you with one smooth thrust;

 “Fuck… this pussy is fuckin’ perfect, you feel like heaven…”

 Wrapping his strong arms around you he pulled you flush with his hard chest, sucking at your neck as his dick rubbed so beautifully against your g-spot you were coming again, screaming out your release as Chris pulled out and lifted you, pulling you to your feet before you found yourself pressed against the wall and he filled you again. 

 Clinging to his wide shoulders you felt him filling you over and over, your pleasure climbing higher than you ever thought possible. Chris’s strong arms were holding you up, his large hands gripping your ass as he fucked you into the wall, your legs wrapped around his narrow waist;

 “Chris, I’m gonna cum…”

 “That’s it, cum for me, let me feel that pussy milking me as I fill you up… you feel so good, I’m never letting this pussy go…”

 As you came so did he, your walls squeezing him so tight he thought he may pass out from the sheer pleasure. For the longest time he just held you there, your bodies joined until Chris’s dick softened enough to slip out of you. Letting your feet fall to the ground you kissed as you made your way to the bed, falling onto the mattress before wrapping the covers around your flushed bodies, falling asleep soon after.

 -

 The sound of a phone ringing pulled you from sleep, the warm body next to you grumbling at the sound before it rapidly jumped out of bed;

 “Fuck, that’s my phone”

 Through bleary eyes you watched Chris’s naked ass as he rummaged through the piles of clothing on the floor, finding his phone and answering it just in time;

 “Yeah… uh-huh… for real?! Yeah absolutely! Send me the details, I’ll be there!”

 You watched as he listened a little longer before ending the call, turning to you and he had the biggest smile on his face;

 “I might have gotten a part!”

 “Really? That’s amazing!”

 “Yeah, they want me to do some screen tests with a possible co-star, see if there’s chemistry”

 Jumping out of bed you ran and hugged him, kissing him deeply as he carried you back to the bed;

 “I feel like celebrating… how about breakfast in bed?”

 “Ok, I’ll call room serv… oh…”

 Chris was pushing your legs apart and kissing up your inner thigh, and that’s when you realised he was talking about a different kind of breakfast in bed. As you lay back and enjoyed the magic he could perform with his tongue, you blissed out from pleasure.

 -

 Three Weeks Later

 Chris finished the last scene, the director calling cut and he grinned as he looked at his castmates. None of them could quite believe how they were there, standing in a cold and rainy British Columbia small town, with writers and directors that had been trying to get their series picked up for years. 

 The rest of the cast of ‘Supernatural’ was a small ensemble, and having been given the role of the older brother; Dean Winchester, Chris felt at home with the role and had been given he contract straight after his screen test with his on screen brother Sam. Laughing with the actor that played Sam - a native New Yorker by the name of Sebastian - the two of them had immediately clicked and their friendship and on screen chemistry shone through the camera.

 “Hey Evans, Stan!”

 The sound of the producer’s voice caught Chris’s attention;

 “Yeah?”

 They need you two back at the studio, costume fitting”

 “Sure thing”

 -

 The sound of the small doorbell that had been fitted on the counter drew your attention from the racks in the back room, calling out for your new arrival that you’d be out in a second. The job you’d applied for in Vancouver had pulled through, and it was your first week. A new show that needed a lot of men’s casual wear, yet things like jeans and jackets needed seams strengthened for fight scenes and pockets added for prop weapons. You were yet to meet the two main stars of the show, the casting having not been fully finalised until just days ago, and everything was hush-hush until it was going to be announced at one of the late summer conventions. 

 Dumping the armfuls of clothing onto the counter you turned and almost fainted;

 “Chris?!”

 For a second he looked in shock before he vaulted the counter, and took you into his arms;

 “You’re here? You’re really here?”

 “You’re the star?! You didn’t tell me!”

 You kissed him deeply, before a quiet cough from behind Chris drew your attention, Chris turning;

 “Seb, I want you to meet the girl I was telling you about”

 The other guy raised an eyebrow;

 “You’re THE girl? Wow, it’s a pleasure to meet you” he held his hand out over the counter and you shook it, Chris still holding you in his arms; “I’m Sebastian but everyone calls me Seb”

 Looking at the two of them you knew in that moment the show was going to be a hit, and you looked forward to making these two look even better on screen… if that was even possible.

[tigerkirby215]

5e Graves, the Outlaw build (League of Legends)

(Artwork by Jason Chan. Made for Riot Games.)

