#i hate that this one has to be a repost too since its now wildly out of pride season

[stellasteris]

happy pride from two gay kings 🥂

[eye-in-hand]

This was written by a very close friend of mine, who through out this past year has always made me feel listened to, and quietly stood with Jews and against the horrors we have faced since October 7th. Today they decided to stop being silent, and it means more to me than they could ever realize.

They gave me permission to post this onto my blog:

honestly the fandomisation of the I/P shit is endlessly infuriating. we used to say "if theres a table of 10 people and ones a nazi its a table of 10 nazis" and now we think that jumping on the "jews came to our country to replace our population and need to be stopped" movement with 0 hours of complex study on how to. avoid becoming a "jews came to our country to replace our population and need to be stopped" person (nazi). is just easy, safe, normal, and simple enough that anyone can do it. We just dropped the "punch a nazi" thing as soon as it involved giving a single shit about jews enough to not treat their histories, cultures, and so on like a footnote in something greater than them where theyre all collectively fucked up enough to make learning anything about them before turning against them warranted

if out of all conflicts in the world right now you want to join the "ok but THIS time jews are coming to a country to replace the population and need to be stopped" and no other conflicts, and you dont even know enough about antisemitism to know what zionism is beyond bastardised appropriated definitions let alone the probably hundreds of dogwhistles (dogwhistle: something thats not obvious and you cant spot through just Being Smart)... you can be so right about the conclusion of which side is "right" though insert my fucking rant on wars being complicated, you can get the right answer with the wrong equation, but still have the blood of innocent jews on your hands if youre just swinging fucking wildly at this conflict fuelled more by fucking hatred and "oh man this is outrageous! time to spread it time to reblog this post come on everybody eyes on this!" than you are by an actual need to get your hands properly dirty and help out

if you choose only one conflict out of every single conflict out there currently to get involved with, and its the one that has five nazis at the table out of ten, because yeah, "jews come to countries to harm the populace and take over and need to be ousted" politics attract a lot of nazis.... and you dont have hours upon hours of experience with jews, understanding what harms them, what logic people use to get you on their side against jews, and so on.... you cant turn around and tell me youre a good person

If theres five nazis at this table... and you dont know shit about judaism and nazism to even understand the bare fucking basic minimum that nazis are not people in funny costumes who salute weirdly and who stick out, that they were popular enough to have a death toll of millions, that they had scientists, doctors, professors, philosophers, and a million other professionals as well as media both on their side and teaching others... if you dont even understand that everyday people like us are not immune to propaganda and that its popular to hate jews and that news sources and professionals and researchers and reporters are likely going to be biased - you can understand full fucking well that a common newspaper wouldnt report good information on trans issues nor be sensitive and up to date with how to navigate transphobia, but you believe they can report well on both another minority's and a foreign countries' issues? you can understand that its hard to find correct and sensitive understandings of minorities you are a part of but cant extend that logic to jews too? - if you cant understand the sheer fucking basics of "actually, this is a sensitive conflict, every single thing i reblog or repost has the possibility to be antisemitic, antisemites arent weirdos spurting easily spotted nonsense, entire professions can spend all day every day pumping out studies and info on things like trans people and disabled people and other minorities and still be wrong, man, I should probably spend a lot of time researching how to sit at a table with nazis because theyre going to be talking to us like we're regular people and not show their ass unless we stand opposed to them"...

it is, explicitly, a choice to get involved with every single conflict out there. youre consciously making the choice to not get involved in every other one! youre not in the countries affected, youre not assigned the front lines, you have a choice. Im not saying choose not to get involved. Im saying this: If you have a choice to stick your fucking fresh face into a hostage negotiation you sure as hell should have done a fucktonne of research on hostage negotiation, on the hostages themselves, on the motives, on everything known in the case, yeah? Otherwise your incompetence is gonna have a real impact - whether the hostages die or not theres lifelong trauma and community ripple effects on the line here... You get that for a hostage situation right? Choosing to get involved with the lives of just a few people warrants hours of research and in-person meetings and breakdowns of all the history of the situation? So how much does butting in on a war warrant? A couple hours listening to your pre-selected sources and following a tag about it? yeah. right. didnt think so

If you have a choice, make a fucking smart one. If your answer to having a choice is "no i dont have a choice, me this random foreigner with what looks like a saviour complex has the power to sway the war if i gather enough people so im gonna do it, i have no choice its a moral imperative" ok. For sake of argument, you have no choice, and for some reason your blabbing on social media is affecting the conflict, and we'll say youre even getting actively involved in swaying it. Congrats, youre now involved with hundreds of thousands of lives. make your fucking decision and make it well, if you dont even have enough information to navigate this like it was a hostage situation of maybe double digits then you are, at this point, playing with lives of foreign people like theyre fucking chess pieces on a board

Ultimately... for 99% of us getting involved the only fucking people that are going to be impacted by this are a) the sparse few people from the countries online (sparse compared to the billions from other places) who have to not just deal with the fucking conflict but uneducated people using their home's war to get out their anger on, and b) the displaced jews who are watching, realtime, which you'd know if you spent two fucking seconds researching what the ripple effects of the half-nazi table are having, as violence - literal, not someone calling you a slur on the internet, actual life threats, injuries, bloodshed and death - rises against them

Again, im not implying you have the wrong conclusion if youre on the side accusing jews of the age old "youre invading and we need to get rid of you", i am fully aware that a) sometimes some people of a minority do the thing theyre accused of doing by mega racists, b) some people against the jews here are talking about living peacefully, theres people on all sides pro-peace, and so on. I am saying that fucking no one does a mere ten hours of research on this from sources they both agree and disagree with let alone the hundreds of hours of lived in experience and research and study that millions of fucking lives deserve from you. You have a choice to be involved, if you get what you get out of it - moral superiority, something to be angry about, something to argue about, a scary thing to be worried about, no, you cant convince me you get nothing out of it when you act towards it identically to how true crime moms act towards true crime - the fucking least you could do in exchange is treat this like its actually worth your time enough for you to properly study, not research, study.

