#i wish friendship classes existed in awakening

[fore-seer]

if i had my way i’d give everyone in awakening access to mercenary for armsthrift but secondarily can you imagine if gaius and lon’qu had that access to patience on top of avoid+10 for even more insane dodgetanking

[spookymultimedia]

Homesickness

After dropping out of college Cartman visits home after years of being away from it

I remember the morning I left for California. I was fresh out of highschool and had packed up all my things. I didn't tell anybody I was leaving, not even my Mom. The night before I left I had argued with her over something stupid. I called her a bitch and slammed my bedroom door. When I knew she was asleep I took my bags, stuffed them into my cheap minivan and hit the road. By 3 am I was out of Colorado. People called me, but it's dangerous to drive while on the phone, so naturally I ignored them all day long. I didn't call back either. They didn't matter. To my surprise Kyle had called me the most, but I didn't notice that for years. The last time I had seen him he had smacked me in the face and called me a fag after I tried to kiss him at a graduation party. I blocked his number. I left everything behind and didn't look back. Sometimes I wonder what would've happened if I had just stayed a little longer. I've lost so many years to LA. I wonder what Kyle had to say to me.

Los Angeles was massive. I was a small fish in a huge pond that had come to learn that the world didn't revolve around me. I came into the city with high ambitions. The plan was to get my business degree, get into the marketing industry and get rich and famous with my genius ideas. LA was nothing like home. It was nothing but hot pavement and smoke filled skies. The place smelled like piss. The classes were intense and full of rich students who came from parents who were agents or producers. Friendships didn't exist, only networking. No one spoke to you unless they wanted something from you. The weather was hot, it was like hell on earth.

The first year was lonely and frustrating. It felt like no one respected me. It turns out people didn't owe me anything. I had this rude awakening that I wasn't special, I was just like any other asshole trying to make it big. My confidence ran thin and nothing seemed to matter anymore. Business in LA was no place for a boy from a little mountain town in Colorado. I tried to persevere for one more year but my second Christmas there broke me.

There I was in my tiny little dorm room with the air conditioner on, eating a cold ham sandwich. Everyone else had family to visit while I had no one. I was watching TV when a Christmas commercial came on. There were four little boys building a snowman together and running inside to drink hot chocolate. The commercial was about Duracell batteries, somehow. The commercial reminded me of home. I lost all composure and started crying. I just wanted to go home. I wanted to see the big white mountains in the sky again. I wanted to feel the cold again. I wanted to see the stars over the trees again. I wished I hadn't left at all. I needed to go home. So I called Kenny's house phone. I was lucky he picked up. I explained everything to him and headed home.

Kenny picked me up from the Airport and drove me back into town. A sense of nostalgia washed over me, the town looked just the same as I had left it. There was a new building or house here and there but it was just as I remembered it.

“Do you think my Mom will be happy to see me?”

Kenny blinked at me and cocked his head.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Did- don't you remember?”

“Remember what? What happened?? Take me to my house!”

“But- Eric. It's-.”

“What?”

Suddenly I spotted the street my house was on.

“ Pull over!” I pulled out my old house key and rushed out towards home.

Kenny pulled over and tried to run after me without slipping on the ice. Oh gosh the cold air felt heavenly. The mountains were right where I left them. It was so good to be back home. I unlocked the door and-

“Mom!!” I cried out

The house was empty.

“Mom?” I called out with less enthusiasm. I hadn't seen this place empty since I was a baby. It looked like how we found it when I was only 3 years old and my Mom had just moved in. The walls were empty, there was an imprint of where the couch should be, and where that big fat TV was, and-

“Oh Cartman! It's so nice you could visit! How was California?” Rang out a familiar voice. I turned to see Kyle's Mom.

“Did. . .did she move away?”

Her smile dropped, “Oh Eric hunny, didn't you get the- oh you don't know! We tried to call you.”

“About what?” I walked outside to talk to her. Kenny stood behind me with a sad look on his face.

She stepped forward and grabbed my hands.

“Eric, sweetie, your Mom died two weeks ago.”

I stared blankly at her as my stomach dropped. At first I didn't react. I repeated the words in my head to try and understand them but they still left me confused.

“She was missing for a couple of days, and when we tried to call her or knock on the door she wouldn't answer. The police picked the lock to her house and let me check on her.” Tears flooded her eyes.

“What happened?” I mumbled, bewildered.

“I don't know, I found her in bed and she was dead. I didn't see any drugs or anything that could have killed her. It's like she just died in her sleep.”

“Oh.” Was all that could come out of me. I felt completely numb at that moment. All the sunshine in me was gone. I came back here to be happy but everything I was coming back to wasn't there.

“Are you alri-”

“Oh well look who came back in town!” A voice squawked out from behind me. I turned around and regretted it. It was none other than Mr.Garrison. I couldn't believe he was still breathing. I wish he wasn't.

“Hello Mr.Garrison.” I mumbled

“How was California? Huh?”

“I dropped out.”

“Oh so you quit!?” He chuckled harshly. He leaned against his cane and cackled like a fucking hyena. I glared at him.

“Yes I quit ok!! I'm a fucking good for nothing quitter! Are you happy!!!”

“ I told you, you weren't cut out for California!! You really thought you were somethin’ huh? You just thought you could just pack up your things, go to Cali-fucking-fornia like all the other dumbass liberals and make your dreams come true!? Well guess what! The world doesn't revolve around you bigshot!!”

He stabbed his finger at my chest. I winced and growled.

“You ain't shit Eric Cartman. And you'll never amount to anythin. I was like you once you know, a hot shot. Serves me right for thinkin mountain town hicks like us can get famous. You're best bet at gettin on television is becoming a fat-ass r*tard*d

hoarder for everyone to point and laugh at.”

I shoved him to the ground and punched him.

“SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!” I screamed and hit at him hoping I'd knock his brains out.

I attempted to choke him out but Kenny ripped me away from him. He grinned at me as blood fell down his nose while Ms.Broflovski helped him up.

“Hit a nerve there didn't I?” He taunted and chuckled. I ran inside and ran back into the empty house. I took a moment to breathe before I sat down and stared around at the room quietly, trying to remember how the place had looked. I thought about the buzz of the TV and the cheap ass cakes I ate every day. I glanced at the kitchen. In my mind I remembered the smell of freshly baked cookies and bacon. It was weird, all my good memories about my Mom were about food. I would watch her cook so I could remember to do it on my own when she was too drunk to cook food for me. Well, when I put it that way it sounded sad, but the food was good. Was that it? Just food and treats. Was there anything else to our relationship? Everything else I felt about her was resentful.

I looked upstairs and walked up. I went into her room and looked around. Nothing out of the ordinary. No suicide note. No drugs. No alcohol. Not a single thing that could have caused her to die. I hated the answer. It was just unsatisfying. She just died for no fucking reason. How lame is that!?? I glanced at the closet where I knew the sex toys were. I left the room before my brain could linger on the upsetting memories I had buried away. It was better not to think about it.

I walked to my room, it was empty. Those assholes gave away my childhood toys!! My Clyde frog! My mega men. My sock puppet. It was gone and all that was left was this empty shell of a room. I looked at my door, playing back the night I left. I remembered the last thing I said to her.

“Eric, are you sure you want to leave for college?? You could wait a little while, you're still young.”

“Stop trying to guilt me into staying at home with you!!”

“Don't raise your voice at me!”

“Then stop treating me like a fuckin baby!! You're so afraid of being by yourself it's fucking pathetic!!”

“Eric- please-”

“JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU LITTLE BITCH!! I'LL DO WHATEVER I WANT!!” I slammed the door in her face and ignored her crying.

I'll never get to talk to her again.

She's dead and the last thing I did was call her a bitch and slammed a door at her face. God I'm an asshole.

I walked back to the living room in a tired daze,Kenny looked at me with those big hazel eyes of his. I fell to my knees and couldn't handle it all anymore. I curled up on the floor and choked out into tears. I sounded pathetic. I felt like I was a 10 year old kid crying and kicking on the floor because he didn't get what he wanted. I was 10 years old again, throwing a fit. I wanted to go back. I didn't do my childhood right. I want it back!! I want my Clyde frog!! I want my Terrance and Philip!! I want Chef!!! I want my Cheezy Poofs and my Snacky Cakes!!! I want my Swiss Colony Beef log and Christmases with presents and snow and food. I WANT MY MOM!! I fucking hated her but at the same time I wanted more than anything was crawl into her lap and cry until she hugged me and fixed everything.

But she didn't come back. She would never come back. I took it all for granted and now I was stuck here to face being an adult. I felt Kenny pull me into his arms and squeeze me tight. I hid my face in his shoulder and cried for an hour. I couldn't tell if I was grieving or tired. I felt like a tired little baby in need of a nap. So that's what I did. I fell asleep in Kenny's arms and dreamed about her. In my dreams she was making chocolate buttered waffles and everything was okay. I didn't want to wake up. But I would have to eventually.

[ioifan]

since brokeback mountain is gaining a bit of attention on social media again and i have grown to love instead of cringe at my old writing i would love to share a piece of review i did in my sophomore year of college for my film class!

The 2005 film Brokeback Mountain, directed by Ang Lee, features lead actors Jake Gyllenhaal and Heath Ledger in career solidifying roles that challenge viewers to reconceptualize what it means to be a modern cowboy. Though stereotypes serve as the vehicle in which the characters Ennis Del Mar (Ledger) and Jack Twist (Gyllenhaal) are introduced to the audience, the ideas of love and shame are stripped of normalcy because identity and the complexities of life are brought into focus instead of heartbreak. Though the timing for this film’s release may not seem out of place historically, cowboy culture was left shocked and bewildered.

Though Brokeback Mountain tackled subjects unremarkable when examined independent from one another, it became a perfect storm of uniqueness. Jack and Ennis meet after taking on a job for the summer, herding sheep on Brokeback Mountain. The days were hard and exhausting, as to be expected of the job, but the solitude of the mountain allowed the two men to form their own sphere of existence. This unexpected bond awkwardly awakens feelings for each other, rapidly evolving into something more than friendship. The summer ends with isolated lovers parting ways, back to reality where Ennis is set to marry a woman (Michelle Williams), while Jack moves on to work the rodeo circuit, finding a bride of his own (Ann Hathaway). As the monotony of marriage erodes each character’s misplaced hope for contentment, hope seems trivial and unwarranted; life is simply “life”. However, married life finds relief when Ennis receives a letter from Jack, wanting to see him again after four years pass. The mountain seems to deceptively tether Jack and Ennis to true intimacy. Deception wears many faces in the years to come with everyone playing victim and villain alike. It seems as though all spouses want to ignore what happens on the mountain, but marriages are not innately built for four to endure and leave unharmed. Ennis and Jack have their own form of true intimacy, bar beyond the confines of sex and monogamy; as such, breakdowns and fights replace passionate with grief. Each encounter is more devastating than the last, simple yet complex.

Brokeback Mountain has been on my watchlist for years, but never found time for. It is definitely a film I wish I had taken the time to view sooner, but wish I had known how hard it would be to watch more than once. I cannot un-know how violent beauty can be, how beautiful a cold mountain can be. Brokeback Mountain shocked me thoroughly, even after the third viewing. There was always something that made me gasp, close my eyes as though each seen plastic, and cry for fictional characters who walk among the living. Maybe I am just an emotional person, but it is more likely that this film was perfectly juxtaposed between hope and trauma. Ennis was always very violent, picking fights with people he would randomly meet, with Jack, and even with himself. Ledger seems to have a legacy of pain, both in his craft and personal life. I am not sure you can fake that level of profound pain. I no longer think of Ledger as an acting genius, but addicted to the drug of self-deception. He knew he was unhappy with his life and longed to be with the person he was intrinsically bound to, his daughter Matilda. Ledger was a tapestry of art and real life. Always unraveling, life never holds anything constant except uncertainty. Ennis was just a cowboy who tried his best to play the part he knew; Ledger ‘s life seemed to follow suit.

Gyllenhaal deserves praise for his take on Jack Twist, but I did not go to bed thinking about his place in my bewildered psyche. Identity moratorium was sadly inevitable after viewing Brokeback Mountain, though I see little of myself in each character..

Ennis seemed to be a shell of a “family” guy- the broken cowboy with a heavy heart. I feel every ounce of being a teenager with far more levity. Jack, on the other hand, was ready to take love in all forms presented, yet never at all. Jack embodied the rodeo to Ennis’ mountain. Jack may have offered Ennis love, proclaiming his desire to spend the rest of his life with him, desperate for passion and validation. Though the men may have loved one another, reality cannot replace the abiding intimacy afforded by the mountain’s protective bubble. My experience with Brokeback Mountain was heartbreaking, to say the least. Never being able to be with the person you truly connect with is terrifying as though the world is never on your side.

I thought the cinematography done by Rodrigo Prieto was perfection. Always beautiful and well suited with daunting openness. In the beginning of the film when Jack and Ennis are herding sheep for the summer, the mountains of Brokeback are gorgeous. It was surrounded by tons of greenery, horses and sheep. Blue and starry skies. Everything you might think a cowboy would want in the mountains of Brokeback. It fit the blossoming love that was in the very beginning stages of Jack and Ennis’ relationship. It was fresh and young and something you get butterflies seeing on screen. Every time they went back to Brokeback and the same skies were there and it reminded me of when they were once young cowboys.

Do I think this film is suited for everyone? No. This is far from a romance film about cowboys who have a dramatic love story. Terrifying beauty is not everyone’s cup of tea. Do I think everyone should see this film? Yes, even if it is just once. This film is a journey and can hold cumbersome power over you. I see why this film is iconic, not only for the LGBTQ+ community, but for film in general. From the cinematography to the plot, if you are into layers, you would be able to understand the themes of Brokeback Mountain are human, not sexual. Ennis is seemingly still alive in this review, as I cannot quit this film, no matter how much I try.

[peemil]

☕evangelion 😳

y'all are killing me

the more time i spend apart from this show, the more i find myself kind of hating it shsjhl;hjsdhjso;d. i am somehow now in an even worse place mentally than i was when i first watched evangelion but even so i am NOT letting myself fall in the same traps of woobifying shinji and excusing the behaviors i shared with him and vice versa.

starting with my most general take, i don't like the rebuilds. like, at all. granted, i haven't seen 3.0 + 1.0 yet, and i will be avoiding spoilers until there is an official english translation, but i feel like the rebuilds are kind of what you get when you listen a little too hard to people who didn't get the psychological parts of eva and spent the latter half of the series wishing it would go "back" to being a regular mecha anime (which it never was in the first place). the rebuilds lack a lot of the same internal conflicts that drive the characters (especially shinji), and higher budget means the rebuilds can be more direct in their storytelling and less reliant on alternative ways of communicating ideas, which causes the rebuilds to lose some of the avant-garde present in the original series. as a result, it's jarring to see some of the attempts made at this in 3.0, and painful to watch these attempts fail, as they have no real precedent in the film series. the best way for me to explain the rebuilds is they feel like sterilized and polished, but hollow versions of the original anime series. but maybe i'm just biased, because none of the things i liked about the original are present in the films.

on to more minutiae... i've said it once and i'll say it again, asuka langley soryu is a LESBIAN and there's nothing anyone can do to make me stop reading her character in this way. the only male characters she is depicted as having any romantic feelings towards in the series just (unintentionally) so... comphet. her obsessive flirting with kaji is rooted in her need to prove her worth as an adult, i.e., to prove to others that she is something she inherently is not. plus, he's older, and he's conventionally attractive, so if she didn't have feelings for him (or at least publicly perform having feelings for him), she'd be out of her mind, right? asuka is also someone shown to pursue connections out of convenience (literally citing it as her primary reason for wanting to be friends with rei), and any intimacy she shares with shinji (i.e., their kissing scene) is done only because 1. she's bored 2. shinji is the closest person available. i find the notion that she's a tsundere hiding her real feelings for him laughable, because we've seen what asuka is like around people she genuinely likes and whom she wants to like: the hatred she shows for rei takes a different form from her hatred for shinji: whereas asuka is disgusted by shinji, she is resentful towards rei. her resentment towards rei curiously begins only after rei rejects asuka's offer of friendship, so i am inclined to believe that asuka's feelings of anger when she sees rei receives more respect than she believes she does at nerv are compounded by the fact that she wanted to like rei and have a connection with rei, but wasn't permitted to do so. we also get to see how asuka acts around the one person with whom asuka is able to form a meaningful connection with, whom she lets herself trust and open up to: hikari. asuka actually has fun with hikari and feels safe enough around her to not only seek refuge with her and her family in her time of need, but also to admit that her rage is mostly towards none other than herself. her behavior towards shinji is nothing like her behavior towards either of these characters, but it is not much different from her behavior towards kensuke and toji, two other boys in her class, so maybe... maybe she just doesn't like boys? lol. i'm aware that asuka is genuinely homophobic and awful in the episode 24 drafts, and that it was in no way, shape, or form the writers' intent to turn that into some sort of commentary on internalized homophobia. but with the canon footage that did get animated, i'm really not sure how else i'm supposed to analyze this aspect of her character.

similarly, i don't appreciate how many fans will treat headcanoning shinji as gay instead of bi is somehow "bi erasure." number one, shinji's behavior and attitudes towards the women around him is actually kind of appalling, so i wouldn't necessarily want to use his objectification of and acts of violence against their bodies as particularly strong evidence that he's genuinely attracted to women. number two, of course a show about a young man made in the late 90's is going to try to portray the people to whom he is attracted primarily as women. partially because they can't start from the get-go with him having his teenage sexual awakening with another male—for a mainstream anime, that wouldn't be profitable—and partially because this is an anime and showing women and girls in a sexual light is profitable. and given shinji's role of audience surrogate, of course he is going to be the one doing the ogling and sexualizing because he is us, and after all, it is the viewer who wants to see the anime tiddies, no? shinji's more sexual encounters with the women in his life are always either deeply awkward, uncomfortable, and even unnatural, or they completely obectify and commodify the bodies of the women in question. for this reason, i have always seen these moments as existing without genuine attraction: only either confusion (because these situations really are quite blatantly sexual) or simply a disingenuous performance of the attraction shinji thinks he should be displaying, manifesting as the same objectification of women he has seen men exhibit for all of his life—it's little more than a mimicry of the bad behavior he has grown up watching, because that's what he thinks attraction towards women is supposed to look like. conversely, his actions with kaworu, while skittish, seem to come much more organically. shinji is constantly and consistently drawn to kaworu, in addition to being willing to open up to kaworu in ways he doesn't let himself with any other person. granted, kaworu is the only person to give shinji the love he desperately needs and craves throughout the entire course of the series, but the fact that kaworu is the first person shinji genuinely acts like a kid his age with a massive crush in a way that doesn't feel blatantly scripted around, as well as the fact that shinji goes on to feel more slighted by kaworu's perceived betrayal than any mistreatment he experiences from anyone in the whole course of the series (save for his literal father)... idk. sus lol

been awhile since i've done a proper rewatch of this show so i can't speak super generally since i unfortunately don't remember too much. one thing i will say though, i LOVE how the series is very upfront about the fact that shinji's loneliness and trauma (and loneliness and trauma in general) are going to be core themes in the series from the start. people say the first 6 episodes are slow just because they don't have as much action as some of the episodes in the middle of the series, but i remember speeding through them in one sitting because i wanted to understand more about shinji and his inner workings; i was fascinated by his psychology. people famously refer to evangelion as a bait-and-switch, and maybe that's true to a degree, because i don't think anyone really saw the shift to more trippy animation coming, but the psychological themes present in the latter parts of the series are still very present in episodes 1-4. i'm also amused by people who say they're "caught off guard" by the last four or so episodes, because the major shift towards being a show primarily about psychology really begins in episode 16, when eva unit 01 is consumed by leliel and shinji has to confront the "self within his self" for the first time in the train car of his mind. i know it begins as just another angel fight but like... guys... how did you miss that... episode 16, because it really is where this shift begins, is actually my favorite episode in the entire series. that, and it was where i was first introduced to this hegelian concept of each person functioning both as an actor or operator who carries out actions, as well as an audience perceiving and observing their actions, their thoughts, and themself. which, to a degree, solidifies the notion that anything and everything technically could be considered performance. it's made my work much, much easier and my day-to-day life much, much more dramatic.

[thexfridax]

Translated interview (with omissions)

The female gaze: An interview with Céline Sciamma

Michael Ranze, filmdienst.de, 2nd of November 2019

// Additions or clarifications for translating purposes are denoted as [T: …]. A couple of omissions in the first interview, but I provided links to existing articles with more information. I’ve also added extracts from two more interviews with Céline below. Aaaaand... I believe this is it for German Portrait interviews! 😅 //

A conversation with the French director about ‘Portrait of a Lady on Fire’.

The French director Céline Sciamma already garnered international attention with her debut film ‘Water Lilies’. She is now a regular at the big film festivals. Her recent film ‘Portrait of a Lady on Fire’ is a multi-layered love story between a female painter and a young noble woman, whom she has to paint.

Interviewer: Your first three films ‘Water Lilies’ (2007), ‘Tomboy’ (2011) and ‘Girlhood' (2014) are about the coming-of-age of female characters, about their search for identity, including sexual identity. Where does this great interest in the world view of young women come from?

Céline Sciamma: I was lucky enough to make films as a young woman and to talk about things that I know about and understand. That’s why my first three films were closely connected to the childhood and youth of the heroines, and their female identity. I’m also pursuing the same theme in my new film ‘Portrait of a Lady on Fire’, this time with grown women. In the other films there was always the desire for love, which is also self-discovery. Love is fully lived out this time – this creates some kind of dialogue. I am 40 years old – I now have to talk about these things. (laughs) [T: Also see here, here, here or here about her previous films]

I: But there’s also the theme of female solidarity, especially in ‘Girlhood’…

CS: Yes, indeed. The more my work develops, the more it deals with the theme of friendship, sorority, but also the ability to enjoy life to the fullest. This also includes solidarity, these small islands that women can establish together. My films open up the space for this idea, this is much more radical in ‘Portrait of a Lady on Fire’ than in my previous films.

I: But you also wrote the screenplay for André Téchiné’s film ‘Being 17’, where the two main characters are adolescent boys.

CS: That’s the same kind of work for me. It’s about creating characters without objectifying them, and to find access to their experiences. The female gaze is not only about filming women. It’s also about being aware about the images and representations. You have to pay a lot of attention, when you are inventing or composing something. Otherwise it becomes conventional, or you create characters that are empty. That applies to men and women. The male gaze is damaging for male representation in my opinion. I thought that it would be interesting for me to do it differently.

I: How did you work together with André Téchiné on the screenplay?

CS: This was the only time in my career as scriptwriter that I worked on the script with someone else. I admire Téchiné’s work. My first cinephile emotions are linked to his films. It was therefore a lot of fun to enter his matrix and get access to his thinking, on the one hand to participate, and on the other hand to support his goals. The fact that he wanted to do a film about youth motivated me to make him a young film director. [T: Also see here about her work on ‘Being 17′]

I: He is now 76 years old.

CS: Yes, exactly. He was 73, when we worked together. But it never felt like there was a huge age hierarchy between us. I admire him very much, he really fuelled my ambitions, we have a very intense relationship.

I: What do you like more: writing scripts or directing films?

CS: This has changed. I always liked the balance between the two, also the fact that I didn’t always have to follow my own wishes, but could immerse myself in another logic and worlds, and distract myself. But over the years I realised that I don’t want to lose any more time. It’s of course not a waste of time to work for others. But you sometimes have to put up with long project delays. For the first time in a long time I don’t have any screenplay assignments, and I like this feeling. But you never know what may happen. I was really blessed with some projects. For ‘My Life as a Courgette’, it just gave me joy to write a film for children. If something like that comes along again, I would do it immediately. [T: Also see here about her work on ‘My Life as a Courgette’]

[T: Omitted Q&A about the reasons why she did a period film, but see here, here or here]

I: What are the challenges when you recreate a period, which was so long ago?

CS: You have to do a lot of research, especially about the situation of female artists. You really have to dig deep, because no one wrote a thick book on it. The other challenge was the collaboration with others. That is the beauty of cinema. The costume designer does research about that period, so does the set designer. This is my third collaboration with Thomas Grézaud (he also worked with Sciamma on ‘Girlhood’ and ‘Tomboy’, editor’s note). He always suggests something, which is then incorporated into the film. When it is about historic films, then accuracy is very important. But sometimes it’s also interesting to consider what is not in the picture. For example, there is not much furniture. We built the few pieces ourselves, out of wood and with cotton. It was more about believing in cinema, in action, in clear lines.

I: So you work closely with the costume and set designer?

CS: Yes, there is a close coordination. I wanted some kind of uniform for the characters, for example. We then looked at various costumes. They were not supposed to be out of silk but rather heavy fabrics, which restrain the actresses, force them into their roles and at the same time describe the sociology of their characters. I also wanted pockets for the costume of the female painter, even though others told me it would be anachronistic or too modern. Fact is that pockets existed back then and that they vanished in the 19th century. The ‘femme bourgeoise’ [T: middle-class woman] was invented, and fashion went backwards. I liked the idea of this silhouette, which was even accurate. That is our job: We try to give a presence to these women from back then.

[T: Omitted Q&A about how the actresses were recruited, it mentions the circulation of gazes between the three, the physical and psychological contrast between Adèle and Noémie, Céline describes them both as strong, intense, determined and courageous actresses, she also wanted to create an iconic and fresh couple; see here or here]

I: You spoke about the ‘circulation of gazes’. Between the actresses there are short and long gazes, shy and curious ones. How did you conceptualise this ‘ballet of gazes’?

CS: That was already in the script, especially the rhythm of the gazes, when they look at each other. The actresses were very much aware about that. It’s not about dictating what they have to do. But it’s rather a way to start the conversation, to show their connection or communicate their intentions. They have to ‘dance’. I call it a collection of gazes. As you already said: We have this gaze, we have that gaze. It changes with every scene. And it shows how good the actresses are. If it’s in the script, then the actresses are very, very good [T: this was weirdly worded]. Otherwise they might suggest something that doesn’t fit. You have to see straight away that they desire each other. And it’s brilliant how they do it.

I: I liked the beginning of the film, when Marianne jumps out of the boat to retrieve her large case. A woman isn’t supposed to do that, so it shows that Marianne is different than others…

CS: And the film also shows that: She is not a woman who follows the rules. She jumps into the water to get her things. The important thing is: The film also jumps into the water. The camera also dives in, we swim with her. That’s two pieces of information: This character will be an active one, and the film will join this jump. [T: Also see here]

I: There are only women on the island…

CS: No – we just don’t show the men.

I: The island seems like a refuge or even a utopia.

CS: Yes – that’s true. In cinema, it is about what you decide to show in the picture. I didn’t want to show men, because then it would have been about the pressure and dominance that existed back then and still does. We now look at what is possible, at the potential of the women. You can also call it utopia, but these are not imaginary futuristic dreams, it is based on life experiences, maybe on a higher level, if it was more based on reciprocity. And political utopia – there has to be a place, where the economy doesn’t determine everything, where there is no sexism or racism. These places exist, in families, communities, maybe in a city. This culture has to grow. This utopia arises from experiences that we make and transform to ideas.

[T: Omitted Q&A about the cinematography of Portrait, but see here or here]

—

Interview with director Céline Sciamma (extracts)

Sportello745, moviebreak.de, 9th of October 2019

[…] Interviewer: In your debut film ‘Water Lilies’ you contrast the uncontainable, awakening hormones of the main character with a perfectly synchronised swimming team. In which way does the landscape characterise the emotions in your new film?

Céline Sciamma: In Water Lilies, it was about what’s on the surface and what’s hidden below. I guess, even with synchronised swimming it’s less about control but more about what you don’t see and the effort you have to make underneath. I don’t think I rely on symbolism too much, I get often asked about the meaning of, for example, colours. That’s not really how I think, I try to embody certain things and be less metaphoric. But maybe in this film the tension is between love and art and beauty. The landscape does fit into this tension very much. [T: Also see here or here for Water Lilies]

I: Did the paintings that you researched have any influence on the language of the film, and if yes, which paintings in particular?

CS: Yes, they did. It was especially the self portraits of female painters, because these pictures were quite different from what you would expect. There was a specific painting, which was actually not from the 18th century but from the 17th century, it was from a woman called Judith Leyster, a [T: Dutch; also see here]. Her work was misattributed to her husband. In the picture, you can see her painting, she smiles, you can see her teeth. I have never seen something like that. It helped me to be courageous, which means it made us invent something new and not be scared of being unconventional. That is exactly the kind of female contribution to art history: When Virginia Woolf writes, she reinvents literature, she revolutionises it [T: also see here or here]. When Chantal Akerman films ‘Jeanne Dielman’, it is a revolution for cinema [T: also see here, here or here]. The voices of women are not only limited to ‘Hey, we have a little story to tell’, but it is always about reinventing art. It is about creating something new instead of the same old. […]

I: When did Marianne paint the eponymous ‘Portrait of a Lady on Fire’ in your opinion, shortly after her encounter on the island or many years later?

CS: I think, she painted it a couple of years later. That is her memory. When I commissioned the painting, I originally wanted to have 20 frames, maybe even that Marianne’s whole work is based on this moment. A kind of ‘usual suspects’ situation, where everyone reappears. But this moment [T: at the bonfire] is definitely the matrix for what she will do next, and I think, [T: the painting] was made years later […].

I: At the end of the film the love story between the two is ‘concluded’. On the one hand, the ending is bittersweet, because the love has been immortalised in a painting. On the other hand, it is also quite sad, we see Héloïse crying. It felt as if this great piece of art, which tells the story of the two women, can never be exchanged for the love that was lost. What do you think?

CS: We tried to spark a dynamic where the end of the love story doesn’t mean that they spend eternity together or die. It was about getting rid of the sentiment that the victory of love is mutual possession. Their love for each other made them curious about love itself and art. For me, the last scene addresses how art deeply affects us and how love makes us more emotional towards beauty. […] At the end, Héloïse feels the music she would never have felt if she had not loved. Love as curation for being curious about the future, about art, about beauty. That for me is a positive dynamic, even though it is heartbreaking, which was on purpose. At the end, both women are more open, and that is the dynamic of emancipation, which I love. And it is positive to talk about it.

—

Sciamma: ‘I want to show images of daily life that are missing’ (extracts)

Patricia Batlle, NDR.de, 29th of October 2019

Interviewer: You had a very lively screening of your film ‘Portrait of a Lady on Fire’. There were standing ovations from the audience, and there was an animated conversation with you and the lead actresses Adèle Haenel and Noémie Merlant. Were you surprised to be so warmly welcomed in Northern Germany?

Céline Sciamma: It’s funny because you are sometimes cautioned that other countries have a less welcoming culture, but not to take it personally. So you prepare for different types of audiences. But then the reception in Hamburg was really, really warm. It doesn’t surprise me, because I believe that film is a nation, that film culture is unique and unites the viewers [T: PORTRAIT NATION FTW]. A cinema is sometimes like a country. I travel around a lot with the film and I feel the warmth, this fire in the cinema across countries. […]

I: You address topics like menstruation and abortion that are rarely shown in cinema – especially not in love films.

CS: Yes, why is that? That is crazy! This clearly is part of the pleasure of the film, part of its political intention. To show images that are missing, although these are images of daily life. Our story should put our audience on an emotional rollercoaster, where the images have an unusual relationship with the story and are surprising. That is the power of new images.

I: Four women play an important role in your film, men are on the sideline. The names of the women stand out all the more. The self-confident painter is called Marianne. The name is synonymous for the Republic of France – was this on purpose?

CS: I have to admit: I didn’t think about that. I didn’t think about the Marianne of the Republic, when I wrote the script. The names of all my characters are related. In my debut film ‘Water Lilies’ my main character was called Marie, in ‘Girlhood’ she was called Marieme, and here she is called Marianne. It’s like a thread that runs from film to film. But it’s true: It is France! I like the fact that you noticed this. (laughs) […]

—

Articles:

https://www.filmdienst.de/artikel/38732/interview-celine-sciamma-zu-portrat-einer-jungen-frau-in-flammen

https://www.moviebreak.de/features/interview-mit-regisseurin-celine-sciamma/item?item=2

https://www.ndr.de/kultur/film/Sciamma-ueber-Portraet-einer-jungen-Frau-in-Flammen,frauinflammen106.html

Picture sources: [1], [2]

[rwbyremnants]

=Chapter 36

In no time, the three of them were in the backyard. Ruby looked nervous to the point of nauseated, but she was trying to be good about masking her nerves. And failing.

“What’s going on?” Yang finally hissed.

“Yeah, and why am I here?” Weiss asked. “Seriously, I thought you would only want your sister’s advice.”