Blam blam?

Honestly I made Twisted Fate awhile ago so Graves was on my To Do list. It does also help that he has become a bit of a main character in the Tales of Runeterra shorts, being featured in both the Bilgewater and Bandle City short. And his place in the League meta certainly helps too.

But truthfully most of the builds I make are rather spur of the moment. Graves was just one I had a sudden bit of inspiration to do, which is why he’s up now.

GOALS

Hope you weren't planning to die of natural causes - Two barrels of Destiny should be enough to blow the brains out of anyone who stands in your way, or any other squishy bits.

I ain't got time to bleed - Who has more armor? The woman riding a horse made of literal metal, or the guy with a shotgun who did a bunch of Wave Dashes?

Lights out - To keep foes in place you’re going to need to smoke them out... Smoke them in?

RACE

Because I’m sick of constantly making Variant Humans I’m still going for Eberron Dragonmarks. Nothing really makes sense for Graves except for the Mark of Passage. Your Dexterity increases by 2 and you can increase any ability of your choice by 1: bump up that Constitution for a bit more bulk in the jungle.

You have Courier’s Speed for 5 extra feet of movement and Intuitive Motion to drive land vehicles or make Acrobatics checks. But of course the main feature we’re here for is Magical Passage to cast Misty Step once per Long Rest. Since we won’t be getting Misty Step from elsewhere we’ll finally have an accurate cooldown for Flash!

If Dragonmarks aren’t an option: Variant Human with either the Crossbow Expert feat or the Fey Touched feat works fine.

ABILITY SCORES

15; DEXTERITY - DEX is the “shoot gun” stat, as well as your AC stat among other things. Turns out we’ll have to shoot our gun a lot.

14; CHARISMA - Graves has a gruff charm to him, and while Fate is the one who usually does the talking that doesn’t mean Graves is incapable of doing so.

13; CONSTITUTION - You’re deceptively tanky for a Markman, though that mostly comes from Grit.

12; STRENGTH - You’re also a fairly large man, and New Destiny is a heavy gun.

10; WISDOM - You can tell when folk are lying but you’re a little dense.

8; INTELLIGENCE - But if the Legends of Runeterra shorts have shown anything it’s that you’re only really getting by on dumb luck and determination.

BACKGROUND

LoL wiki says you’re a mercenary, but you tend to work alone (or sometimes with your partner Tobias) so Urban Bounty Hunter makes a lot more sense for finding the scum of Bilgewater. Insight is nice but I’d also grab Intimidation instead of Persuasion or Deception, because you don’t play nice. You also get some tool proficiencies: I’m sure your partner taught you how to play with Cards and Dice, if only to cheat you out of your money.

But what we’re mainly here for is the Ear to the Ground feature, letting you keep in contact with Bilgewater’s underbelly to know who needs a blasting. These connections can get you a contact for bounty work anywhere you may go.

(Artwork by Kelly Aleshire. Made for Riot Games.)

THE BUILD

LEVEL 1 - FIGHTER 1

If Fighter is the fastest way to learn how to shoot a gun then you must fight! Fighters get two proficiencies from the Fighter list: Athletics and Acrobatics will help you with all that “jungling” stuff.

You also get a Fighting Style and you may be surprised to hear but we’re going for Archery to shoot your gun better, and you also get Second Wind for some refillable potions.

Honestly the most interesting thing to talk about with Fighter levels is what you’re going to grab for a weapon. If you’ve got an Artificer who can give you a cool (Heavy) Crossbow then feel free to grab that, but for the most part we’ll be using Hand Crossbows to recreate the range limitations of Graves’ shotgun.

LEVEL 2 - FIGHTER 2

You’ve got two barrels on your gun so you should shoot both of them in a round thanks to Action Surge. Get another action on your turn! Yup that’s all she wrote chief.

LEVEL 3 - FIGHTER 3

Third level Fighters get to choose their Martial Archetype and Graves is simple, boring, but effective. Feel free to take something more fun (or just use the Dark Tides of Bilgewater Renegade subclass tbh) but it’s about time I crack out the good ol’ Champion Fighter! Buy a Collector for an Improved Critical range of either 19 or 20! That’s 10% crit chance! But any ADC main will tell you that 10% crit still isn’t much crit.

LEVEL 4 - FIGHTER 4

4th level Fighters get our first Ability Score Improvement but being able to shoot good is more important. Grab Crossbow Expert to shoot in melee, reload quickly in a fight, and shoot with your Bonus Action after shooting!