"But its a genocide!" "But its an emergency!" first of all its not a genocide, but im not going to pretend i dont get the point is "this is something i feel like needs to be stopped right now and people are reaching out for help and so we need to help"... Ok, like a hostage situation, fast response needed right now, hostages are begging for help on the news. So are you prepared enough to meet a hostage situation in your country? No? But youre prepared for a gang war in your country? No? But youre prepared for a civil war in your country? No? But. youre prepared for... this.... you think you fucking know enough about this to get involved... youre so prepared for and pushing for your voice to have an impact in this.... yeah. you will have an impact. youre already having one. Turns out if you did five fucking minutes of research one of the first things youd find out is that oh, when theres a conflict involving two minorities of your country, uh, oh dear, arguing against them, pushing information into the mainstream about how (the racist stereotypes are right) even if overseas, how theyre dangerous, how theyre dangerous to entire countries, and so on.... thats dangerous to those minorities in your country! Who'd've thought! And step fucking one then would be to navigate helping the conflict overseas without increasing conflict in your own country.......... yeah

this shit is, and i fucking stand by it, the fucking same as the true crime girlies. the fucking moms who spread those videos of people breaking in and kidnapping people and so on. Its not even a matter of arguing the videos are staged, or whathaveyou, we can all understand that spreading poorly researched opinions on things even when those things are indeed bad and did indeed happen can have huge effects on communities. Conservatives arent lying when they spread trans pedos and talk about how trans people Can be disgusting, they sure as hell are increasing violence against trans people though! We can all fucking understand that sitting here blogging about trans people being pedos and abusers is going to increase people thinking all trans people are like that even if we tell them we're just talking about specific ones in a specific place! So fucking tell me please god that one other fucking non-jew on this godsforsaken website can fucking see how dangerous this table with five fucking nazis is yeah??

People are people. people are going to hear their own version of what youre saying. if you keep talking about how gross the trans rapists and abusers are and talking about how we need to stop them you get that people are going to hear trans people are bad because you joined in the trans discussion without enough research to know how to spread issues safely.......... yeah. but jews arent as important as any other minority, always left on the sideline, so who cares if theyre in danger amirite lets focus on white "saving" the foreign country because apparently we're so talented and so good at resolving wars that we can do it with like ten hours research in between watching our fave netflix shows and reblogging fandom shit

-----

It's important for goyim to talk about I/P in a way that doesn't dehumanize Israelis, Jews, Palestinians or Arabs. Because everyone actually affected by this conflict has been hurting for far too long, and all your "Activism" does is fan the flames of hate.

Anyways, to my friend. I really appreciate you saying something at a time that most people won't.

It's sad that this is such a controversial take to both sides of the political spectrum these days. Telling people to research a conflict before having an opinion, and to stop pushing hate towards ethnic minorities. But I appreciate you saying it.

[hornime]

voyeurant | kenma kozume x f!reader

he tentatively wrapped a palm around the shaft, shuddering at the contact, his eyelids fluttering shut. god, i’m such a pervert, thinking about her like this. she’d hate me if she knew i saw her like that, knew that i was touching myself thinking about her tits...

warnings: 18+, timeskip!kenma, kinda dubcon, kenma’s unintentionally pervy, male masturbation, poorly written video game content (i tried my best), mutual pining but u both are oblivious

w/c: 1.5k

a/n: yes, the title is a shitty pun of valorant. no, i will not be changing it. also this tiktok about timeskip kenma made me giggle so pls enjoy.

voyeurant: part one ↓ | part two | part three:

“fuck, i hate this map,” kenma grumbled into his headset.

your voiced chimed in his ears. “is it ascent?” you turned to see his face on your screen, pinched in annoyance. “ha, it is ascent. sucks for you.”

“which one are you on? haven?”

“you know it,” you chuckled. “your favorite.”

“i hate you.” he weighed his options, did he really want to play this game? the layout of the world made it irritatingly hard to strategize, and today’s losing streak was making him more agitated than usual. with a sign, he closed the application. “fuck this. i’m gonna go piss.”

“yeah, yeah, you’re such a big baby. and...” you released your mouse, throwing your hands up in triumph, “we just won. at this point, i’m gonna outrank you.” you were joking, of course. kenma wasn’t just a gamer, he was kodzuken, one of japan’s best pro-gamers, and you were just someone that played as a hobby. but it was always fun to tease.

“hmm,” he hummed. “i’m sure you will.” he turned his head to look directly at his webcam, smirking, “in your dreams.”

“ooh, catboy’s getting feisty!” he flinched at the nickname. “go pee so i can beat you at your best.”

he obliged, pulling his headphones off and looping them on the top of his chair. he casually raised his middle finger at you while smoothing out strands of his hair, prompting a series of profanities to escape your mouth, none of which he could hear. he chuckled playfully as you responded with two middle fingers of your own, before moving out of the camera to get to the bathroom.

you and kenma had met in an... interesting way, to say the least. after going moderately viral from lashing out at him for refusing to heal you in a game of overwatch—while he was streaming—the two of you reconciled over a twitter thread and exchanged gamer tags. since then, you’d struck up an easygoing friendship, characterized by almost nightly discord calls and occasional flirting. but we’re just friends, you often reminded yourself. and you were fine, well, mostly fine, with that.

tonight was like any other night: both you and him spending hours in a video chat with nothing better to do than mindlessly play games and bash each other. it was more than enough to strengthen your relationship but fell short of giving you the romantic tension you craved.

with kenma off in the bathroom, you, already bored, spun wildly in your chair. forgetting that your earbuds were still plugged in, the white wire caught on an opened can of coke sitting on your desk, spilling the sugary drink all over your keyboard and the front of your shirt. 

“shit!” you quickly scrambled for paper towels, but the still-connected wire yanked you backwards. in your haste for something to wipe the soda with, the fact that your camera remained on in the video call completely slipped your mind. making the split-second decision that the trip for a towel wasn’t worth it at this point, you quickly whipped off your shirt, dabbing the keys with the part that was still dry. since you were home, you’d gone braless, and your current predicament had you flashing your webcam.

now, kenma had seen a lot of things from your side of the call: he’d seen you get chewed out by your residential advisor for being too loud, you with two sticks of pocky poking out of your mouth like walrus tusks, and you doing random cosplay moves you’d seen on tiktok. what he wasn’t expecting to see, not even in his wildest dreams, was a screenful of your tits, slightly damp from the cola that had seeped through the fabric of your long-gone shirt.

he stopped in his tracks, still out of the frame of his camera, eyes wide and heart racing, desperately trying to calm down and prevent the gradual hardening of his cock in his pants. unable to deny his desires, he continued staring at your plump breasts on his computer, you completely unaware that he could see you.

you quickly threw your soaked top in the laundry basket before throwing on a random sweatshirt and trying to calm your frazzled nerves. you tentatively touched your keyboard, groaning internally when you fingers lightly stuck to the buttons. it’s gonna take forever to clean this, you mourned.

“hey,” kenma mumbled, reappearing on screen and shaking you out of your thoughts.

“hey.” you noticed his flushed expression. “are you okay? you look really red.”

“uh, yeah. i actually uh, i feel kinda sick. so i’m gonna, gonna go.”

“oh, okay.” why’s he acting so weird? “feel better!” you disconnected from the call with a huff, disappointment morphing your face into a pout. well, you thought, better get to cleaning.

kenma, on the other hand, was still, swallowing as the bulge in his boxers became agonizingly hard. though the only thing left on his screen was his reflection staring back at him, the luscious view of your bust was etched in his mind. his hands moved to free his cock, the tip an angry red and smearing pre-cum over the waistband of his underwear. 

he tentatively wrapped a palm around the shaft, shuddering at the contact, his eyelids fluttering shut. god, i’m such a pervert, thinking about her like this. she’d hate me if she knew i saw her like that, knew that i was touching myself thinking about her tits...