The small girl squirmed, fidgeting with her fingers. “Well… jeepers, I think you’re really swell, Weiss, and you’re so nice to me! And you helped me and Yang start talking again, so it seems to me like you’re great at advice, y’know? A-and I thought it made sense to ask you! But if you don’t want me to ask your advice about stuff anymore, that’s fine! Really!”

“Why don’t you tell us what the problem is first?” Yang chuckled, cuffing her around the chin.

“Okay. I… yeah.” Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself. “I d-don’t know what to do about Homecoming!”

“Huh?”

“The dance! Remember? The… one you asked Weiss to?”

Rolling her eyes, she said, “I know what Homecoming is. What’s your beef with it?”

“Penny. She asked me, and I kinda… shot her down, but I didn’t mean to! She just really caught me off my guard - since I don’t even think girls can go with other girls. But now she kinda thinks I don’t want to go.”

“Ohhhhh,” Weiss breathed, nodding in understanding. “Yeah, I remember that now.”

“Right!” Pulling at her hair, she started pacing as she went on, “And now I wanna make it up to her in a really big way! But… this isn’t my thing, y’know? And I don’t even know if I like her in that way, but she seems to have caught it from you guys.”

Unable to help herself, Yang burst into laughter, doubling over and slapping her knee. Ruby pouted, and Weiss patted her arm gently until the Dragon could manage speech again. “CAUGHT! Like it’s… the goddamn measles!”

“Well, she did! Seeing so many girls dating? Y’know?”

“Ohhhh… oh boy, that was great.” Straightening up and wiping her eyes, she said, “You’re a big tickle, Sis!”

“Forget her,” Weiss sighed in mild annoyance, patting Ruby’s shoulder now. “I think it’s very nice that you want to go with Penny… assuming there’s no fella who’s caught your eye?”

“Not really,” she admitted with a little shrug.

“Then there’s no reason you two can’t go as friends. If she wants to think of it as a date, that’s fine, right? Just… tell her you have bad breath if she wants to make out.”

Yang snorted. “You don’t even have to do that. Okay, here’s what you’ll do…”

As she whispered into Ruby’s ear, Weiss tried to busy herself with staring off into the clouds. The whispering went on, and on, and on, and Ruby only nodded and breathed a little “Ohhhh” or “Yes!” to indicate she was listening. Eventually, she decided the two sisters needed this time to conspire and made her way back into the house, knowing she would scarcely be missed. They could always track her down later.

“Why the long face, Little Weiss?”

She squirmed. “My father was the last one to call me that.”

Kali frowned, setting the pie that had just come out of the oven down in the middle of the dining room table to cool. “It will never be uttered again.”

“No, no, I… it’s alright. You mean it very differently than he did.”

“Naturally.” She came over to drape her arm around her shoulders. “What was the matter before you came in here, then?”

“Nothing, actually. Today has been… very nice. All up and down the map! I just felt a little left out trying to keep up with Ruby and Yang. And I know that’s stupid,” she hurried ahead, making sure she got her words in before Kali’s rebuttal.

“Of course it isn’t stupid. Erroneous, maybe. But your feelings are your feelings.” When Weiss still didn’t look convinced, she guided her over and sat her in a chair. “You’ve had Yang all to yourself all day, and now you don’t, so you’re sad. But that will pass.”

Nodding, she stared down at the table for a second. Then something strange came to her; something she wasn’t sure she should say. But she began with, “Mrs. B?”

“Kali,” she corrected gently.

“Kali. Um… I know Blake has been weird about it, but… I think it’s a kick that you and my mother are becoming friends. And I can tell she’s really happy, too.”

The older woman blinked a few times before her lips twitched into a small smile. Weiss knew that one; adults always smiled like that when their children were being good in a “cute” way. “Thank you.”

“Ugh… fine, nevermind.”

“No, no, I mean it.” She took Weiss’s hand and squeezed it gently. “I actually do appreciate you saying so. You’ve already pointed out how strange it would be if I stopped flirting with you to flirt with your mother, and I can’t disagree, but… as of right now, I really am just happy to be there for your family. And having your support in that only makes me even happier.”

Allowing her lips to twitch into a smile, she breathed in relief, “Good.” Then she patted the back of Kali’s hand. “Where’s Blake, anyway?”

“Out with Emerald and some of the others. I’m not sure. Would you care to help me with my pasta? It’ll be time to get dinner going soon.”

“Yeah! I mean, we have to pull our weight around here.”

“That wasn’t why I asked,” she laughed, glancing up as Willow entered. “Ah, good ‘morning’ in the afternoon.”

But Weiss’s mother was busy breathing in deeply, eyes closed in bliss. “That… smells… divine.” The other two only giggled in bemusement as they all headed into the kitchen.

------------------------------------------

The rest of their Saturday was fairly uneventful and dull, but highly pleasant. Yang and Ruby stayed for dinner, the latter mentioning that Uncle Qrow had only been planning to open some cans of tuna for them that night - which made Kali turn her offer into an outright command that she not leave only to head toward such a disappointing fate. Blake turned up halfway through and wolfed down some food, making some excuses not to hang around with them more and heading up to bed.

When Weiss tried to ask what that was about later, she only whispered that she wanted to be left alone. She almost felt like pressing the point - since they had been making such great progress lately. But Blake insisted that nothing was wrong, she just wasn’t up to speaking a great deal. Nothing more to be done from that point onward.

The next day, Weiss strongarmed Yang into getting together with Pyrrha so they could all study again. The redhead was one of the most patient teachers she had ever known - and she wasn’t even an actual teacher - but even she seemed to find Yang’s inability to grasp certain concepts a bit taxing from time to time. However, through dogged determination and their combined efforts, they all managed to help prepare Yang for the upcoming test.

Not that Yang’s frequent bribes of kisses helped. Weiss only succeeded in fighting her off most of the time, and no amount of throat-clearing from Pyrrha seemed to put her off it. At least she seemed to be moderately less queasy about things like that now.

Which Weiss asked her about a bit later, when they were taking a break.

“Am I what?!”

“Are you interested in Cinder?” she asked again, voice steady and bald of any deception. “Honestly.”

Clearing her throat, Pyrrha smoothed her hand over her hair as they fished the bottle of milk from the refrigerator. Mrs. Nikos had made a fresh batch of cookies that would go nicely with that. “You’re wrong, Weiss. I… know how it looked, but I don’t have those sorts of feelings for women.”

“Then why do you look so nervous when I ask about it?”

“Because I- I’ve never been accused of liking someone!” she burst out anxiously. “Cinder’s affections feel so strange, I- my stomach twists into knots when she touches me, but not in the good way you’re implying. Not the way it does when I see Jaune smile in class. It’s more like I feel… afraid.”

“Alright, alright,” Weiss tried to reassure her, a hand raised as the other held the glass steady for Pyrrha to pour. “I didn’t mean to pry. Honest! But you know how it looked at the hospit-”

“Yes! Yes, I… I know. But surely you understand that I only wanted to… to make Cinder feel less wrong, less… oh…”

“Sad?”

Pyrrha nodded, setting the bottle back in the ice box. “Sad. I’m sure you felt the same way I did. It simply isn’t right for a woman so full of confidence to be so broken. Don’t you agree?”

“I do. Seriously… that isn’t the part I’m wondering about. I knew why you did it. But once it was happening, and you were sitting next to her on the bed…”

“Yes.” Her wide eyes turned to Weiss. “What about it?”

“Then… you looked as if you were enjoying yourself. You just wished you weren’t.” Their gaze met, both of them uncertain. “Were you?”

The room fell silent for a few seconds. Pyrrha looked down into her glass of milk but didn’t respond, didn’t elaborate. Now Weiss felt awful for having brought it up at all. She was honestly hoping that a little gentle nudging might help Pyrrha come clean, or at least settle any fears the two of them might have been wondering about. Instead, it just seemed to awaken them afresh.

“Pyrrha, I’m really sorry if-”

“Hey, what’s taking you two cats so long?” The instant Yang stumbled into the room, she sensed the bleak atmosphere in the room and flinched back. “Whoa… why do I feel like I goofed in coming down here?”

Pyrrha favoured her with a practiced smile. “It’s nothing. Just getting distracted; I’m sorry. Here, take your glass; we… we won’t have to carry so much this way.”

She took it, shooting a confused look at her girlfriend - who had no great idea of how to respond exactly. She wanted to make amends for pushing too much. Even now, she still wanted to know if Pyrrha really didn’t like Cinder in a way beyond friendship, or if she was merely afraid of enjoying those frequent advances and wanted to cover those feelings so completely that they would cease to exist for all intents and purposes. If so… lying to herself was only going to hurt her in the long run.

But most of that was speculation. And Weiss cared more about supporting her friend than digging for the truth. She just wasn’t sure how best to go about supporting her in this situation anymore.

------------------------------------------

Monday morning brought school, and even more confusion about everything. Blake had been quite sullen and distant again the night before, but that morning she was all sunshine and rainbows, telling Weiss she looked nice and that she hoped they would all have a nice day in class. Pyrrha also acted like nothing had happened between them the night before, just plastering on her patented “politician smile” and greeting everyone cheerfully. In contrast, the normally-chipper Ruby was walking around in a cloud of uncertainty, acting jumpy - as if someone would spring out from inside of a locker and demand to know her true feelings about Penny.

Life was kooky.

The only thing that did make sense was Yang being in a fantastic mood. Their skinny dipping session had seemed to ease a lot of her anxieties and sorrows about other situations - such as her mom, and the fate of the Dragons overall. She locked arms with Weiss often and they chatted about fun, light topics. It was just what they needed.

Unfortunately, Ruby didn’t make good on any of her plans that day. Weiss asked what they were but Yang remained tight-lipped; she said it would be much more fun as a surprise when it went into effect. But it seemed they weren’t going to get that surprise today.

They were going to get another.

“Hey, kiddo,” Qrow called out as he strode over from the parking lot, his white-and-grey suit standing out like a sore thumb on the campus full of boys in sweater-vests and tweed sportcoats, polo shirts and lightweight jackets. The wave was casual. Yang tensed, but Weiss tried to remain calm; she wanted to see how this might go.

“Hey, Uncle!” Ruby piped up, grabbing him up in a hug. “What’s up? Am I not catching the bus?”

“Not today. Gotta head over to a neighbouring town for a run. Need my copilot.”

Her smile only widened at the prospect. This girl really did seem to love living with him as much as Weiss loved having her own mother back in her life. “YAY! Road trip, road trip!”

“Pipe down,” he rumbled in his gravelly voice, tousling her hair. The girl only giggled. Then he glanced over at Yang, face becoming somehow yet more passive than the already-nonchalant expression of before. “Yang.”

“Qrow.”

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” Weiss shoehorned herself in, reaching out a hand. Hopefully, it might diffuse the tension. “Weiss Schnee.”

“Yeah. I know. Schnees have been runnin’ this town for years.” She drew back the hand an instant later. He hadn’t even glanced at it.

“Hey, lay off my girlfriend,” Yang warned him.

“Ooooh,” he breathed with both hands raised in false fear. “I’m shakin’. And shocked ya turned out just like your mom.”

Yang’s face darkened with anger. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Chasin’ skirts instead of chasin’ fellas. It’s…” He paused to choose his words carefully. “...a crazy coincidence, don’t ya think?”

“Mom doesn’t chase anybody. You know that. She doesn’t even go out anymore, she’s always working…” Her lips shut and she turned to march away, then thought better of it - but only enough to force herself to stand there with her back to Qrow and Ruby, arms folded over her chest and entire frame seething with barely-restrained rage.

“Sure, kiddo, sure. Been a while since I even talked to her.”

“That’s your fault. You picked your side, and you… you picked wrong.”

“Yang,” Ruby whispered, but Yang sighed in annoyance and she fell silent immediately.

“Really believe that, don’t ya?” he asked with a slight edge of biting humour. “Little spitfire. Too much of your mom, too much of your dad. Or maybe just enough.”

Folding her arms tighter, the Dragon grunted, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothin’. C’mon, Ruby.” But just as they began to stride away, Weiss hurried to circle around behind them, blocking their path. “Excuse us.”

“No.”

“Wanna try that again?”

“I said, ‘no’!” She stamped her foot as she went on, “You and Yang are going to talk, and if I have to… to kick you in the shins until you stay, I will! Don’t think I won’t!

Looking distinctly unimpressed, the man grunted, “Yang, do you wanna tug on your little girl’s leash here?”

However, Yang sighed in defeat, rubbing at one side of her face. “No… trust me, it’s not gonna make any difference. She gets something in her head and there’s no stopping her; we might as well accept it. What do you want us to do, Weiss?”

“Talk. Now. Is that really so crazy of me to ask? Really talk, don’t just say a bunch of mean things.” When nobody answered, she rolled her eyes and turned back to Qrow. “Let’s start with this: what did you mean by ‘just enough’ of her parents? I think you were going to say something nice.”

“You think all you want.” But of course she still wasn't moving. He rolled his eyes and said, “Fine, fine. I was gonna say… this is stupid.”

“No argument here,” Yang said with no hesitation. But before Weiss could protest, Qrow was actually answering – and it was a genuine answer.

“You got your mom's spunk. And that fierce loyalty that almost nobody really sees. She could have dumped you out in the streets, but even though she's about the worst candidate for a mother I've ever seen-”

“Forget this! I don't need to hear you talking about her like-”

“Wait, wait,” Ruby spoke up, finally seeming to catch on. She and Weiss shared a little smile. “I think… you should let him finish.”

Qrow looked a little ruffled by all the attention, but was trying to hide it behind a veneer of disinterest. “Like I said, she’s no prize as a mom. And she knew it. Always knew it; that’s why she gave you up in the first place. But after you two lost Summer… she took you in anyway. Takes a lot of guts to do something you don’t think you're any good at for somebody else because you’re the only name in the hat - and she’s been doin’ it for years and years. Because she doesn’t turn her back on family unless they give her a good reason. Real loyalty.”

Yang’s mouth just barely uttered an “Oh.”

“And as for Tai… he was kind of a flake, still don't know why he twenty-three skidooed on us. But he had a lotta love in his heart for his friends, family. Strong and didn’t know the meaning of ‘fear’. And, uh… I think you got a lot of both of ‘em. That’s all.”

“O-oh,” she breathed again, and this time Weiss noticed her eyes were watering. But she turned away, arms tightly folded over her chest. “Fine.”

“Yang,” Weiss insisted very quietly. But Yang didn’t budge. So she turned to Qrow and nodded at him. “Thank you for saying that.”

One hand waved it off while the other fell to his almost-niece’s shoulder. “Eh. C’mon, Ruby, we’re burnin’ daylight.”

“Okay,” she said quietly, favouring Weiss with an uncertain little smile. “See you later, okay?”

“Yeah. See you, Ruby.” Once they were out of earshot, Weiss stomped over to Yang and seethed at her back for a few seconds. “You could have at least said ‘thank you’ instead of ‘fine’.”

“Wh-why should I thank him? He just… still didn’t… what a big clod.”

Her arms wrapped around Yang’s waist, hugging her from behind as she shivered with unshed tears. “I know, I know. What a meanie, telling you that you’re loyal, and brave, and you have a big heart. How dare he!”

By that point, Yang was truly sobbing, and she turned to hold her girlfriend as close as she could, needing the creature comfort. Weiss did her best not to let her shock at this release show; just held her, petting over her back and hair and giving her the chance to have all those feelings. They stayed like that until Blake happened along and asked what the matter was, to which Yang completely sidestepped before rushing off to get home.

“That girl is just weird,” Blake remarked with a small shake of her head. “Mondo strange-o.”

“Yeah. So, um… do you think maybe her mom would let you come over now? Because it still seems like she’s being stubborn about houseguests. I think that stinks.”

Her shoulders raised up and down within her leather jacket, staring off after the blonde driving away on her motorcycle. Wistful but resigned. “Nah.”

“No?”

“Probably not. But I see her enough in school. And when the Dragons hang around, too, I guess.” When she saw Weiss squirm, she sighed and rolled her eyes. “You can stop now. I’m not a charity case, and I’m… okay with how things turned out. So enough with the babysitting. I’m fine, Weiss.”

She bit her lip for a second, indecisive. Then she finally hugged her around the middle. “I’m glad. Because I’m a Dragon now, too, remember? If you’re in pain, then I’m-”

“I get it,” she laughed weakly. “Let’s go home, you weird hug-monster.”

When they got there, they saw a few more bikes parked in the drive than were normal. And Weiss was just beginning to get familiar enough with her fellow gangsters to tell which bike was whose.

“Salem? And Vernal, and… and that is Cinder’s bike, I think, but she’s not even out of the hospital yet!”

Blake shrugged as she left her helmet on the handlebars. “We really need to get that new Shopkeeper’s set up. Somewhere.”

As she could have expected, Salem was seated in the living room with Kali and Sienna, discussing things in hushed voices. Weiss noticed her own mother was conspicuously absent; that would have worried her, but Kali looked far too calm for it to mean anything dire. Probably had her hidden upstairs.

“Ah, there are a few of our babies,” Kali said with a half-smile. “Good day at school?”

“High Dragon,” Weiss said with a slight bow in her direction. Salem barely tilted her head downward in recognition. “Where’s Cinder?”

Almost as if summoned, Cinder appeared from the dining room with a glass of iced tea. She was still heavily bandaged, and leaning on Emerald for support, but she looked a little more hale and hearty than she had the last time they saw her. Flirting with two women at once had done wonders for her complexion.

“Schnee,” she rasped with a slight smile, which Weiss returned.

“Fall.”

“Belladonna,” Blake grunted in mild annoyance at being ignored. Cinder smirked. “Now, what’s this all about? I didn’t know we were having a pow-wow. We would have told Yang.”

Salem waved a hand of dismissal. “This is not an official meeting, Blake. We’re discussing how to proceed.”

“He’s got a little too many higher-ups backing him to rub him out now,” Kali warned her, sounding as if she had already made that point before but was trying to rearrange her words so that they would be more convincing. Weiss’s gaze sharpened on the older women. “There’s no way it wouldn’t lead back to us - even if we asked the boys to do it instead.”

“Agreed. However, we may not have much choice; if we languish here while our enemy amasses yet more power, we may find the option vanishes from under our noses. He’ll be out of reach soon.”

Cinder spoke up, surprising them all. “Make it quick. Hell, I’ll do it - sweet revenge.”

“Wait, wait,” Weiss interrupted before Kali could speak again. “What is it we’re talking about? Who needs to be… you know.” She had a suspicion, but wanted to confirm.

Salem blinked at her a few times before she answered. “You haven’t heard? Our timetable has been… truncated.”

“I haven’t. I mean, apparently.”

For a moment, no one answered. Then Kali stood and crossed to her small television set, turning the dial to get it warming up. Within several seconds, they were staring at a black-and-white image of a newscaster with a handful of papers, gazing into the camera and trying to be serious without being dour, square jaw outlined in strong relief above his suit.

“...within these past weeks, with the fire at the abandoned building as further proof of criminal activity. Mr. Schnee says that he hopes his term in office as mayor will usher in a new age of peace and prosperity for the city of Vale. Now here’s Lisa Lavender with the weather…”

[septiembrre]

GG Headcannons

Tagged by @sothischickshe. Thanks, boo ;-) 

Ship: Beth x Rio -- in honor of our lovebirds day for GGWEEK2020

38. What is/are their love language(s)?

Haha, this has already made its way into one of my ficlets. I am also writing love languages into my next chapter of Better Be Mine. I can’t let it go!! I don’t actually care about them as tool for my irl relationship but it’s so easily identifiable for Brio. So my headcanons here... 

Rio’s love languages: 

Rio prefers to receive love through Quality Time. 

Rio shows love through Physical Touch. 

Beth’s love languages:

Beth prefers to receive love through Words of Affirmation.

Beth shows love through Acts of Service

49. Do they have differing political opinions?

Lol, @sothischickshe I can’t believe you tagged me in this!!!! Stop reading into the underlying vibes of Beth/Rio conversations in my fics! 

So the short version of my response is: yes. 

Now the absurdly long response:

I think about Rio & Beth a lot. I think about them talking about politicized issues quite a bit and imagine them in conversation with each other, teasing their beliefs apart. I like picturing these conversations instigated by hard parenting moments, things in the news, and things that come up as they finally start saying more words to each other. I think Rio could also just directly ask Beth about her political beliefs (I can’t necessarily picture the reverse yet).  

I think Beth is definitely more conservative than Rio -- and that’s an assumption I make because Rio’s a Latinx guy who probably came up with lack of access to wealth, and Beth as a white woman in the suburbs who formerly perceived herself/her family as wealthy. 

Beth’s characterization is complicated -- sometimes it really leans into Karen stereotypes/white woman privilege (lol, I cannot believe they literally had her show up at Gil’s workplace. I CRINGE!) and other times her beliefs and actions positively surprise me. Personally, in my fic writing, I love leaning into an idea that Beth grew up more working class/experienced neglect from her parents. I don’t want to romanticize these experiences but trauma around financial insecurity & complicated family relationships personally resonates with me. Ugh, I love writing about it, and it’s something that I read in her childhood that I like to lean into. That flashback in Season 2 really humanized Beth for me and it really made me love her. 

Okay, that was a major digression about class, but her life experience must lend itself to her political beliefs. She married into a wealthier family -- a family that owned it’s own business, was financially stable and just... a family perpetuating all the harmful effects of white heterosexuality and problematic gendered labor. And she conformed to it! Beth diminished herself to make herself fit there, to find safety and stability, to feel worth. So, I think her politics as an adult are also “safe” and probably echo the popular moderate trends in normative, toxic parent groups. Honestly, irl as a queer WOC who is anti-capitalist and been forced to be political for my own self-preservation and preservation of folks I love, I would not seek out PTA Beth’s friendship for multiple reasons, but I still have such a soft spot for Beth as a character?

That being said, Beth in the context of Annie & Ruby is obviously a different Beth. She loosens up in these spaces, she speaks her mind much more freely and in these scenes she comes as a normal, relatable human and she’s funny and prim and awkward. I think she comes across as somewhat liberal but not particularly educated on the issues/progressive (as is the way most characters are characterized on network TV). In this vein, she throws around a lot of white privilege and because some of it has gone un-interrogated in the context of the show... I’m not sure how intentional these vibes are or if it’s just par the course of it being white-owned network TV. Obviously characters are allowed to make mistakes and do shitty things, but I wish there was more on-screen acknowledgement of race in the show, and more intentional naming of things. In regards to Ruby + Beth in particular, I feel like an American white woman can’t have a life-long/multi-decade friendship with a Black woman and not be intentional about acknowledging racism/the specific misogynoir that Black women face. But the show hasn’t really acknowledged this aspect of Ruby + Beth’s friendship... 

*stares at the camera like I’m on The Office* 

It would be such a rich opportunity to discuss the challenges of interracial friendship if done well. Also, what an opportunity to delve into what it’s like to maintain friendships across the years (um, it’s hard!!! Even with people you love so much! Tell us more about Beth & Ruby’s ups and downs!). Beth and Ruby care about each other so much. When they and Annie get friendship beats -- I cry! Just make it make more sense! If the show filled in these blanks, it would be so great. Beth is obviously awakening~ definitely so in regards to her gender and her power and it could shift her political opinions? The show definitely poked a little fun at her crime “wokeness” by having her push back on cultural appropriation with those other PTA parents. Just by the exposure of her own relationships, Beth has experience with the lack of American safety net, our terrible, impoverishing health-care system, and inaccessibility of higher education. 

So, on one hand the show tries to do a thing where they equalize and don’t name race in the context of the three leads, “they’re three women”, but then they play on racial tropes with Beth and Rio’s relationship... I would like for their interracial relationship to be more overtly discussed/acknowledged outside of Rio’s somewhat performative call outs of Beth’s white lady fragility. 

So anyway -- Rio’s politics. We don’t know a ton about Rio so we don’t have too much textual evidence to go off of. But, we do know that Rio picks at Beth’s facade of white women fragility all the time -- sometimes with more hostility and other times simply teasing. When I write him, I give him my own experiences of having to become well-versed discussing politicized issues by the default of growing up experiencing racism and xenophobia. Rio, like any Mexican-reading man, has probably been told to “go back to his country” throughout his life -- and I can’t imagine it not politicizing him... Though, conservative Latinx exist and constantly shock me with their assimilationist audacity. *stares at the camera like I’m on the office again* But, idk, it’s something about their characterization of him of being so worldly~~ I imagine him being informed and up-to-date on the American news. I want him throwing around his power and $$$ by donating to local, progressive candidates of color. But, this is all projection~ :-) 

Ha, I feel like this was too critical of my forever otp (and on ship day to boot)!! And of Beth. The show has a habit of putting Beth through the physical and psychological wringer, and what I want instead is for our baby to be out of harm’s way, financially stable, divorced and independent, and also forced to interrogate the more harmful ways she deploys her whiteness. Lol, no one would watch my show. I know. 

I love Beth & Rio. They thrill me. And like many others in the fandom,  I often want to remove them from the GG canon and make them have harder/real/necessary conversations -- and generally converse about anything/everything because they barely do that on screen. I love the drama of their scenes, but my happy place is skipping a year ahead and building headcanons about what they could look like in actual relationship with each other... and one of these daydreams is Rio pushing Beth on her politics. I’m in an interracial relationship with a white woman myself -- and one of the things I love is endlessly discussing political issues and processing and growing together, and I like transplanting that to Brio in my fic perhaps too much, and it makes them OOC in my writing at times. 

Okay!!! This got long again. Thanks for tangling with this if you’ve gotten this far. There were a lot of assertions up there and I’m happy to unpack something further (but, thats at your own risk y’know. Clearly I don’t know when to stop when it comes to writing these ridiculously long posts).

[homesteadchronicles]

Kingdom Come: Writing Excerpt (“A Baptism by Blood”)

With my hiatus nearing its inevitable end, I’ve found myself looking for a means make writing natural again. Not having done so for a long time left me feeling anxious whenever I wanted to wipe off the rust and write my heart out. Thus, I want to try something new: writing prompts.

These won’t always be canon, these won’t always be excerpts from the actual project itself. They’re glimpses into the past, into the could-be future, into alternate timelines. They are what will allow me to expand my imagination and hone my skills until I feel confident transforming my outline into a draft once more.

For now, enjoy a snippet into the pasts of two protagonists: Royan and Oeden. Before friendship, before prophecies, before princehood...before the Vault.

___

EXCERPT DETAILS

Project: Kingdom Come Timeline: 5 Years Before Book One’s Beginning Character(s): Oeden “Halflife” Sincairn, Royan Godewine, Sigurd Godewine, Elyk Sincairn Content Warning: Blood, Warfare, Character Death, PTSD

___

The battlefield drank the felled king’s blood with vampiric patience. Each inch of soil sat agape, holes dug from the rush of boots and hooves sitting open like anxious mouths awaiting dinner. Common bodies could not satiate this thirst - the ground hungered for a royal feast.

Oeden could taste it, too. His tongue, his lips, his fingertips: each bore the gravemaker’s stain. Blood had baptized him, a life of innocence laid to rest. He had expected to die somewhen in this war. He had not considered death could take his youth but leave his life.

Royan, however, had not just lost life - he had taken it. And it, in turn, took its toll on his soul.

Hundreds of soldiers, Norian or otherwise, encircled them like a carrion banquet. Anointed armor lay entangled between the mangled limbs of their unnamed assailants. Whoever wished them harm had done well to ambush them. Swords, arrows, the clash of steel and Seals: all an unexpected prelude to this newfound cemetery. 

How had they survived when so many a knight met their end? I almost didn’t, Oeden realized. I wouldn’t have, if not for Royan.

Their king, however, had not his nephew’s fortune. Sigurd Godewine, once seated on the Frozen Throne of Norire, now sunk into a basin of bone and snow. The lance that stole his life still sat lodged in his torso, its tip stretching upwards as though it might break through this bodily barrier at any moment and continue its skyward course.

Yet, of the innumerable bodies of knights strewn about, none looked half as bad as the only survivor amongst them.

Royan shivered from a cold no winter could summon. His hands gripped the spear that pierced his uncle’s chest, the very thing that felled his family now allowing him to stand. What armor of his remained intact would soon rust from gore. Most remained in place, despite the casualties - a lost plate strap, the misplaced bracer.

But even through the blizzard, Oeden could see the shine of magic thrumming from Royan’s bared skin. He could feel it, the power a song that beckoned him. Oeden ignored the summons and approached Royan.

Mumbled apologies - or were they prayers? - fumbled from his mouth into unhearing ears. Noticing an unexpected presence, Royan spun about. Blue eyes froze upon recognition of a friend, a glare thawing into gladness. His knees buckled, tipped, spilled onto spoiled dirt. 

Royan crumbled, but Oeden caught him.

“Royan? Listen to me,” Oeden pleaded. When his requests went unheard, he yanked his liege’s helmet towards him. “Look at me, Royan. Not at him. At me.”

Royan’s gaze flickered away but once. He met Oeden’s eyes without thanks.

“There you are.” Royan’s face did not mirror the smile in Oeden’s tone. “You see me, right?” A pause, and then a nod. “Then hear me: I know you want to stay, think you need to, even, but we must leave. Now.”

His eyes followed a red tear trailing down the metal helm. Before there be no more blood to spill. The teardrop dripped off of the visor, both boys watching its descent, until it rippled across the back of Royan’s hand. Crimson waves could not drown the truth beneath: a Seal had surfaced on his flesh.

Not an hour ago, that skin had remained devoid of defect. Now, the Timekeeper’s mark made its home on his hand. Had it always been lying dormant within him? Or had Sigurd done something to awaken it in his last moments on earth?

Oeden would have lingered in his dread, had that Sealscarred hand not lurched forward to clutch at his cloak. It searched for an escape Oeden could not provide.

“What do I do?” Royan asked, his voice a quiver. “Everyone will know what I am. They’ll want to make me king, Oeden!” He screamed the word as though it were a curse. “I can’t hide it, can’t ignore it, can’t discard it.” He sobbed: a single, broken howl. “I’m...trapped.”

Oeden knew all too well of such bindings, had borne invisible shackles that chained him to pariah-hood since conception. He refused to let another life be lost to unwarranted imprisonment. “Not if I can help it”.

One hand ripped a strip from his cloak. With the other, Oeden sought a weapon. A knife, a sword, anything would work. The only solution within reaching distance - as Royan made no motion to rise - came attached to the once-king’s corpse: Sigurd’s clawed gauntlet.

Before Royan could protest, Oeden had unbuckled the straps that kept the armor intact. You’ve already doomed his future, Oeden thought with a spite he was glad only God could hear, at least spare his present. One last tug and the gauntlet came free.

Oeden did naught but mumble an apology as Royan stared on with muted confusion. This might hurt, he thought, and swung the gauntlet across his master’s hand.

Royan scrambled backwards with an unseemly yelp. For a beat, the fear of betrayal ran rampant across his face.

Oeden waved the fabric like a white flag. “Trust me.”

Whether out of need or desire, Royan obeyed. The prince bowed in submission as his squire bandaged his hand - an unthinkable act elsewhere. But in the aftermath of battle? No one cared for class, race, creed. Those that outlasted death clung to the living with blind desperation.

As the treatment neared its end, Royan whispered what might have been a word of gratitude, if Oeden had not awaited the inquiry.

“...why?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Oeden sensed from his lord’s blank stare that this trauma had overridden his survival instinct. “You can’t keep this a secret forever. But for now? Making it look like an injury will let you avoid suspicion long enough for us to - God willing - get back to Almsgard unscathed and out of enemy territory.”

“No, that’s not...I meant...” Royan fumbled, biting his lip. He seemed a child all the more then, somehow lost in a war zone. “Why, as in, ‘why are you helping me?’”

Oeden could have laughed, should have, even. What a ridiculous question! Oeden’s very existence as a squire meant ensuring the survival of his liege. Sure, they had never shared an intimate bond before, but that did not annul his duty. His occupation aside, who would not seize the chance to have the Northern royalty indebted to them - especially one as persecuted as he?

But the truth? That confession confused him, frightened him. But it spoke to him of a kindness he had not seen in all of Norire - a kindness, he hoped, could become consistent.

“You saved my life,” Oeden reminded him, “or have you forgotten already? Given the choice between protecting me and protecting your uncle, you came to my aid. Couldn’t tell you why you would do something so stupid - something I cannot, might I remind you, ever hope to repay. But I’d say I owe you this, at least, don’t you think?”

“I wasn’t looking for a refund...”

That sincerity warmed the frozen corners of Oeden’s heart. “Be that as it may, I’m indebted all the same.” He rose to his feet, dragging Royan’s weakened form along with him. “But we can decide on debts later. For now, we need to find the other survivors.”