LEVEL 5 - FIGHTER 5

5th level Fighters get an Extra Attack to Blam and then Blam again. These two Blams are separate from your Crossbow Expert Blam which is also separate from Action Surge, allowing you to Blam another two times meaning by level 5 you can already Blam up to 5 times in one round!

(Artwork made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 6 - SORCERER 1

What? Did you really think that we wouldn’t have any spellcaster levels? Sorry to say it but there’s no easy way for a martial character to shoot out a smoke cloud or Wave Dash enough to survive a sniper rifle shot in the head.

We’ll be going for the Clockwork Soul since your gun is certainly mechanical in nature, and it’s certainly the soul of your character. As a Clockwork Sorcerer you can use your reaction to Restore Balance and negate either Advantage or Disadvantage a number of times equal to your proficiency bonus, regaining all expended uses at the end of a Long Rest. I’d flavor this more as your skill from years in the business letting you steady your aim or dodge out of the way of a foe who thinks they have the upper hand.

You know what helps with getting the upper hand? Spellcasting, especially with extra spells from Clockwork Magic. The extra spells you can get can be from the Abjuration or Transmutation schools, and can be from the Wizard, Warlock, or Sorcerer spell list. This means you can grab Shield for some Grit AC, and Absorb Elements for some Magic Resistance as well. You also get 4 cantrips and 2 more leveled spells:

CANTRIPS

Mind Sliver will serve as your Challenging Smite, weakening enemies and damaging them.

Message will help you keep in team chat with TF.

Prestidigitation will let you do all sorts of minor tricks with your bullets and gas canisters.

Mending will help you fix up your outfit after getting in scuff.

SPELLS

Fog Cloud will serve as your Smoke Screen, obviously.

To shoot out some Galeforce projectiles, grab Magic Missile to execute! (Note: Magic Missile will not actually execute.)

LEVEL 7 - WARLOCK 1

I COULDN’T HELP IT I’M SORRY. Warlock levels give us an easy way to have spells ready with just a short rest. First level Warlocks can choose their Patron at level 1 and for a bit more lethality take the Genie Patron. You can choose your Genie Kind and a Djinni will give a couple of benefits: for one your Genie’s Vessel will let you do Thunder damage equal to your Proficiency bonus once per turn thanks to Genie’s Wrath. You also have Bottled Respite for a safe place to rest and store the two guns and three knives you are expected to stick onto your gun.

You also get Pact Magic which is like regular spell slots but they come back after a Short Rest. Thunderwave is a good way to give yourself some space with shotgun knockback, and is on your Warlock spell list since you took the Djinni patron! And Hex is just good to Smite a foe to do more damage to them.

LEVEL 8 - WARLOCK 2

Second level Warlocks get their second Pact Magic slot, which is the main reason we need at least 2 levels in Warlock. But you also get Eldritch Invocations: Devil’s Sight will let you see through the dark with your dumb human eyes. And to play dress up Mask of Many Faces will let you put on some skins!

You can also learn another first level spell from the Warlock list: honestly there isn’t much I want, so I guess you can grab Armor of Agathys for some Thornmail.

(Artwork by Bo “chenbowow” Chen. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 9 - FIGHTER 6

Back to Fighterman, take me by the hand for Ability Scores and, +2 to Dexterity man.

LEVEL 10 - FIGHTER 7

7th level Champions are Remarkable Athletes, letting them add half their proficiency bonus to any STR, DEX, or CON check made which you aren’t already proficient in. Unfortunately you have proficiency in Athletics and Acrobatics but at least this buffs your Slight of Hand and Stealth. And since Initiative is a DEX check, this ability improves that too!

Oh and you can also increase the distance of a running long jump by a number of feet equal to your Strength modifier. A whole extra foot of jumping distance!

LEVEL 11 - FIGHTER 8

Hey more Ability Score Improvements! Cap off that Dexterity, and also put 1 in Charisma for later.

LEVEL 12 - FIGHTER 9

9th level Fighters get a QSS for Indomitable, rerolling a failed save to potentially succeed! Are you going to succeed any mental saving throws? Probably not, but you’ve got a good chance for Strength, Dexterity, and Constitution. And you can use this for Death Saves too!

(Artwork made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 13 - FIGHTER 10

10th level Champions get a whole Additional Fighting Style! Wowie! Take Defense for a bit more Grit in a teamfight.