“fuck,” he whined, slowly stroking up and down. his thighs trembled as he fell back into his chair, mind wandering. he couldn’t stop himself, his thoughts become more and more lewd, fantasizing about how your breasts would bounce as he thrusted into you, how your thighs would wrap warmly around your head as he ate you out, how you’d cry out his name so prettily when he made you squirt around his fingers.

it was all too much, and as the circle he made with his fingers tightened as he reached his tip, he lurched forward, alarmed at how good everything felt just by thinking about you. i can’t cum, i can’t, the small part of his brain that wasn’t completely overtaken with pleasure tried to reason with him. there’s no going back if i—shit—if i cum. she’ll know, somehow, if i—if i cum, i—

the ecstasy kept clouding his judgement and his body worked against his mind as his hand pumped faster and faster while his conscience screamed to stop. his wrist wetly slapped the base of his cock, the sounds of both his hands and his moans getting too loud for comfort, but all he could think about was you. your eyes, your mouth, your chest, your legs, your ass, your pussy. god, he wanted to be in you so badly.

he couldn’t hold back, his insatiable need to cum overriding his senses, and the translucent liquid twitched out of his throbbing cock in spurts, drenching his fist and his balls. “fuck, fuck, fuck. i’m—fuck.”

he collapsed against the back of his chair, chest heaving with the sheer intensity of his orgasm. he combed a hand through his hair, the consequences of his actions now weighing heavily on his shoulders. i’m never gonna be able to look at her in the eyes again, he lamented. how am i ever gonna—damn it. 

the sudden ping of a notification had his eyes raising from the mess on his pants towards his computer screen. 

meanwhile, you were messaging kenma, a little off-put by his sudden radio silence but chalking it all up to his mysterious sickness.

[11:05 PM] you: hey ken! hope u feel better

[11:05 PM] you: if u get the chance u should check out what i added to our minecraft house. its perfect for sick victorian orphans like u

[12:14 PM] you: guess

[12:05 PM] you: guess

[12:05 PM] you: guess

[12:05 PM] you: guess

[12:05 PM] you: why arent u responding

[12:05 PM] you: guess

[12:05 PM] you: ok u got me ill tell u

[12:05 PM] you: its a hot tub

[12:05 PM] you: but with soup

[12:05 PM] you: but the soup is lava

[12:05 PM] you: genius right

[12:06 PM] you: anyway get some sleep and feel better <3

[12:06 PM] you: lmk if u wanna play animal crossing

[12:06 PM] you: actually no u should sleep. rest ur eyes and shit

[12:06 PM] you: no animal crossing for u!

[12:06 PM] you: sleep well so i can destroy ur ass in val tmrw

[12:06 PM] you: >:)

he sighed as he read your one-sided ramblings. he really liked you.

and he really wanted to fuck you. lucky for you, you wanted the exact same thing. 

if only kenma knew what you did on the other side of the screen, hands in your undies and his name on your lips...

>> part two

© property of hornime 2021. do not plagiarize any of my writing and do not repost/copy my writing onto any other sites.

[reneejuliet]

Or Leave Me

Author: reneejuliet

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Rating: M (to be safe) (smut in the form of brief male fantasy, cursing)

Word Count: 1,144

Genre: Smut, Angst, Friends to Lovers?, Idol AU

Author’s Note: Here it is! A follow up to Leave Me Wanting. It isn’t a lot, and it isn’t as smutty (sorry guys) but I wanted it to progress things a little more. Still told more from Hoseok’s POV, but we get a little glimpse of Reader’s (our?) feelings at the end. Enjoy!

“Hoseok! What the fuck?!”

He swings to face you – or, at least he thinks he does, considering his face is currently covered by his clothing. His arms are caught up above his head, tangled in the sleeves. One of his elbows is resting on his ear from where he had pulled it halfway out before the loose fabric caught on something, and now he’s stuck.

“What?” he questions from deep inside the fabric. He doesn’t see you bite your lip to pause your smile.

“Stop flailing. You damn near hit me in the face three times now.”

He gives another wriggle before slumping in defeat, his arm forced to lean forward like some sort of wilted plumage. He whines, fully aware that he sounds like a petulant child. He feels like a child, stuck in a tourniquet of his own shirt and hoodie. Somewhere outside his cotton prison, he hears you sigh. It isn’t annoyed, at least. He knows too well what you sound like annoyed.

“But I’m stuck!” he complains, reminding you that this uncomfortable display is not exactly to his benefit, either. To emphasize his point, he writhes wildly for a second in a futile attempt to be free. Instead, he manages to snag the seatbelt around his wrist and it triggers the child lock, snapping him back against the seat. He shouts in indignation and manages to kick the glove box open in his surprise.

You mumble something that sounds like “J-Hopeless” before reaching over and releasing his seatbelt from its lock. It springs free and you disentangle the belt from around Hoseok’s wrist. Then your fingers are wrapped around the hem of his shirts and pulling until the fabric straightens out, giving him enough slack to finally remove the offending garments. He does so with a great sigh of relief, slumping back exaggeratedly once they’re off. He cups his hand over his bare chest, encompassing his heart, and flutters his lashes at you.

“Y/N, my angel. You truly are a godsend.”

You snort, reaching out to smack him in his stomach. And maybe he imagines the way your knuckles linger ever so slightly against his abdomen, despite the more violent intentions of your touch. But it makes his eyelashes flutter outside of his control, his heart thumping so hard he could choke. His throat tightens as he fights the urge to catch your hand, drag your fingers back over to trace the planes of his chest. God, he just wants to feel you mapping your way down to where he really wants your touch.

It’s been three weeks since The Incident™. Three weeks since he stumbled into an inconvenient revelation about the nature of his friendship with you. Three weeks that he’s been struggling to hide the sudden and overwhelming attraction to you that he’s absolutely drowning in.

To sum it up: three weeks of hell.

You still don’t know anything – how could he possibly tell you? ‘Hey, I know you’ve spent the better part of a year helping me get laid, but apparently that just isn’t cutting it anymore and now I may or may not want to fuck your brains out. Coffee?’ Yeah, he could see that going over well.

The car turns out of traffic and onto a side street. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. “You gonna bother finishing?” you ask, an eyebrow quirking up. “Or are you trying to save Minjee a few steps? I mean, I know it’s been a week since your last hookup, but I didn’t think you were that desperate yet, Jung.”

You’re smirking, and he hates how tantalizing it looks. Has it always been that sexy? This just isn’t fair.

“I didn’t know you were that desperate, Jung,” he mocks in a high-pitched imitation of your voice, leaning forward to retrieve his duffel bag from his feet. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything else. As he lifts his bag, he manages to close the glove box, but not before catching a glimpse of a small silver package tucked away under a stack of papers. He groans internally.