If there are any, he thought. The battle’s gruesome nature left little guarantees of finding life amongst the carnage. Sealed God, if you’ve ever listened to me, let Lord Elyk have lived. Oeden didn’t dare imagine his mother’s reaction should she learn her husband died. She did not deserve to lose anything else.

The boys stumbled about the bodies, avoiding the ravens that had already begun their scavenging. They dared make no further noise, lest the survivor they see be an enemy in waiting. Oeden noticed Royan searching every face, some making his own fall.

These are his men, Oeden realized. His servants, his soldiers. Lifelong friends and family. All to save a king he damned...a king he might become.

When they had thought their search fruitless, Oeden heard a faraway cry. In the distance, obscured by sleet and mist, stood a host of knights. Two men, arms outstretched and voices raised towards them, awaited their arrival: Knight-Commander Magnus and Knight-Captain Elyk.

Our fathers live, Oeden thought, and the relief was enough to set him sprinting. Elyk did likewise, bounding towards his son until he could scoop him up in his arms. Oeden did not swallow his laugh or roll his eyes the way he would when his father embarrassed him elsewhere. Elyk did not think of dignity or disguise his affection for the sake of his men’s approval. Here, now, all that mattered to them both was that they had defied the odds. Their family had outsmarted death.

When both their breaths had been spent, Elyk placed Oeden back down, a kiss pressed to his forehead. “Thank the Seals you’re safe...”

Oeden curled further into his father’s embrace, but his gaze ventured beyond them to hover over Royan’s hand. No one is safe anymore...

[vminity21]

Meet Me in the Garden | myg

Pairing: student!Yoongi x student!reader, college!au, friendshiptolovers!au

Genre: fluff/mildangst

Word Count: 2k

Warning(s): stress involving college, rating: pg, other: forever dedicated to my dearest friend Mo

Summary: When the stress of life seems to get in the way, your newfound friend steps in- becoming a place that you can finally call home.

It doesn't help when the hounding of your alarm flutters your eyelids to the greeting of the dark window haunting your weakened limbs with the reminder that sends a bundle of nerves cocooning within your tummy. And, it coincidentally doesn't help when you prepare your morning for the first day of college that none of your friends will be there to welcome you. Motivation, you find, can be derived from a freshly brewed cup of coffee which now rests in a holder next to your steering wheel tempting frequent sips to awaken your senses.

The front of the building comes into view once you park; your fingers unintentionally tighten their grip upon your backpack straps once you halt your steps, gulping down whatever anxiety trying to breakthrough your swarming mind. Students walk along the sides of your peripherals, books decorating their arms, scuffling shoes against the cement, faint sounds of hushed conversations, yet you can hardly make yourself continue forward, trying to remember the exact direction of your first class.

Preferably, you'd much rather explore the grounds as you have before, but obviously with lack of time, you must proceed to your eight am definition of purgatory, letting the adventures of the campus disperse for now. You're not even aware, once sauntering into the room, choosing a seat farthest away from any individual, that a gentle pair of brown eyes can't seem to avert from your tense frame. He observes the shaky way your hands gather your items before you, gliding the tip of a pencil upon a freshly opened notebook awaiting the, what he predicts, monotone voice of the professor to begin. It takes weeks for the young man to finally collect the bravery to approach you one day when he discovers your presence within the library where the side of your head firmly rests against the palm of your hand steadied by the tip of your elbow upon the table.

You're fighting the urge to fall asleep due to hours of studying, and he can tell; gently, he hangs his bag off the side of the wooden chair to then carefully taking a seat across from you. By this point, you're cognizant of a few names within your classes, and you hardly want to look up at whoever unexpectedly decided to join you within your space, but your rigid shoulders give the stranger enough warning to not cause any trouble.

"Hi," he eventually murmurs, your eyes widening while they move to view the timid voice. Blonde tufts are hidden away beneath an upright beanie leading to almond eyes that mirror the timorous way he folds his hands together- a small grin apparent in his features bringing memories of the recent projects that were randomly selected for presentation- you immediately remember being a fan of his powerpoint that spoke of taking care of the earth and all it has to offer.

"Hi," your hand slips to rest onto the table, the pace of your heart quickening in reaction to the reddened hue of your cheeks. When meeting new people, there are moments where you tend to be shy, especially with the unforeseen situation involving someone you happen to see as striking with a minuscule sprinkle of mystery. There are times you'd catch yourself glancing in his direction, but with the muddled state of homework and numerous assignments as well as the starting of a new job, you haven't found the time to ponder it, nor wonder when a friendship from anyone will finally progress to where the loneliness disappears. You just didn't think that your noticing the quiet pupil who assigned his seat diagonally behind you would take the initiative to befriend you.

"My name's Yoongi," he offers a soft hand that yours swiftly nestles into, "May I ask yours?"

"[Y/N]," you nod politely, "It's very nice to meet you, Yoongi,"

Life leads into another month where laughter exuberates from a gummy smile- fluffy tendrils of blonde hair tickle at the bottom of your chin where he leans into you- his eyes scrunch into crescents, his hands clapping to the joke you made encircling your heart with streams of emotion you suppress into secrecy. "You mean to tell me you've never been there?" When the hour dims to accepting the fate of an essay, it is professed to you that the campus, that you assumed you have seen the entirety of, happens to have a garden hidden away at the edge of where the college borders the surrounding community.

"I mean, I never noticed it on the campus map, is it new?" Your eyes fondly gaze at your newfound friend enjoying the proximity of where his knee brushes the side of yours taking everything in you not to reach for his thin fingers.

"According to the website, it's been there since the college was built,"

"Well, then I guess I've been living under a rock-"

"Not anymore," Yoongi springs to his feet whirling around to showcase his flattened palm whilst bowing elegantly, "Follow me, perhaps?"

You hesitate on purpose reading his umber eyes that sing adventure reluctantly grasping his hand to sprint behind him until the path breaks into the opening of what exposes myriads of flourishing pink petals encompassing greenery in the forms of trees, stems, or vines that wrap around golden traces of railings where dark benches rest along the stone walkway. The trickling sound of water perks your auditory senses in the direction of where a tall fountain lives within the center of the area prompting a gasp of awe while your eyes scan the scenery.

"Yoongi, it's beautiful," you breathe, hardly registering the squeeze of his hand still wrapped around yours. "I wish I would have brought my camera,"

"I knew you'd love it," he whispers- although your eyes are entranced by the beauty enveloping your sight, Yoongi's eyes remain on you, because from that day forward he knows, if he can do anything to make you this happy, he will never stop trying no matter how long or how much it takes. It's funny how the tables turn in the sense of, the next visit to the garden, after a long morning of exams, that you can't seem to take your eyes off him. His blonde hair fluffs upon his forehead with a wavy tint exposing small hoop earrings adorning his earlobes completing the way his faded blue shirt fits loosely on his figure.

After the time he introduced you to this land of tranquility, you haven't failed to bring your camera, creating panoramas of colorful roses that perfume their fragrance throughout the location. When you turn to see a skipping Yoongi, you know exactly what you would love to photograph next. The mere second his rump plops onto the widened railing between two deep, brown pots painting nicely with giant palm trees scattered behind him- he poses instinctively, kicking his leg out in front of him, embellishing a small smile where the pearls of his teeth shine.

"Okay, that's enough-" he prepares to hop off.

"No!" Your free hand flies out in front of you, "Just one more, Yoon, please,"

"[Y/N]" he teasingly whines leaning back to cause the knuckles of his hands to turn pale from the way he grips the railing, "You know I detest pictures,"

"Incorrect sir, you detest being in them. Now, diddly done cooperate, so I can get a closeup of them heavenly cheekbones of yours,"

His lips press into a tight thin-lipped smile before he relaxes into another position, "Okay, are you done?" He voices the very instant the click of the camera enters the atmosphere, him landing on his feet from where he shoves off the railing. Shaking your head at him playfully, you check for confirmation that the photo was taken, sighing in joy when indeed it was.

Pictures that will forever be etched in your heart for the memories he continues to burn into your existence. Sporadic trips to the garden are all you look forward to in the months to come- whispering shared secrets no one has ever known, boisterous laughter reverberating to the sky, subtle glimpses where words are left unspoken, and the very moment his fingertips brush the back of your hand leading to surprised eyes and quickened pulses- never in your wildest dreams did you think someone so special could take a hold of your heart as much as he has.

It's when bouts of sudden financial battles seem to outweigh the thrills bringing you to your darkest times where you detach yourself mildly from the man you've been growing to love. His heart is so broken from the way your eyes pain with tears that he can't seem to diminish- wishing with all his might he can rescue you from the commotion life seems to curse you with. It's been a long time since the pair of you have visited your favorite destination, and though your distance has been devastating to Yoongi, there is one day in fact, while you are compiling your things to zip into your book bag; you stumble upon a note pinned between the windshield wipers of your car.

Fingertips snatch the note, the light breeze bending the corner, your heart swells at the words staring back at you,

Meet me in the garden, xoxo

The handwriting is undeniably recognizable and for the first time in a long time, your smile lifts with a wave of elation that you've been longing for. Hoping for. Locking your belongings in your car, you run. You run toward the one place that dissipates the world outside- the place where your soul finds a way to escape- the place that fights to see your smile to end whatever tears threatening to spill onto your face- the one place that you know, the moment your eyes find him- hands in his pockets staring at the sunsetting sky-

your heart belongs.

"Yoongi," your voice echoes. Tears roll down your face when he turns abruptly- eyes connecting before you leap to crash into his arms- him embracing you so close that nothing else seems to matter other than his warmth. "I love you," you whisper into his chest, completing the answer to the question he's been aching to know; because at last, he can proclaim his undying love for you- planning to cherish every bit of the woman he has fallen completely and irrevocably in love with.

Yoongi moves to press a tepid kiss to your forehead, your lids squeezing shut from how much you wish he would do it again and again. Frames swaying tenderly, he refuses to let you go; instead, faces near, the tip of his nose tickles your cheek just enough to where his parted lips pause almost a centimeter from yours. The gesture is just enough to still your breathing before the beautiful beat of butterfly wings soar through every inch of your chest- eyes flickering to stare into his that are creased at the corners from a growing smile,

"And, I love you, [Y/N],"

With that, all turmoil disappears the instant his fervid lips sweep yours in the most graceful motion resembling the gentle sensation of rose petals- emotions blossoming nothing but endless bliss fulfills every ounce of happiness the pair of you have dreamed for each other. Just when you thought life would continue to deem you with loneliness, there came a hero to brighten your days to follow, and the days that have yet to come; a hero who has shown you what it's like to discover a form of ebullience when you need it most. The garden may have always given a wondrous background- an ethereal view of solace- a natural world of simplicity; but more than anything, beyond what words can illiterate,

the garden became a home for your place which is right here in Yoongi's arms.

[robbyrobinson]

CTHULHU MYTHOS X OWL HOUSE: GODS AWAKEN (XVIII)

Helicopters hovered over the city at a slight distance from the onslaught of the raging fires. Buildings were reduced to rubble from the relentless attacks of the metallic armor. At roughly four o’clock, the National Guard was ordered to fend off the assaults.

Tanks and heavy-armed trucks arrived amongst the crowds of panicking people and parked in front of them. The general emerged from one of the trucks to observe the scene. His thick fingers curled as he gestured to his men to take their shields. They formed a long line and drew their shields sharply. They glued their feet to the ground to tighten their grips.  

The suits of armor wheezed and stumbled along in their sluggish pace. Black ooze leaked through the cracks of the metallic plates. Deathly drones of pain bellowed from deep within them, an unearthly sing song tune. With the general’s approval, one of the tanks directed its gun at the metal suits and fired.  

“Alright, men, look alive,” the general announced.  

A thick smoke obscured the suits of armor from the National Guard’s eye. Without warning, a red tow truck was tossed in their direction.

“Take cover!” he yelled.

The tow truck rammed into the soldiers, destroying the blockade on impact. The suits attacked the soldiers with violent kicks and thrashing. Soldiers were picked up and tossed into buildings like sacks of potatoes. Many soldiers brandished their knives and were able to strike a few blows on them, but they were largely overpowered and mauled. The crowds of civilians dispersed to escape the madness but were also caught in the onslaught.  

“Yes, I have just received word that the blockade the National Guard attempted has failed.” The anchorwoman from before looked down, befuddled. “There had been an announcement by the mayor that he is issuing an evacuation of the city.”  

Luz and Amity ran out of the workshop with Hypnos following slowly behind. “Never get old like me, kids; your fragile bones will bend and tear out of their sockets.”  

“Where did these armor suits come from?” Luz asked aloud “and who sent them?”  

“Must have been Lord Belos,” Amity noted, “just a hunch given the...futuristic aesthetic.”  

“You do have that book hidden away, right human?” Hypnos asked.  

In Luz’s hand, she held a bag. The bag appeared small on the outside, but it was vastly larger on the inside capable of holding an infinite number of items. The Necronomicon was snuggly tucked away in that pocket dimension. The back of the book was laced with papers that had the fire glyphs on them so that when the opportunity presents itself, Luz would activate the glyphs and it would set the book ablaze.  

“I sense that they must be here for that book in your possession,” Hypnos said.

“We have to get back to the Isles, then,” Amity said. She looked at the frail old man. “Do you have a portal to the Isles in your workshop?”  

Hypnos crossed his arms. “An infinite number of portals. Don’t even begin to assume that your world is impenetrable from me.”  

Luz firmly gripped the bag. “We can’t go back now.”  

Amity’s head swerved back almost falling off. “Why not?”  

“We can’t let Emperor Belos’ army level this city. And besides, what if Belos had laid a trap for us when we got back?”  

“Well, that could may as well be true, but-”  

“And what could you possibly do anyway?” Hypnos interrupted, “Amity doesn’t have her witch body so she cannot do magic without her bile sac, and Luz, magic is scarce in the Earth realm; you cannot even use those glyphs here, can you?”  

Luz kicked her foot in dejection. “That is true, I admit.”  

“The only suggestion I have is to allow yourself to be captured.”  

“Wha?” Amity shouted.  

“Sh...sh...” Hypnos held his bony finger in front of his mouth. “If you truly care about these civilians, then perhaps offering yourselves up will be a temporary fix to avoid further harm.”  

Luz and Amity looked at each other for a considerably long time, dread being the most prevalent emotion they were feeling. They heard the sound of screaming coming from the civilians being cornered by the armored fiends. Amity saw the determination in Luz’s eyes, the same determination she saw back when she properly met her at the witch convention. Luz was a lot of things: reckless, stupid...very, very stupid...well, she could take it a step further and call her an idiot who also was rather intolerable once her mind became fixed on the subject at the time. But she was also very compassionate and considerate. It was this reason, or a combination of all the aforementioned reasons, that Amity couldn’t help but love her.

“If that is what it takes to stop Belos, then I guess we can do it,” Luz said at last.  

She took the horn and handed it to Hypnos. “Will you take this back to the Boiling Isles for us?”  

Hypnos nodded. “I will, darling; besides, from what I am sensing, King and the others are at Belos’ kingdom as we speak.”  

As he turned to head back into the store, Luz stopped him again. “Could I ask something else of you?”  

“What is it, child?”  

“Could we have the jar with the shoggoth inside it?”  

“My, whatever for?”  

“It’s just that I feel we might need it once we get back to the Isles,” Luz explained.  

Hypnos sighs. “Kids these days.”  

Odalia was levitating in the air with the staff in her hand. She watched the armors dismantle cars and tossing scraps of metal onto the mass of panicking people. A wicked smirk was on her face. For so long she had reviled humans, something every witch in the Boiling Isles was drilled into believing by the Emperor. It brought a little bit of warmness in her petrified heart that pumped the blood of her bloodline. After waiting a few minutes for her targets to come out of hiding, she was slowly becoming bored.  

She scanned the surroundings and saw a row of six people running in the same direction. She pointed the staff towards the group and began to charge the staff. A red, all-consuming glow illuminated from the gem before a huge, red wave of energy bolted from it. It sliced into the concrete, creating a large, continuous array of cracks. Underneath the concrete, an earthquake shuffled the chunk of the road the six people were stranded on. Powerless, Odalia floated over to the civilians, intimidating them with her staff.  

“Where do you think you’re going?”  

A portly man took a knee, holding his hands to shield his face. “Please, ma’am, spare us!”  

Odalia scoffed at the man. “A spineless rat; unsurprising of you lowly human scum.”  

She shot a red ball towards him to force him to step back. Once he did, he was cowering with the others stranded. Odalia eyed each of them, uncertain of what to do at the moment to them. “You may not move until I figure out what to do with you miserable creatures.”  

“Please don’t kill us!” a red-haired woman yelled incessantly.  

“I won’t,” Odalia said in false assurance, “as long as you do what I say.”

“Mrs. Blight, you better stop what you’re doing at once!”  

Odalia turned around and saw two young women standing under the disheveled road. “Ah, you’re the famous Luz Noceda I have been hearing an awful lot about?”  

“How do you know it’s us?” Luz asked. “I look nothing like the wanted picture I have back in the Isles.”  

Odalia laughed. “Essential salts, human. There exists a deeper magic one that is incomprehensible to lowly people as you.”  

Amity stepped in front of Luz giving her mother a hateful stare. “Mom, why are you laying this attack on Luz’s home?”  

“Our emperor Belos had granted me entry into the Emperor’s Coven.”  

Amity’s eyes widened behind her glasses. “Impossible; that goes against the entire method of enlisting witches to join the coven. And I thought you...”  

Odalia tilted her staff. “Regardless of how I got myself into this lavish position, Emperor Belos entrusted me with carrying out his will; the Day of Unity has begun!”  

Luz stepped closer. “Mrs. Blight, I mean no disrespect because you are my good friend’s mother, but can’t you see that Belos wishes to destroy this world?”  

Odalia scoffed. “Who cares about this meaningless world when through my master we can make new ones?”  

Amity clenches her fists. “You are willing to sell what dignity you have left to some maniac?”  

“How dare you speak of Emperor Belos in such disdain!?” She looked at Luz with enough intensity, fire could have danced in them. “What other blasphemous things have you been telling her?”  

Odalia levitated down the chunk of road and tapped Luz with the staff. Amity pried it off Luz’s shoulder. “Enough of that!”  

“Why do you care so much for this rat?” Odalia growled “why would you throw away your future by betraying the will of our master all for this miserable planet?”

“All my life, I allowed you to control my life; you made me end my friendship with Willow for your own convenience. You forced me to be friends with Boscha when I hated her. I became some cruel, despicable jerk who only cared about trampling the competition. But...Luz is different. She...liked me for me. Not because I was some upper-class witch; not because I was a Blight. She started off being a nuisance.”  

Luz turned her eyes down. Amity saw this and pat her shoulder. They looked at each other for a long time as if they were having a mental conversation. Luz nodded and backed away.  

“But...she helped me that one time when Otabin became a huge monster and nearly destroyed the library; she helped me to face my personal fear; she made me realize how wrong I was to kick Willow out of my life because of some threat you and my Dad made. I realize now that my desires of getting enlisted into the Emperor’s Coven was truly not what I wanted.”  

Odalia raised her eyebrow. “Oh? And why is that?”  

“You were the one that really wanted to be a part of the Emperor’s Coven, weren’t you?”  

Odalia leaned back, stammering. “What? No, it was always-”  

“You failed several times with snagging a spot on the coven, so when you had me, you decided to mold me into wanting that when it was really for you, didn’t you?”  

Odalia scratched her chin for a moment. Another psychotic smirk formed on her lips. “I guess there is no real reason to deny it now; that may as well be the case, but look at you, really.”  

Luz was back to being incensed by what Odalia was implying. “No daughter of mine would ever go out of their way to try to overthrow an empire; why can’t you be more like your siblings?”  

Odalia snapped her fingers to direct the black knight suit to her side. He still had Edric in its colossal hands. It took some time for the two girls to digest what they were seeing, but when it hit them, it did so like a ton of bricks. Amity held the palms of her hands against her mouth to stifle a scream. Edric looked worse than he was initially; now it appeared that his skin was barely holding onto his bones. He was cut down from his initial bodyweight now reminding Amity of the fragility of a butterfly. Edric wheezed but it hurt him immensely like pins were being jabbed into him.  

“Mom...what...what have you done to him?” Amity asked demandingly.  

“Just necessary sacrifices for the future of the Isles,” Odalia stated plainly.  

The cold, disconnected way Odalia exposed her sins unsettled the two. They had thought they could reason with her without being provoked into fighting her (especially because of their magic being gone due to their new bodies), but all bets were off in that moment.  

Amity made a grab for the staff and grappled with it. “What are you little miscreant doing now!?”  

“I am going to break that staff in two to deprive you of whatever pleasure you derive from it!”  

The two family members continued to grabble for the staff when Luz saw the six people still stuck. She looked around for some way to get up there. Sweat beat down the two females’ foreheads the more they struck at each other. Her mother was a lot of things, but she could not deny that she was skilled in her craft. Amity clamped her teeth on her mother’s right arm spurring her into screaming. When she shrieked, she unwittingly cast a red ball of destructive power towards a building and it shattered all the glass in the building and destroyed the foundation.  

A nerve pulsated against Odalia’s forehead. “Enough of this!”  

She smacked Amity across the street causing her to hit a light post. She darted her eyes and saw Luz trying to find a way to get to the captives. Odalia sat down on the staff and made an upward flying motion. The dark magic inside the staff activated and shot Odalia skyward. The six were roughly forty feet from the ground and in danger of falling from the height.  

The captives were once again washed in fear. She scanned them over. Besides the fat man and the red-haired girl, there was a short, bearded man without any hint of hair on his head and an orange shirt and blue jeans. Another one was an elderly woman with two kids to her side. Since they looked like her, Odalia could infer that they must have been the woman’s grandchildren.  A boy and a girl. Odalia smiled again and flew closer towards the woman. She clung onto the sides of the kids’ arms. She was five feet tall as opposing Odalia’s height at 6 ft 1 in, but she was stout for her age.  

“Don’t you even think of harming my grandkids, ya witch!”  

“Why thank you,” Odalia said, “they always said that the older you are, the wiser you get.”  

She grabbed the old woman’s shoulders and pitched her aside. The two siblings tried to run, but the older woman was quicker. She seized both of them by the arm and flew back down with the staff. Both of the children were sobbing loudly, mucus dripping from their noses. Odalia presented the two children before a concerned Luz.  

“What are you thinking of doing with those kids!?”  

“A little game; I am sure that you know why I am here?”  

Luz nodded.  

Odalia firmly propped the tip of the staff under the chin of the young boy who was no more than eight. Luz’s eyes widened. There was no way that Odalia would do what she thought.  

“I will give you till the count of three to hand over the Necronomicon to me in orderly fashion, or I will use the unholy power of the Outer God to tear this cockroach’s head clean off.”  

“Odalia, ma’am, please,” Luz begged, “this is madness!”  

“I am already on 2 right now, human,” Odalia announced, “use your time wisely.”  

Odalia activated the magic within the gem and it glowed again. The boy’s tears rolled down his cheeks and underneath his tilted neck. Odalia kept her eyes locked onto the human girl while still holding a praying mantis-like grip on her victim.  

Luz scrambled with her bag and opened it. Amity awoke from her unconsciousness to see Luz retrieving the Necronomicon. They both shared a look of equal concern and the mutual understanding. Luz breathed heavily and slipped the evil book from the deepest compartments of the bag. She then placed the Necronomicon on the ground and slid it towards the mad woman.  

“There; now let them both go.”  

Odalia lifted her hands allowing the sobbing boy to wrestle his way out of her grip. He met up with his sister and, without much prompt, they darted away to find their grandmother. Odalia grabbed the book and held it with both of her hands.  

“Wise choice, human.”  

Odalia placed two fingers into her mouth to whistle. And it is with that, the armor suits stopped their senseless rampages and turned to look at their leader. They wheezed and continually broke apart piece by piece only to try to reassemble themselves. Luz covered her ears when she heard the screaming that the armor suits were making. But their screaming was done completely inside of their minds. Hundreds, maybe thousands of shrieks of burning, electric misery was ringing in their spiritual eardrums. All the screams came together to form one unison of endless suffering in a cataclysmic symphony.  

Each scream was like rusted nails scratching against an endless array of chalkboards. A piercing, sharp pain to obliterate one’s eardrums. Whatever these suits of armor were, they were conceived through an insidious ritual and are desperate for the sweet release of death.

“Luz? What is it?”  

Luz found herself sprawling on the ground with Amity to her side. Unlike her human friend, Amity heard screaming, but it was not of the visceral variety. But Luz felt her mind becoming undone, or, worse yet, melting and pooling out her ears. Odalia walked towards her amused.

“It’s an odd thing, really. With that kind of response, I assume that you personally knew those witches whose souls were welded to make the armor?”  

Luz looked up; her eyes bloodshot. “What?”  

Before she could inquire of the Blight family matriarch further, she and Amity were spirited away by the suits of armor and ushered into a portal.

[bookcub]

Ace Books Rated Against Me*

*unlike previous lists, I will be comparing to how much I related to and felt connected to the ace experience of the ace characters in the books, and rather celebrating ace rep I’ve been lucky enough to read 

(inspired by @anassarhenisch​ who requested this about a year ago lol)

Quicksilver by RJ Anderson- This was the first book I read with an ace protagonist. I admired Tori’s conviction in that she was ace (and there are times where I have the same assurance in my orientation) and also how unfit she felt with her peers, like she had a mask. Her uncertainty in wanting a romantic relationship resonated with me more than other protags, as she and I exist in the same fuzzy area between romantic and aromantic. Her speech about friendship made me tear up, and I wish for a friendship as special as the one she has. 

9/10  

We Awaken by Calista Lynn- The best parts of this book were about Victoria’s asexuality. Her freak out about being ace was so on point, you have no idea. Only misstep was how short it was, but that has more to do with timing in a book than anything. Also, the fact that someone else brought up the term to her and she didn’t discover it herself was exactly how my experience went. And as much as I love that she gets a romantic love interest who is also ace (whoot whoot), they move awfully fast, which I could never do. 

8/10

Let's Talk About Love by Claire Kann- This book is a bit more dicey with me. Alice is much more adventurous than I am or will be. She also doesn’t trust herself. Many ace people have had sex to either, get it out of the way and see if they like it, or to please their partner. I liked seeing that part of the community represented but as someone who is sex repulsed, my experience is very different than a sex neutral ace. I’m also so glad she was biromantic, I still haven’t figured out romantic attraction but I’m super into aesthetic attraction of all genders. Alice also has some of my favorite quotes about being ace and her analogy about jogging is the best. 

8/10

How to Be a Normal Person by TJ Klune- I waited on this book because I knew I would love it, and I did!!! This was the romcom of aces I needed. I was as grumpy and lost as Gus, but as confident and loud as Casey. They believed each other and trusted each other and it was just beautiful. I liked that Gus never used a label and I liked how important Casey’s label was to his sense of the world and how neither were invalidated. 

9/10

Lady's Guide to Petticoats and Piracy by Mackenzi Lee- Felicity is so apathetic, it’s hysterical. She’s like, this is me, deal with it. Her aceness is tied to her aroness, which is the case for many people, but the distance of the time period and class made it hard to relate to her. I actually would have liked her ace identity to play a larger part in the book, and not be so easily dismissed by Sim.

7/10 

Every Heart a Doorway by Seannn McGuire- Nancy literally not fitting into the world and also being ace was a wonderful metaphor. While there wasn’t much content on her being ace, I enjoyed how sure of herself she was and how she interacted with other people from the queer community, although not so much as queer allies, just generally supportive. 

8/10 

Immortal Code by Lilllian Clark- I picked up this book with no idea there was an ace character, but there was Reese!!! She referred to herself as acearo, which was new to me, but hey, language constantly changes, right? Her love story of her friends is lovely and meaningful. 

7/10

Tash Hearts Tolstoy by Kathryn Ormsbee- I hope everyone gets a Tash book. Tash just fit with me. I adored her, and all her flaws lined up so well with mine. Her flawed mindset, her doubt, her emotions.. . .her experiences very much mirror my own. She deals with aphobia more, she has wants for a romantic relationship, but also completely lost on how to have one. She found the ace community online and connected to them there, as well as vocalizing how aces are part of the queer community. While she used words like “sexual” instead of “allosexual” and didn’t have other ace friends, found out in high school instead of college, her story all but felt like mine. 

10/10

I highly recommend these books and have linked my in depth reviews for most of them for more details on my thoughts on the novels. 

Vampires • Werewolves • Dragons • Aliens • Faerie • Portal Fantasies •  Dysopias • Angels/Demons  • Animal Companions  • Mermaids • Fictional Relationships  • Fictional Twins • Magic Schools

[histoireettralala]

Joachim Murat: his youth in Quercy.

His steps often joined those of Napoleon. Born 250 years ago in Labastide, Marshal of France, the king of Naples remained, all his life, attached to his native land. His native village now bears his name: Labastide-Murat.

Published on August 29, 17 at 16:05, in ActuLot

Joachim Murat en uniforme de sous-lieutenant au 12e Régiment de Chasseurs en 1792 (Age 25), by Jean-Baptiste Paulin Guérin, 1835

His name will later be inscribed on the Arc de Triomphe de l'Etoile. On April 5, 1791, three young people from Quercy (Murat, Bessieres and Ambert), appointed by the Lot Directory to be part of the King's constitutional guard, whose creation has just been voted by the Legislative Assembly, take the road to Paris. Coming from a family of small social status, Murat will reach the highest military glory thanks to the Republican wars and the prestigious imperial epic.

He was born on a causse with unexplored abysses

Joachim Murat was born on March 25, 1767, at La Bastide-Fortunière, a village in the Causse de Gramat. This physical environment has a certain connection with the future King of Naples' life and character. “La Bastide, a small village on the high plateau, looks like a fortress commanding the country. This majestic appearance amidst the drought, the almost desolation of the limestone soil which unexplored abysses hollow out in some places is the very image of Murat's life, a life full of contrasts where the good and the worst intertwine, where the peak honors and glory are next to disasters, mentions Marcel Dupont in his work on Murat. The sometimes violent wind is still a striking image of the marshal's mind, always filled with clouds and where hopes, vast projects, fury and annihilation collide day and night. Here is summarized in a few strokes, the prodigious and fatal destiny of this horseman who would have no equal to descend like a windstorm on the enemy troops.

His mother Jeanne's favorite child

Yet he seemed destined for a peaceful existence. Murat comes from a family that has lived in the town for more than three centuries. They are hard-working peasants, exploiting poor soil in harsh winters. How could a king arise from this modest environment more conducive to the development of country virtues than to warlike exploits?

This required the ardor of his youth, which will never leave him, but also the revolutionary upheaval. His father exploited the lands of "a few enlightened minds" in the village. Not being the owner, he is the manager, receiving earnings proportional to the crops. These are certainly satisfactory because the couple have a large house in the center of the town. This is the mother’s domain. The ground floor has been converted into an inn and the floor is divided between the family apartment and a few rooms for passing guests. This energetic woman who runs the inn is a caring mother. The good Jeanne Loubières, whom he will adore all his life, in fact, makes of the youngest of her eleven children, her favorite. By her constant presence, her desire to provide Joachim with an education, that goes beyond that of his environment, she will shape this son to the point that he will never forget his childhood.

With his curly hair and cheerful face, he's a rowdy kid, sometimes a brawler, as it should be to be respected in this country where endurance is proof of character. His time at La Bastide-Fortunière school made a good impression on his teachers: he is an average student but whose qualities of camaraderie and friendliness are recognized. His loving mother, who has deep religious feelings, thinks that the day will come when young Joachim will enter the Orders and may be parish priest of La Bastide.

His great pleasure is to lead alone the horses to the village trough. At the age when a horse seems formidable to a child, Joachim, who has an unusual vigor, already knows how to subdue them.

An amazing ability to lead

These predispositions did not arouse any suspicion among his parents who obtained a scholarship to send him, at 10 years old, to the Saint-Michel college in Cahors. He will stay there for 8 years. It is there that he will have as a comrade Jean Bessières from Prayssac, a future Marshal of the Empire. An unwavering friendship is born between these two men who would become close to the emperor.

Far from La Bastide, the young Murat discovers unknown horizons which open up new appetites for him. His intelligence is real. But as soon as he crosses the threshold of the class, he takes a singular ascendancy on his comrades, even develops an astonishing capacity to lead. How to blame him? If he goes too far for his age, he knows how to repent, implore and become very sweet again.

His whole life, he will use these weapons. Many contemporaries believe that he is completely sincere. Going from anger to tenderness, from elation to dejection, he is already and will remain, impulsive, even excessive in everything. Not without kindness and generosity.