LEVEL 14 - FIGHTER 11

11th level Fighters get an extra Extra Attack, letting them attack 3 times in a round. This means 4 attacks with Crossbow Expert and 7 if you Action Surge!

LEVEL 15 - FIGHTER 12

12th level Fighters get another Ability Score Improvement, and you know what’s better than one Flash? Two Flashes! Grab the Fey Touched Feat to increase your Charisma by 1, get another once-per-day use of the Misty Step spell, and also grab the Heroism spell for a bit more grit that you can cast with your first level slots.

(Artwork made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 16 - FIGHTER 13

13th level Fighters get another use of Indomitable. That’s two rerolls on any failed save! Wow I know basic math!

LEVEL 17 - FIGHTER 14

14th level means another Ability Score Improvement: more Charisma means better Definitely-Not-Spells. But feel free to get something like Sharpshooter or another more practical feat, as the only spells you really have which rely on Charisma are Mind Sliver and Thunderwave.

LEVEL 18 - FIGHTER 15

15th level Champions finally grab their Infinity Edge for a Superior Critical on an 18, 19, or 20! 15% crit chance!

LEVEL 19 - FIGHTER 16

16th level means another Ability Score Improvement: either cap off your Charisma or grab some better feats. Build flexibility is important. "Got any bright ideas?"

LEVEL 20 - FIGHTER 17

Our last level is the 17th level of Fighter for one more use of Indomitable (making it 3 uses total) as well as an extra use of Action Surge! You can’t Action Surge twice in the same turn but you can Action Surge two turns in a row to really put the DPS out!

FINAL BUILD

PROS

I like my enemies two ways: dead, or about to be - Your shots are as reliable as they are deadly. 4 shots per turn thanks to Crossbow Expert’s Bonus Action, all of which have a whopping +13 to hit! Not to mention Genie’s Wrath giving you a flat +6 damage every turn and Superior Critical allowing you to crit 15% of the time.

Let's settle the score - A little bit of magic never hurt anyone. A few Misty Steps and a few more Shields can keep you out of danger, and spells like Hex can let you up your DPS. Even Fog Cloud (while admittedly situational) can still give you cover for either an attack or an escape.

Easy, partner - All that magic along with Fighter abilities and Fighter hit die means that you’re sturdier than most, with plenty of ways to shrug off attacks or boost yourself up after getting hit.

CONS

Who's in the dark now? - Making a specific point of dumping both Intelligence and Wisdom leaves you very lacking in social encounters. It also means that you’ll have a lot of trouble with spells. Even Hold Person can really hinder you.

Everyone's a hero... till you shoot off a leg or two - Champion isn’t exactly the most exciting class and this is well-known, but unfortunately Graves isn’t exactly the most exciting champion. Trust me I’d love to make him a Battle Master, Arcane Archer, Samurai, or Renegade (Dark Tides of Bilgewater.) But Graves is a big man with big crits and not much else.

Go ahead; I like moving targets - One more level in Warlock would’ve given you Misty Steps that come back after a Short Rest, as well as the Darkness spell which is arguably stronger than Fog Cloud. It would’ve also given you your Pact Boon, all of which are very strong. Honestly while the 17th level of Fighter is stronger if you know that you aren’t going to get to level 20 I’d definitely recommend a third Warlock level for the reasons I just said.

But of course anyone can win if they can just wave their hands around to send giant flaming rocks out of the sky. You prove that all you need to win a fight is a big gun, good aim, and a whole lotta grit. Put one between their eyes and a hundred more into their chest, and don’t mind any potential Collateral Damage. Just watch out for traps and stay clear of Yordles; wouldn’t want to be featured in another animated short.

(Artwork by Xu “Crow God” Cheng. Made for Riot Games.)

[rae-arts777]

Who are you?