You have a condom in your glove box. A freaking condom. It shouldn’t be surprising, especially considering how often you drive him around and how easily he can forget things. It’s almost definitely for him, too, but this fact doesn’t help him. Because now all he can think of is you crawling into his lap, straddling his hips with those thighs of yours. His hands guiding you against him, pressing bruises into your supple flesh. The way your breath would hitch when he hits deep, breasts heaving from exertion as he takes you right here, right now –

He drops his duffle onto his lap to hide how it’s beginning to stir, wincing only slightly. He trades his clothes from dance practice for a cleaner, fresher shirt. You’re not wrong in your teasing; it would probably save a few seconds’ time to just forego putting it on and let Minjee greet him bare-chested. But he can’t take the way his brain is fooling him into thinking your eyes linger, that the flash that crosses them isn’t just from the fading sunlight shining between buildings. So he covers back up, dropping the visor down to check his hair.

A few minutes later, the vehicle stops outside an ‘exit only’ of an apartment building. You put the car in park and shoot off a text to inform Minjee of her delivery. Hoseok sits, waiting, in your passenger seat. Normally, you two would small talk until she arrived, but Hoseok is a little too busy concealing his inflating crotch to spare so much as a look at you. Not with how your eyes sparkle in this light, or how your tongue darts out to taste the remnants of coffee on your lips.

Has Minjee always been this goddamn slow?

The door opens to reveal Minjee’s heart-shaped face and Hoseok is out of the vehicle before you can blink. He all but sprints up the stairs to her, throwing the duffle bag somewhere inside before grabbing her face and crashing his lips to hers. She giggles, teasing him about his patience, but he hardly hears her. He’s pawing at her sweater, desperate to rid you from his thoughts.

He just needs to fuck this out of his system.

The door swings closed behind him as he pushes Minjee hurriedly up the stairs. He doesn’t see how your knuckles blanche against the steering wheel, grip just a little too tight. He doesn’t see how your eyes droop, as if suddenly downright exhausted. And he doesn’t hear how you tell yourself it’s just because you need a nap, a little rest before you come back for him. And maybe that’s for the best.

Because even you can feel how utterly unconvincing the words are.

Our poor baby! He’s getting deeper in the feels, guise. And what about us?! What do YOU think we’re feeling right now, hm? Please let me know what you think! If I manage another part, I’m thinking it will finally be from Reader’s POV. I hope you enjoyed!

©reneejuliet 2021. No part of this material may be copied, photocopied, reproduced, reposted, or translated without consent.

[jaskierswolf]

The Viscount and The Witcher pt.1/4

(Note: Reposted from my old blog. The rest can be found on my Ao3 or on my pinned masterlist)

Viscount Julian Alfred Pankratz de Lettenhove was bored. He’d been bored for some time now. In his youth he’d dreamed of becoming a travelling bard. He’d even focused his time in Oxenfurt on the liberal arts and had graduated quite successfully from the academy, but before he’d even begun his journey to becoming renowned troubadour, he’d been called back to his family home. The news of his father’s death had been an unfortunate one and he’d been forced to step up and become head of his vast estate.

There had been a moment, in the dead of night, witching hour, when he’d very nearly picked up his lute and fled.

He hadn’t.

He’d turned over and gone back to sleep. He did have a rather luxurious bed and he’d not been short of company to fill it with. He often wondered what would have become of him if he had run away that night, at barely eighteen. He often dreamed of the songs he could have written, the people he could have met, the adventures he could have had.

A deep part of him sorely regretted the path not taken.

Instead he drowned his sorrows in the most delicious wine from Toussaint and lured beautiful people to his bedchamber. He was determined to enjoy the few pleasures left to him in gluttonous amounts.

He gazed out of the window of his study into the gardens. They were stunning at this time of year. They weren’t the most well kept gardens, but he liked that. He enjoyed the wild long grass and the litany of yellow, white and purple weeds that sprung up in the summer. The sounds of bees filled the air, a constant low buzzing that he found both soothing and wildly distracting. He enjoyed a long stroll in the gardens when he wasn’t buried under paperwork. Quite frankly he didn’t give a rat’s ass about the different silk sheets used in the guest bedrooms or whether the local houses were paying their taxes in time. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if all of that diplomatic nonsense just disappeared?

Poverty could become a thing of the past. He’d given away vast amounts of his fortune whenever he could convince his lawyers to let the assets go but his estate only thrived more as the farmers, workers and merchants were able to work more efficiently and invested more funding into their livelihoods.

He couldn’t begrudge them that but he felt guilty for owning so much when they lived on so little so he kept feeding his money back into the surrounding villages and they kept growing and expanding their homes and businesses.

None of the surrounding lords or barons could understand how he did it.

He couldn’t exactly explain it himself.

He had been hoping to run his estate into the ground so he could run off and have the heroic adventures that he’d always dreamed of. Perhaps he would even run into one of those witchers. He was fascinated by witchers. He always had been, ever since he was a boy and he’d heard the rumours of the Butcher of Blaviken, Geralt of Rivia. The rumours were that the man had slaughtered an entire village with his bare hands in some kind of blood-fuelled frenzy.

Julian didn’t believe that for a second.

He’d snuck down to the library and buried himself under books, scrolls and parchments, anything in his father’s great library with even the whiff of a witcher. He’d read bestiaries and fairytales, utterly bewitched by the tales of fae, vampires and werewolves. He devoured everything he could by candlelight. It was what had driven him to his chosen career as a bard. He wanted to experience those stories himself, he needed to live it. His thirst for knowledge and innate curiosity had seen him through Oxenfurt with ease. He’d been able to spend far too long in taverns and brothels whilst his peers studied books and manuscripts that he’d read within the first months of attending the famous school. The library had been enviable and he’d been unable to stay away for months.

He sighed dramatically. It had all been a fucking waste of time. He closed the leather-bound book he’d been scrawling in, even after all these years he couldn’t help the flashes of creative inspiration that hit him. It was like a vampire’s thirst, burning in his throat and heart. He had to write, he had to play and sing and dance. He ran his fingers along the underside of his writing desk until he heard a faint click and a drawer popped open. He tucked the book neatly into the draw beneath the pressed dandelion.

Dandelion.

It was to be his stage name had he followed through with his plans.

He’d kept the pressed yellow flower as a reminder. He picked it up and twirled it between his fingers before sighing loudly.

“Master Dandelion, renowned troubadour and poet.” He pouted before gently returning the flower to its cage and closing the drawer shut, it vanished into the wooden desk without a trace. “I supposed it is quite poetic,” He whined. “I am like the flower trapped in my own cage from which I cannot escape. The flower which holds my name and soul shares my fate.”

He groaned and bumped his head against the desk. The long feather in his hat flopped down, tickling his nose. He promptly sneezed.

“Ah. To the gods! Even my own hat hates me.” He moaned.