At 20, he joins the cavalry

At the age of eighteen, he joins the Lazarists' seminar in Toulouse. But wearing the cassock does not make the seminarian. And this handsome young man of 1.85 meters, with a pleasant smile, already leads, outside the establishment, a private life the "good fathers" ignore. Here comes an important moment in Murat's life: his military engagement. It is allowed to think, with Jean Tulard, that after a quarrel, our too fiery seminarian was excluded from the University and dreading his father, takes advantage of the passage of the Cavalry of the Ardennes regiment to sign up for, he says "a life that does not displease him". In fact, the new Chasseur is "thrilled". He quickly stood out for his ability to train the most reticent horses and quickly became sergeant*.

For the simple rider, the days are repetitive and gruelling. After an early awakening (at six o'clock), you must groom sick animals, currycomb and brush them before preparing fodder, water and oats. It is only after this daily work, at ten o'clock that a soup is distributed. Then the upkeep chores of the stables. Strict rules still from the Ancien Régime! Because already Parisian ideas are swarming in the garrisons.

Giving free rein to his temperament, his need to be a leader, Murat, who places a lot of hope in the new ideas, takes the lead of the discontented men of the Regiment. This behavior is little appreciated by his leaders: he is put on permanent leave and expelled from the army. Humiliated, he decides to go back to the Lot. We are in 1789.

Delivery Clerk in Saint-Céré

Very badly received by his father who cuts him off, he returns to Saint-Céré where he is hired as a delivery clerk. For a few months, he was enraged, champing at the bit with impatience, convinced that his place is not here. The villages are buzzing. He became aware of the real state of France, of the mounting demands of the campaigns. Murat takes advantage of this return to his native land to attend and participate in public meetings of local clubs.

The past winter has been harsh and long. The harvest was poor. Lack of food and unemployment strike everywhere. Castles see their dovecote burned down. " Here will be hanged the first inhabitant who will pay the rent to the lord," says a poster from a Cahors merchant. It’s the revolt. Louis XVI summons the Etats Généraux on May 1, 1789 in Versailles. In 1790, for the Fête de la Fédération on July 14, each department must appoint two to three delegates. You can imagine that Murat is volunteering! The sympathetic, sweet talking but proud young man speaks. And it is in Lotois dialect that he expresses himself in cafes, wishing to reach the greatest number. The Revolution is born: Joachim Murat, who is part of the Third Estate by his origins, tries to change public opinion according to events. Every Sunday, he goes to Cahors: he listens, he harangues the crowd. He is on the Montfaucon list and is chosen to represent the Lot department.

The republican patriot leaves for Paris

Murat, 23, can go and explore the capital. It’s the consecration.

A new man is born. After a secular mass celebrated by former Bishop Talleyrand, speeches on the Champ de Mars ignite the crowds. One hundred thousand Parisians came to celebrate the first anniversary of the Capture of the Bastille. A year later, returning to the army, he is appointed to the King's Constitutional Guard, to protect but also to monitor Louis XVI. Indignant, the protester manifests a flawless patriotic commitment, calling himself a "pronounced republican", facing "this hideout of royalists who gravitate around the king". But the wind turns, Robespierre falls. His revolutionary passion almost interrupted his meteoric career. Bitter and worried, he is put on leave and returns for some time to Quercy, "wanting to become a simple plowman again".

Aide de camp

Skeptical about his future, then dejected, Murat quickly reacts, helped by the deputy for Gourdon, Jean-Baptiste Cavaignac, who encourages him to return to Paris. It is on the night of 12 to 13 Vendémiaire (October 5, 1795) that Murat is put in contact with the First Consul who needs him. He orders him to save the Convention threatened by the royalist riot. Forty cannons are placed by Squadron Leader Murat around the Tuileries Castle. Three hundred royalists will be killed. The government of the Republic is saved again. As Tulard points out: "From now on the star of Murat will merge with that of Bonaparte". No more depression, finally power and glory.

Promoted Bonaparte's aide-de-camp, he leaves for the Italian Campaign, direction Marengo. There, "his clothes will be riddled with bullets", but they will know victory.

He becomes Napoleon I's brother-in-law

In 1800, he marries Caroline, the First Consul's youngest sister, becoming the brother-in-law of the future Napoleon I. This marriage will give Murat an outstanding position among the marshals of the Empire. Quickly, he is invited to move to the Château des Tuileries and becomes part of the close entourage of the new master of France.

The rouser of men from the imperial epic will remain kind to his family at La Bastide. Coming from a small inn in Quercy to fly with his squadrons across Europe and into Egypt, Murat seems like a legendary character. Chateaubriand will devote long passages to him in the "Mémoires d'Outre Tombe". He will be admired by Stendhal, Dumas and Balzac. Three words characterize the King of Naples: ardor, ambition and panache. If he remains the most magnificent rouser of men the imperial epic will produce, he will invest much into the Lot whose deputy he will become in 1803.

And he will show kindness for his whole family. Especially for his mother, for whom he will show a deep attachment: he sends her rosaries blessed by the Pope.

The portrait he has done of Jeanne in 1792 will never leave him. It will be with him, in his homes, in his tent during his campaigns and in Naples, in his palace. He will build a castle for his "La Bastide family" in his native village, modeled on the Palais de l'Elysée, where he had resided as governor of Paris.

The King of Naples dies executed on October 13, 1815.

By André Décup

[Translation is mine.

Note: I translated by ‘sergeant’ the grade of Maréchal des Logis, which is its equivalent in the cavalry (and nowadays in the Gendarmerie).

There is no right translation for “entraîneur d’hommes”, I hope “rouser” doesn’t seem too weird in English.]

[dramabitposts]

The best movie quotes of all-time

Here are some of the best Hollywood movie quotes of all time. Talk about dramatic one-liners!

“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn (Gone with the Wind, 1939)

“Here’s looking at you, kid” (Casablanca, 1942)

“You’re gonna need a bigger boat” (Jaws, 1975)

“May the Force be with you” (Star Wars, 1977)

“Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore” (The Wizard of Oz, 1939)

“I’m going to make him an offer he can’t refuse” (The Godfather, 1972)

“Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.” (Casablanca, 1942)

“You talkin’ to me?” (Taxi Driver, 1976)

“There’s no place like home” (The Wizard of Oz, 1939)

“The first rule of Fight Club is you do not talk about Fight Club” (Fight Club, 1999)

“I am your father” (Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back, 1980)

“Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.” (The Princess Bride, 1987)

“Why so serious?” (The Dark Knight, 2008)

“I’ll have what she’s having” (When Harry Met Sally, 1989)

“This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship” (Casablanca, 1942)

“We’ll always have Paris” (Casablanca, 1942)

“Bond. James Bond” (Dr No, 1962)

“I see dead people” (The Sixth Sense, 1999)

“I’ll be back” (The Terminator, 1984)

“You can’t handle the truth!” (A Few Good Men, 1992)

“E.T phone home” (ET, 1982)

“Yippie-ki-yay, mother f**ker!” (Die Hard, 1988)

“To infinity and beyond!” (Toy Story, 1995)

“Houston, we have a problem” (Apollo 13, 1995)

“You had me at hello” (Jerry Maguire, 1996)

“There’s no crying in baseball!” (A League of Their Own, 1992)

“Here’s Johnny!” (The Shining, 1980)

”I am serious. And don't call me Shirley.” (Airplane, 1980)

“Mrs. Robinson, you're trying to seduce me, aren't you?” (The Graduate, 1967)

“Carpe Diem. Seize the day, boys” (Dead Poets Society, 1989)

“Leave the gun, take the cannoli” (The Godfather, 1972)

“Show me the money!” (Jerry Maguire, 1996)

“Say hello to my little friend” (Scarface, 1983)

”You've got to ask yourself one question: 'Do I feel lucky?' Well, do ya punk?” (Dirty Harry, 1971)

“I love the smell of napalm in the morning.” (Apocalypse Now, 1979)

”Fasten your seatbelts. It's going to be a bumpy night.” (All About Eve, 1950)

“Roads? Where we're going we don't need roads.” (Back to the Future, 1985)

”You don't understand! I could've had class. I could've been a contender. I could've been somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am.” (On the Waterfront, 1954)

“I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!” (Network, 1976)

”The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist.” (The Usual Suspects, 1995)

“Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.” (The Godfather Part II, 1974)

”Every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings.” (It’s a Wonderful Life, 1946)

“I am big! It's the pictures that got small.” (Sunset Boulevard, 1950)

”What we've got here is a failure to communicate.” (Cool Hand Luke, 1967)

“Shaken, not stirred” (Goldfinger, 1964)

“I’m the king of the world!” (Titanic, 1997)

“Mama says, 'Stupid is as stupid does.’” (Forrest Gump, 1994)

“Just keep swimming (Finding Nemo, 2003)

“If you built it, he will come” (Field of Dreams, 1989)

“I'm not bad. I'm just drawn that way.” (Who Framed Roger Rabbit, 1988)

“I’m having an old friend for dinner” (The Silence of the Lambs, 1991)

”Play it, Sam. Play 'As Time Goes By.’“ (Casablanca, 1942)

”I'll get you, my pretty, and your little dog, too!” (The Wizard of Oz, 1939)

“Hasta la vista, baby” (Terminator 2: Judgement Day, 1991)

“The Dude abides” (The Big Lebowski, 1998)

“I'm also just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.” (Notting Hill, 1999)

”Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!” (The Wizard of Oz, 1939)

“Stella! Hey, Stella!” (A Streetcar Named Desire, 1951)

“After all, tomorrow is another day!” (Gone with the Wind, 1939)

”You is kind. You is smart. You is important.” (The Help, 2011)

“You know how to whistle, don't you, Steve? You just put your lips together and blow.” (To Have and Have Not, 1944)

”Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You're my only hope.” (Star Wars, 1977)

“I mean, funny like I'm a clown? I amuse you?” (Goodfellas, 1990)

“Go ahead, make my day” (Sudden Impact, 1983)

”I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.” (A Streetcar Named Desire, 1951)

“It’s alive! It’s alive!” (Frankenstein, 1931)

“Argo f**k yourself” (Argo, 2012)

“My precious” (The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, 2002)

“Good morning, Vietnam!” (Good Morning, Vietnam, 1987)

“I wish I knew how to quit you” (Brokeback Mountain, 2005)

“That’ll do, pig, that’ll do” (Babe, 1995)

“Elementary, my dear Watson” (The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, 1939)

“I don't want to survive. I want to live.” (12 Years a Slave, 2013)

”Gentlemen, you can't fight in here! This is the war room!” (Dr Strangelove, 1964)

“You ain't heard nothin' yet!” (The Jazz Singer, 1927)

“Wax on, wax off” (The Karate Kid, 1984)

“Yo, Adrian!” (Rocky, 1976)

“Nobody’s perfect” (Some Like it Hot, 1959)

”Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.” (The Godfather Part III, 1990)

“Magic Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?” (Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, 1937)

“They’re here!” (Poltergeist, 1982)

”They call it a Royale with cheese.” (Pulp Fiction, 1994)

“I'm just one stomach flu away from my goal weight.” (The Devil Wears Prada, 2006)

”Badges? We ain't got no badges! We don't need no badges! I don't have to show you any stinking badges!” (The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, 1948)

“It was Beauty killed the Beast” (King Kong, 1933)

“I'm walking here! I'm walking here!” (Midnight Cowboy, 1969)

“These go to eleven” (This is Spinal Tap, 1984)

“Forget it, Jake. It’s Chinatown” (Chinatown, 1974)

“Chewie, we’re home” (Star Wars: The Force Awakens, 2015)

“As if!” (Clueless, 1995)

“You make me want to be a better man” (As Good as It Gets, 1997)

”Get your stinking paws off me, you damned dirty ape!” (Planet of the Apes, 1968)

“I drink your milkshake!” (There Will be Blood, 2007)

“My name is Maximus Decimus Meridius, commander of the Armies of the North, General of the Felix Legions and loyal servant to the true emperor, Marcus Aurelius. Father to a murdered son, husband to a murdered wife. And I will have my vengeance, in this life or the next.” (Gladiator, 2000)

“You complete me” (Jerry Maguire, 1996)

”If you let my daughter go now, that'll be the end of it. I will not look for you, I will not pursue you. But if you don't, I will look for you, I will find you, and I will kill you.” (Taken, 2008)

“When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.” (When Harry Met Sally, 1989)

“They call me Mister Tibbs!” (In the Heat of the Night, 1967)

”They may take our lives, but they'll never take our freedom!” (Braveheart, 1995)

“Love means never having to say you're sorry” (Love Story, 1970)

For plenty more dramatic content, check out www.dramabit.com.

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Three Hundred Forty-Two: Taking Chances ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina, gun ] [ Verse: Of Monsters and Men ] [ AO3 Link ]

She was never really the type to take chances, but then, well...Uchiha Sasuke came into her life, and nothing has been the same.

Hinata had been trying all her life to just be a normal girl. She went to school, never skipped, got good grades. Maybe not enough to be top of the class, but close. Bookish, introverted, and shy, she coasted through most of her educational years alone. Her grades did well, but...her social life, not so much. It wasn’t until college where she really began to branch out a bit. She met a few other girls her age taking what was meant to be her core classes that they were taking as electives: those relating to horticulture. Sakura took it slightly as a vanity project, given her name. And Ino’s family owned a flower shop in her hometown. The former wanted to become a doctor, and the latter wanted to study cosmetology. While Hinata didn’t consider either of them close friends...they were the closest she’d gotten to the notion in quite some time.

The changes college brought about meant changes in her, too. Ever so slightly, she felt herself growing bolder. She’d skip study hours to go with them to movies. Listen in to gossip as the pair would mull over boys in their classes or spotted on campus. None of it was really her typical style, but...she told herself she liked it. Told herself it was normal to befriend people her age, especially girls, and actually do things besides study and lurk online.

And then life had to go and make her wish she’d never stepped outside her comfort zone.

It was stupid. She knew it was stupid. But she also told herself it wasn’t that big of a deal. The odds of something going wrong were surely not that high. Her university city is big, sure...but the crime rate isn’t too high. Surely a quick jaunt on her own wasn’t going to land her in any trouble, right?

...wrong.

Walking quickly and eyes flickering, she’d found herself suddenly grabbed by an arm and dragged into an alleyway. Heartbeats soared with panic, mind screaming, “I told you so!” as a man leered down at her, gripping her neck and pinning her up against the building behind her.

But it wasn’t just any man. This man wasn’t human...he just looked the part, sans the bright red eyes and sharp teeth in his grin.

Hinata knew what he was. She’d seen beings like him since she was small. A talent - or in her mind, a curse - she’d had for as long as she could remember...one her father had insisted she stamp out, ignore, somehow cure herself of.

But for all her playing ignorant, for all her pretending not to see...Hinata could never fully escape her sight.

And even then...it wouldn’t have saved her.

No...her saving grace came in the form of another man. Another vampire. This one wielding a gun and demanding the attacker let her go. Claimed to be an Enforcer...whatever that meant.

The word had stiffened her assailant, bolting only to be struck down. Hinata was alive...and in shock. Though, admittedly, not as much as a typical human would be.

The officer attempted to drug her, to help her forget...but there would be no forgetting. She’d been privy for their world long before then.

The world of monsters...of Nightwalkers.

Awakening something long buried within herself, she’d managed to break free with what felt like a kind of...magic.

And then she fled.

She had fully expected that to be the last incident. No more taking chances - she’d just...hole herself up in her dorm when not in classes, and get through the rest of her schooling without anything else going wrong.

But Ino and Sakura were relentless, and a few weeks later insisted she join them for another movie. No matter her insistence otherwise, they wouldn’t let up...and finally she caved. The movie itself was fine, the gaggle of them heading back to the station to take the train back across the city. But little Hinata, short of stature in the crowds, was lost and left behind.

And that’s when he found her again.

Part of her had panicked, wondering if he was here to arrest her, or try to take her away. But all he’d offered was a ride back, given she’d missed her train.

Wary...she’d agreed, part of her admittedly curious about him, and his world. He’d introduced himself as Uchiha Sasuke: a vampire, and a kind of officer tasked with protecting their world from detection.

He also told her she wasn’t human. Not...completely. Hinata, as it turned out, was an odd in-between. The term varied by culture, but in Japan they were often called mikos...or in less friendly terms, witches.

It had been...only partially shocking. Hinata had always known she was different, but wasn’t aware of how rare, or that she wasn’t just crazy, but...simply something different than anyone else she’d ever known.

To her detriment, however...the rather handsome vampire was spotted taking her home, spurring rumors and begetting interrogations from her friends. Barely holding them off with his tale of being a cop (which...was true, just not the way they thought), she’d found herself at a crossroads. No longer could she keep trying to be blind to the other world, but...doing so would make existing in the human half difficult.

Sasuke kept contacting her. Kept trying to learn more about her. About her lineage. The pair grew closer. She even dared to call him a friend. And that friendship was tested when Sasuke found himself wounded nearby her campus, stopping in and asking for her help...only to end up drinking her proffered blood to help overcome the silver-inflicted injury.

...but that’s when the trouble truly started.

There was something...else between them now. The act had felt...strangely intimate. Hinata wasn’t sure what to call it. But it wasn’t long after that she found herself dragged into a political disaster.

Sasuke’s boss - the leader of his coven, and one of the most powerful Nightwalkers in the world, Uchiha Madara - had finally taken interest in Sasuke’s little project of studying witches. He had her kidnapped, dragged to one of his many hideaways...and wanted to study her for himself.

It was then Sasuke showed his true colors at last. Nearly going feral with anger, he’d been stopped only by his brother in an attempt to attack the Japanese vampiric Senator of the Nightwalker Senate. Madara, explaining more of their history, also put the pieces together and declared that Sasuke had fallen quite deeply in love with the little witch, if his reaction to her being stolen away told them anything.

...Hinata wasn’t sure what to think.

But that wasn’t all Madara wanted. Backing her into a corner, he forced (under a guise of choice) Hinata to agree to work for him: to ally her budding powers to him and his own. She was given a week to think it over, during which she consulted Sasuke...but there wasn’t much to discuss.

To refuse was to be killed.

...she’s taken a few days to - rather than mull the ‘offer’ over - simply...come to terms with it. Part of her still isn’t sure about...well, anything. But though meeting Sasuke has led to this entire chain of events...she can’t bring herself to regret it. Any of it.

She knew that, eventually, there’d be no more running. Either she’d accept her oddity, or she’d succumb to it. And if nothing else...well, at least she’s finally made a true friend. Conquered her fear. And become a person she never really thought she could be.

“...ready?”

Staring up at the doors before them, Hinata turns to Sasuke. As he’s been since Madara’s revelation, he holds a carefully blank expression. She has yet to address the accusation of his being in love with her. Partly because there’s just...too much else to think about. But mostly because she really isn’t sure how she feels, given the chaos that has ensued since learning the truth. There’s been no time to sit and think about it. Consider their history, their bond, their experiences...and the feelings they all bring.

But at the very least...she knows he’s the most genuine friend she has. No one else has ever cared about her like he does...even if the birth of their bond was an odd one.

So, with a small glance to his hand, she gently reaches and takes it. Unlike all of those silly vampire stories, it isn’t cold or hard...but warm. Calloused. Maybe just a little sweaty.

It feels so...human. Even if she knows he isn’t.

But mostly it feels...familiar. Comforting. Reassuring.

It makes her feel that she can do this...so long as she doesn’t have to do it alone.

A hint of a smile curls her lips before looking up to his face. “...yeah. I think I am. Are you…?”

“...if you can do this, so can I.”

That earns a brief laugh. “And here I was t-thinking the exact opposite.”

“Some people tell me that what I do makes me brave, but...in a lot of ways, it’s what those like me have always done. But you...you’re being far braver than I’ve ever been, Hinata. You’re taking one hell of a chance with this. For someone like you to do what you’re doing...that takes far more guts. I hope you realize that.”

Her smile just softens. “...I guess so. It just feels like...w-what I’m supposed to do. And...thank you for being with me.”

“I can’t abandon you now - you wouldn’t be in this mess if not for me.”

“...no, I wouldn’t be.” Slowly, her expression warms. “...but I think...I-I think that, as much as it’s cost...it’s been worth it...ne?” Her grip on his hand tightens.

Something flashes through his eyes for the briefest of moments. “...if you say so, then...guess it’s true.”

“...come on. Let’s...get this over with.”

                                                                .oOo.

     (This is a sequel to days 35, 44, 52, 80, 82, 105, 115, 133, 159, 162, 188, 193, 289, 298, 307, 310, and 317!)       I am...so behind OTL And this is really late. Like...almost 20 days late. I'm just so stinkin' burnt out and busy and blegh. So lemme just apologize for like the fiftieth time about how badly this is crumbling here toward the end. Life is just really making it difficult these last few weeks. I'm sorry.      BUT, either way, I'll finish! Just...very late, ahaha~      Anyway, on to the story. A bit more of the Nightwalkers crossover. Sort of a recap kinda thing given just how LONG this one's gone on, and partly as a refresher for myself. I LOVE this accidental mini series, and have every intention of making it into a proper fic down the road, and even have the ending plotted, which is exciting! So I don't want to go TOO much further with it during the challenge. But this prompt just...insisted on being in this verse, lol      I'd...say more but I'm very tired. It's 3am and I'm a doof for being so late, but...guh. Writing is a real struggle nowadays, so hopefully y'all don't mind being patient with me ;w; Either way, that's all for now...thanks for reading!

[sugaxjpg]

event horizon; m

⤷  The city of Crystalfall had, just like any other small town, the good, the bad, and the ugly. You were familiar with the first one, and Min Yoongi, in all of his despondent and reckless glory, taught you about the rest.

✓ Couple: Yoongi x Reader | Criminal!AU 

✓ Filed under: angst, fluff, smut

✓ Look out for: violence, drunk driving, and drugs; a relationship slowly getting toxic

✓ Words: 30,782 (yes, I know) 

Author’s Note: Inspired by the setting of “Riverdale”. I’d like to put out a PSA and say that this fic has moments that are quite toxic/abusive, and by no means I approve this kind of behavior, nor am I romanticizing this. It’s all fiction, and I treated it the best way that I could. Nevertheless, feedback is always welcome and, oh boy, I hope the ‘read more’ works on tumblr mobile. 

⤷ Song rec: Chase Atlantic - Triggered

⤷ This story is dedicated to @pantaemonium. Happy birthday to my beautiful, talented, unique wife. Love you lots. 

According to physics’ theory of general relativity, the event horizon of a black hole is a point of no return. It does not matter how you have reached that specific part of the universe, nor how you feel once you touch its insubstantial traces ― in that speck of victory and defeat, the only thing that holds any sort of significance is the fact that, even against your best attempts, you cannot go back to where you once were. The gravity is too strong, the pull is more than you could ever take; you are trapped in a position paused in time, unable to comprehend the nothingness that lays beyond; how even the light curves and attempts to escape from that cosmic abyss.  

Your story began the same way it ended: with a poorly thought-out decision, and a promise of better days. For the lack of a better definition, Min Yoongi, with all of his melancholic and dream-like existence, became your event horizon.

Tempestuous and dense clouds had long fallen over the suburban town once you entered that pleasant diner place, hearing as the rhythm of the rain danced against the foggy windows, almost overlapping the dim ringing of the bell that signaled your arrival. With no hesitation, you walked towards your usual table, ordering a hot cup of chocolate after greeting the friendly employees, and waited for your friends to come to your peculiar reunion.

The diner, decorated by a clear 50’s style, was permeated by a delicate aroma of vanilla and cinnamon, holding tightly to the warmness that could not exist outside. For a few hours now, the summer rain had monopolized the small town, balancing out the overwhelming heat waves that had hit you the week prior. From the corner of your hot pink sofa, you watched the droplets running down the glass next to you and, even if for an instant, you swore you could perceive the characteristic smell of petrichor that came alongside it; floating amongst humid strands of glass and quivering branches.

Your beverage arrived in a couple minutes, faster than your friends did. The delectable taste of your hot chocolate, present in so many past meetings, awakened your nostalgia promptly. You had no idea why you had been summoned to the diner that summer afternoon, but the blunt request had been the first message that popped up on your group chat that morning, illuminating your screen the same way that the sun’s rays brought brightness to your bedroom. Joohyun’s text came in the form of an abrupt and dry “3pm at Mercy’s. Good news!!” followed by the confirmation from your other friends. It wasn’t as if impulsive meetings had never been set up in the same fashion aforetime, but it was odd regardless, especially because of the lack of details.

Joohyun had been your best friend ever since you could remember and, just as far back, you could recall occurrences in which her decisions snowballed into ridiculously large problems. Back in third grade, when she decided that she wanted to lie about who gave her the answers of a test and ended up involving the entire school board; or perhaps during your junior year of high school, when she accidentally started a sexual rumor about you after misunderstanding your euphemism in Biology class. You two were almost polar opposites, but, in the end, you complemented one another, and your friendship had a harmony that you struggled to put into words. The two of you just worked, and that was all you needed to know.

Yet, you were annoyed as hell at her. You hated her cryptic 10am messages.

The sound of the bell ringing called you away from your meditations, and suddenly you could hear the vague melody of an indie song playing in the background, coming from the speakers above your head — the composition came crashing on your perceptions like waves that broke at the bay, soothing your worries instantaneously. You had no idea how you hadn’t noticed it before.

You looked up and smiled lovingly at your approaching friend, eyes following the hypnotic motion of her mermaid-like hair, brown as chocolate, as she walked hurriedly towards your table. “There you are,” you spoke calmly, “I thought you wouldn’t show up.”

She breathed out and raised her eyebrows in a expression of exhaustion. You could see underneath her eyes the marks of her sleepless night, and had to fight back the blooming of your inner preoccupations. Perhaps you could ask her about that later. “Sorry, things are a mess at home,” Joohyun said, agile while placing her bag on the table and sliding on the sofa opposite from you. Against the bright pink leather, her slim figure stood out even more. “Were you waiting for long?”

“Five, ten minutes at most,” you responded — it wasn’t as if you ever expected for her to be punctual. “You know where the others are?”

Your friend nodded. “Hoseok and Namjoon are together, they won’t take long,” Joohyun told you, running one hand through her hair, trying to fix the mistakes only she could perceive. “They were driving by that fast food near the supermarket by the time I called, which was like, two minutes ago.”

You chuckled. “Checking to see if you would be last one to arrive?”

She sighed, shoulders falling in a silent confirmation. “You know me too well.” Then, before you could even consider an answer, her charcoal-colored eyes oscillated to the half-filled cup on your hand, her eyebrows raising in interest. “Let me have some, please. You know that I love hot chocolate.”

“I do.” You slid the mug towards her. You weren’t the biggest fan of the drink — it got quite nauseating after the third slip — but you had gotten it for your friend. You did know her very well, so you were positive she would be eager to get her usual sugar rush by the time she arrived. “Now, why did you call us here for? An intervention?” you asked.

Joohyun took a second to respond, closing her eyes to fully appreciate the rich taste that filled her mouth, and humming out in delight. It was fascinating the effect that hot chocolate had on her, it was almost as if her exhausted look had completely faded away by the moment she looked back at you, eyes slightly widened by animation. “Don’t you want to wait for them?”

“I’m curious, you know that,” you verbalized, a tinge of guilt staining your words. “There’s no need to torture me any further.”

And that was the complete truth. Ever since you received her message, that was all that you could think about. It was as if Joohyun’s text was the Sun, and your thought process circled around it like Mercury, fast and restless, waiting for an answer to appear in the star-covered horizon. It was far too tempting to be there and not wish for it to be uncovered immediately — besides, the boys wouldn’t care, you knew that.

Your friend smiled back, setting the mug on the wooden surface. Around its alabaster border, was imprinted the touch of her lips, red as cherry. “You’re lucky I can’t hold myself back.” She leaned forward on the table, placing her hands on top of yours in sheer expectation, her palms warm. The world came to a halt. “Okay, so... you know about The Cave?”

Your eyes narrowed in suspicion — you did not like that one bit. “Vaguely…”

But you knew about that place very well, and you were positive that, coming from her, such mention could never be the precursor of good news. The excited look that was projected over Joohyun’s doll-like features did not say that The Cave had been burned down or something alike, but that it was vivacious as ever, ready to take more victims in.

As much as you already knew where this conversation was heading, you still felt the impact of her words as they departed from her throat. “I might have gotten us a way in.” She smiled openly.

It was your time to lean forward, eyebrows furrowing into an image of your inner exasperation. “Joohyun, are you insane?” you whispered, guided by preoccupations. Not for you, but for her — she was going, regardless of your opinion. “That place isn’t for us. Do you want to be killed?”

Just as you had foreseen, your best friend disregarded your words instantaneously. “Oh come on, just—“

Once again, the ringing of the bell broke the serenity of the establishment, making the two of you move away from one another, backs pressing against your respective seats. The leather couch was often so comfortable, but now it felt like it was trapping you against the table, feeding off your nervousness and sticking to your skin; there was a bad feeling looming over your head.

From the door came two silhouettes — Namjoon and Hoseok — and the smell of fried food. Your stomach was fast to present its hunger the second that your eyes met the brown bags on their arms, slightly stained by circles of oil. God works in mysterious ways, after all.

Namjoon was the first one to speak, moving quickly to seat across from you. His pallid green jacket was covered in droplets of rain and, somehow, it matched the aura of that lugubrious diner flawlessly. “Hey guys.” He placed the food on the table, and angled his hips backwards, trying to place his body on the small space between the surface and the couch. “What did we — dude, just move over, it ain’t that hard.” He pressed his shoulder against Joohyun, who gave a little jump to the side while poking her tongue out at him. “What did we miss?”

Instead of answering promptly, your fingers were agile as you reached out for the brown bag. “Oh my god, fries,” you almost whined those words of relief as you peeked inside, salivating. Just then did you realize your lunch had been only a half-eaten apple, and your body could not be angrier at that poor fitness decision.

Hoseok scoffed as he sat down next to you. If you hadn’t been pressing against the opposite wall already, you were sure he would have asked for you to move over as well — the kid loved to take up space. “Your deduction is impeccable, Sherlock,” he told you with a grin. His dark red hair was one shade deeper because of the rain — it was a bit pushed back, but it still it managed to send droplets down his forehead. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

You nodded and shoved a fry in your mouth. The assuagement was immediate, and you swore you could hear a chant of angels inside your head. “Thank you,” you said — both at your friends and the faceless creator of such divine meal, “you guys are awesome.”

Joohyun’s fingers were fast to curl around the bag’s edge, pushing it towards her, “YN, give me some,” her voice came out in an order. Your eyes flickered between the fries in her hands and the empty cup of hot chocolate next to her as if to say ‘are you sure about that?’, a memo she promptly grasped. “Today is my cheating day. Let me live.”

Namjoon chuckled as one of his arms reached out to get the other bag, which the two of you had miraculously overlooked. Hoseok had been wise to get two extra-large portions, he had to recognize that. “Whatever you say, baby,” he mocked her, and then turned his head in your direction. The anemic lights of the overcast sky curled around his features impeccably, painting the picture of his puzzlement. “So, what were the two of you talking about? Sharing is caring.”

“Did you hear that? Sharing is caring.” You pulled the bag from your friend, ignoring her full-mouthed complaints. “Joohyun here was just telling me her suicide plan,” you complained.

The girl rolled her eyes, clearly irked at your up-right attitude. “YN, why are you so dramatic? I get that you’re the mom friend, but don’t spoil the fun.” She turned towards the newcomers with a fresh, commercial-worthy smile — another miracle that her teeth were not stained by her copious amounts of chocolate and fries, but that was a subject for another meeting. “Boys, I was just talking about that place, The Cave,” she explained.

Next to you, Hoseok stopped chewing. “The abandoned industry complex at the east side?” He swallowed the food with weird eagerness, his eyebrows raising in muted excitement — oh my god, did the other bag have cheddar on those fries? You needed to check it out. “Damn. What about it?” he asked.

She licked her reddish lips — both from excitement and the need to get the remnants of salt out of her mouth. Joohyun, once again, allowed for her inner exhilaration to push her forward on the table, her black eyes scintillating in a frenzy of adventurous emotions, pendulating between the two boys. “I might have found a way for us to go in,” she spoke out, her hiss-like tone making the entire scene comical — she looked like a supervillain, in the most awkward of ways.

And, of course, your friends reacted precisely as you expected them to — like kids.

The thrill that washed over Hoseok’s face made it seem as if he had just received a present, glistening inside his eyes like the stars that decorated the night sky. “Sweet!” he exclaimed, voice one pitch higher. “How did you manage that?”