Summary: welcome, meet ultimate despair Dorothy and Makoto

Notes: what’s this? Rae wrote her Danganronpa X GrePre crossover that’s not as dark as the last one that will never see the light of day? :000

TW: death/blood/world destruction

Again it’s Danganronpa inspire.

~~~~~~~~

Makoto stop mid monologue about how TC were hypocrites. His expression went from a face full of anger, to boredom.

Lowering the sword he yawned and looked up at the ceiling, “Jesus Christ I told you this be boring. Let’s just get on with it already. Their expressions are so plain.”

Everyone in the room looked confused. Akemi looked at Laurent thinking this was part of TC’s plan, Laurent looking at the director thinking it was some act she made Makoto do.

“Hey, bitch I know you can hear me” Makoto continued “Get on with it, or I might just throw myself out the window from boredom”

Familiar laugh to half of TC echo through the room. Laurent’s eye widen, scanning the area fractionally looking. It wasn’t in his head, everyone heard it, even Oz was looking.

The doors swung open and out she step. Flipping her white hair over her shoulders. Her blue eyes sparkling, her iconic pink lip stick vibrante as ever. But something was off. The way she smiled didnt set off any brightness or joy, it sent a chilling feeling down everyone’s spine.

“Gheez Makoto! Did you have to stop half way? I was actually enjoying your performance!!” Dorothy walked to him and threw her arms around the Japanese man smiling “ah! I could just tell every word you spoke plunge even more despair into all their hearts!! You’re such a good actor! Oh you’ve come such a long way from that kid I found on the streets!” She pulled at his cheeks cooing him.

Annoyed, Makoto pushed her off “It was boring. Their reactions were so predictable.”

Everyone stared in confusion. No one knew what was going on, how did they know each other? Dorothy was alive?

Laurent took a step towards her “Dorothy.? Is it really you?”

“Yup! In the flesh Laurie!” She smiled and grabbed Makoto’s shoulder “and you’ve all meet my little successor Makoto Edamura. Such a talented young man, is he not?”

Oz looked at his son “so this whole time...you-“

“Yes I knew.” Makoto cut him off “I’ve worked under her since you left”

“That long?!” Oz spoke in shock

“Better to teach them when they’re young right?” Dorothy laughed “again, such a talented young man. You have to admit, his performance was phenomenal!!”

Akemi spoke up “I do not understand. Who are you? What is going on?”

The one thing Laurent could agree on with this woman “what is going on.? How do you two know each other.?”

“Right I should probably reintroduce myself” Dorothy pulled out little hair pin, it was the head of a cartoon bear, the left white and the right black. She pinned it in her hair and took a bow

“Dorothy, I’m the ultimate despair. And this!” She gestured to Makoto “it’s Makoto Edmaura, my partner, and the second ultimate despair.” She patted his cheek smiling proudly.

Makoto’s expression remain blank. Everyone looking at the two like they’ve lost their minds.

Abby growled “ok virgin, enough with the games. Did you hit your head or something? Stop this.”

“You’re annoying.” Makoto snapped at her “when you were a suicidal manic you didn’t fear death. So boring. You couldn’t even appreciate the despair that came with death. People like you annoy me”

“I’m going to knock the sense into you!” Abby tried to get up was was still restrain.

However someone did take action.

“ENOUGH OF THIS.” Yao grabbed Makoto by the collar raising his fist “I don’t know what game you’re playing but I have enough.”

Makoto remained unpashed, sighing “shame, you would have been a good blacken for the game”

Dorothy nodded in agreement “well, looks like nothing can be done now.” She pulled out a remote and pressed a button.

A loud buzz was heard through the room. Before anyone knew it, spears came flying, shooting into Yao. He let go of Makoto who step back, a slight smile dancing upon his face.

Everyone looked in horror, as blood ran down the spears, Yao’s body twitching.

“T-the hell...?” He muttered “I don’t....how did you even....? You....damn....bastards...” The spears retracted, and Yao fell to the floor dead.

Ishigami let out of blood curling scream and threw an arm up to shield Akemi, who had her mouth covered in horror.

Laurent knelt down and checked for a pulse, praying this was some elaborate con Makoto set up to get even. There was no pulse. Yao was dead.

Laurent looked up at Dorothy with a pain expression “but...we don’t-“

“We don’t kill people? Old news. Old life. I can’t believe I stuck to those morals, how boring, death is so wonderful” an insane smile danced upon her lips “did you see it Laurie? That expression before he died? Such despair...ahhh!” She hugged herself laughing “such a wonderful feeling! I remember how amazing it felt when I thought I was going to die! The thrill! The excitement! Despair is truly such a wonderful thing!”

Liu step forward, his face stonecold “tell me what is your motivate here? What do you two so call ultimate despairs want?”

“It’s simple really” Makoto explained “as we speak right now, the whole world is falling apart.” He took the remote Dorothy had, making a TV appear. Switching on the channel, everyone’s face snuck into deeper despair.