Thankfully he was pulled from his self-pity by a knock at the door. He jumped to his feet and straightened his hat, tucking the treacherous heron feather back into place.

“Come in!” He trilled.

Annabelle, a pretty redhead and one of his longest serving maids entered the room. “ Lord Lettenhove.” Annabelle curtsied.

Julian rolled his eyes and pulled the girl to her feet. “Annabelle, dearest, how many times must I ask you to call me Julian and none of this grovelling nonsense. Tell me, how are your family? Your mother was sick, is she feeling any better? I trust she received the medicine I sent.”

Annabelle blushed and smiled up at him. “Yes Lord Let - Lord Julian. Thank you very much. You are too kind to us.”

“My darling, I simply have nothing better to do with my fortune than ensure my staff are well looked after. How’s the little one, Eleanor if I remember correctly?”

“Yes, Lord Julian. She’s growing up fast. My sister told me she started to crawl yesterday.” Annabelle answered meekly.

Julian gasped and put his hand to his chest. “And you missed it! Oh my dear, my sincerest apologies.”

Annabelle shook her head. “I love my job, Lord Julian. There is no reason to apologise. You’ve already done far too much for my family.”

It was Julian’s time to blush. He hated how much his staff revered him, didn’t they realise his motivations were purely selfish? He just wanted to get out of this house! He wanted to leave them. They just didn’t see any of that but he didn’t let his frustration show. “Now now, they’ll be time to sing my praises later, my dear, what was it that you needed? We are not due another order from the farms yet are we?”

The girl laughed quietly. “No, nothing like that. Forgive me, Lord Julian, I don’t mean to make assumptions.”

She shuffled awkwardly on her feet. “Well go on! Don’t keep me in suspense like this.” He pouted with a hand on his hips.

“There’s a rumour going round, Lord Julian.” She blushed. “About a witcher in one of the outer villages. They were having problems on the full moon. Mysterious and gruesome murders.”

Julian wanted to jump for joy.

A real witcher.

On his land.

“Oh my!” He clapped his hands together. “We must send for him at once!” He ran to his desk and pulled out a sheet of parchment. “Now tell me Annabelle what monsters are more enticing to a monster hunter, vampires or werewolves?” He scoffed before she could answer. “No no, that’s too obvious, and unbearably dull. Nekkers? Oooh, what about a draconid? A forktail perhaps?”

Annabelle kept opening and closing her mouth but there was no interrupting Julian when he got like this. He barely even noticed he still had company.

“Or a wraith!” He laughed gaily. “Oh yes that will do nicely! A wraith haunting the attic! Then we may get to see the witcher in action, oh the tales I could write! Maybe I could publish them under a pseudonym, Master Dandelion may yet still live!”

His hands flew over the paper as he scrawled as quickly and elegantly as he could. Once he was finished he read it over quickly, cornflower blue eyes scanning over the words quick as lightning.

     My dear witcher,    

     On behalf of Viscount Julian Alfred Pankratz de Lettenhove, I would like to thank you for offering your services to assist our villagers with their furry little problem. I write this letter before the news of your success has reached me but I have no doubt that you will succeed in your quest! You must tell me whether you have slain the beast or cured it of the lycanthropy. I await the tale of your heroic adventure with great anticipation.    

     The Lord Lettenhove requests your presence at his estate. You see, my dearest witcher, we have a little pest problem of our own. A wraith haunts the house and our poor chambermaids are quite at their wits end with fright.    

     I beseech you. Don’t delay.    

     Yours, Dandelion.    

He chuckled at the name. He was going to have a lot of fun with this witcher, whoever it maybe, and he didn’t need the witcher knowing exactly who he was just yet. He sealed the letter swiftly and all but shoved poor Annabelle from the room so that she could deliver it hastily.

He followed after her and practically ran down the corridor and up the stairs to the master bedroom. He flung open his wardrobe as he hummed a new melody under his breath. He needed to choose an outfit. Something that was less Viscount and more genius bard.

He stripped off his golden doublet and trousers in exchange for his favourite plum set. It had intricate embroidery around the collar that he just adored. He paired the doublet with a white undershirt with lace around the cuffs and collar.

He took off his hat and twirled a strand of his soft golden blond hair in between his fingers. He’d been growing it out lately, he was really just so bored, and he’d been considering experimenting with some curling irons like he’d seen his cook use. He was certain that Hanna would show him how to use them if he asked nicely.

But did he have enough time for that?

He still needed to set up his wraith problem, and it needed to be convincing enough to keep the witcher around long enough to get to know him, perhaps he could even lure the man to his bedroom if he were that way inclined.

Gods he hoped he was.

It had been too long since Julian, no, Dandelion, had had a male lover.

Well, if he was planning to seduce the man then he really should look his best but first he needed to make sure that they stage was set. He picked up his old forgotten lute from the corner of the bedroom, gently trailing a finger down the neck of the instrument before quickly plucking at the strings and fiddling with the pegs to make sure she was still in tune.

“I am so sorry darling.” He cooed to the instrument. “It’s been too long.”

He tucked her into his old lute case and appraised his reflection in his mirror.

“Hmm…” He stuck his tongue out as he concentrated. “Not quite right. Oh yes! My hat!” He swiped up a matching plum coloured bonnet and pinned a feather in place because plopping it onto his head. He looked back at his reflection with a furrowed brow and then inspiration hit him and he tilted his hat so he fell slightly to one side. “Perfect!”

He giggled and bowed dramatically to his reflection. “Master Dandelion, at your service!” He grinned seductively.

Oh this witcher would have no idea what hit him.

[theharellan]

THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; Mun & Muse - Meme.

fill out & repost ♥ This meme definitely favors canons more, but I hope OC’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. Multi-Muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm. tagged by: stolen from @dansiere tagging: @ghiassan, @deathsreflection, @altuspavus, @windrunnerrs (velanna), @hopewrought, @willbeshot, @seahaloed (iron bull), @asterfed​ (noctis), @ anyone who wants to steal it! also multis feel free to choose a different character

My muse is:   canon / oc / au / canon-divergent / fandomless / complicated (i’m open to roleplaying with non-dragon age characters, and have AUs for other fandoms)

Is your character popular in the fandom? YES / NO. solas is both wildly popular and wildly hated. he’s been more consistently popular than the controversial women in the series, like sera or vivienne, who have only recently begun to get to the point where their tags are less vitriolic (although i’m sure it’s still out there), but there’s still a sizable hatedom that can’t have his name breathed in their vicinity w/o them talking abt how much they hate him. even if you’re currently cosplaying him!

Is your character considered hot™ in the fandom?  YES / NO / IDK. again, you have ppl who are super into him and ppl who think he’s ugly. my personal opinion is that i think he’s weirdly pretty, and wish ppl would commit more to his unconventional features rather than try to chisel him into sb more traditionally attractive and that ppl who don’t find him attractive would maybe chill w/ calling him ugly. find him unattractive by all means, but lets embrace the fact that inquisition let their love interests have skin flaws etc and accept that some won’t be our cups of tea.