You tugged the oil-stained bag out of his hands in a gesture that was a bit too harsh. Noticing that you had forgotten the cheese-free portion, the other girl acted quickly to get it. “Hoseok!” you reprehended, anguish filling your lungs. “It’s on the east part of town, in case you forgot. It’s a place for gangs and, I don’t know, contract killers,” you said, reaching down the bag. Definitely had cheddar on it. “Do you seriously think that’s a good idea?”

Unaffected by the urgency of your tone, Hoseok shrugged your worries away. “So? We just stay out of trouble. And give me back my fries.” He pulled the portion out of your hands. That constant fighting for food could not be healthy friendship-wise. “Go on, Joohyun, how did you manage that?”

Namjoon grinned wickedly. “Her boyfriend probably got her a free ticket.”

As he spoke, the other girl saw glimpses of his chewed food inside on his mouth. Joohyun cringed her nose in disgust. “Gross. First off, we’re not dating,” she hurried to deny, even if the pale shade of scarlet around her ears told no lies. You all knew very well that they weren’t dating because of the other guy — some weird outlaw from the sewers or something, a ninja turtle for all you cared —  hated compromise, and not because she didn’t want it. “Second: yes, he did get me in, but that’s not relevant. I can take people with me, so, please?” she whined, prolonging the last word into an irritating ‘pleeeease?’. “Guys? It’ll be fun.”

Hoseok drew back against the pink couch, running his hands through his wet hair. You had no idea how he hadn’t traced a path of orange cheese through it, but your friends seemed to be in the mood to do the impossible that day. “I’m in,” he said. Not a surprise.

Across from you, the other boy spoke up, “I might have to see when I’m free, but I’m in too.”  Namjoon agreed. “When is it?”

“Tonight,” she responded.

“Count me in, then.”

You groaned out in pure irritation. Quite honestly, your mood would’ve been so much worse if you didn’t have your escapism by food to tame the tides of your chaotic thoughts. “You guys can’t be serious,” you complained, looking around to see if, amongst any of their features, you could find any remnant of reason. Nothing. “Am I the only sane person left living?”

“Between the four of us, yes,” Hoseok answered, but did not seem to truly feel any sort of empathy towards your cautious attitude. If he hadn’t been eager to get a confirmation from you, he would’ve teased you much further. “You’re coming or not, grandma?”

You crossed your arms, defensive. “No fucking way.”

Namjoon raised his eyebrows as he shoved three more cheese-covered fries inside his mouth. You had started to think that maybe they should’ve gotten more. “So Miss Responsibility is just going to let her friends alone?” he teased, mouth half-full. He really needed to learn some basic manners.

You narrowed your eyes, looking your friend up and down. “Kim Namjoon, don’t you dare take advantage of my altruism.” You pointed at him. And it was your time to reach for another fry — rather angrily, if you could say so yourself. You couldn’t stay mad at them for long when your fingers were covered in cheddar. “Even if you have a good point,” you added.

“So…” Hoseok raised his eyebrows in unspoken expectation, leaning playfully towards you. “What is it gonna be?” he asked in a cheese-scented exhalation.

Your patience could only go so far. “Fine!” You threw your hands up in a theatrical signal of your surrender. The others smiled victoriously, sharing words of encouragement amongst them — a pack of demons, that was what they were. “But I’m leaving early, and I’ll complain the entire time,” you added.

“Seems good enough for me.” Hoseok placed his palms on the surface, and got up to his feet. “I’m getting us some more food, since the two of you seemed to forget that we are all sharing,” his eyes vacillated between you and Joohyun. “The usual?”

The table was filled with nods and hums of agreement and, in the next moment, Namjoon was getting up to go alongside Hoseok, claiming he probably would pick the wrong things — again. When you and Joohyun were alone once anew, your friend suspired, turning her head towards you.

Joohyun placed her palm against the back of your hand. Amongst the lines of her dark irises, you could almost read the the words that encompassed your head like vexatious insects — it seems like you will have to deal with it, “Loosen up, baby.” She pouted, crooking her head slightly to the side. Oh, she was finding joy in that small victory, and you knew it. “We’ll have fun, I promise. Something tells me that you might even find someone interesting,” she teased. “Only the Lord knows how much you need to put that sexual energy into something else… or someone, really.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes at the absurdity of her claims. “You wish, Joohyun.”

She pouted. “We’ll see about that.”

Outside, the rain had stopped drumming against the opaque windows, and the fragile incandescence of the sun had started peeking over the diaphanous mountains of the storm clouds. There was a certain whimsical feeling to that scene, an uncharacterized emotion that resounded inside your chest, erupting in-between your lips in the form of a prolonged sigh.

If Joohyun had been mistaken that afternoon, that would have made the upcoming weeks much, much simpler for you.

Crystalfall was, by definition, a small town.

With its astonishing twelve thousand inhabitants and mundane church meetings every Sunday, it stood as a gentle agglomeration of buildings in — as Hoseok would say — the middle of no place, right next to nowhere at all. It had received that name for its dazzling waterfall and source of drinkable water which had, primordially, catalyzed the migration towards the land, many years before you were ever born.

Just like most small towns, boredom was mandatory a good amount of the time, and there was little to no task to be fulfilled during summer break, once you went back to its veridian fields and sun-kissed afternoons, taking a time off university. In fact, besides Namjoon — whose family owned a considerably large farm nearby, and had to take his afternoons off to take care of the crops and animals —, none of your friends seemed to find anything thrilling to do, instead choosing to spend time in the house, watching movies or talking for hours about the most frivolous of subjects. And, quite honestly, you liked it like that. You had always appreciated the simpler aspects of life.

Crystalfall was no big deal, but it was home, and you loved every part of it.

Well, almost every part.

You had been lucky enough to be raised on the west side of town, where most of the families did. It was, as Joohyun would say, a sheltered castle of dreams, a countryside paradise — a boring piece of utopia. There was little to no crime amongst its inhabitants, and the biggest outrage that took place had been the time in which a few middle school kids dared to steal some bread from the chapel, a matter that rapidly got taken care of.

That, however, had been amongst the locals of the westside; the east didn’t hold the same amount of benevolence amongst its people. You hated to have your mind so fundamented on that basic dichotomy of good and evil, but it had been the only way you could describe the ridiculously large differences between the two parts of that same town. While the west was a “boring utopia”, the east bordered on a bone-chilling anarchy; the womb of a few of the worst criminals your state had ever had — gangs, murderers, drug dealers, kidnappers, rapists: you name it, they had it all.

You constantly felt threatened by that, like it was the presence of death itself looming over your life. As much as the thugs of the east side often messed around with their own kind and, besides that, you were sure that there were good individuals living amongst those incarnated devils, you could never really felt safe in those parts of Crystalfall — so, in return, you avoided it the best way you could. It worked. For some time.

Nevertheless, now you had thrown all those efforts out of the window, for your friends were dragging you right into the lion’s open mouth.

You could barely keep up with their pace as they ran down the deserted streets, their heavy steps reverberating throughout the obfuscous night. Joohyun’s hand was holding tightly to your own as she pulled you to walk faster, unable to hold back her excitement. She glimpsed back just so you could notice the phantasm of a smile being casted over her roseate, petal-like lips. Her hand felt warm and inviting against yours, contrasting with the hyperborean winds of dusk. “Come on, we’re late!” she exclaimed, almost as if talking to herself. “I promised him we’d be here by eleven.”

“I never saw you as someone punctual,” you complained, but were sure she did not hear your voice amongst the fragile traces of wind. Behind you, Hoseok and Namjoon were whispering something you could not catch.

The industrial complex had been deactivated around fourteen years ago and, now, it didn’t go beyond a mere phantasm lingering stubbornly amongst the memories of the senile locals. Nowadays, most inhabitants of Crystalfall knew it as the perfect spot if you wanted to meet your local drug dealer, or perhaps mingle with people that seemed to be a better fit for jail than for a small religious community. Bottom line: even if The Cave was the closest to a club that your town could ever get,  it didn’t mean it was a good alternative.

Through shattered windows came the dust-filled rays of a deep damascus light, casting down the earth that piled up on the outside of the relinquished complex and, as you moved closer, you could start to make out the vague melody of an Eagles song echoing past it. Instead of what you had expected, however, there were no gangs piling up on the outside of the abandoned construction, no obnoxious fights to break the tranquility of midnight. The Cave, in all of its hellish expansion, appeared to be bigger than you had expected, mayhaps because of the overwhelming desolation that impregnated each and every broken tile; each centimeter of the atmosphere. It was a zombified beast living off the liveliness of its occupants.

The four of you arrived at the large, corroded metal door. Joohyun said something to a couple of big guys that stood by it and, by the mention of her (not) boyfriend’s name, they appeared to put their guard down a bit. As much as they were not precisely frightened of the people from the westside, they were absolutely horrified at the concept of allowing undercover cops into their world, and the consequences they would have to face by the hands of their own counterparts.

Nevertheless, your friend took care of the matter rather effortlessly and, within a couple of minutes, the entrance was being unlocked for you. With a hesitant suspire, you followed the three of them into the epicenter of bad decisions that was The Cave.

Okay, perhaps you imagination had taken the best of your judgement, for you did not expect the decoration of the place. It wasn’t much — and by no means fancy — but it was gorgeous regardless.

The Cave still looked like an industry complex, with its large rectangular-shaped construction, wooden boxes and empty buckets piling up at the corners, and dense concrete floors, but whoever was in charge of changing up the place did not disappoint: the large metal bars that sustentated the tall triangular ceiling had been covered in christmas lights, pouring down the room in beautiful orange cascades; inducing the ambient to border on the spectral, since it was its only light source. All over the walls, kaleidoscopic posters covered up the dry grey painting and the broken bricks, speaking in silent promises — all-you-can-eat contest; make your bets at the winners of sunday’s dog fight; Maurice’s Bear: knockout version; and other advertisements for less puritan, adult-centered services. Not that dog fights were that good.

There was a strong smell of alcohol and something burning around the static air; the Eagle’s song had then changed into a band you did not recognize. Passing your eyes swiftly over the crowd, you could see some large men playing poker on a secluded table — one of which had an disgracefully large snake tattoo over his right cheek and forehead — and, right next to them, a group of girls laughing loudly at something they were discussing. There were other, smaller groups scattered around the place, talking vehemently in roaring voices, minding their own business as the night progressively moved forward.

“Won’t you look at that,” next to you, Joohyun’s tranquil voice sounded, dragging you back to your position. Her flaming crimson lipstick was burning under those conflagrant lights, standing out against her skin and her dark hair; curling upwards on her lips as a timid smile germinated upon them. “I see my man. I’ll talk to him real quick, I’ll be right back.”

Before you could even figure out what to respond, she had already tapped you on the shoulder, and was walking firmly towards a crowd of leather-covered strangers. You had no idea how she had seen her pseudo-boyfriend amongst them. You sighed. “Sure. Have fun.” You turned around to meet your other friends. “Seems like it’s just the three of us, g—”

“—Dude is that a dart throwing competition?”  Hoseok pointed across the room, over your shoulder, and Namjoon followed his stare with furrowed brows and the hint of competitiveness shining inside his eyes. Part of your soul cracked then: you knew exactly where that was heading. “I’ll totally kick your ass this time.” He laughed.

You opened your mouth to protest, but you were far too slow. In the short time span that took you to verbalize one syllable, the two of them were passing by your side, completely ignoring your presence. “Over my dead body, Jung,” you heard Namjoon snicker.

Exhaling from your nose, you closed your lips. “That’s great,” you mumbled to yourself. That night was going to be amazing, wasn’t it? “Predictable. But great.”

Then again, your adventure had barely begun. Out of alternatives, you found yourself going towards the bar and asking for a glass of water — the last thing you needed was to lose full control of your actions and moral judgement in a place like that, especially when you were taken there under the unspoken mission of babysitting your friends. You couldn’t allow yourself to be taken away by the compelling necessity that was to drown your problems away in oceans of cheap liquor, no matter how gorgeous those polychromatic bottles looked on the walls.

You had precisely ten minutes of peace before the changes in your life started to take place.

With your peripheral vision, you noticed a broad silhouette arriving, moving quickly to seat on the bench next to you. Primordially, you thought nothing of it — there was no reason to — and continued to pay attention to the flowery details of your dahlia-colored summer dress; thoughts traveling many miles away from that overflowing place. It was only when a voice — deep and thunderous — sounded next to you that you understood your position. “You’re here alone, sweetcakes?” it inquired.

Just by the tragic usage of that pet name, you knew the two of you were off to a rocky start.

Trying your best to keep your expression neutral, you looked him up and down — from his ginger beard to his piercing ice blue eyes, then back to the overabundance of reptiles tattooed on his exposed forearms — finally, away from him and back to the strangers in the crowd. The was the last thing you needed for that night was a viking cosplayer wanting to ask you out. “I’m with my friends,” you responded, rather dryly.

He hummed, and placed his arm on the counter. “No boyfriend, then.” The red-haired smiled openly. He was clearly a large guy, and from the bad side of Crystalfall — you had no idea how he could take rejection, and you weren’t very excited to find out. “You’re not from this part of town, are you?”

You decided to keep your posture as respectful and detached as you could possibly manage. Answers were difficult to come up with when you were that uncomfortable. “Is it that obvious?” you said, turning your head to take another peek at him. He was definitely much older than you, most likely around ten years, and his breath reeked of cigarettes and cheap alcohol. “I don’t want to be rude, but I’m not interested in finding a boyfriend either. If you know what I mean.”

“I do.” He winked. He did not know what you meant. “Maybe we can have fun just for ton—”

His speech was paused abruptly and, for an instant, a loud sound broke the static, followed by even a louder one, of flesh meeting leather. Your discombobulated mind needed a few instants to fully comprehend that those noises had been the sound of another man patting your viking counterpart in the back, perhaps with the force that could be comparable to a heimlich maneuver.

Ah, the night was getting better by the minute.

“Hey, man,” the newcomer greeted, skirting his large figure. As he came into view, you could perceive the petulant smirk that curled up on his flower-like lips, and the murderous glint that lit his dark eyes aflame. Quite the combo, if you could say so yourself. “It’s been a while.”

The red-haired man paused. His thrilled face withered into one that you could only describe as a mixture of irritation and apprehension — the same sentiment when a wasp is banging against your window, but you’re not insane enough to open the glass and watch as nature gets the best of you. Some things are better left unbothered and, apparently, that guy was one of those. “Yoongi,” he spoke that name as if it burned his tongue. “What can I help you with?”

His feline grin did not subside: in fact, you were sure it grew a few millimeters. “I’m glad you asked. I’m here to talk with an old friend.” He signaled with his head towards you — who, as anyone in that place could tell from your flabbergasted features, had never seen that man before in your entire life. “If you don’t mind, of course.”

Though, from his tone alone, it was clear that there was no space for debate. “I don’t.” The other man stood up, and only then did you realize the noticeable size difference between the two. In a way, that observation was chilling, for there was certainly some sort of compensation from the part of the smaller one — in that side of town, it was nothing good. “We’ll catch up later, sweetcakes,” the viking told you.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the so-called Yoongi laughed in disgust before you could verbalize anything. “No, you won’t.” He patted the guy on the back once again, this time a bit lighter; smiling freely as the other groaned something intelligible, then turned around to leave. “Keep movin’, dude,” he said, his speech clearly filled with mockery. “Let’s catch up later.”

Yoongi exhaled in artificial relief, placing his drink over the counter. The liquid was red as fresh blood, contrasting against his golden-kissed skin. “Well, he won’t bother you any further,” he told you, turning around to face the barman — who, you noticed, had been extremely entertained while witnessing that peculiar exchange. “Fill this up for me, man?”

The boy blinked, barely understanding the sentences that dripped in the space between them, before nodding energetically. “Yeah. Sure thing, Yoongi,” he agreed as he reached for the cup.

There was something about that man’s demeanor that got the best of you — perhaps the way that he held himself with such imprudent confidence, or the puzzle that formed just beyond his obsidian irises, inviting you to dive deeper into his mysteries. Phosphorescent, halcyon lights dripped down his features with perfection, his skin glowing slightly under the overwhelming brilliance — his semblance living on the thin line between human and seraphic. He was dazzling as a model, as desirable as the devil.

Yoongi looked just like a bad decision would, only a bit more tempting.

“That was a bit overdramatic.” You took a sip of water, trying to hide the smile that started creeping up your roseate-tinged lips. Even your friends would be able to tell that a guy like that could never mean good news — so why were you so drawn to him? It was so weird. “What are you, Yoongi, the big boss around here?”

Clearly he hadn’t been expecting that inquiry, for he promptly scoffed at your words. “Nah, not really,” he said, stare still locked to the barman, following the ruby liquid that was poured on his crystal-clear cup; two cubes of ice. “We don’t have leaders around here.”

“Anarchy. Always good for the soul.” You raised your cup in a silent cheer, watching as he laughed at your words — strangely, you found yourself enjoying that sound a bit more than you should. “You didn’t need to step in, though. With, you know, that guy.”

As he turned his head to find your eyes, you swore you had forgotten how to breathe for an instant. Underneath heavy eyelids, his look was sharp and gelid as a dagger, piercing directly at your soul. “Were you enjoying the talk?” he spoke slowly, voice an octave lower.

“Not at all.” You cleared your throat — you could not tell why you were so nervous all of a sudden. “Why the violence?”  

The charming stranger smirked. “I wasn’t violent.”

“Yeah right.” You rolled your eyes, and placed your cup back on the surface. Yoongi followed the motion of your slender fingers with clear interest, and his stare lingered on your skin, following up the path up your arms. “You slapped that man's back like he was choking on his inner demons.”

He shrugged, leaning against the surface with flawless grace — his every action was a dance, a frail path of endless daydreams being painted through the atmosphere. “It was nothing.” Yoongi ran one of his hands through his hair. His skin was marked by pallid blue veins, his hair was stygian as the nocturnal skyline, morphing into the adumbration of the poorly-lit room: you would be lying through your teeth if you claimed you didn’t feel attracted to him. That was bad. It was really bad. “So… you’re here with friends, right?”

“You overheard that.” You grinned. From the other side of the bar, the barman placed the drink on the surface with a mumble-like ‘there you go.’

It wasn’t a question, but he responded regardless. “Yes. And I overheard that you’re not from this part of town.” Yoongi spoke further, his sculptural lips forming his sentences with endless fluidity. He looked up at you. “What is a west beauty like you doing in a dreadful place like this?”

“Babysitting my inconsequential friends,” you overlooked his hidden compliment, even if you could not dissimulate the shade of geranium that bloomed upon your cheeks. “What is an east hunk like you trying to get out of a conversation like this?” you asked back.

He hummed and elevated one of his eyebrows. “You often have these trust issues, or is it just with me?” he provoked.

You smiled. “I often do. But you’re magnifying them.”

“Fair enough. You’re not from here.” Yoongi took his drink to his mouth, and the strawberry liquor — you assumed — stained his lips with an anemic shade of rufescent. “I’m just trying to get to know you. Which is hard, since you haven’t even given me your name yet.”

Presenting that stranger with any sort of information about you was most likely an unwise decision, but you did it regardless. “It’s YN.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Exotic,” he mocked, “I’m glad I got something out of tonight. Quite the day off.”

“Stop fucking with me.” You pushed his shoulder in a playful manner, watching as, on his lips, blossomed the traces of a diverted smile. He seemed to be such a nice guy, maybe you had judged him too soon. “Why, did my damsel-in-distress moment interrupt your business around here? Are you a dealer or something?” you joked.

Yoongi shook his head in a silent disagreement, forging a surprise far bigger than the one he witnessed. “Wow. Because I’m in a bad side of town? Talk about judgement.” He rolled his eyes. Then, against your expectations, his face grew serious, and he turned back to look at you. “But why? Want me to hook you up on some crack?”

Your lips parted in amazement. “I’m—“

He could not hold back his laugh then, and it was his turn to push his shoulder against yours. “I’m just messing with you, chill,” he said. “You should’ve seen your face.”

Overtaken by relief, you breathed out. “Damn, why did you do that for? I was going to say yes.”

“Sorry, couldn’t hold back.” He grinned — oh, he was definitely handsome. “I’m here just to have some fun, believe it or not. I was talking to some old friends, you know, catching up. Taking my mind off things.”

You agreed. “I should do that, but I’m constantly worried about something.”

“That seems like a chore,” Yoongi spoke with honesty, his tone as sacchariferous as caramel. Just by hearing his voice in such soft, casual manner, you could feel your chest being filled up with oceans upon oceans of interest, its growing tides crashing just at the bottom of your throat. That couldn’t be good. “What’s in your mind now?” he asked.

“My friends. Like those two, Hoseok and Namjoon, over there with the darts.” You pointed at the other side of the construction just in time to see Hoseok get the maximum ponctuation, his dart standing out right at the central red circle of the target. He jumped out in endless bliss, pointing at Namjoon and laughing victoriously. Next to you, Yoongi chuckled at the scene. “They love to go a bit crazy on the alcohol, and they always end up in insane places. This one time, Hobi took a cab and woke up two towns away, it was crazy.”

“Let me guess, you picked him up?” Yoongi asked.

You pouted. “It’s that obvious?”

“You seem like someone who would do that.”

“I’m his friend, it’s the least that I could do.”

“No one could’ve picked him up instead?”

You shrugged, unsure of what to respond. You didn’t know where the man was getting at. “I mean, I don’t know.”

“I do. I think he called you because he knew how you’d react.” Yoongi was talking fast, and saying all the correct words. You could tell that he had a sharp, quick-witted mind, for he responded to your sentences with zero vacillation — as Joohyun always said, smooth talkers are a dangerous type; they knew just how to carry you away. “You’d pick him up, maybe scream at him about being reckless, and let it pass. Am I right?”

Your shoulders fell in muted concordance. “Unfortunately.”

Yoongi smirked. “Thought so. You’re a Good Samaritan, west beauty.”

From the vague touches of playfulness amongst his precisely-built syllables, you though he might have been making fun of you. “Is that... bad?”

He took an instant before answering. “Not if you don’t overdo it. People might take advantage of that.”

You frowned and turned your gaze away from him, allowing for your attention to float back to your two friends. Hoseok and Namjoon were discussing loudly about one of them cheating, and nearby expectators were laughing along, perhaps a bit more invested than you’d believe possible: the two never had issues making friends. “I don’t overdo it,” you said in an annoyed whisper — it sounded as if you were trying to convince yourself.

“Yeah? So why are you here?” From your peripheral vision, you could see as he leaned his head to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of your dimly lit features. Still, guilt made your gaze oscillate to the opposite direction with almost flawless timing. “Throwing your night away because you wanted to make sure they were okay. They’re adults, you can’t babysit them forever. If they only get a pull on their ear every time they fuck up, they’ll never learn to weight the consequences.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms before your chest. You knew he was right. “Pretty talk for a guy in a thug bar.”

“That doesn’t invalidate what I said.” Yoongi spoke with tranquility, as if he already knew what your advances would be. It was odd, very odd — how genuinely he seemed to care, and how well he read you. “It’s like that saying goes: don’t set yourself on fire to keep other people warm. Help them out, sure, but I can tell you’re wearing yourself thin because of it. That’s not the best idea.”

You sighed. “I guess.”

He found your determination to keep your walls up to be, at the very least, entertaining. Still, he wouldn’t bulge — he never backed away from a good challenge. “Let me ask you something.” Yoongi placed his arm on the table, moving a bit towards you. His voice morphed into a profound, concentrated tone, words coming out in a whisper-like formation. Yoongi’s breath was sugary, carrying along the aroma of strawberry. “Would they do the same for you?”

Your eyebrows moved together, and you looked back to meet his stare. “How so?”

He shrugged and leaning back on his bench. It was a weird dance he was performing there — getting closer and then far from you, oscillating the inflections and volume of his mellifluous voice in a way to draw you nearer. “Would they pick you up if you were in trouble, would they accompany you somewhere they didn’t want to go because they were worried about you…? The list goes on,” Yoongi explained.

You thought for a second. Reality was rather dreadful once you came to terms with the fact that your friends weren’t as worried about your safety as you would like them to. “Joohyun would, I’m sure of that. She’s my other friend.” You cleared your throat. “But I’m not sure about the guys.”

Yoongi hummed, but did not buy the truth you were trying so vehemently to sell him. He examined your features like an attentive predator, trying to find the cracks on your mask. “Where’s Joohyun now?” he asked.

You knew exactly what his intention was the second that inquiry poured from his cinnamon-colored lips. “With a guy.”

One of his eyebrows raised. “She left you alone, then?” Yoongi questioned, traces of bitterness ornamenting his speech. “In a sketchy place, filled with strangers, knowing fully well you didn’t even want to come.”

You chuckled, humorless. “Yeah. Sounds so shitty when you put it like that, though.”

He sighed. “Tell me something.” Once again, he tilted his body closer to you. “Would you do that to her? If you had come to see me, and she was the one who was left behind, would you feel good about that?”

There was no need to ruminate on that inquiry, for you already knew the answer. “Not at all. I wouldn’t do that.”

Yoongi pressed his lips together and raised his eyebrows in an expression that spoke ‘that’s what I thought’. “Well, then that’s something to work on,” he said, then seemed to dive into an instant of thought. Maybe there was pity within his stare, but you could not be sure, perhaps you were just projecting. “Hey, all I’m saying is that you have to give yourself some value too. Gotta keep yourself together so you can help others with their broken pieces. All that crap.”

His words were so cliche that you would not help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it. “Where did you read that? In a minion meme for suburban moms?”

“I just came up with it.” He smirked, clearly proud of his impromptu work. “Cool, right? Some calendar shit right here.”

You took one of your fingers to your cheek and pretended to wipe away an invisible tear. “It was inspiring, to say the least.” You giggled. There was a certain insubstantial wave of security that encompassed his proximity, and it allowed for you to have a free conversation with him. That man was really something else. “Thank you, Yoongi. You’re cool.”

He raised his empty cup in a silent cheer. “Always a pleasure, YN,” he grinned, the lowered the object back on the table. Yoongi cleared his throat. “So... when do I see you again?”

You looked at him. There was something at work in your spirit that you could not quite comprehend — your eyes examined the exquisite person that was Yoongi, and it seemed as if your heart was filled with nostalgia, completely overthrown by a sentiment that did not belong alongside that stranger. Joohyun was right: smooth talkers were the worst, they could tear your walls down and make it seem like you did it yourself.

And that was your first mistake when it came to Min Yoongi: you trusted him far too easily.

“I’ll tell you what,” you started, turning around on your bench. Over the counter, your fingers were almost touching, and you swore you could feel the warm aura emanating from his skin. “Whenever you want to, I’m down.”

From the delight that was casted over his features, you could see that he couldn’t be more pleased at your response. “Alright. Let’s go have some fun one of these days.”

You leaned in, interested. “Got something in mind?”

“I might,” he disclosed with a grin. “Listen out. This might sound a bit crazy, but stay with me.”

So, you did.

It was a bit over two in the morning and your companion for the night had already left when you reached out for your friend amongst a crowd of strangers, poking her on the shoulder. “Joohyun, sorry to interrupt, but I’m going home,” you said as she turned around, her eyes wide and cheeks painted by a faint tone of cherry. “You can get a cab, right? Hoseok and Namjoon will probably leave together.”

The response, however, did not come from her. “I’ll drive her home. I didn’t drink.”

You looked to Joohyun’s side, meeting the face of her (not) boyfriend. He was definitely not your type, and you were sure she could do a lot better if she didn’t have such a gargantuan weakness towards bad influences. Not that you could judge her after what you had pulled that night. “Alright, man that I don’t know,” you were sarcastic as you spoke, and you noticed that the unknown guy did not appreciate your attitude. “You’re good?” you asked her.

Joohyun smiled warmly at your protectiveness — you didn’t know then, but she appreciated it deeply. “I’m good, YN, you can go,” she guaranteed with a nod. “Thanks for the heads up.”

“Sure thing.” Your eyes flickered towards the guy for another instant, but he was already paying attention to a discussion that happened behind your figure, his lips somewhat parted as his eyes squinted in absolute attention. Quite the airhead that your friend had gotten there. “By the way…” You breathed out. “You were right. I did meet someone interesting.”

Her eyes lit up in a level of excitement that, almost certainly, had been enhanced by alcohol. “That’s great!” she exclaimed. “Tell me everything later.”

“Will do.” You agreed with a movement of your head. “Thank you for bringing us here tonight, and you—” You poked the guy, who blinked a few times as he crashed back into reality. “Thank you for getting us in.”

He mumbled something that you believed sounded like “whatever, chick I don’t know,” even if his speech was a bit too groggy for you to follow. There was no alcohol in his breath, and he certainly didn’t seem high. He just seemed a bit slow and, combined with his clear dislike for you, he most likely didn’t feel like having a proper conversation anyways.

Well, you took that as your invitation to leave. Next up, saying goodbye to Hoseok and Namjoon, and making sure that they hadn't stabbed each other’s eyes out with darts.

Their ebullient screams of exhilaration got to you before their images did, mingling with other, equally loud laughs. From what you could see, their little show of competitiveness had resulted in quite the audience agglomerating around the two of them, finding the situation a bit funnier than it was — and thank booze for that. You could only imagine what kind of circle of hell The Cave would be if most of its crime-leaning users weren’t drunk out of their minds.

“Namjoon, Hoseok,” you called out, trying your best not to get hit by one of the passersby. “I’m leaving. Are you guys alright?”

“Yeah, we didn’t drink,” Namjoon answered, his gaze still locked on the target. His fingers were holding his dart so strongly that his fingertips turned white, his concentration was so intense that he most likely didn’t notice his roseate tongue poking at the corner of his plump lips. “Can’t miss these shots.”

Namjoon made his sensational shot, but it came nowhere close to the central circle — in fact, it almost missed the target completely. Hoseok slapped his shoulder, unable to hold back a resounding laugh. “Clearly, you can. I’m still winning, man,” he teased. “Keep on trying, though, this is what dreams are made of.”

You could not help but smile alongside your friends, a certain sensation of amiability spreading throughout your chest. You really cared about those guys, and you were more than blissful that you all got a great night out of what, at first, appeared to be a nightmare. Perhaps they were right, perhaps you really should let yourself go more often.

But, well, you had already started, in a way.

With a final check on your friends, you allowed for your gaze to travel around The Cave for the terminal time that night. Truly, those christmas lights made everything much more ethereal, and you certainly wouldn’t mind coming back there another time — especially now that you knew someone of those lands.

Yeah, you wouldn’t mind at all.

Without further ado, you made your way to the front door, and welcomed yourself into the obfuscous veil of dusk. Around your legs, your summer dress danced, blown away by the tremulous touches of that hyperborean breeze. You placed your hands over your thighs in an attempt to keep the fabric in place, and stepped onto the dust-covered ground.

Yoongi was leaning against the brick walls, his black leather jacket morphing with the crepuscular aura of the night. Twilight danced on his skin as he raised his green bottle up to his lips, delighting on the ambrosial taste of his liquor. Once he heard you stepping outside, shoes making dry sounds against the earth, his head turned towards your figure. He smiled then, satisfied. “Said goodbye to the kids?” he inquired, even if he already knew the answer.

Your heart leaped inside your chest — he had scared you. “Yeah.” You inhaled the cool air. Behind your back, it seemed that the vibrations of the slow rock song stretched out into the infinity of the nocturnal winds, booming inside your spirit ― a clear cacophony if compared to the beating of your heart. “They didn’t seem to care much, they were kinda busy.”

“If they are your friends, they did care.” Yoongi took the bottle back to his lips, taking the remnants of the drink. The green glass used the luminescence of a nearby pole to cast emerald-colored shapes over his somber features. “Maybe they’re just taking you for granted. Happens.” He sighed once he lowered the bottle.

You looked at him and frowned. A dense mist had fallen over the asleep city. With its cloud-like nature, it curled around relinquished constructions and dispersed the lambency of fluorescent lights, those which flickered rhythmically amongst the colorless expansion, painting the white smoke by what resembled a purple hue amongst the penumbra of midnight. For an instant, you stood there, amazed at the way that landscape resembled a daydream; Yoongi’s image bordering on a mirage.

At last, you spoke out, and your words carried not the weight of certainty, but of fear. “Maybe.” You allowed for a despondent, timid smile to materialize at the corners of your rose-painted lips. “Do you go around coaching people or is it just me?”

“Just you.” Yoongi responded with no hesitation. Against the pallid touch of moonlight, he appeared to be a lost phantasm, a bittersweet soul looking for a way to anchor himself back to hope. Perhaps he had just found it. “Not a lot of people listen to me. I’m avoided most of the time,” he said, “Not that I care about it.”

Weeks later, you would ask yourself profusely how the hell you could have ignored the blatant red flag swirling in the air, right in front of your face. Then, however, you had succumbed to your ephemeral, curious bliss, and instead chose to ignore the warning signs that started to emerge within your head. “They should,” you told your new friend, hoping your words carried along the touches of your gratitude. “Thank you again.”