The world was literally burning. People were rioting, there was death on every corner.

“No that’s not real...” Cythina spoke “there’s no way that’s real.”

“But it is.” Makoto said. “Of course we didn’t do it alone. We had some help.” He switch the board cast again.

Salazar walked away from Casano’s burning mansion, the sounds of gunfire behind him, people of LA rushing to kill each other for the name of despair.

Clark stood in front of his people giving a speech. The crowd erupted of cheers, as everyone took to the city. Fire roar, soaring as high as the planes that flew overhead dropping bombs. Clark watched with a smile as his kingdom fell into despair.

Thomas walked through an art gallery, covered in blood. He walked over to a painting, and smeared the blood on him onto the painting. He smiled recreating the painting in his image. Smiling at his proud work, he took the painting down, and walked out of the gallery. He sat on the bench waiting, and watch as the gallery exploded. People on fire running screaming. He pulled out his paintbrush and started to paint the beautiful despair that London had caught.

Cythina cried and shook her head “no! That can’t be real! Thomas would never do that! Never!”

“But Cythina” Dorothy grabbed her chin smiling “he did. Everything you see is live.”

“We almost forgot” makoto switched the channel “are special little warriors of hope”

Cohen along with the others who were sold the trading company, sat on top of piled of rumble, smiling and watching the adults demise. From their safe haven, they threw water balloons full of gasoline to spread fire below.

“If it was true why hasn’t someone come up to warn us?” Akemi said “I think we hear everything going on, and-“

“That’s cause you’re on an island.” Makoto pulled back the shades to reveal the ocean “that’s a whole other thing but it’s too boring to explain”

Akemi’s face dropped again. She covered her mouth thinking of her son back in Japan. Was he alive?

Oz growled, snatching the sword from Makoto; and pointed it to Dorothy.

“Enough! I don’t know what you’re playing but this is enough!”

“Careful Ozzy” Dorothy’s voice dropped “you don’t want to end up like Yao do you?” She gestured to his dead body.

Oz shook at the venom that dropped from her lips. Slowly lowering the sword he tried to keep a stonecold face.

“Please this isn’t real..” Laurent said stepping towards Makoto “edamame please. You got me ok? We’re even. You can drop the act.”

“If only it was an act” Makoto said “I assure you, this is all true, Laurie.” Makoto pulled out a picture and showed Laurent.

Dorothy with one hand upon a teen Makoto shoulder, and another on Miki Edmaura’s back, they were in the hospital. All of them smiling. There was a get well soon ballon along with flowers by Miki’s bedside.

Laurent wanted to believe it was photoshopped, but, something told him it was very much real.

“She was so nice” Makoto said “the one person I really cared for. But I knew in order for thing to move along, she had to go”

Everyone felt another harsh chill run through their bodies.

“Makoto....” Oz spoke “did you.....kill your mother...?”

“In a way I guess I did. The despair finished the job really. When you’re only child gets taken away to prison while you’re bedridden, it must leave a big empty hole in your heart. I think the despair killed her, not the sickness”

Abby felt herself shaking, in fear, this was not their Makoto.

“Who are you?!” Abby yelled “who the hell are you?!”

Makoto looked at her “My name is Makoto Edmaura, ultimate despair, successor of ultimate despair Dorothy.” A big smile spread across his face.

The first time they seen a smile on this despair Makoto. Makoto’s smile use to bring such brightness, and now...such darkness.

“Welcome contests!!!!” Dorothy spread out her arms smiling “to the very first killing game!!!! Broadcast live across the world!!”

Makoto laughed smiling “will you find that shining hope you think still exist? Or shall you plunge into the claws of despair?”

Anguished filled the room. Everyone stared hopelessly, their lives at the mercy of the ultimate despairs.

[starryocean]

Okay, finally doing it. I know I said I was gonna do this a while ago but then didn’t so now I’m finally doing it. My thoughts on the books I’ve read since my last post, sans Kumo desu ga 12 since I need to reread that to remember what I wanted to talk about.

These will be in no particular order. Also, please no spoilers in the comments, and also there will be spoilers for these mentioned books in the post proper:

First off, I ended up buying Starless Sea, Mistborn 1, Wayfarers 2, and I think one non-fiction book the last time. I won’t be reviewing the non-fiction book since I’m only really doing these for fiction novels. I also bought a one-shot light novel on the kindle called Past Life Countess, Present Life Otome Game NPC?! some time after buying and reading those. I’ll go over them all now.