Is your character considered strong in the fandom?  YES / NO / IDK. its hard to deny at this point tbh.

Are they underrated?  YES / NO / IDK. frustrating as the hate in the tags he has enough fans that i couldnt say he’s underrated w/ a straight face.

Were they relevant for the main story?  YES / NO. he’s the reason the game starts with a bang and not the inevitable dissolution of the conclave b/c the sides are disparate.

Were they relevant for the main character? YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAG. regardless of solas’ relationship with the inquisitor, there are parallels and contrasts in their stories and he also is the reason they survive inquisition.

Are they widely known in their world? YES / NO. fen’harel is well-known and revered, if feared, among the dalish, yet at the same time he’s not remembered for a lot besides locking the gods away-- and the context of that decision has also been lost. as solas he’s relatively unknown until inquisition and especially trespasser.

How’s their reputation?  GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL. again, polarising!! he has loyal agents and people are willing to speak well of him despite everything, including his enemies sometimes (depending mostly on the inquisitor). 

How strictly do you follow canon?  — generally i try to have a canon basis for my interpretation, even if i interpret the text differently than the author.

SELL YOUR MUSE! Aka try to list everything, which makes your muse interesting in your opinion to make them spicy for your mutuals.  —  solas is an immortal who is simultaneously jaded and very much invested in the small moments of life. far from being weary of the day-to-day lives of ordinary people, it is systems and orders he is most tired of. he walks an interesting line that feels far less misanthropic than other immortal characters i’ve experienced, yet still he’s quite cynical. as a character who has fought against religious based tyranny before, but in a completely different era, he is in a unique position where what he sees around him is both horrifyingly familiar and yet completely new. it allows an exploration of the wrongs of thedas’ society from an outsider��s perspective. his motivations are complex and multifaceted, often condemnable and yet also understandable. his character arc in inquisition (if befriended, or regardless in the case of my solas) takes him from a dispassionate, disconnected antagonist to someone deeply invested in the people of thedas, deeply conflicted and actively hoping he will be proven wrong again. i think his story is a testament to human (or elven, or dwarven, or-) connection and how even when we resist we can’t resist creating bonds with the people in our lives. i personally see this bond going beyond the inquisitor hence why i play low-approval solas as conflicted as high-approval, if not when it comes to the inquisitor.

Now the OPPOSITE, list everything why your muse could not be so interesting (even if you may not agree, what does the fandom perhaps think?).  —  solas is selfish and motivated solely by revenge, he’s clinging to a past that clearly no longer exists, if you ignore all the people from it who are still alive. he’s totally unaware of all his flaws and never owns up to any mistakes ever. no, i haven’t listened to a single word solas has said in my life why do you ask. he’s also critical of my faves which means he’s #cancelled, there is clearly no validity to what he’s saying. ksjdf no but in all seriousness i think a lot of reasons ppl don’t find solas interesting are just... weird readings of his character that sometimes have no basis in the text of inquisition, but also there are plenty of perfectly valid reasons to not find him interesting. usually those ppl don’t like... talk abt how much they don’t find him interesting constantly tho. they just chill and aren’t invested in this particular villain. for one thing i think the game missed out on opportunities for exploring how someone who may not have even had a body at the beginning of his existence would feel about gender and sexuality, so making him presumably straight and cis was a boring choice. i also think that the dragon age games being very protagonist-centric hurts solas’ character, there’s no real reason why the inquisitor is the only one who can throw his plans into question but making the player the center of the universe means he’s not allowed to change due to the effects of other companions or NPCs. thank god this is rp and i do what i want.

What inspired you to rp your muse?  —  i have a history degree so when the inquisition companions were being teased, solas describing bias in primary sources from the memories he’s seen got me interested in him. but my first playthrough i didn’t actually take him with me all too often, i think my main party was dorian-blackwall-varric. i liked him, and i think he or dorian were my first friends in skyhold, but my initial interest was in other characters. between his dialogue that appealed to the historian in me tho and how his spirit opinions sort of turned everything i’d felt about spirits in the last two games on its head, i started vibing with him more the farther i went in. like merrill set me up for the “spirits are people” thing and solas hit it out of the park. then temple of mythal happened, and i did bring solas with me there. i found his dialogue fascinating and also suspicious, i’d just finished masked empire like the day before da:i came out so i definitely thought solas was an ancient elf in the same vein as felassan. it was after temple of mythal that i actually decided to make his blog, although like as one idk linchpin to cement my status as solas trash... i was hit BAD by the banter bug on my first playthrough, probably got like a dozen banters total. but then at some point late in the game i took solas to the forbidden oasis and he wouldn’t stop talking to people, and i really loved his banter with the rest of my party at the time.

What keeps your inspiration going?  —  replaying inquisition, new DA content when the bioware gods deign to grant us a lifeline, but the biggest thing is my rp partners. i wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the people i write with, new and old. my activity of late hasn’t been the best, work and the summer heat has really been sapping me of energy, and does even during years when we aren’t going through a pandemic. but it’s the thought of my rp partners and love of solas that keeps me coming back.

Some more personal questions for the mun.

Give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.

Do you think you give your character justice?  YES / NO / I SINCERELY HOPE I DO? i have my doubts sometimes, but i think i do ok.

Do you frequently write headcanons?  YES / NO / SORT OF? there is no headcanon too small for me.

Do you sometimes write drabbles?  YES / NO. but not lately * gestures to the low activity * i’ve been in this cycle where i get anxious abt late replies, so prioritise them, then burn myself out and can’t write the fics i want. i’ve had two i’ve been DYING to write tho i just... need to find the space in my brain to let myself.

Do you think a lot about your Muse during the day? YES / NO. i mean it depends on the day. if i work closing shifts at my store it gets very quiet and boring around 8:30 so i spent the next 90 minutes thinking about character stuff.

Are you confident in your portrayal?  YES / NO / SORT OF? 

Are you confident in your writing?  YES / NO / SOMETIMES. 

Are you a sensitive person?  YES / NO / SORTA.

Do you accept criticism well about your portrayal?  —  i’m going to say ‘no’ because like, i don’t ask for criticism. this is a hobby based on my interpretation of a character, if you think i write solas too soft then you’re welcome to think that, but i’m happy with the balance i’ve struck with his internal versus external behaviour and how he changes based upon who he’s speaking to. if you think i’m erasing straight people by making solas pan then ksjdfs. ok.

Do you like questions, which help you explore your character?  —  yes!!! even if they retread ground already trodden, a) my interpretation may have adjusted since the last time i played or b) a reminder is nice. if it’s new stuff then it’s fun to think about.