Yoongi smirked as he licked the remaining drops of liquor on his lips. “You’re welcome, west beauty,” he responded. “See you next week, then?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you responded, voice dancing just above a timid whisper. Your timbre, as light and ethereal as a tulip’s petals, carried along into the cool breeze, dispersing into the skyline. It wasn’t just a promise, it was a request to the stars. “It’s a date.”

The week that followed your night in The Cave passed in a rush of contrasting emotions and haze-covered dialogues.

After Namjoon had scrambled to arrange another meeting at Mercy’s the next day, you took your time hearing your friend’s stories about the former industry complex before you said anything about your upcoming adventure. The boys were clearly excited, talking continuously about the individuals they had met and the dart competition that, according to Hoseok, he had won; but, according to Namjoon, it had been a close tie.

“We’re even thinking about, like, forming teams or whatever, apparently some guys from the east side already have one,” Namjoon had vocalized, ignoring the other boy’s continuous protests. “But that’s about it. What you have to share, Joohyun?”

With a smile and a flick of her hair, the girl started pouring out her stories. As much as she promised to spare the spicy details of her romantic endeavors, she could not hold the same mercy towards the gossip that surrounded the group she had been thrown into. Joohyun spoke, in a voice as velvety and sweet as candy, about the time that someone was thrown over the bar and crashed against all the beverage; or about the man that constantly threatened to hang his counterparts on the christmas lights, but was terribly afraid of heights — making his plan virtually impractical.

Though, that was not the point of her monologue, and the two of you knew that very well. “But… there’s something else. Something more important.” She turned to you, a smirk already creeping up on her lips. “Isn’t it?”

You took a deep breath, and leaned back on the couch. All eyes were on you now, dripping seas upon seas of expectation. “Yeah…” You cleared your throat. “I might have… a date?”

Hoseok almost choked on his saliva. “Are you for real?”

“As serious as a heart attack,” you answered.

Then, as expected, the questions started flooding the space between your bodies. Who the lucky guy was, what he did, how in the living hell he managed to drag you out of your bed and into an emotionally threatening situation, so on. You answered them with a lingering smile on your lips and the sensation of change creeping up on your back; the feeling that something incredible was at work all around you.

It had been years since you felt that kind of infantile nervousness; the sensation of butterflies caressing the insides of your chest, their wings quivering in expectancy. As one day fell into the next and Yoongi’s messages became more and more frequent on the screen of your phone, that feeling only intensified, burning at the edges of your ponderations like wildfire, sending shivers up and down your skin. It had been an audacious — careless, hotheaded — decision, but you managed to neglect the consequences that approached on the horizon.

You could not comprehend the effect that Yoongi had on you and, quite frankly, it felt a bit frightening. Call it a crush, mere carnal desires, or the treacherous side effects of curiosity — the point was that, even against your best attempts, the idiosyncratic man kept returning to haunt the corners of your mind; his voice singing amongst your most profound of reveries, whispering the promises you could never wish for. If it had been anyone else to approach you in that place, you would have never accepted to accompany them in a date; so why had it been so easy with him?

Back then, you could not see the reality that curled around his figure like venomous, thorn-encrusted vines — Yoongi looked like a supernova, but he was just a black hole, sucking you into his gravitational field with every movement of his pallid lips. Though, some truths were very well hidden under a veil of enigmatic sentences and thaumaturgic glares. Eventually, they would all come crashing down.

Still, you were far from that fateful moment — a couple months, to be exact. No, you were still looking down to the abyss, still feeling the tingling of excitement washing down your figure. First, you had to fall to the bottom of the well and, only then, you could start your way up.

At last, the anticipated day arrived. Your animation awakened alongside the primordial traces of aurora, and the obnoxious ringing of your phone, which shook you out of a dreamless sleep. Upon answering the unfitting call, you were met with Joohyun’s voice on the other end of the line, wishing you good luck and requesting for you to keep her updated on recent occurrences. With a tender smile, you thanked her, and said that you would be more than glad to have a night of gossip after that entire deal was done with — fries, ice cream, and terrible movies; just the way you two adored so much.

Once you hung up the call, however, a new surprise awaited on your device.  

Slowly, you were starting to realize that you had a tendency to gravitate towards people that enjoyed cryptic messages far too much for your own liking — and your new friend was no different. Yoongi had texted you saying to meet him in the parking lot of a local supermarket, a bit after seven, where he would be buying some supriments for your undisclosed date.

Countless times throughout your week of daydreams and presuppositions, you had pushed the boy to share the surprise he had prepared for the two of you, but you remained unsuccessful. Yoongi would merely chuckle at your radiating desperation, claiming that all that you should know is that it was a special occasion, and there was nothing you could say or do that would make him change his mind about disclosing it. His one and only hint had been that it would be in a known spot around town, hiding in plain sight.  

But that didn’t help much, did it? It was a vague as possible.

Which, again, was a common theme with him.

Asymmetrical to the suspicions that started to propagate within your chest, you moved forward with your date and, before you could tell, the horizon had already adopted the lambent haze of the setting sun, burning amongst the buildings like a golden aura.

If one were to follow the path of the tenuous — yet dreadfully suffocating — summer wind throughout the pacate streets of Crystalfall, they might have catched a glimpse of your figure against the scalding sun. You walked towards the center of the town with your heart in your throat and your hands shaking, dress waltzing in the air alongside the rich scent of lilacs and roses — courtesy of downtown’s famous flower shop, always open for late lovers. All around you, vivacious trees trembled underneath the magnificence of the season, their leaves casting hypnotic shadows against the crepuscular asphalt, hiding in shades of green and brown.

It was an instant paused in time, paused in memory. Some days are so permeated by exquisiteness that you could not help but believe that they were made for grandiose purposes; that their heavenly symmetry could only mean the new beginning of a phase in your life. Either by coincidence or fate, that was precisely what that date was.

You saw Yoongi’s car — a black 67’ chevy impala — the instant that you arrived at the back entrance of the supermarket. Other than another blue truck at the edge of the parking lot, the place was completely desolated; its monochromatic cement painted by an intense hue of apricot, reflecting the overwhelming summer heat on your exposed legs. Not much later,  as you walked towards the vehicle, you saw the reason of your chaotic thoughts emerge behind it.

In the background, the sounds of the traffic was muted, and the trees had become static — the universe had come to a halt, and the only aspect still in focus was him. His hair was disheveled, slightly pulled back and touched by droplets of sweat and, on his lips a pout was formed, permitting for a prolonged sigh to depart from in between them, losing itself amongst the heavy atmosphere. You moved closer with hidden reluctance, accompanying the manner that the muscles of his shoulders tensed up as he placed something inside the car; his back curving so he could take a last look at the job he had done.

As Yoongi adjusted his posture and placed his hands over the trunk’s edge, ready to lower it, you swore your mind had gone completely blank. Instead of the leather jacket that your gaze had expected to meet, the summer heat had forced your new friend to cover his chest only with a white tank top. The piece of thin fabric allowed you to see his built in its full form and, more than that, paved the way so your eyes could trail up and down the black lines on his skin. Yoongi had always had a vague touch of demonic, wicked allurance to him, but that was just too much — that was temptation in its rawest form, wrapped in ashes and smoke.

Though, you had barely no time to fully take in what he was presenting you. Upon perceiving your presence, he looked up at you and his lips twisted into a cheerful smile. “West beauty,” he greeted, closing the trunk. Your eyes vacillated between his inky hair and the dark tattoos that covered up his exposed arms, drawings contrasting so beautifully against his skin. “You showed up.”

Fighting against the rapid beating of your frantic heart, you forced yourself to exhale your worries through your nose. With steady steps, you paused before him, paying close attention to the way that his caliginous eyelashes casted small shadows against his cheeks — every detail seemed to be precisely architectured so he could pull you deeper into perdition. “Wouldn’t miss it,” you responded, signaling with your head towards the car. “Shall we?”

He agreed with a nod, and made sure to open the door for you before swiftly moving to his seat. Once the two of you were inside and the low murmuring of the ignition broke the silence, your voice resumed. “By the way,” you begun, turning around and watching as he bucked his belt with a low clicking noise, “if you’re planning to murder me, I’ll kill you.”

“Seems like a fair trade.” Yoongi chuckled. “You can put the emergency number on dial if that makes you feel any safer.”

You forced out a sarcastic laugh, crossing your arms before your figure. Beyond the parted windows, a dense cloud covered the rays of the radiant sun, and the world fell into fugacious darkness. “Very funny,” you vocalized. “It already is.”

Light had long vanished beyond the mountains once the two of you arrived at your destination — the waterfalls.

In all its natural purity, the cascades of Crystalfall stood like a forgotten deity against the horizon, crashing down on a valley encrusted by lime-covered rocks and altitudinous pine trees like an enormous lion roaring into the midnight, many miles away. The water was a bright shade of cyan once it was bathed by the lambency of daytime, though, at night, its translucent flow had succumbed into an abyssal tone of indigo, its droplets reflecting like pearls against the effulgence of the moon before, at last, they morphed into the furious white vapour that floated above the lake like smoke.

For the first time in you life, you fully grasped its magnificence.

You had gone there only once, when you were a kid, but the experience was impossible to compare. With Yoongi by your side, you could notice every little detail of nature reflecting within his figure — the crystalline beauty of the water drops that flickered like diamonds inside his eyes; the sound of whispering trees that echoed within his speech; the feeble caresses of the wind against your skin, resembling the ghost of his fingertips against your own.

After sneaking past the ocean of  dry foliage and unbothered animals, the two of you stayed just over a verdigris hill — where, even with the distance, you had a sensational view of those gargantuan landscapes, and the thunderous sounds of the water did not bother the volume of your speech. In an aura of romanticism that you had not expected, Yoongi had planned a picnic for the two of you — which ended up being an overabundance of sweets over a red towel. As you were starting to notice, he might have been a bit weak when it came to the flavour of strawberries, for that was the common element amongst his packages. Not to mention the main dish: strawberries and chantilly.

Though, you were not even close to complaining about any of that. Yoongi lived with a thin layer of bliss covering his every movement; his eyes continuously oscillating back to you, silently inquiring if you were enjoying his company, if he was playing his part correctly. And, heavens, he was. There was no way he could have made that first date any better.

Minutes decayed into hours and, before you could notice, the sands of time had passed by, echoing alongside the boisterous roaring of Crystalfall. With the same fluidity of the cascading waters, the two of you prepared your picnic, and dove into all sorts of conversations — hope-filled sentences; silent requests of a kinder future for the two of you; slender cracks of the past you sought so hard to cover. You came to understand the mystery that was Min Yoongi a bit better and, besides that, found out that the two of you weren’t as different as you first pictured.

He was an eclipse: dull and obscure, but surrounded by a threadlike line of light. Beyond the twilight, an entire universe was hidden.

At some point, as snow-colored clouds tenderly held back the silver illumination of the midnight moon, Yoongi held your hand; his thumb caressing your soft skin in a constant assurance of his presence. In an unforeseen flash of euphoria, you swore that your hearts were beating in unisound, and the ballad of nature could be heard alongside his mellifluous speech — those beautiful words he had no problem using to break your walls down.

You swore that you were meant to be, that he had been handmade for you to love.

Who were you to deny the requests of fate?

“You met me in a very weird time of my life, Min Yoongi,” you spoke out, stare scrutinizing every minute detail that whispered amongst the slender trees; trembling alongside the mumbling leaves. Life in Crystalfall might have been a simple one, but its paradisiacal elegance was not mundane whatsoever.

With one of his arms pulling his body upwards, he looked up at you — his abrupt gaze was blinding as a glimpse of sun through dense storm clouds. “Is that good?” he asked.

There was a second of silence before your answer came out. “You tell me.” You suspired, inhaling the cold mountain air, purifying your lungs. That had become your small fragment of heaven, and you wished you could stay there forever. “It’s so out of character for me to have accepted your invitation — like, come on, you’re from the east side, no offense. I met you last week, I  know barely anything about you.”

He raised one finger, pausing your speech. “Don’t forget that you met me in an abandoned factory that was turned into a bar for thugs.” Yoongi added, the hint of a smile creeping up on the corners of his lips. “Sounds like every parent’s dream.”

You chuckled, finding his reaction rather adorable. “You won’t have to worry about that. My parents are out of the picture,” you said. From the way that confusion was casted like a shadow across his face, you were certain of which doubt had sprouted in his head. “They didn’t die, don’t worry, they’re divorced. But they don’t speak to each other and sure as hell don’t speak to me.”

Yoongi turned his body around, his chest now facing you. Something gleamed within his semblance, but you could not define which emotion it was. “Well at least you know who your parents are,” he spoke. “I’ve skipped from foster home to foster home my entire life, raised in the streets, all that. Not the best of influences, if you ask me.”

“That’s so rough, sorry about that,” you attempted to verbalize your compassion the best way that you could, placing your hand over his. You could not even begin to imagine how it could have been for him — to be raised with no family, no safe port, surrounded by the worst that humankind could offer. In a way, it was no surprise that Yoongi had been attracted to the east side of town, you figured that it was the only reality he had ever known.

He shrugged it off, though, perceiving your empathy as an image of pity. Yoongi hated to feel vulnerable, hated to be treated as something to be protected. “I deal with it. I’m not the same person anymore,” he said. The boy must have seen the confusion that was projected over your features, for he hastly changed the subject. “Now you know more about me, though. You’re from here?”

“Kind of. Raised here, born four towns away,” you told him. “My aunt takes good care of me.”

He seemed puzzled at the prospect. “And she’s okay with this date?”

You took a deep breath and redirected your gaze away from him; the phantasm of a smirk already showing its signs. “Well, I didn’t exactly give her all those details about the thug bar. But she’s happy I’ve met someone,” you spoke. On your tongue, the sweet taste of chantilly still lingered, and it instigated you to reach for another strawberry. “She says that I needed  it.”

Yoongi hummed in an unspoken concordance, paying close attention to your moon-bathed features, seeking for cracks on your controlled demeanor. “You’ve been feeling lonely lately?”

In some way, his question hurt something within your spirit, throwing salt in a wound that you didn’t even know it was there. Though, there was a time and place to face those demons, and your first date just wasn’t it. “Not exactly. I just stay in my head a lot,” was what you responded instead. Even if you felt secure by his side, there were some parts that you simply did not share with anyone. “I love my friends to death—“

“—Even if they take advantage of your altruism,” he interrupted.

“They care about me, in their own way.” You took a bite of the strawberry, unable to meet his gaze — it was able to look directly at the most vulnerable parts of your soul, and that was the last thing you needed them. Smooth talkers. Always the smooth talkers. “Anyways, I love them, but we seem to always be in totally different frequencies, you know?”

“I do. I feel the same.” Yoongi intertwined his fingers on your own, making your gaze navigate back to his own — those pupils that held everything and nothing at all. “I think everyone feels left out at some given point of their life, it’s normal. It doesn’t have to be a bad thing to be alone, or even lonely.”

“I never really cared about it, it was kind of the norm of my life.” You breathed out, and looked down — your hands, bathed by the pallid, silver-like illumination of the moon, stood out against the deep carmine of the towel. “The more I grow up, the more I feel like I’m out of sync with everyone.”

“The more I grow up, the more I realize there’s no rhythm to follow.” Yoongi threw back, watching as your eyes widened in confusion. Your expression showed an emotion that he could not identify, as if you had just realized something important, something that had been hidden right underneath your nose. “Damn, west beauty, just march to the beat of your own drum, whatever works.”

You could not hold back a laugh — a tender, liberating chuckle that erupted at the bottom of your throat, exorcising all the mischievous devils that had been encompassing your head for too long. “Thanks, Coach.” You smirked. “Freud got nothin’ on your bar psychology.”

“Shut up, you brat.” He laughed, taking one of his hands to push your shoulder playfully. “You really got no respect, uh?”

You rolled your eyes. “Says the man who offered me crack.”

“Jokingly,” he corrected, “Also, before my goldfish memory makes me forget to say this, just enjoy the moment. Some things aren’t meant to be understood, and we can’t be narcissistic enough to feel like we’re the chosen ones, that we deserve a special answer. Just don’t be a prick, you know?”

“Wiser words have never been said.” You smiled longingly. Something was flourishing inside the walls of your fast-beating heart, and you could not control its roots radiating throughout your entire being. “You sound like you would like a simple lifestyle. You know, on the westside.”

“Yeah, maybe one day, when I’m tired and bitter, I can get a farm like the rest of the old people in Crystalfall.” Yoongi smirked faintly at the prospect — it didn’t sound so bad when he said it out loud. “I’d have to dedicate my entire life for that, though, and I can’t stay still for too long.”

You raised one eyebrow, placing your elbow on the towel, merely a few centimeters away from him. “You’re here with me now.” You lowered your body to the same position as his. He has so close you could perceive the sugary aroma that sprouted in between his lips.

His gaze fell to your parted mouth, somewhat stained by the red tinge of strawberry. “I mean in the same city.”

“Oh, so you’re leaving me the second this date ends?” you asked, playful.

He paused at that. Yoongi’s eyes were atramentous as the night that surrounded the two of you, but there were no constellations scintillating in his pupils — there was only a fathomless fall, an unsolvable puzzle. “I didn’t say that.” He took one of his hands to your cheek, caressing the place with his thumb. You heart got trapped in the confinements of your throat as, gradually, the boy started to lean in, his nose brushing lightly against your own. “Besides... I can make an exception for a west beauty like you,” he whispered.

Yoongi’s lips tasted like a storm, like he was hiding hurricanes beneath his tongue. The boy kissed you patiently, slowly, taking his time to caress your lips with his before he parted his mouth enough to deepen his actions. Your mind was miles away, but you had the impression you heard a low, shriveled groan reverberating in the space between your mouths as your tongues met. Time ceased to run for an instant, then, it all came crashing down.  

Your eyes remained shut for a second when the boy moved away, your full attention still focused on the phantasm of his kiss, the sensation that still waltzed on your lips. At times, merely the right kiss is enough to make someone fall — the precise impact that would make you lose your balance, to decay into the pit that was those amaranthine black eyes.

That night, at least, it was.

Once you opened them, you were met with a weak smile from his part. “Can I ask you something crazy?” Yoongi’s lips touched yours as he spoke.

“Depends,” you said underneath your breath, utterly taken away by his beauty.

With stardust in his eyes and the cosmos expanding at every inhale, Yoongi was the ruler of your own shared universe, holding your hands through the infinity of time and space. When he spoke, you felt as if his words were written in the stars, guiding you towards the future you were meant to live. “I want you to run away with me.” He took his fingers and placed one strand of your hair behind your ear. “Not forever, just for a little while. We can get in this car and just go around some places, be nameless for some time. I feel like you and I could use some relaxation.”

You raised your eyebrows, walking in the thin line between worried and intrigued. If it had been anyone else, you wouldn't have even considered such preposterous idea — however, it was Yoongi, and he knew how to push all the right buttons. “Like a road trip?”

He shrugged. “You could say that. What’s your answer?”

“Oh, what the hell.” You placed a small kiss on his lips, and whispered against his parted mouth. “I’m in.”

And then he took you for another kiss.

Right then and there, you made the decision that would shape the weeks to come.  There you stood, staring down at the abyss that was Min Yoongi, wondering what could follow your jump. The air was thin and smooth as silk, brushed against your skin like the gentle caresses of butterfly’s wings. It was static and devoid of sentiment; phlegmatic; empty. Beneath your feet, only darkness. 

“Whatever this is,” you thought in a flash of reason, “it isn’t love.” 

And jumped. Fell.

The first three weeks passed by with little to no incidents, and you had started to believe you had found paradise on earth.

After you had accepted the man’s proposal for a miraculous getaway, the two of you made your plans as if it would be the last adventure of your lives — from the route that you would follow to the attractions you would see. Taking advantage of his free spirit’s memories, Yoongi made sure to highlight the best cities he had seen nearby, his face growing serious every time he looked up to meet your anxious gaze. He would speak smoothly then, following the rhythm of the melody only the two of you shared, and tranquilizing your negative thoughts promptly.

“West beauty, I want to share the world with you,” he would say, his fingertips touching the skin of your cheek as if he could write poetry on it. Yoongi’s voice was like a rich verse, a sublime rhyme that continued to echo within your soul. “I know it’s crazy, but I’m sure you'll love it. Just give me a chance.”

It was crazy, and you knew it. You felt as if you had been possessed by a recklessness that was completely alien to you — pushing you to pursue that insane road trip by the side of a man you knew nothing about, but yet that understood you so profoundly. Of course you were beyond worried — you had every reason to be — but, once again, you had long commited your first error, and your misplaced trust would take some time to fully disappear.

So you went forward with it. You came back home, invented some strangely believable story about meeting some college friends to your aunt, and packed your bags as adrenaline rushed through your veins, electricity sparking at your fingertips. You had spent your entire life following rules so thoroughly that the mere prospect of running away — for some time — with a man you barely knew was impossible for your aunt to even conjure. There was nothing holding you back from entering the most dangerous situation you had ever placed yourself in.

But oh well — some of the most unexpected blessings can disguise the most pernicious of curses.

Two days after your date at the waterfall, just as Sunday’s sun was starting to set, you met the boy at the Yellowside bridge — which connected the two parts of the town, split only by a slender river. Just as he had promised in a previous message, Yoongi had parked his cars amongst the veridian-painted trees, in a blind spot covered by bushes. It was a gorgeous afternoon: chilly, yet pleasant; silent, yet permeated by the whispering of leaves and the quiet crashes of the river’s water. There was a vague scent of flowers and humid ground mingling in the air, dancing along the singing of birds. It was perfect, after all.

Yoongi was leaning against the passenger side of his vehicle, eyes scrutinizing something on his phone. Behind him, the horizon was painted by thin brushstrokes of apricot and burning amber; setting the strands of his black hair on fire, shining like a golden aura around his angelic features. To catch him in such breathtaking landscape was an unique experience, so fantastic that your worries were silenced for an instant.

It didn’t take long for him to grasp the sound of your hurried footsteps against the dry foliage. “I’m here,” you said as he looked in your direction. Your hands were holding tightly to your backpack, and you felt like you carried the weight of the world in there. “Ready to go.”

In that simple sentence, you promised him everything that you had. And he accepted promptly.

Your partner in crime showed his gentlemen side that day — he opened the passenger door for you, then moved to place your backpack on the back seat, along with his own baggage. Yoongi’s car had the same scent as last time — strawberries, with a vague touch of mint.

The next instant, he was already sitting next to you and turning the ignition. “To infinity and beyond,” Yoongi claimed, closing the door with a loud exclamation. The sound resembled a gunshot to your arrhythmic heart, making it skip a beat. That was crazy. You were crazy. There was no way that could end well. “Let’s enjoy life together, west beauty.”

Nevertheless, as his car started to move, you didn’t verbalize any of your inner worries. A few minutes later, they were merely a ghost at the back of your mind — you came to the realization that the two of you had the world ahead of you, and it was yours to take.

In the progression of a few hours, the sky was painted by a deep shade of blue, then succumbed into a star-encrusted stygian. The roads expanded before you like paths into infinity, illuminated solely by the lights of his car — a small comet crossing the endless universe in respectful silence. On the radio, a slow song played on repeat, each melody decaying into the next one, dispersing its beautiful notes amongst the indoors air. With dreamy eyes, you followed the trees moving next to you, turning into a obfuscous blur of forms and sizes. A personal cosmos had opened itself for the two of you, and you adored the tranquility it brought along.

Three hours later, you arrived at the first of many motels. The purple luminescence of the neon sign ondulated on the surface of nearby puddles, a mystical aura walzed within every detail of that place. As you opened the passenger door and stepped into the cool air, you felt as if your entire life was opening like a flower in front of you.

In the strangest of ways, being on the run felt like home.

And so, you dove into it.

Before you could even notice, the days morphed into weeks, and the weeks into almost a month. Yoongi loved you kindly at first, taking his time to explore the nature that was born within your figure. He caressed your fingertips with endless delicacy, delighted in the honey of your tongue and drowned in your sweet soul, touching every crack, loving every wound. His hands were made of promises, his words were soft as silk and, together, they drew poems across your skin.

“I think that I’m in love with you, west beauty,” he would whisper against your mouth as the auric sunlight creeped through the cracks of the curtains, losing no time before dwelling in your kiss once again. Yoongi suspired against you, mind still slumberous, and limbs still intertwined around your half-naked figure. He was like the moon — mystic, lonely, overpowering. He controlled the tides of your ocean with endless delicacy, crashed against you and then retrieved back with tenuous kisses against your lips.

For those moments, you would feel free. You had convinced yourself, in a haze of impromptu decisions and impermanent pleasures, that you had fallen for him. You had sewed your mind in such way that you vehemently believed that you loved Min Yoongi just as much the moon loves the stars, like the clouds kiss the sun. You loved him like the Yellowside river’s water runs on, like the seasons pass, and you two were left with brown leaves and naked twigs — vulnerable and weak. You loved him like prismatic flowers blossomed during the spring, like earth embraces the cold droplets of the falling rain. You loved him like you. Like him. Like the two of you.

God, you loved him.

Yet, somehow, someway, you knew the two of you were not meant to last — so, you were left to whisper to him your deepest secrets, attempting to keep your head above water; your heart above desire, as you succumbed into the fathomless ocean that was Min Yoongi. You continued to fall for him, in between caresses, in between lamenting sighs; but, then, your every movement became coated by a thin layer of reluctance; the poltergeist of a broken heart beating inside the walls of your chest, banging against your ribs in unspoken pleas for mercy.

Those paranoid flashes of reason, however, did not last for long. Yoongi silenced your demons with the touch of his tender kiss against your lips, muted their whispering voices with the booming sound of clubs — asking for you to dance the night away, to be carried by the rhythm of freedom, to scream out in deserted roads and hear as your pain was washed away by the ice-cold winds of change. You did all of that for him: from the never-ending hours spent inside his vehicle to the constant moving between motel rooms, you accepted his words, took them as your personal truth, and allowed for them to guide you into a land where there were no problems in sight. A land in which he was your world, and you were his.

For some time, that was sufficient.

When Yoongi asked for more of you, there was no fiber in your being that even contemplated the idea of turning it down. As he kissed an invisible route through your neck, past the mountains of your breasts, and into the lines of your stomach, there was nothing within you that made you hold back the river of your own desire. In that muffled motel room, the only sound that pierced the static was the constant spinning of the fan’s blades, and your voice, tender as the vernal season. “Yoongi,” you mumbled against the skin of his neck, goosebumps spreading across your own. You wished to feel him so badly that it was consuming your soul, setting your mind on fire — there was nothing else that mattered. “I want you.”

And, heavens, only God knew how much he wanted you too.

Tracing the pattern from your clit to your entrance, Yoongi grunted as he felt your liquids running down his digits; listening to your soft sighs as he pushed past your folds, teasing his way in — but never fully doing so. For a few times, there was all that he did: brushing lightly his fingers from your opening to your clit, never applying the satisfactory pressure or entering you. You despised his patience sometimes.

In dissonance, as soon as he moved back his head and his hooded eyes met your own, needy ones, all the remnants of his self control were lost. He could tease you another time — then, he needed to have you.  

With a passionate kiss, the man took you in his arms and, with a strong pull, elevated your hips from the soft mattress; fingers not wasting a single second before pulling down the cotton of your underwear. He groaned against your mouth once he felt the sensation of your center against his hard, clothed member, pressing down just right.

An ambrosial taste of nectar was pouring form in between his lips, rushing through your veins, intoxicating your senses with its mephitic sweetness. Against your chest, you could perceive the fast beating of his own heart, resounding like drums inside your ears alongside a deep, rusty grunt of desire. “Baby,” he whispered — begged. “Let me have you, please.”

There was no need to ask, for you had already given him every sign of consent that he needed. Who would you be to decline such compelling proposal?

And so you gave yourself to him — again and again; until your legs were trembling and your weak lungs could not take in the dense air anymore. You gave yourself to Yoongi as if the world would reach its ending in the following morning; as if the pleasure of his enticing touches were enough for you to live on. You dove into the melody of his moans and whines; cried out in need as he prolonged your euphoria just a little bit longer; fucked you a little bit deeper; ruined you a little bit further.

In those moments, everything felt as marvelous as it could be.

Before you knew it, those instances had been incorporated to your routine. And, for that, Yoongi was dangerously creative. He would have you the way he wanted it, when he wanted it: he would fuck you mercilessly against the wall, take you in the hot tub at late hours of the night, would accompany you in your showers, making you beg for him with the right movement of his digits and the flick of his tongue.

You loved the way he looked then: his eyes so filled with flames; his breaths so raspy, so deep; his cheeks painted by a vague tinge of cardinal. Droplets of sweat decorated his abdomen and his forehead, shining around his opaque gaze as he took you deeper, rougher, whispering sweet nothings into your ear. “You’re all mine, west beauty,” he moaned out once, voice rotten by desire and certainty. “You take me so well, baby, I love you so much—”

He did, he really did. Yoongi, in all his breathless bliss, could only compare your image to the empyrean, cherubic beauty of angelic sculptures, embellished by the eroticism of forgotten nymphs. He adored the way your body — more specifically, your ass — moved as he fucked you so mercilessly from behind; jumping up and down on the motel bed at the will of his strong thrusts. “You like this, baby?” he asked in a hushed tone, fingers digging to the curvature of your waist. You cried out his name in a clear agreement. “Yeah? You like my cock? You like when I fuck you like this?”

“Yeah, oh my god,” you whimpered, turning your head on the pillow to look at him. God, your mouth was so swollen, you had been biting the pillow so hard you barely noticed it.

But Yoongi did. The dream of decorating such gorgeous, immaculate features — those lust-filled, cherry-painted lips he venerated so much — with the whiteness of his release made him thrust against you even harder. “You feel so good, you’re so tight,” he praised. It had become even more difficult to find the right words to speak now that his high was hanging like sword over his head. “You’re such a good girl, aren’t you? You’re so good.”

“Y-Yeah, Yoongi…” you cried out, hands holding tightly to the pillow as if it was the last fragment of reality that could chain you down to the delicious present of his actions. Your hair was disheveled, spread all over the mattress like a cascade. “Harder, please,” you requested in a whine.

Yoongi moaned again and again, opening his eyes just enough so you could perceive the way his irises shone in absolute concupiscence — he looked like something straight out of a daydream, a tempting demon lurking in the shadows of your desires; from the way his hair was gleaming in droplets sweat to his parted, gasping red lips. “Take it baby,” he said. Ordered. Once again, you did as he said, perking up your hips and feeling as he hit your sweet spot. “Yeah, that’s my girl, come on.”

Fuck, how he loved to have you that. Yoongi could cum just at the mere sensation of your wetness, the way you moaned and cried under his rough touches; fighting to reach your climax as his member thrusted in and out of your soaked center. He was so hard it was almost painful to endure, cock pulsating inside you as his hips slowly started to lose their precision, movements growing erratic, stained by pleasure.

His climax washed over him, breaking upon his cloudy perceptions and erupting on the tip of his tongue in a long, drown-out moan. Yoongi could make a vouch in the name of the stars, in those glorious times of victory and defeat, that you were the closest to heaven he would ever get; the bliss in your eyes could never be comparable to anything else that he had ever witnessed.

There was one detail, though, that needed to be taken in consideration: those had been just your adventures behind four walls, in the confinements of your neon-lit rooms.

Other times, you two wouldn’t even get to the motel, and had to make good use of his car. And that was your favorite time. In all honesty, you did not hate it one bit — in a way, you preferred it over the bed, or any other location he had ever took you.

“You know I can’t hold back when you tease me like this,” Yoongi said once, struggling to park his car in a nearby alley. For all he cared, he could put it right beneath an open semaphore and have you then and there, open and ready for him. He didn’t care if anyone saw it, frankly, it only made his job a bit more fun. “Can you stop with that? Fuck,” he complained.

You smirked, and your hand brushed against his clothed member once again; fingers delicately tracing the outlines of his erection. In his black pants, his cock throbbed in the thought of how you would feel around it, the concept so concupiscent that made him bite his lower lip in sheer desire. There was only so much he could take. “Stop with what?” you teased, clicking your seatbelt in anticipation — the black stripe dragged against your chest, pushing your low-cut blouse slightly to the side.

Lucky for both of you, he wasn’t in the right mental state to play those tempting games, and his head had been utterly focused on finding a right place to camouflage his chevy — the alley ended up being a bit broader than he first thought, so it made his torturous times a bit easier to endure, even if he was growing terribly annoyed at the constant, mocking movements of your hands against his arousal.