Mistborn 1 was really good, like I’ve heard. I remember thinking at various points that the characters felt like the sort of people I’d want to get to know, just from their dialogue alone and how they bounced off each other. The story was also fairly light on the darker parts, leaving most of it up to implication and off-handed mentions to help raise the stakes. This surprised me since the setting and premise of the story is so dark. It certainly helped me stomach reading it, although it took a while at first since I wasn’t really in the mood for darker stuff at the time and I had no idea how far the story would go with its themes.

One thing that surprised me for instance was Elend not secretly being an asshole. I was fully expecting him to betray Vin, or else cause her serious problems down the line, especially in one moment where Vin let slip some details about how the skaa get around. Like, I was fully prepared for that to bite her in the ass, but it didn’t. It didn’t even come up after that moment. A different writer would probably have used that slip up to throw a new wrench in the works, but Brandon Sanderson didn’t go for it, which was honestly refreshing. I’ve gotten so burnt out on “everything is horrible for everyone forever” after binging too much worm fanfiction a few years ago, so it was really nice to see an author take a different path than the most cynical one.

Also, despite starting the story with a (mostly) off-screen attempted rape, Mistborn was actually very light on the sex? Like, again, considering the premise, I was expecting more than just implications/references to rape, but it never even happened. Again, refreshing. I guess my main thing was that I expecting the story to get so much more dark in general, and I kind of built it up in my head that way, only to continue getting shown that no, this is not what Sanderson is about. He definitely errs on the more hopeful side of things, I think--that scene where the skaa managed to gather together after Kelsier’s death and form a proper riot despite all the Soothers working on their minds for so long proves it.

As for the whole mystery angle with the fallen hero...I was honestly expecting the Hero of Ages to be the Lord Ruler. A lot of the snippets we got from his journal had given me confirmation bias about it, and so it was a good twist that it wasn’t him. But also kind of fucked up? Like, the Hero of Ages mentions wanting to see more mountains breaking up the countryside of their continent, and then the Lord Ruler went and recreated those mountains in the form of the Ashmounts. And then there’s other little things here and there that were clearly inspired by some of the Hero’s vision for how the world should be once the Deepness was gone, but just so horrifically twisted by the Lord Ruler. I still can’t tell if it was meant to be mocking or spitting on the Hero’s dreams or if it was meant as a sort of screwed-up apology/“He’s still in there somewhere” sort of thing. Would be fascinating to analyze, if only we got a bit more about the Lord Ruler/Hero. I’m sure the other books expand upon it, but...I haven’t read those yet.

Now, Starless Sea. Most beautiful prose I’ve ever read, hands down. Equally beautiful ode to storytelling across various forms of media as a whole. Loved this book, want more of it, although I didn’t quite get the ending at first. It was more...bittersweet, I guess, than I was expecting. An end to the Harbor, and a birth of a new one, with Zachary and Dorian wandering the ocean alongside Eleanor and someone who’s implied to be Simon joining them.

I loved the little inserts of the various books that Zachary picks up and reads along the way, as well as inserts of books and stories that he doesn’t find. The whole mythology of the Starless Sea is fascinating to me, it really feels like an old epic that has spanned centuries and times and places that you’ll never go to and yet is preserved in the form of those remaining texts. The only thing I wish for from that book is that there was more to it, but I also understand why it had to end where it did and expanding it unnecessarily would probably cheapen the whole thing. But it’s a book about a world that I’d love to find and live in, and it does an amazing job building it.

Hard for me to find other things to mention, because there was just so much that I loved I really have no disappointments or critiques at all. There’s just so much I could talk about and I’m a bit overwhelmed with choices. I guess one thing I noticed was that the author’s usage of sentence length was very different from how I would have worded things myself, and it was a bit strange for me to read. Sentences that I would have ended in earlier places went on for longer in a way that felt like run-ons to me. And yet it also contributed to the beauty of the prose, I think, making the whole thing seem much more magical. It was a little bit weird and hard to get used to, but it definitely helped sell it.

Now, Wayfarers 2. A Closed and Common Orbit made me tear up and/or cry at multiple points, let me tell you. There was just so much more emotion to this book than I felt like I got out of the first one, what with Pepper’s story and Sidra’s quest to find her place in the universe. From what I’ve heard about the third book (which I will definitely order when I have to money to spend on it) I have a feeling it’ll be full of the same sorts of emotions, too. Pepper’s story really spoke to me, though, being forced to grow up in such a hostile environment and being raised by an AI who then gets forcibly separated from her because people don’t understand that these AI are people. By the end of it I could definitely understand why Pepper does the things she does, believes what she believes in, and how if her circumstances had been any different she could have lived all her life without ever learning these things.