If someone disagrees to a headcanon of yours, do you want to know why?  —  it’d depend on why they disagree. if they just disagree on a subjective opinion about what i took from a certain line, then they’re welcome to their opinion but i don’t necessarily care to hear it. if it is unintentionally hurtful then i would like to know. although rather than a comment i’d rather a non-anonymous message.

If someone disagrees with your portrayal, how would you take it?  —  same as the above.

If someone really hates your character, how do you take it?  —  if they’re vocal about it i typically just unfollow / softblock if i was following in the first place. people can feel how they want about solas, but i’ve found over the years that if people really hate solas ooc it can often bleed into their ic interactions. it’s really weird seeing your character being brought up repeatedly in threads with others specifically to dunk on, for no reason other than i guess solas is living rent free in their heads, so at least we have that in common. but anyway unfollowing is just the best choice to avoid getting kinda pressed if i’m having a bad day.

Are you okay with people pointing out your grammatical errors?  —  roleplay is the wild west of writing, so i think it’d depend on what the error was. coming at me like “you shouldn’t start a sentence with a preposition” would get a laugh, but i don’t edit my replies much if at all and mistakes will 100% happen. pointing out typos is chill so long as you do it politely.

Do you think you are easy going as a mun?   —  it depends! i’ve learned that being too easy going actually just means i’m subjecting myself to negative emotions to please people. so i’ve gotten less easy going as the years go by. how does one define “easy going” anyway? does asking that question mean i am objectively not easy going? the longer this thought goes on the more the answer seems to be “probably not,” but i like to think it could be a lot worse.

[thebiasrekkers]

Make It Right [BTS Mafia!AU]

Plot: “It’s always darkest before the dawn…” It’s a dog-eat-dog world in Seoul, South Korea. One has to dwell in the shadows in order to reach for the light. What are you willing to sacrifice in order to feel the sunlight on your face? What will it take to drag you back into darkness? How long will the journey be to make it right?

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Genre: Series | Mafia!AU | Crime!AU | Angst | Romance/Fluff | Smut

Pairings: Jin x OC | Taehyung/Hoseok x OC | Yoongi/Jungkook x OC

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Heavy Language, Angst, Slow Burn, Smut

Previous Chapters: Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || Admin E’s WP || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 2,448

Tag List: @prisczero​, @pinkpjmin​, @btsaudge​, @flowerwrites06​, @unoriginal-username15432, @halussali​, @hobipluto​

Chapter 40: Let Go

”No, but I accept your blame. Really, it’s time to say goodbye.”

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

Two weeks had passed since his encounter with Kihyun. Yoongi never would have guessed that seeing Kihyun under those circumstances would rattle him to the core. He’d been uneasy ever since, wondering when he would next run into the man; wondering if he would be better prepared for whatever words would come tumbling from his mouth next.

There was no lingering attachment there. At least not from Yoongi. That part of his life he’d put far behind him. He’d let it go when he traveled to the States and met Eden for the first time. He was able to see someone come from nothing, yet determined to make something of herself. She wasn’t the sort of person who accepted handouts and she always returned a favor – not wanting to place herself in the debt of others.

For the first time in a while, Yoongi thought of his family; the family he’d left behind in Hwaseong. His father, ironically, was the former police chief in the area. His mother ran her business from home, making calendars for people from the photos she’d taken. Yoongi adopted a love of photography thanks to her, but there were few moments when he ventured out with his camera. He just hadn’t had the time for it like he had when he was still a school kid.

Until now.

The shutter clicked wildly as he roamed around one of the parks in Gangnam. Spring was upon them. The blossoms from the cherry trees fluttered in waves on the ground and through the skies. The soft breeze tickled the hairs around his ears, reminding him that he probably needed to get a haircut soon. His legs carried him through the park, memories flooding his mind as he took nature shots and pictures of unsuspecting pedestrians.

There was a time when he would come to the park, usually late at night, with Eden. She hadn’t minded since there were nights when they both worked late. He frowned, recalling the memory of her laughing as she sprayed him with the bottle of water she had in her hand. His hair was drenched and water dripped from his eyelashes and chin, allowing her to get about a five-foot head start before giving chase.

She always let him catch her.

Yoongi sighed, shaking his head to chase the memory away. Stop, he chastised himself, you need to stop. She’s not here and she won’t be.

An image of Jungkook smiling widely as he embraced her replaced the vision in his mind. He paused in his steps, his hands cradling his camera lowering slowly. They finally fell to his sides and the weight of the camera tugged at the strap around his neck. A heaviness filled his chest until it finally collapsed into the pit of his stomach. Yoongi knew he had no right to feel anything at the sight of them together, whether in real life or in his own mind. The reality was still the same. He’d fucked up and his younger brother was doing the one thing he never had the courage to.

He was honest with the woman he loved.

Yoongi scoffed, reaching up to scratch at the side of his nose. A sardonic smile passed over his features as he admitted to himself that he had, in fact, loved that stubborn woman. That he was still in love with her. But he knew he’d blown it and there was no turning back the clock, no matter how much he might have wanted to. The situation was plain and clear as the daylight breaking through the canopy of trees over his head.

It was over. All he had to do was admit it to himself. Truly admit it.

Taking a few steps, he broke through a row of trees and deviated from the path. In the center of the park was a large rock near a man-made creek. The sunlight was always the best here, shining down without prejudice on whoever wished to seek out its light. His feet shuffled through the grass as he ducked under a low hanging branch, using his hand to shield his eyes from the mid-morning light that threatened to blind him.

Just as he was mentally cursing himself for not remembering to bring his sunglasses, he stopped and stared. For a moment, he thought he was seeing things and began to roughly rub his eyes with his fists. Blinking the prism-like spots from his vision, he looked again and saw that he hadn’t, in fact, been imagining things.

There, on the rock, laid Eden – sprawled out like a tiger who’d just finished devouring a kill that was hunted and sleeping off the heavy meal. Her olive skin glowed in the sunlight and he was surprised to see that she was willingly allowing the sun to touch her flesh. He remembered her saying how she hated the sun because it often baked her to a darker shade of brown than she liked, making her look Middle Eastern at times. Not that she had anything against them, but people were always getting her ethnic background wrong and it annoyed her.

Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, signifying that she was, in fact, asleep. Deep asleep, in fact. The gentle babbling from the creek and twittering of birds served as the perfect ambiance to rest and relax. There was a book opened face down on her stomach and her fingers splayed over the spine, holding it in place. But with each breath she took, it slowly slipped further and further from her hand. At the angle she was lying, the moment it left her fingers it would fall into the creek.

As if predicting the future, Yoongi watched the book begin its descent and he rushed forward, snatching up the book before it could meet its watery end. His heart hammered heavily against his ribs as he sighed, standing to his full height before closing the book. Eden mumbled something incoherent before rolling over on the smooth rock to readjust herself to a more comfortable position.