To be fair, Yoongi was a patient man, but he had been bothered by your presence far longer than that. Ever since he had seen you get out of the bathroom with that luscious short skirt, your body had been all that he thought about — the repercussion of the bar’s song had turned into white noise inside his skull, the faceless silhouettes of strangers could never compare to the way the fabric moved upwards as you danced, presenting him with appetizing glimpses of your ass in that white lacy underwear.

By the end of the night, when the two of you were departing from that overflowing establishment, he could no longer keep his hands away to himself. Now, Yoongi was patient, but he was no prude when it came to public displays of his desire — his touches lingered from the sides of your breasts to the curvature of your waist; moving down to squeeze your ass as his lips sucked on the flesh of your neck, placing red-bitten caresses all over your skin. The motel was just too far away, and he needed to have you at that very instant.

The second that his car was parked amongst the consolidated shadows of a nearby construction, Yoongi helped you onto his lap, your back towards him, hands moving up and down your exposed thighs, seeking for the cotton of your panties underneath your devilish skirt. With his pulse echoing like thunder inside his head, the boy stared in hidden fascination as he pulled your underwear haphazardly from your center, presenting him with a luscious view of your dripping sex.

Producing a low, satisfied groan, Yoongi took one of his fingers to your entrance, delighting on your wetness. “Won’t you look at that,” he provoked, voice deeper than usual. “It seems like there’s no need for me to play with you tonight.”

You bit down on your lower lip, pressing your ass against his erection as if to prove your unspoken point: you weren’t the only one who had been a bit carried away. But, hell, could someone blame you? The simple hypothesis of being with Yoongi inside his car was enough to send shivers down your spine, the images of past meetings flashing like a projected movie inside your mind. The position and the friction that his car gave you was just perfect, and the thrill of getting caught by oblivious citizens only enhanced your excitement.

Yeah, the motel could wait.

“Lean over, baby,” Yoongi requested in a whisper against your neck, his hands moving upwards on your chest, pressing your tits together. The contact was rough, showing you just how much he needed to have you.

Placing your hands over the wheel, you did as he requested, listening as the sound of his zipper sliced the silence of the closed ambient. All over the rain-covered windows, thin layers of fog covered the outside world, blending with the obfuscous luminescence of nearby signs, bleeding in geranium and sapphire.

As Yoongi pulled down his pants and you heard the sound of plastic filling the air, your voice resumed its speech. “Don’t you want to turn on the radio?” you asked. “I know how much you love fucking me to some good music.”

“I do.” His palms came in contact with your waist, pulling you body back down on his lap. Against your asscheecks, you could feel the touch of his cock, hard and ready for you. “But I love hearing you more,” he completed.

Leaning your head back, you placed it against his right shoulder. Through the curtain of your eyelashes, you watched as he undressed you, opening the buttons of your blouse one by one. “Yoongi,” you called. “You can do this later.”

Light as a feather, his lips came in contact with your exposed neck. “I can,” he agreed, opening the last one. His palms traveled from your stomach to your breasts, cupping them over your bra — the same white lacy underwear that was driving him crazy. You moaned softly at the sensation of his rough touches, your ass perking up against his erect member. “I know I can. But I love when you get like this.”

You swallowed dry. “Like how?”

“Like this.”

As if he had been expecting your inquiry, one of his hands flew to his mirror, and oscillated it towards the two of you. On the reflection, you could see yourself — cheeks flushed, half-parted lips and hooded eyes — and the eroticism that gleamed inside Yoongi’s eyes. You had discovered that he had quite the liking for mirrors when, by mistake, the two of you had received the honeymoon suite of a fancy motel, and ended up with a mirror on the ceiling.

But that was a different story.

“Baby,” Yoongi called you, pressing down on your boobs with a bite against your neck. Against your back, his erection throbbed against your skin, and felt yourself clenching in anticipation. “I’m gonna put it in, alright?”

And you agreed with a hum and raised your figure a bit, because that was all that you could do then.

Yoongi rubbed himself against your wet folds once, twice, feeling their moisture as a deep groan broke behind his teeth. At last, just when you’re about to complain about all the time that he was taking, you feel the lethargic, heavenly sensation of his cock sliding inside you, stretching you out.

Then it was your time to steal the spotlight. With a heavy exhale through your nose and your palms finding support on the wheel, you begun moving your body up and down, dwelling in the aphrodisiac sensation of his member inside you. Some strange way, it felt a bit more personal than your lust-covered mind had foresaw — with Yoongi whining and moaning against your back, inhaling your sweet scent with every slow rise and fall of your figure. Every time your absent-minded gaze flickered towards the small oval mirror, you would see him, with his mouth parted and eyebrows furrowed in absolute focus, accompanying the bouncing of your breasts as your rhythm increased in speed, the sound of your wetness filling his ponderations with lewd ideas.

His digits dug deeper onto your hips as he felt the approaching waves of his high, unexpected and merciless. “Oh yeah,” he moaned out, throwing his head back. Yoongi’s eyes were closed in endless bliss, the sound of his flesh hitting yours repeatedly was all that he could hear. Underneath his thighs, the leather of his car seat was sticking against his sweaty skin. “Take it deeper, baby, come on. Fuck my cock.”

Once again, you could not help but fulfill his request.

As his cock pounded in and out of you, his own breathing was growing heavy under the angelic characteristic of your form; reason long forgotten. “Just like that, yeah,” Yoongi spoke in a whisper. Neediness was plastered all over his face, gleaming inside his irises as they fell to the obscene movements of your body against his. God, you were everything he wished to have at that time; the movement of your hips against his was driving him to the edges of his sanity. “Fuck, you’re so hot, baby, I can’t believe you’re mine,” he disclosed.  

“Yoongi,” you whimpered out his name in a personal prayer, knees and thighs trembling as you felt your delight increasing by the second. Your mind had went completely black, hyperfocusing on the hypnotic, harsh thrusts of his cock in and out of you, the rolling of his hips against your own, fighting for more. The heat in your lower body was becoming unbearable, ready to come crumbling down at any given instant. “It feels so good, I’m—”

He groaned as he felt your walls tightening around him. “Can you come for me, baby?” he asked. The sobs and whines that left your lips were as addictive as nicotine, immersive as the song of a siren; you struggled to blurt out a prolonged, moan-like confirmation. “Yeah? Do that for me, baby.”

Of course you could — for Yoongi, you would go to the moon and back. Euphoria took over your senses as your orgasm washed over you, his name coming out in broken sighs in between your swollen lips, dissipating in the foggy atmosphere of his warm vehicle. Behind you, the man cursed at the way your walls pulsated around him, taking him just right.

Yoongi placed his hands on your ass, squeezing your flesh strongly as you kept sitting up and down on his erect member. The man, utterly overwhelmed, whined against your neck something that resembled the fragmented syllables of your name, his cock filling you up again and again as his limit fastly approached. “I’m gonna come,” he moaned out, throwing his head back against the seat. His abdomen clenched, his lungs produced a trembling exhale. “Fuck, just feel me, baby, come on.”

Even if the ghost of oversentibility had started to haunt your bones, you ignored the exhaustion of you limbs, and continued to fuck yourself with his cock, waiting for Yoongi to reach his high. Instead, you focused on the luscious way that his voice resounded all around you as he thrusted upwards, diving into the astonishing way you wrapped around him.

It did not take long for Yoongi to find his release, holding down to your hips as he did so. With a few terminal, spasmodic movements, he finally came undone, and let go of your figure for an ephemeral second.

Though, you knew that it would take a bit more than that for him to be fully satisfied.

“Look at that, what a mess.” Yoongi chuckled behind you, and his index finger met the path between your folds — you were so sensitive that you leaned forward, placing your hands on the wheel for support. The sound of wetness was lewd, but you loved it, and you loved Yoongi’s touch even more. “So much fucking cum,” he praised, breathless. “You take it all so well.”

Your lips were swollen from both his touch and the constant biting from your part, and they pulsated as you attempted to form a comprehensible sentence — with the afterglow of your orgasm still weighing down on your muscles, and his fingers tracing circles up and down your core, there was not much left for you to work with. “I should…” You swallowed dry, fingers holding tightly to the leather as he moved towards your clit. “I should clean up.”

“Why? We’re not done yet.” He chuckled behind you, the sound reverberating inside your bones; sending shivers down your spine. You knew that devilish tone like it was your second language, it was his way to telling you that the two of you would not be getting any sleep anytime soon. “Let’s get to the motel first.”

Of course, the fun was barely starting.

However, as much as those first weeks had been incredible, every sea of roses still had its thorns.

There were other, less pleasant times in which his presence wasn’t that perfect. Instances in which strangers at the bar would widen their eyes once they met his, or perhaps would whisper cautiously once your partner was recognized, their previous conversations turning into alarmed whispers, following the same melody as the hissing of water against burning charcoal. Your gut warned that something was wrong, that a piece of the puzzle wasn’t fitting, but you ignored it. Call it love, call it idiocy, even innocence — the point was that Min Yoongi had you at the palm of his hand, and even the biggest of red flags couldn’t wake you up from your enamored fantasies.

Well, at least not yet.

Hoseok [11:02pm] Hey, where are you? We’re worried, Namjoon said he couldn’t speak to you, and it’s been almost a month since we saw you.

-

You [09:38am] Hey, I’m out of town with a friend. I’m safe, don’t worry about it. Sorry I couldn’t answer sooner.

Hoseok [09:38am] Damn. When are you coming back? We need a to talk about a problem real quick.

You [09:43am] I don’t have a prediction. You’ll guys will have to figure that out without me.

-

With a low hum of approval, Yoongi slided your phone towards you across the white-painted table. “Nice one,” he praised. “Baby steps, I guess.”

You nodded as you inhaled deeply, fingers moving to lock your device again. In the background of the establishment, the ringing that signaled the arrival of another customer ressounded. “I’m really holding back to ask what it is, though,” you said, “what if they’re in trouble?”

He shrugged, clearly not worried at the prospect. His hair, crepuscular as a raven’s feathers, contrasted against the golden luminesce of the afternoon sun that came from the restaurant’s window — in a way, the place reminded you of Mercy’s and, combined with Hoseok’s messages, you only missed your friends further. “You’re not the only person in town. They’ll figure it out,” he spoke as his fingers traced the pink straw of his strawberry milkshake. “Besides, they waited two weeks, it’s probably not that important. Just ignore them.”

Unable to continue staring at the dark screen of your phone — you felt as if it would light up again at any given second — you turned it around, facing your pale yellow cover instead. “You’re probably right.” You sighed. You certainly did not feel as if he was, though. “This feels wrong, I don’t know. I’m not used to saying no to my friends when I know I can help them.”

One of his hands reached out for you, and the warmness of his palm met your own. It was bizarre: his expression did not hold the same amount of heat. “Hey, listen,” Yoongi spoke almost in a whisper as he leaned in closer to you, as if he had been sharing a secret. “I know you’re a very non-confrontational person, alright? I get it. But listen: can you imagine if people didn’t defend themselves ever? Because I don’t know if you’re aware, the world isn’t filled with good intentions.”

You licked your lips, trying to find the words to respond with. There were traces of vanilla stil hiding in your mouth, and the sweetness of it made you nauseated. “I know, Yoongi, but these are my friends,” you responded.

Once such a serene experience, now the mere holding of his gaze felt alien to you. You continuously felt as if you were being analyzed under a microscope, as if you tiniest of actions could be a reason for his disapproval to flourish again. “I know, baby,” he said back, leaning his head slightly to the side. “That doesn’t mean they wouldn’t take advantage of you.”

Your eyes flickered between the world outside and the fathomless expansion of his irises, trying to find a way out of that conversation. You hated when he talked to you like that, like you were a kid. “Your point?” you asked, rather emotionlessly.

He suspired. “My point,” he said, leaning back against his seat. His hand felt like fire against your own, burning your spirit to ashes. “is that there are bad things in the world, and we don’t run away from it. We face it, head high, even if we’re scared shitless, and we tell it to stick it right where the sun doesn’t shine. You can’t allow people to take advantage of you when they are fully aware of their actions, do you understand me? You deserve to value yourself more than that.”

As you were starting to learn, Yoongi had a tendency to monologue about the most tedious of subjects, verbalizing each word as if he was absolutely certain of its veracity — as if you were far too dumb to realize something so obvious. “That isn’t exactly nice of me,” you said.

“You can be nice without being used as a rug.” He took a slip of his milkshake, and it was finally over. Your vanilla drink was practically left untouched, and the ice cream was now a warm, thick liquid at the bottom of your tall cup. “You know that saying, ‘treat others like you’d treat yourself’? Yeah. I think you need to work on the second part, and internalize a little bit of that love towards you every once in a while. They’ll live without their helicopter mother around.”

You chuckled at that last part. His words seemed empty, but you still found yourself leaning towards them — damn smooth talkers. There was no other kind as manipulative as they were. “I’ll try.”

Yoongi smiled openly, victoriously. You had forgotten to look away from the eclipse, and now it was blinding you, muting your senses. “You better,” he verbalized, pushing his empty cup to the side. Every movement was choreographed, every sentence was practiced into a splendiferous delivery — now, the grand finale. “Because, you know, I don’t want you being all walked over by those people. You should, like, just block them at once. I can tell how their messages make you anxious.”

You smiled weakly, attempting to keep your own act together. “Thank you, coach. I don’t think they are, though,” you said. But you didn’t know anymore: Yoongi’s words always made so much sense. How could he be wrong when he was claiming to want the best for you? Your thoughts were a miscellaneous of excuses and torn-apart conversations, flying in circles, pathless and disoriented.

“You’re welcome, west beauty.” He winked at you, then placed the palms of his hands against the table, using it as a sustentation to get up to his feet. Yoongi’s figure, wrapped in that infamous black leather jacket, was now a vortex of twilight amongst a prismatic landscape, sucking all the light in, pouring nothing of it out. “I’ll pay the bill, just a second.”

“Alright.” You nodded, and watched as he walked towards the counter.

That conversation, however, left a sour taste on your mouth, and the faint touch of a bad feeling just at the bottom of your stomach. As if guided by an impulse you could not comprehend, your hands seeked for your phone in a rush of adrenaline. You turned around, and were met by a new cascade of texts from your friend.

-

Hoseok [10:13am] It’s important. You’re with someone from the bar, right? I can’t recall his name rn, but we have to talk.

Hoseok [10:14am] The guy that Joohyun was hooking up with was very alarmed when he found out that you had been seen with him. He’s not good news, I need to know that you’re actually safe.

Hoseok [10:15am] From what I’ve heard, he has fucked some people over, and now he owes them money for some weird job. The guy didn’t know much, but he knew it was bad, blood was spilled and shit.

Hoseok [10:15am] Namjoon heard some dark stuff as well

Hoseok [10:15am] His name’s Yoongi, right? Min Yoongi or something like that

Hoseok [10:16am] Ring me up when you can, alright? Let’s have a talk. I’m worried sick.

-

Your heartbeat increased once your eyes met every new word, fingers growing weak around your phone. It was as if Hoseok’s messages has shaken awake the worries that had been silenced within your chest, chained by the ties of denial. Once your story ended, a few weeks after that day, you would look back at that very instant and, in a bitter memory, would claim that it was when you begun to see beyond the good — and into the bad and the ugly — of who your lover really was.

“Ready to go?” Yoongi’s voice was piercing, making your heart skip a beat. You looked up at him with widened eyes, mouth slightly parted in a way to form words you couldn’t build. You were nervous. He noticed it. “Is everything alright?” he asked, suspicious.

You cleared your throat and placed your phone back in your pocket. “Yeah, sorry,” you said, forcing a timid smile. “Let’s move.”

Later, in an impulsive decision made at two in the morning, you deleted the texts you had received that afternoon. That was what Yoongi would have wanted. He would tell you that he was no longer that man, that you had nothing to worry about. Everything was going to be alright, and he was there to protect you, not hurt you. He would never do something like that. And, for the time being, you would believe in that.

However, as you would soon come to understand, Min Yoongi was a huge, disgusting  fucking liar.

Trouble started showing up eventually, and your make-believe paradise progressively transformed into inferno.

Every time Yoongi showed you a glimpse of his darker side, you overlooked it. You buried your preoccupations underneath the cold motel sheets, hoping they would never be uncovered, that the monsters underneath the bed would never come back to take what you owed them. However, there was a point that it reached dangerous levels, and you could not pretend as if everything was okay any longer.

It started gradually — minor discussions over stupid matters; bar fights, which caused a bloody nose here and there; stealing; reckless behavior on the wheel. One day he was stealing expensive champagne from local convenience stores, the next he was gifting it to you like it was his very own version of salvation, promising you he had bought it instead.  One day he was pushing you away and, the next, he was holding you tighter than ever before. It was emotionally exhaustive, psychologically torturous, to follow the harsh — sometimes unpremeditated — switches of his personality. You constantly felt like you were walking in a place filled with mines, ready to be exploded at any given second.

There were two occurences, though, in which you truly feared for your life. Moments in which all your excuses, all your justifications, fell flat in face of real threat. There was nothing you could tell yourself that would mask the true nefastus aura that surrounded Yoongi once he got into that wicked state of mind — he was just like any other reckless beast from the east side, and he had no worries for your well being. Whoever that version was, you did not love it.

The first one was at the parking lot of a club.

Yoongi had nurtured the awful habit of, just as the night was starting to get tiresome, he would disappear, claiming he saw someone he knew amongst the crowd or, if he was at the motel with you, you’d wake up in the middle of the night to find him gone. Just like all bad things in life, you managed to get used to it and, after the fifth time that it happened, your sadness had turned into a slight displeasure at the pit of your stomach.

More often than not, he would come back as if nothing had happened, and would not answer any of your questions about where he had been aforetime. That was what you had expected that special night, but neutrality was the last thing you received once he reappeared.

Like usual, Yoongi had vanished to talk to some faceless old friends, and you were waiting for him outside of a booming club. For twenty minutes you stood there, alone, leaning against the cold wall and watching as drunken groups staggered in and out of the booming construction — lovers holding onto one another; friends laughing loudly against the wind; or perhaps loners trying their luck for the night.

At some point, a man joined you outside, claiming he just needed to smoke a cigarette. “Rough night?” he asked.

“Rough month,” you responded, friendly. “I’m waiting for my boyfriend,” you said. If you could even call him that. “He usually takes his time when his drunk.”

He nodded, and continued the conversation. The stranger was particularly nice to you. He kept the dialogue somewhat casual, and maintained a respectful amount of space between your bodies. You were under the impression — which quickly got confirmed — that he only wanted a friend to talk to, and wasn’t trying to get anything else out of you. Comforting, the feeling allowed for you to relax under his presence, and you though, in an instant of bliss, that perhaps the long wait for your boyfriend wouldn’t be so bad.

More often than not, you were incorrect when the subject was Min Yoongi.

He came out of the club like a tornado just at the instant that you were laughing at something the kind stranger had said, and he opened the double doors with a movement far to rough for your liking. There was barely enough time for you to look at him, lips slightly parted in surprise, and to take in the uncharacteristic expression that had overtook his features, barely illuminated by the phosphorescent lights of the construction.

Yoongi was not sober, that you could tell. His posture was a little curved, and his eyes were not as white as you would like — besides, his forthcoming actions worked in the favor of your thesis.

He didn’t take long to jump into conclusions, for his vision and mental processes had been funneled by primordial emotions. “And who the fuck are you?” Yoongi spoke out in a groan, his speech slightly dragged. He looked directly at the other man, and took a step closer. “What is this?”

You swallowed dry, and tried to reach out to him. Next to you, the stranger threw his cigarette on the concrete. “Yoongi, it’s fine,” you said. He pulled away from your grip. “We were just talki—“

Now, Yoongi might not have been the biggest guy around, but he was certainly one of the fastest. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He swiftly walked past you and pushed the man away with all the force he had, stepping in front of you with determination bleeding from his red-tinged eyes. You didn’t know if he was drunk, if he had consumed something else, but, frankly, that was the least of your worries then. “Stop looking at my girl like that, you cunt,” he spat.

Your eyes widened, pulse increasing to a point in which you believed your heart would just give up at any point. Through the anemic clouds of nicotine-painted smoke, you saw as the other man’s gaze faiscated in anger, his hands curling into fists. “Yoongi, he wasn’t—” you started, but it was already too late. The other man’s punch had sliced through the air and hit your boyfriend directly on the nose, sending him to stagger backwards. “Yoongi!” You called out, horrified.

Still, he wouldn’t back away. With the animal gaze that overtook his caliginous eyes, you were absolutely certain he had taken some sort of drugs, for he barely touched the blood on his nostrils before he was charging forward at the stranger; looking as if he had barely felt the impact, even less the pain.

Everything that followed had been saved like a blurry sequence of events inside your head. You could remember Yoongi charging towards the other man, punching him straight in the face with a groan and then, even less than a second later, the stranger had charged against him, throwing the two of them on the asperous concrete. You had no idea how, but Yoongi had been able to throw his weight over the man, and rolled around his figure so he would be on top.

The second that he started throwing constant punches against the other guy, something inside of you screamed that you had to stop that before it was too late — after all, there was no one else around.

With a bravery that did not belong to you, your fingers hooked on the collar of his shirt and, with a force that was moved by your panic, you mustered enough strength to pull Yoongi up by a few centimeters. You were by no means strong enough to take his entire body away from the other man, but the pull seemed sufficient to make him lose his balance. “Stop! The two of you,” you cried out and, with another pull, Yoongi rolled to the side, getting away from him. You took the chance and held your hands out, each of your palms facing a different man. “That’s enough, come on.”

Much to your relief, the kind stranger seemed to agree. “This is bullshit, man.” He spat, staining the concrete with his blood. His face was covered in splashes of purple and red, and the scene was terrifying to witness. As he spoke, blood splattered out of his mouth, covering his teeth in a thin layer of maroon.“You’re fucked up.”

Yoongi breathed out, enraged. “Stay the fuck away from her,” he ordered. You wanted to help the other man just as much, but you were afraid of how Yoongi would react. “I know what pieces of shit like you want.”

The other staggered to get back on his feet and, for an instant, you thought he would fall back down. It was bad — very bad. “Whatever, dude,” he said, his speech slightly groggy. Running the back of his hand against his nose, a thick trail of carmine was imprinted on his skin. He groaned. “You’re fucking crazy.” Then, he locked eyes with you. “You should get out of… whatever the fuck this is. Before it’s too late.”

You swallowed hard, but did not trust your own voice to formulate a sentence in regards to that. “You… should call someone,” was what you said. “It’s not looking good.”

He nodded and, with a mocking grin, mumbled something you didn’t quite catch. You were worried sick for that stranger, but you couldn’t even show it. Next to you, Yoongi’s eyes were burning with the endless flames of his anger, following the silhouette of the man as he turned his back to the two of you and moved closer to the club. “Let’s get outta here,” he whispered, “That guy is coward enough to call the cops on me.”

Unable to think of anything else, you did as he requested, helping him to get back on his feet. Yoongi’s face was by no means as bad as the other guys, but his nose was bleeding and trailing red paths down his face and onto his lips; there were dark purple marks beginning to show around his cheekbones and jaw. His eyes were bloodshot, and you did not have the courage to ask him what was in his system — to be fair, you didn’t even want to know.

The two of you walked across the construction in absolute, sepulchral silence, following the path of your arrival. Yoongi didn’t want to pay for a spot — fifteen bucks an hour was absurd —, so he parked his car in an alley nearby, where he was sure no one would complain. He seemed to have calmed down throughout those transitory instants of quiessence, for even his respiration had taken a much more tranquil rhythm. You though, in a flash of assuagement, that he had come back to his normal, collected state.

Though, it wasn’t the right conclusion.

Before you could even react, you felt his hands holding unflinchingly to your shoulders, forcefully pushing you against the asperous, frigid brick wall of the alleyway. Your eyes widened in a mixture of surprise and horror, watching as his own, blood-colored gaze scrutinized every minor detail on your semblance. Yoongi’s red-stained mouth was curved downwards and his eyebrows were hanging low, twitching lightly as he bit back his fury.

With a hard-bitten groan, he placed a bit more of his weight on you. It didn’t really hurt, but his actions had chilled you to the core. Then and there, you could swear that he was able to murder someone. Perhaps he already did. “Fuck, don’t get in the middle of my shit!” He warned, fingertips digging to your shoulder blades. You could feel as his blood dripped down from his bruised knuckles and onto your exposed skin — the warm liquid seemed like a horrible forewarning. “You want to make me look like I’m a fucking pussy? Is that what you want? You wanna make me look like I can’t take a half-assed beating?”

Overtaken by trepidation, the words seemed to refuse to leave your throat. Your mind had turned into a blank canvas, painted by the scarlet and cimmerian shades of his devastating acrimony. You dream turned into a nightmare right then, paralyzing your members and soul. “No, I didn’t—”

Yoongi grunted. “You know what? Spare me of that bullshit. Doesn’t matter.” He interrupted, pushing you one more time before staggering away from your trembling body, his arms weighing down next to his fast-breathing chest. You were not sure if he was talking about the situation, or you. “Let’s go back. You fucking drive, I’m too wasted for that shit,” he groaned, and threw the keys your way. “If you crash my car, I’ll kill you.”

Which flawlessly ties into the second instance in which you feared for your life. It took place about two weeks later, when Yoongi had changed his mind about the dangers of driving under the influence, and swore he was more than capable to get you two from the bar to your motel.

Then again, Min Yoongi was a liar.

The car ruptured the night like a shooting star, passing by the tall trees in a blur of headlights and worried screams. The mumbling of the motor chilled you to the bone, shaking inside your chest like the drumming of a war; and the sudden swerving of lanes — which happened every time Yoongi saw an upcoming curve — seemed to be the last action that you would ever witness. He maintained the velocity much above the speed limit and, every time you asked him to reduce it, he would raise it even further just to delight in the way your panic increased.

Yoongi looked at the open road like he had been possessed, his unfocused eyes barely seeing something beyond his hooded eyelids. “It’s a highway, not a fuckin’ roller coaster,” he had complained, licking his lips. The car was impregnated with the strong smell of alcohol, and you thought you were going to throw up at any given minute. “Can you stop—“ He burped. “Fuck. Just stop screaming.”

Still, you were in under no condition to be rational. “Yoongi, slow this down!” You cried out in horror, fingers clenching to the leather of the seat. Your nails were already hurting because of how much they were being pressed down against the thick fabric, your heart seemed as if it was about to stop. Next to you, the half-open window sucked out your hair, blowing the dense summer air onto your face at full speed. “How much did you drink?”

You had the impression that the man tried to smirk, but he was too far gone to fully control the muscles on his face. Instead, the corners of his mouth vaguely turned upwards, his expression bordering on the one of a serial killer. “Doesn’t fuckin’ matter,” he told you as his fingers tightened on the wheel. Only one hand was guiding the car, for the other was hanging tightly to the — stolen — beer bottle he had brought along. “Shut up, damn, why are you so loud? Loosen up a bit. Shit.”

The wheel turned and there was a vague scratching of the wheels against the asphalt as he struggled to make a tenuous curve — you could already see the car losing its path and crashing against one of the thick pine trees, killing the two of you instantly.

Yoongi took his bottle to his lips and chugged the rest of it down, not hesitating for one second before throwing it out of his window with a crash you could barely hear. The white lights of the poles flashed over his features like a movie was being projected onto him, presenting you with a person you did not recognize.

“Yoongi, stop this car right now.” You banged your hand against the door, trying to get his attention. The motor groaned as the man pressed down on the gas pedal, making his stance known, and pushing your back against the seat with the new acceleration. Trees were passing by in disfigured blurs of black and brown, and you were sure you were starting to lose blood pressure because of the stress you were under — it wouldn’t be the first time you fainted because of panic. “Oh my god, I’m gonna die.” You cried out, breathless. “Please, Yoongi—“

Yoongi took the back of his hand to clean his stained lips, and then looked at your direction — you didn’t know if his attention on the deserted road would make any difference at that point. When he spoke out, the nauseating smell of alcohol burned down your throat. “As much as I want to right now, I won’t flip this shit over,” he told you with endless annoyance, his eyes filled with a mixture of disgust and petulance. You didn’t know who he was then, and the fright that you felt only increased once you met the eyes of that stranger. “But only if you shut the fuck up. Do that for me, princess, and you won’t have to worry about a thing.”

Even against every nerve in your body, you did as he requested, and bit down on your lower lip. At some point, tears started wetting your cheeks, but you ignored them. Eventually, tough, the car began to slow down.

About ten minutes later, you two arrived at the neon-bathed motel, and Yoongi crashed in bed with a final cascade of curse words and complaints towards you. You only felt relief once you realized he was sound asleep and, even then, you could not rest for the entire night. You were terrified.

The last drop, however, was in the final night you two passed together.

Yoongi had mentioned that one of his old friends was in same town as the two of you, and asked if you would like to accompany him to a local bar, if you wouldn’t feel too left out, since he needed to have a private conversation with the man. As much as the requested was a bit offbeat, you accepted it regardless, for you felt it would’ve been better than to be alone in a small room with poor TV signal, and worries bubbling at the bottom of your stomach. It was better to be with him than to wonder where he was, and that you had learned the hard way.

The two of you arrived there a little past midnight, and were amazed by the slow movement — most of the tables were empty and there were, at most, fifteen other people, staff included, in that secluded ambient. Before you could even mention it, Yoongi briskly excused himself, said that he would be having his “important discussion” for some time, and claimed that under no circumstances were you to interrupt his exchange — unless, of course, it was urgent.

Out of alternatives, you turned to face the shelves decorated with prismatic bottles. As you walked towards the counter, throat arid as a desert, you thought about the night you met him under those auric christmas lights, when he swore he could give you everything and a bit more. Yoongi had made sure to show you — again and again — how your friends had been selfish when they left you behind to fulfill their own objectives, but he was doing precisely the same thing then.  

You were sure he would have a flawless justification hanging just at the tip of his tongue, though, as he always did. Yoongi wasn’t the biggest fan of being held accountable for his mistakes, and he wouldn’t start now.

With a disinterested expression hanging over her features, the purple-haired woman that worked at the bar moved closer to you. She held a piece of grey fabric in one hand and a cup in the other, and didn’t seem as if she was in the mood to make any friends. “What can I get you?” she questioned politely.

You licked your lips and thought for an instant. Behind you, two figures sat down, facing one another. “Just water is good,” you said, “thanks.”

She nodded and moved back to reach for your drink. It arrived much, much earlier than Yoongi did.

You sat there for some time, waiting as the night dragged along; filled by the exhilarated screams of embriagated customers and the constant buzzing of animated conversations. Exhaustion had overtaken your limbs, tingling on your fingertips and ruling over your mind by the time that one hour had gone by — and, with it, five glasses of water and two small trips to the bathroom. Maybe you should have stayed at the motel.

Lamenting the adventures you never got to live, you raised your gaze from the counter, and turned around on your seat. If you adjusted your posture and inclined your neck just enough, you could see Yoongi and another silhouette talking at the corner of the bar, completely immersed in a secretive subject. You thought about asking what it was about, but you were sure he would not share it — Yoongi was a man sustantained by secrets; a petulant monarch sitting in a throne of poorly constructed lies and enigmatic whispers.

Every time you looked at him you would picture a scene: the two of you trying to finish a puzzle, but there’s a piece missing. You don’t know if it’s with you, if you lost it, if you can’t find it. Or if it’s with him. If he’s hiding it from you. In a speck of courage, you would dare to take a look at him, meeting those eyes that are both everything and nothing at the same time. Empty as black holes, full as the brightest star. They push you like waves, then pull like the cold tides. There’s echo e and there’s muffling. There’s him. You don’t know who he is. Then you understand, once again, that the puzzle will not be completed, and you can only guess what that final piece would present. Perhaps one detail would change it all, perhaps it would have been precisely what you had always envisioned. You will never know. He hid it from you during all that time, and you doubted it would ever see the light.

Though, you soon would get an idea of it.

Behind you, a loud cough resounded throughout the establishment. “You saw him right?” One of the men asked, his voice so deep that, for an instant, you thought it was the same guy that bothered you in The Cave, months ago. The story was repeating itself, after all, in the most hypocritical of ways.

But no, you were too far away from home. It wasn’t him, and your friends were nowhere in sight.

The other hummed in concordance. “The Yoongi guy? Yeah. He got here with some chick I didn’t recognize.” He stopped once a sequence of deep, painful coughs ruptured his speech — you did not need to know him to be sure he was a smoker. “Fuck— Not that I expected it would be the same as last time, but ya know.”

“Yeah.” Another long pause. You felt as if your heart was just about to jump out of your chest; your fingertips were sweaty and quivering against the corner of the table. “You think they got him?” he asked.