I really liked Sidra, too, but I don’t think I connected with her like I did Pepper. I mean, I did, just not in the same way. I really liked her friendship with the Aeluon Tak, though, and I liked how Tak managed to get over xir prejudices in order to better understand Sidra. What I didn’t like about after that is how Sidra ended up roping xem into things that were only technically legal, being outside of xir comfort zone. The reprogramming thing I can easily excuse as it was necessary for Sidra to not be caught due to being unable to lie, but the getting xem to (technically) break into the museum to get at Owl I’m not so sure on. Yes, it was important in order to rescue her, but Tak clearly wasn’t comfortable with it, even as xe went along with it. They both managed to stay friends afterwards, though, so I guess it wasn’t as big of a deal to Tak in the aftermath as it was in the moment.

Past Life Countess, Otome Game NPC?! is a weird one. It’s actually an isekai, where a noblewoman from a fantasyland ended up getting reborn as the titular Otome Game NPC. There’s another girl who got reborn as the Otome Game’s protagonist, and they end up working together to try and help Protag-chan (I can’t remember her name atm) win over one of the popular, pretty love interests from the Otome game. There’s also some stuff going on with a girl called Chouko Tsukuyomi where the three girls have to compete with one another in a series of tests so Chouko will approve of their relationship with one of the guys.

I wasn’t really expecting anything from this one. I mostly picked it up because someone mentioned it in a thread on SV and it sounded interesting, so after reading the sample I knew I had to buy it (It was only like, 7 bucks, so it was cheap too). It ended up being way denser textually than I expected any LN to be, and at multiple points I was thinking to myself that it felt like a western novel rather than a Light Novel just from prose alone. I suppose that fits with the setting, but it was still a bit jarring since LNs usually aren’t so textually dense. It wasn’t as dense as say, any of Robert Jordan’s books (which I can say because I’m reading one, more on that in a minute), but it was denser than the standard LN.

Anyway. What I got was actually...kind of cute in parts, but incredibly disappointing in others. Protag-chan initially starts out as someone you’d think would fall into the “secretly evil heroine” stereotype that’s common in villainess isekai, but she ends up turning into a good friend of noble lady. All the characters end up getting along just in general, although it’s not a bisexual harem like in Bakarina. The author was a bit too cowardly for that. There was also a scene where one of the male love interests starts showing interest in Protag-chan in a very cute way, only to be mercilessly shot down and have his rival in love get confessed to by Protag-chan right in front of him.

Like, it was so damn savage, I honestly felt sympathy for the guy. It ended up coming off as mean, even, since the way he was trying to show his interest in her was by sending her pictures of his cat, which the novel stated he never did to anyone unless he liked them a lot. And then Protag-chan ended up going and pulling this, and nobody even said anything about it. and you have to keep in mind, this was also in the middle of a public place. As in, a store. They did this all in the middle of a super-fancy clothing store.

Yeah.

More on the author being cowardly--Chouko and noble lady are shipteased quite a bit throughout the book. Since they’re both girls, I was hoping that they’d end up going for a yuri route with noble lady and Chouko. But then the author pulled a bait-and-switch such that Chouko was actually a guy pretending to be a woman all along. And he wasn’t even a trans guy or anything, he was just cross-dressing as a dude because his parents forced him to. I don’t think I’ve ever said it, but I legitimately hate that type of plotline so much. Just make the dude trans? Or else commit to the lesbians? Either way the author was a coward.

Anyway, that’s it for the books I’ve finished since last time I posted about my reading escapades. Right now I’m reading Eye of the World by Robert Jordan (hence my comment on the density of his writing earlier, by god is this book textually dense) and I’m going to try and pick up The Amber Spyglass by Phillip Pullman again, as I’ve left it sitting for too long tbh. Both readings are extremely slow-going, especially now that I’m attending classes and my accelerated 8-week course as started today. I hope to eventually get them done, though--I have a feeling I’ll be able to juggle my classes fine for the most part, so that should free up some time on weekends at least to do some reading. If I don’t end up having to work over the weekend, anyway.

Will try and reread Kumo desu ga 12 again if I can, so I can finally post my thoughts on it. I’m still kicking myself for forgetting to when I first read it.