Yoongi was almost flabbergasted by this. He couldn’t remember a time when she’d allowed herself to be this vulnerable. Unless she believed she was safe, she would always jolt awake to the most innocent of sounds – a knife at the ready in her hand.

His brows furrowed while canting his head to the side. Is that it? Yoongi reached out with one hand, his fingers just barely touching her cheek. Do you feel safe here?

She groaned sleepily, causing him to flinch involuntarily. He yanked his hand back, as though he was being struck by a snake. Seconds later, Eden’s phone went off and she immediately sat up – patting her pockets for the item to get it to shut up. Yoongi stood rooted in his spot, unable to flee the scene. He continued to stare at her even as she groggily fisted her eyes to rid them of the sleepy haze sitting on the backs of her eyelids. Eden smacked her lips and then began looking around, her eyes falling on Yoongi.

As she looked at him, Yoongi didn’t move; he didn’t even breathe. Eden seemed to gather up her surroundings and the sleepiness in her gaze was quickly replaced with realization. Her eyes widened as her lips parted, prepared to scream at him. Without thinking, he reached out and covered her mouth with his hand, silencing whatever verbal onslaught she had prepared for him.

“Look, before you say anything, this is completely a coincidence,” he explained rapidly, feeling her huffing over his fingers, “so don’t get crazy, okay?”

Slowly, he removed his hand and held his arms up in surrender. She narrowed her eyes at him, the irritation evident. But she didn’t say anything. Yoongi wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or upset by her lack of clapbacks at that moment.

“Why are you sleeping here?”

“It’s a nice day out and I felt like taking a nap,” she said while standing from the rock, snatching the book from Yoongi’s hand. He’d almost forgotten he’d had it. “Sleeping on the rooftop gets too hot and I burn that way.”

“Yeah, I know…”

For a moment, no other words were shared between them. Even though Yoongi had so much he wanted to say, he couldn’t formulate the words the way he would have liked. Everything he tried to start with sounded like an excuse and all the other options made him sound like an idiot. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Yoongi sighed as he roughly rubbed the back of his head.

“Eden,” he began, his heart rate escalating a measure, “I just…” Eden’s gaze practically bore into his forehead and Yoongi considered averting his gaze. However, he thought better of it and, instead, cleared his throat loudly. “…I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she asked quickly, catching him off guard. Licking his lips, he just looked at her as she folded her arms across her chest. “What are you sorry for, Yoongi-ah? Hm? That you got caught or that I’m with Jungkook now?”

There it was. The dig he was waiting for. He’d prepared himself for it, but he didn’t expect hearing her say it out loud to hurt so much. It was like he’d been hit in the gut with a cannon ball, the proverbial wind knocked straight from his lungs.

It was quickly replaced with anger.

“Goddammit, woman,” he snarled, taking a step forward to close what little distance there was between them, “you are fucking impossible, you know that?”

She sniffed, smirking. “I do, actually.”

Eden moved to pass him, but he quickly grabbed her by her upper arm, yanking her back so that she was flush against his chest. A gasp spilled from her, causing her book to fall against the grass as it slipped from her fingers. She tried to jerk free from him, but he squeezed tighter. He saw her brow twitch, probably from how hard he was holding her, but Yoongi couldn’t stop.

His body moved faster than his brain could process, unable to prevent him from doing what he was getting ready to do. Still in his grasp, Yoongi pushed Eden until her back hit the trunk of a tree. The leaves shuddered with the sudden force placed on its surface and she let out a soft cry. Glaring up at him, he matched her gaze as he looked into her eyes – his reflection cast back at him from her dark umber tones. Eden’s lips pressed together into a thin line, slowly blinking at him. But he saw the tell-tale red flare around her neck to show that her anger was mounting with each passing second.

Yoongi pressed his hips against hers, further bracing her against the tree and preventing her from escaping. But she made no move to remove herself from the situation. Whether she believed it was fruitless or if she was unable to was something that Yoongi couldn’t figure out. Her expression was so impassive outside of her clear outrage. She could have pushed him aside, slapped him, kicked him in the shin or, hell, even kneed him in the nuts.

But she did none of that. The only sign of a visible struggle was the flex of her muscle against his fingers. Why wasn’t she fighting back?

“Yoongi-ah,” she said, cutting through the turmoil raging in his head. He blinked, looking at her – really looking at her. But he couldn’t read the face she was making. “What do you want from me?”

“W-What?” He felt his mouth go dry and he involuntarily tried to swallow.

“You heard me.” She lazily blinked again. “What. Do. You. Want. From. Me?”

Eden made a point to enunciate each word of the question. It stung, like someone plucking hairs straight from the root of his head. But it was a question he wasn’t ready to answer. Or maybe he didn’t have an answer. He had every opportunity to fix the problems he’d caused. He had every chance in the world to come clean and he hadn’t. Asking anything from her, even now, would have been plain selfishness.

Yet, Yoongi wanted to be selfish. He wanted to be greedy. He wanted to play dirty and he wanted to be as unfair as humanly possible.

Instead of answering her, he leaned forward and forcefully pressed his lips against hers. He heard her sharp intake of breath and there was a sound of bark scraping from the tree and hitting the grass. Yoongi waited for her to shove him, slap him, or even to feel a sharp pain in his gut as she stabbed him. None of it came.

Nothing happened.

When he pulled back, Yoongi saw Eden’s eyes filling with tears. Whether they were angry tears or something else, he couldn’t be sure. When they finally leaked from her eyes, he took a step back and released the hold he had on her. His breath came out rapidly – like he’d broken the surface of the ocean after nearly sinking to his death.

There was clarity. Absolute clarity.

And it hurt him.

“Eden, I—”

“Wow,” she said, her bottom lip trembling as more tears streamed down her face, “you’re a real asshole, Min Yoongi. You know that?”

He sighed, nodding.

“Yeah, I know.”

“You’re scum.”

He averted his gaze, too ashamed to look at her.

“I know.”

“And you’re the worst kind of pretender.”

He closed his eyes, wincing.

“You’re right. I am.”

Yoongi heard her leaving, her body shuffling through the grass and branches to exit the park. When her footsteps were far enough away, he felt his legs begin to tremble. Taking a step forward, he spun and let his back fall against the tree Eden previously was pressed on. It was still warm.

He looked down, spying the book that still laid abandoned on the grass. He slid down until he was sitting, his hand reaching out to grasp the book and finally looking at the title. Yoongi smiled bitterly.

“Pride and Prejudice, huh?”

A pathetic laugh escaped his chest as he covered his eyes with his forearm. It was over. It was really over. To think otherwise would have been a fool’s errand. Mistakes were made, even now, and Yoongi had no choice but to admit to them. To admit that she was no longer his.

That she never would be.

Hugging one knee to his chest, he buried his face into the crook of his arm and released a painful laugh. “…I’m sorry, Jungkook-ah,” Yoongi whispered, his voice thick with emotion, “Your Hyung is so fucking sorry.”