“Nah. If they did, he wouldn’t be here, he’d be behind bars, where he fuckin’ belongs.” The other laughed. Paused. More coughing. “The guy knows what he’s doing around these streets, it’s not for nothin’ that he’s always on the run.”

The other scoffed at those words — as he spoke, clear traces of jealousy reverberated alongside his voice. “He thinks he’s some hot shit. One of these days we’ll find him dead in a ditch.”  Then, a chuckle. “Can’t say that I’ll miss him. He’s bad news. I feel sorry for the girl he dragged into this. I wonder if she knows.”

“She doesn’t, they never do. For sure. She should get the hell out befo—”

But you weren’t listening any longer. That had been the last drop.

In an impetuous wave of anguish and betrayal, you got out of your seat and looked around to find him. He, who had played you so effortlessly; he, who had completely ruined you with his omissions and imprudent actions. Negligence personified; hypocrisy in flesh. Min Yoongi, in his natural inhabitant.   

The man was the personification of Crystalfall — oscillating between the wickedness of the east and the utopian, artificial benevolence of the west side. You had been a fool to believe he was merely switching between extremes: Yoongi was both of them at the same time, and there was no way that you could have a touch of paradise unless you were ready to face the flames of hell.

You were not. Would never be.

Amongst the crowd, you saw him. Yoongi seemed to be in a heated discussion, speaking fervently with another man — his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth verbalizing poisonous words, head shaking to present his full frustration to the stranger. You wondered as he would punch him too if things got out of control; wondered if he would do something even worse. If one day you thought you knew Yoongi, that certainty had been too far for you to reach.

The other man ran one hand through his curly hair as you walked closer to them, disheveling his pale blonde strands with an anguished groan. He had deep violaceous marks under his eyes and, amongst the freckles on his skin, there was the obvious white line of a fresh scar. “All I’m saying, man, is that you have to get the fuck out,” he spoke with urgency, the same sentiment that gleaned inside his wide hazel eyes. Preoccupation fell like a stone at the pit of your stomach. “They know where you are, and they’re not being throw in prison for what yo—“

Yoongi saw you before he could finish. “—Hey, baby.” He cleared his throat, eyes darting to the man on his side. You knew him well to know that he was ordering the other to shut up before things got worse. “You’re good?”

Reluctant, you took an instant before responding — the stranger looked at you with cautious eyes, measuring your presence. You felt threatened by his rough posture, as if he could jump on you at any given instant. “I’m sorry to interrupt. It’s urgent.” You looked back at Yoongi with hollow irises, chest completely overwhelmed by a mixture of panic and disgust. “I heard some things about you and I… I wanted to talk.”

He opened his lips to respond, then seemed to take an instant to organize his thoughts — you could tell that he knew what it was about; the truth would be uncovered sooner or later, and it was time for him to pay his debt.

Yoongi sighed deeply. “Come on, baby,” he motioned with his head towards the exit. Beyond the wooden entrance, the night was darker than ever; merciless and algid. “Let’s continue this somewhere else.”  

The outside of the bar reminded you of the night you met him, the promise you made to meet him again. You should have never accepted his date proposal, you thought in a glimmer of betrayal and disgust, you should have listened to your gut and never got close to that awful place.

With heavy eyelids, you blinked lethargically, barely feeling the comfortable warmth of Yoongi’s hand at the bottom of your spine as he walked you out of the establishment. You were tired, and had been for as long as you could recall. That memory could trail back to a couple of weeks or a plethora of insomnia-filled days ― not even that certainty you could rearrange. Then again, exhaustion was a paradox of itself: you were too fatigued to even care. You just wanted to sleep. Everything else could burn to the ground, for as much as you cared.

Well, everything else but the reason why the two of you had left so suddenly.

Even turning your head seemed like a huge task ― so, as you spoke, you did not. You proceeded to look straight ahead, underneath heavy lids, waiting for his car to mysteriously materialize into focus as you two walked down the relinquished streets.“Yoongi,” you called out, “you have to tell me what’s going on. You keep protecting your secrets, I don’t know who you are anymore.”

He chuckled as if he had been expecting that inquiry for quite some time. His hand trailed the invisible path from your back to your shoulders. You had started to despise when he touched you there. “I’m not protecting my secrets,” he guaranteed, “I’m protecting you.”

You took a deep breath, measuring his expression — where you once saw everything, now there was nothing to be found amongst the traces of his celestial features. Yoongi was completely hollow on the inside. “And why the hell would you do that?” bitterness countered your speech as you spoke out.

Yoongi crooked his head to the side, looking at you with endless adoration. There was an instant, mercurial and tenuous as the midnight breeze, in which you actually considered that such emotion could be genuine. Though, as he spoke out, his voice came out with no inflection, no sign of it. He was a liar, as you were starting to figure out, but a bad one regardless. “Because I love you, west beauty,” he confessed.

But you didn’t believe that. If Yoongi had told you that before everything else — the reckless driving, the stealing, the violence — you were sure you would have been head over heels for him, convincing yourself that he was your soulmate, the one you were supposed to be with forevermore. You were naive then, but now… now you were just tired. “You don’t mean it,” you said.

He was unaffected by your words. “I do.”  His hand caressed your cheek, and you fought back the need to pull away — so, instead, you just looked to the side, trying to ignore the warm poison that dropped through his touch. Everything felt so fake now, so calculated. “Hey, look at me,” Yoongi requested.

“What?” You did as he asked. Looking into the depthness of his pupils, you thought, even if for an instant, that he could see your soul projected at the bottom of your irises — naked, stripped of pride. It felt pleasantly awful; horribly intimate. It was natural, in the oddest way imaginable. Yoongi knew who you were, but you could not say the same about him. “What are you looking at?” you whispered. His other hand moved to your cheek, then placed a string of hair behind your ear. “You,” he replied, now cupping your face.

You took a split second to examine his face. Yoongi’s eyes were obscure — tenebrous as the night sky, fathomless as the secrets that echoed within his head. When you looked at him, there was nothing but his  piercing gaze; no sound but the harmony of his low, whisper-like timbre. You were completely trapped by the event horizon of his venom-filled aura, held hostage by the tranquility of his hand against your skin. His gravity was too strong. You were being sucked in. You inhaled deeply, trying your very best to organize the catastrophe of your hurricane-like ponderations. “You always stare at me, you know that?” He pouted, leaning his head slightly to the side. “Is there a problem with that?” You did not respond, for you could not find an answer. “Do you even realize you’re doing that?” Yoongi smiled. “Do you even realize how gorgeous you are?” he threw back within a heartbeat.

In the rapid instant that took you to digest the depthness of his words, your mouth hung low. In the following second, you were pulling yourself together. “Of course, I’m a catch,” you joked, unable to take that unforeseen complement. You were never the best when it came to that, so irony was quite often the miraculous escape you went for. “You’re lucky to have me.”

But were you lucky to have him? It surely didn’t feel like it.

However, Yoongi’s words left his plump lips with every ounce of honesty he could possibly arrange, “Yes,” he whispered lackadaisically, leaning in. “Yes, I am.”

Before you could verbalize the thousands of sentences that bolted throughout your mind, every conceptualization ― no matter how big or small ― dispersed into white noise. Your lips touched and, for a moment, you swore you could taste the stardust that melted at the corner of Yoongi’s lips; the constellations that were built and destroyed by the low, feather-like sigh that reverberated against your mouth. The pressure of his kiss was not prolonged, but ephemeral ― and, just are you were starting to melt under its touch, he pulled away.

When you looked back at him, you suddenly did not recognize him anymore. You had to say that it was one of the most terrifying, mind-bending experiences to look someone in the eye and realize, like a thunder that ruptures the skyline, that their semblance had switched into a persona you could not comprehend. Yoongi’s eyes were empty, devoid of any feeling he had presented previously. Abruptly, he was the same man that drove his car so recklessly; the same that would overstep his alcohol consumption; that would take drugs, steal, and push you against a cold brick wall in a fit of jealous anger.

That self-destructing man coexisted alongside the one you had fallen for, and you couldn’t tell who was about to take the lead. “Let’s go back to the motel, alright?” He requested, placing his hand on your lower back once again. “We should have a talk.”

As you would soon discover, that conversation was nothing but the calm before the storm.

No one told you that the cupid’s arrow could hurt so much — that the piercing of your skin wasn’t desired, but an endless anguish to, perhaps, have your chance at a delightful love story. No one told you there could come a time in which you would repudiate it, and the anguish you would feel when pulling it off could be even worse than the way it hurt you aforetime.

Still, you were about to find out that falling out of love what much more difficult than it seemed.

The bedroom door closed behind you with a dry clicking sound and, for a moment, it was the only perturbation that filled the consolidated atmosphere of that motel room. At first, none of you turned on any lights, so the only source of illumination come from the outside neon signs — it came in stripes, casting their lines of turquoise and violaceous over the messy bed. Yoongi never ordered room service, he said it spoiled his privacy.  

“What was that about?” your voice resonated in the darkness, hesitant and rotten by agitation. At first, it found no answer.

Yoongi walked towards the bed with his head hung low, paying more attention to the motion of his feet against the pale pink carpet than the anguish that blossomed inside your chest. “Nothing,” he spoke in a mumble.

You took a step in his direction. “Yoongi,” you called again, this time more desperate. You were so tired of his secrets, of his half-assed excuses. “Stop it. Tell me what’s going on.”

He scoffed at the impatience that permeated your words, finding your nervousness to be a bit pathetic. In his mind, it wasn’t as if telling you something would make any difference at that point — it was still his cross to carry. “I owe money to some guys. Sue me.”

Upon hearing that forsaken confession, the clouds of anguish that circumnavigated your head exploded into nothingness — then, into outrage. Bitterness hung at the tip of your tongue, dripping out like a serpent’s venom in between your syllables. “Yoongi, you need to tell me what in the hell is happening.” You walked closer to him with heavy steps, even if they got muffled against the fluffy ground. “We can work on this together.”

Mercurial, the man moved around the room as if he already had his every act perfectly architectured — just like the night you met him. One second, he was standing by the bed and, in the next, he was getting on his knees and pulling his large backpack from under it. “We can’t. Not this time.”

“What do you mean? Why are you getting that?” the questions continued to pour out of your lips, even if you already knew what his answer would be. You were not half as naive as he thought you were: you just needed to hear it from his mouth. Closure what the minimum he could give you. “Yoongi? Talk to me, I’m not asking anymore.”

The man stood up with a long groan, and threw the object over the bed — it bounced twice, sliced by the phosphorescent lights from the outside. “God damn it, I—” He ran his hands through his hair, pulling at the roots. If you hadn’t been so monopolized by frustration, perhaps you would have been a bit more cautious at the words that you threw his way — after all, Yoongi had showed you countless times that he wasn’t the king of mature decisions. “I have to leave.”

Another step closer, and now you were right besides him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He threw himself on the mattress, shoulders falling in defeat. You couldn’t read his expression, it laid somewhere melancholy and disgust — not much different from your night at the highway. “I can’t stay anywhere around here, and I can’t take my car either,” Yoongi explained a bit further now, taking his time to measure his erratic words before they left the captive of his chest. “I have no money to pay them back. Not the amount they want, at least.”

You suspired, and sat down next to him, fingers interlaced over your lap. “So?” you voice came soft, in a whisper.“We can get more time.”

“This was my extra time.” He snickered, sarcastic; gaze lost on the thin blue lines that casted its brilliance over his fingertips — his knuckles were forever marked by bruises, decorated by marks of his past fights. Perhaps those scars had been there the night that you met him, you just never noticed. “In case you didn’t get it, I’m in no place to bargain. If I stay, they’ll murder me, or sell my organs in the black market so I can pay for what I owe them. Simple as that.”

You licked your lips. “Maybe we could—”

“—We couldn’t do anything. You’re annoying the hell out of me with all of these questions,” he interrupted, absentminded. Every time he got detached in such abrupt manner, you knew he was trying his best to control his anger.

Yet, you were in no position to care about his feelings at that point. “Yoongi,” his name came out weakly in between your lips and, for an instant, you asked yourself if you had even vocalized it at all, “look at me.”

He blinked lethargically and did as you requested. “What’s wrong?”

What was wrong is that you had made the mistake of thinking that he could change if you loved him hard enough, but that was clearly not the case. There was something sparking inside his clouded, luciferine eyes that told you everything you needed to know — he held no regrets. He was mad at getting caught, not at his past actions. “Tell me something. And don’t lie to me.” You placed your hand on his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin underneath of palm. “What did you use the money for?”

Then, he did precisely what you expected he would: he lied through his fucking teeth. Yoongi got the checklist of his poor acting skills and crossed out everything that gave it away — the oscillation of his gaze towards the left, the flaring of his nostrils, and the licking of his chapped lips followed by a dry swallow. You knew him too well, you were no longer buying that cheap mask he used.

“It wasn’t anything illegal,” he verbalized with artificial tranquility, even if you could tell from the inflections on his timbre that he was, in fact, extremely bothered by your interrogation. “I was paying my friend’s rent. He was short… for the past six months. He was going to be kicked out.”

Liar. Min Yoongi was a fucking liar. You just needed one simple question to break the false placidity of his tone, and you could move on from there with much more facility — lucky for you, you knew exactly what would work.

“Why can’t you call the police?” You inquired, forging innocence.

Bingo.  

He raised his hands in a mocking prayer, looking up at the ceiling. “Why can’t I— because!” Yoongi exclaimed, his voice bordering on a scream. Once again, his demeanor switched faster than you could follow. “Fuck, don’t you understand? This money is dirty, this is from stealing and murdering, not honest work in a fucking farm. If the cops knew I was aware of that, which I’m sure they will figure out, I’ll go to jail. I’m guilty by association.”

Then you saw it: something else flickering inside his irises, perhaps a hint of guilt — not because of his past actions, but because of his current one. Yoongi was lying by omission. “That isn’t everything, is it?” You asked him, eyes narrowing for a millisecond. You were trying your best to keep your expression under control so he wouldn’t feel as if you were judging him — which you were, and rightfully so. “Did you do something else, Yoongi?”

Yoongi was delicate — but not the same manner that a butterfly is, or maybe a torn-apart flower. He was delicate as a missile, ready to detonate at any given second. And, at that instant, you had pushed the big red button. “We have to do what we can to survive, alright? It’s not the time for miss perfection to come out and judge a reality she doesn’t understand.” He threw at you, getting back to his feet. You had never seen him like that, so rough, so defensive. “I might have some blood on my hands, I might not, it doesn’t matter now. There’s nothing you can do about it, so it’s better if you don’t even know. I’m not that person anymore.”

Bullshit.

You inhaled profoundly. “If you just let me speak—”

“—There’s nothing to be said. Deal with it,” he interrupted, pointing at something behind you. “Hand me that shirt, do something useful for once.”

With a sigh, you did as he requested, even if you preference would be to choke him with that old, stained piece of fabric. “You’re just gonna leave me behind, I assume,” you spoke out with patience, teasing your way into every new word with endless nausea. After all that had happened, you didn’t know if you wanted to be around him anymore.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Shit got out of my control.” Yoongi ran one hand through his raven hair, disheveling it a bit further. He seemed to be thinking a billion things at the same time, for his speech came out in a wave of rapid words, barely any connection between them. Amongst the darkness of that motel room, he looked like a frenzied demon looking for another soul to feed off from; since, apparently, he had gotten tired of playing with yours. “By the way, before I forget, I need you to get my car and leave it by the bar we met. I’ll ask a friend to pick it up, and you can get a cab nearby.”

But you didn’t care about any of that — fuck, you might even set that piece of shit car on fire if Yoongi continued with that damn attitude. “When are you going?” you asked instead.

He cleared his throat, shoving his clothes into his backpack. “Tomorrow morning, the earlier bus they got.”

With a suspire, you got back to your feet, looking down on him. “Which is?”

“Old Mountain, 5:15am,” he responded. “I already checked and bought my ticket, don’t worry about it.”

“Of course you did.” You chuckled, humorless. Your chest was utterly empty, devoid of any sort of emotion, and your eyes had started to burn under a thin curtain of tears — you would break down at any given second now. “Before you went out to meet with your friend and decided I was a boring game all along, I assume. Something else you forgot to tell me? Maybe how I’m completely worthless for you?”

Yoongi groaned, allowing for his inner infuriated to drip past his lips. “Oh my god, can’t you shut up for one damn second? Let me think.” He placed one hand on the bridge of his nose, trying to figure out if there was something else he needed to do. “Fuck, I don’t have to tell you everything. Learn how to respect people. I didn’t think I’d be the one to teach you that.”

Oh, that was just rich. Talk about reaching limits — you had just flung yourself over yours.

“No, I cannot shut up, you fucking megalomaniac asshole,” you spat out ― shock value long forgotten. For an instant, you couldn’t recognize the roughness within your own voice, nor the way it curled around you like thorns, piercing your skin with gushes of adrenaline. You had been bottling up your emotions for too long now. “You were the one preaching for weeks about how I should stand up for myself, and now that I do, you’re telling me to quiet down? You’re full of bullshit, do you know that?”

Yoongi looked up to meet your gaze, slightly flabbergasted. Something told you that he didn’t expect you to throw the same rudeness back to him, and he didn’t appreciate it in the slightest. “You know that’s not what I fu—”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever, I don’t give a fuck what you meant,” you threw back, chest bubbling up with fury. “So you can get your bag ready, and I can get mine, and we can both pretend as if we don’t mean anything to one another tomorrow. Seems alright?”

His eyebrows moved together, forming a frown. You hated how he was the one pretending to look so confused, when you were the one who had been taken away from the truth. “Baby, I don’t—”

You took a step towards the man that you once loved, moved by an anger that did not belong to you. “Don’t fucking call me that, you selfish little prick.”

Yoongi stood up from the bed, his fists clenching — regardless, you could see it in his eyes that his demeanor was vacillating, uncertain how to deal with your explosiveness. But of course he did not want that: he wanted you to be quiet, for you to be agreeable. He wanted you to feel bad for your empathy, to focus on the love that — supposedly — you could only get from him. Yoongi wanted you at the palm of his hand, and he didn’t want you to talk back. “What the hell do you want from me, you crazy b—”

Then, something broke inside of you.

Like a switch had been turned on in your mind, you recalled every horrible experience you had by his side — the drunk driving, the pointless discussion and violence, the emotional manipulation. You had never been important to him. He didn’t care. He didn’t love you — if he did, he would have never placed your life on the line, he would have never blamed your kindness for the evils of the world. Yoongi despised your altruism because he wanted you to normalize his nightmarish behavior, so you could think that, perhaps, it had been your fault for being too sensitive.

When, all that time, it has been his fault for being corroded by egoism; reckless, and self-destructive. Min Yoongi was drowning in his own sins, and he was pulling you down to the bottom with him by convincing you that you couldn’t swim.

“—Fuck you, Min Yoongi!” you almost screamed, tears accumulating at the corners of your eyes. For an instant, the man remembered your first night together, the diamond-like droplets that came from Crystalfall. “Fuck you for making me believe you were different, that you actually cared about me. Fuck you for using me, for taking advantage of who I am. You have no right to do all of this to me and then just drop me like I’m nothing, alright?” Your hands curled into fists, and you pushed them against his chest. You wanted to punch him until his rib cage caved in, and you could take his heart in your hands so you could see if it ever even liked you — if it could even beat at all. “You’re just like the people you criticize, you hypocritical son of a bitch. You can’t keep your fucking word!”

Yoongi raised his hands in a quiet surrender, trying to stop the advances of your punches. “YN, please listen—”

“You fucking listen!” You cried out, the last word morphing into a frail whine as his fingers curled around your wrists, pausing your movements mid-air. You were too exhausted to fight, and he was using no force to keep you still — he didn’t need to. “You can’t pay back the money you got, you can’t keep your fucking word to me, you can’t do shit. You’ve been lying to me since day one, haven’t you? You’re playing with me. All this t-time, yo-you’ve—” hiccups interrupted your speech, “Fuck!” you exclaimed, and pulled away, turning your back from him.

In an explosion of anguish that was utterly alien to you, you acted out in sheer despair. The closest object to you got the tides of your anger thrown directly at it, and, with a strong motion, you hit it with all the force you had stored in your bones. The lamp shattered against the wall with a loud exclamation, and it was the final dot your argument needed. The room withered into silence instantaneously, Yoongi’s limbs were frozen in time. Seems like both of you changed through your little adventure — weeks before you had ever met him, the mere idea of damaging property was outrageous for you.

Now, it was nothing but a shattered lightbulb, and pieces of old wood all over an ugly pink carpet. How poetic.

You sniffed. “Don’t worry about it. I have the money to pay,” you told him, voice bordering on a mumble. The flame of anger that had been motivating your speech was completely gone then, leaving behind a trail of white smoke and regretful decisions. You had never felt that empty in your entire life. “I don’t owe shit to anyone.”

The motel room was static for a breviloquent period, filled only by the constant blowfly-like sound of the fluorescent lights flickering over your head. You wished you could turn back time, that you could warn your former self to jump off that sinking ship before it trapped you beneath tempestuous seas, making you unable to breathe. You wished to tell yourself that Yoongi’s kiss tasted like a storm because he hid hurricanes behind his cool facade; that his touch was catastrophe personified, destined to break you down into utter pandemonium.

But you couldn’t. You could only fix your world from that point forward.

Your breath was caught in your throat as you felt his arms curling around your waist, pulling you into a tender hug. His chest, rising and falling rapidly, met your back promptly, Yoongi’s hair fell over your clavicles as he leaned his forehead against your shoulder. Some part of your foggy mind warned that he wasn’t trying to calm you down, but to make sure you would not leave him behind then.

“Yoongi, don’t—” You choked on your own speech. Your throat was dry, your nose was clogged. Nothing was right anymore, and his touch felt like it emanated venom. You wanted him gone, you wanted his atrocious touch far away from where it could corrode you. “Please, don't hug me, I can’t deal with this right now.”

“I’m so sorry,” he spoke against the curvature of your neck, his voice coming out muffled and weak against your skin. You could feel him his cheeks getting wet by crocodile his tears, but you could no longer buy any second of his pathetic little act. Every emotion you ever had towards him had been replaced by utter disgust; and every emotion he ever swore to have towards you had morphed into the nothingness he truly felt. “I can’t believe I did this to you.”

Until the last instant, he would play the victim. That wasn’t his story to tell. “You’ve ruined me, Min Yoongi,” your voice came out firm, like an order; a certainty. There was nothing more that he could take away from you, for all that was left was the same merciless willpower that he had once swore to uncover; the lack of compassion he so desired to achieve. You would not bend. Not for him.

“I know, baby, I know,” he whispered and squeezed you tighter in that fake hug —  but his timbre already too far away for you to listen, his touches were shallow and his arms felt like snakes getting ready to suffocate you. It didn’t matter anymore. “I’m so sorry, please, forgive me— baby, I’m so sorry.”

And, for the first time since you’ve met the human-shaped catastrophe that was Min Yoongi, you didn’t have to look at him to know that he was lying.

You [04:23am] hey, hobi. sorry I’m messaging you rn, I can’t sleep

You [04:23am] there’s a lot in my mind

You [04:23am] i’m coming back home, alright? tomorrow

You [04:24am] tell the others to meet me at mercy’s, 3pm.

You [04:24am] i have a lot of stories to tell

-

You [04:56am] i miss you guys

When you would start to think about how much your soul has changed through it all, you used no words — but an image. You would think of an empty, cerulean-bathed cave, with cold, frozen waters and sharp stalactites. You’d think of an ongoing, periodic sound of something dripping, and the upcoming darkness of the corners you could never see. You would think of gelid emptiness, of deprivation and misery; of crystals made of ice, and of touches of white and blue. You would envision a place that dances between the omnipotent trepidation and the enchanting beauty; a place that is awfully human, yet remarkably devoid of any sort of compassion.

You fell in love with Min Yoongi — or, rather, who you thought he was. You feel in love with a man that was kind and loving, you held your hand as you were about to fall asleep, who caressed your hair as the morning sun slipped past the cracks on the curtains. You fell for the man you had seen at the bar, who took you to witness the beauty of Crystalfall, who promised a world in which the two of you could reign supreme. A man that would ask you to scream on a desert road so you could scare away your demons, not a man that would, instead, yell at you into submission, and shape you into a person you could never be.

You surely did not fall for who he really was. Never in your life would you love someone who put your own line so selfishly on the line, driving embriagated, refusing to slow down even if you begged for him to do so. You could never love someone that was so filled by jealousy that a mere talk with a stranger was seen as a threat; you would never find alluring the way he slowly pulled you away from your friends, convincing you that they weren’t good enough — no, they were far from perfect, but they would never do what he did to you. They would never ruin you, would never leave you behind to rot from the inside out.

When you were to come back to Crystalfall, you were sure they would be there for you, and Yoongi would be far, far away.

The previous night was spent with open eyes and fast-beating hearts. After Yoongi’s terrible attempt at an apology, you removed yourself from the room with a half-assed excuse, and said that you would come back later to help him pack — which you never did. In a state that laid between grief and indignation, you sat down outside, hugged your knees, and forced yourself to look at the neon lights of the motel’s hot tub, trying your best to find the answers you could never reach.

And, for the rest of the night, there you stayed.

You had been expecting for the monsters underneath your bed to crawl out of the shadows and take you down to a place in which demons could torture you forevermore, but you never considered the fact that, perhaps, the real monster had been by your side all along, toying with your emotions and sending you to the edges of panic. Once, you had compared Yoongi to the moon, but forgot to bring up his dark side — the piece of nothingness that could not be illuminated even by the brightest of stars.

You had been naive to compare him to anything but a black hole.

Yes, he had been raised in hell, had walked through a life of crime and was presented only with the worst that life could offer. But until which point could his past excuse his present? You had chewed on on that question for days on end, but still could not find a proper response to it. Some of your thoughts were utterly condemning, saying that it was all on him to blame; while another part of you leaned towards the other extreme, claiming he was merely a product of his twisted story, and needed just a bit of kindness to change his ways. You were sure the answer laid somewhere in the middle, even if you doubted you could ever fully discover it someday. If Yoongi had not passed through all of that, would he be any better? Perhaps he would have been worse? You could never tell. All you knew is that he would not be the one you met that somber night at The Cave, and certainly not the one you had fallen in love with. And those were the positive memories you chose to carry along with you at the day of his departure. You had not fallen in love with the man you drove to the bus station, all covered in blood stains and scars, with deep puddles of purple underneath his tired eyes, but the kind, charismatic man that had took you to the waterfall, who had adored you as if you were his own masterpiece.

You did not fall for a monster, and it wasn’t your fault that he changed into one.

“You have everything you need?” your voice came out soft as you spoke, stained by melancholy. Next to you in that claustrophobic car, Yoongi nodded slowly, his hair contrasting against the foggy, rain-encrusted windows. “Okay. Let’s move before you miss your bus.”

Just like the night before, that morning progressed in a quiet, phlegmatic blur of heavy hearts and discombobulated thoughts — from the instant you two took his bags from the truck of the car, to the very instant Yoongi checked his ticked one last time, pointing at the bus he was supposed to catch. Through all, you were trying to keep yourself together: you could cry later in the car, or maybe in the arms of your friends, but not then. Not in front of him. Not when you swore that your dignity would be the one thing left standing after he had ruined everything else.

You would survive. It was not the first time that someone believed that the world was about to reach for a catastrophe far too big for it to handle, only to continue living through the ashes and the smoke. Vivacity would come again — with someone else, somewhere else. Kinder times are always waiting ahead.

As he involved you in a warm hug, you felt your soul cracking. You knew, at some level, that the two of you were never meant for do or die: you could never last. “Goodbye, Yoongi,” you verbalized those words with care, paying attention to the sour taste that they left on your tongue. It wasn’t just a farewell, it was a promise to the stars. “Take care of yourself.”

Yoongi held you into that hug for a little bit longer. What once felt like a comforting touch, was now suffocating you into a reality you were not meant to face. “Goodbye,” he whispered back as he pulled away, then took a step behind. For a moment, there was only the low humming of the bus’ motor reverberating in between your bodies. “Let’s meet again someday.”

“Definitely.” You nodded. But you knew you wouldn’t — the two of you were toxic for one another, and some things were better left in the past. That, at least, was what you hoped would happen.

He placed his right foot on the first step of the bus, then turned back to look at you. Yoongi’s eyes were overflowing with despondency, and you were certain, even if for a mere, short-lived second, that he was going to cry. “I love you, west beauty.” The man spoke with endless calm, yet profound adoration. It was the last time he had ever said that to you. Perhaps the last one ever. “Stay out of trouble, alright? You deserve a better life than whatever I had to offer you.”

You hesitated for an instant — those words, once so inviting, now crashed like cold water against your skin. Fyodor Dostoevsky once wrote that “being in love doesn’t mean loving”, and that had been the sentence that was echoing in your mind ever since Yoongi told you he would leave. You were in love with him, absolutely and wholeheartedly, but you could not love him. You barely knew him, he was a stranger from the east, a formless shadow filled with acrid demons. If that was love, you didn’t want to be loved.

“I love you too, Yoongi,” you lied — you could do that so effortlessly now, and you knew that he was the one to blame. “Will you come back to visit me someday?”

He simply nodded, uncertain. He couldn’t promise that, and both of you knew that very well. It was for the best if he didn’t.

Just as quickly as Min Yoongi came into your life, he departed from it, crossing the midnight sky like a comet; leaving only a diaphanous trail of ice behind. One second he was there, looking at you against the cadaveric luminesce of the cloudy sky, and on the next instant he was turning his head and walking up the steps of that old bus, leaving you behind like your story never held any sort of significance. Maybe it didn’t — not for him.

The doors closed soon after, and you stepped away. The bus was a pale blue shade, a pale blue feeling; its motor’s purrs resonaning alongside the raindrops that started to pierce the skyline. Completely numbed by his departure, you could only watch as the vehicle trailed away with a loud vibration, grey clouds of smoke exploding in thin exhales on its back. The smell of burning gasoline was strong and merciless, and it felt as poisonous as the sentiment that begun blossoming at the basis of your throat.

With a final inhale, you turned your back to the man you once fell in love with, and started following your own path.

Your story began the same way it ended: with a poorly thought-out decision, and a promise of better days. For the lack of a better definition, Min Yoongi, in all of his despondent and reckless glory, became your event horizon.

And, once you crossed it, there was nothing left of who you once were.

[iraklismytridis]

Arcturian Group Dear ones, the world is increasingly moving toward more revelations with regard to negative actions and those  involved in them.  Be not afraid of what you may see and hear from commercial news sources or your technology for everything that resonates with old energy cannot help but change or actually disappear as new and higher frequencies integrate into the collective.

Many commonly accepted rules, beliefs, and concepts that over time have resulted in today's belief system, must be exposed for what they really represent before those who consider them acceptable will be able to see them for what they really are--programs based in false beliefs and the surrendering of personal power to those who seek it for themselves.

Appearances would testify that mankind is going backwards and reverting to an old state of consciousness.   In reality, consciousness is going forward.  Each day as higher frequencies of Light increase, more individuals  become aware of what up to now has either been sanitized through false teachings or simply hidden behind closed doors.

Allow your light to shine in each now moment of the day for this is what adds to the incoming frequencies of Light flowing from higher dimensions.  Accept that you are the one you have  searched for over lifetimes.  The high resonating energy of each awakened consciousness  is what will bring change,  expose shadows, and assist the un-awakened to wake up.

All is proceeding according to plan.  Rejoice as you witness increasingly more people become aware of the need for change and better ways of living for all rather than a select few.  Changes are coming, but don't spend your days waiting and looking for them while dwelling on and adding energy to negative appearances.  Rather keep your focus in truth, in the higher frequencies of conscious Oneness with Source and what that means.  Remember, you are creators.

Honestly examine how much time and energy you spend thinking about negative issues and learn to be  very selective with regard to networking, websites, or groups that easily pull followers into dense energy under the guise of information.  Many of you are beginning to recognize an energetic heaviness when visiting certain websites, news sources, or even entertainments.

Be intuitively selective with regard to what you accept into your consciousness.  Many sites that began as light fun and interaction with others have become platforms for promoting fear and separation.

Understand that as your consciousness  increasingly shifts to new levels, you automatically move out of alignment with some previous interests--online or in person.  Attempting to make something from a previous state of consciousness work as it once did is futile and only serves to hold one in bondage to energy that is familiar but which has been outgrown.

Be very honest with regard to how some people, places, or things effect you and have the courage to withdraw from them if they no longer serve.  Not only are you changing, but many things that began innocently enough also changed as they were recognized to be excellent platforms from which to to promote an agenda.  Always listen to and trust your intuition in these things.

There is much to come dear ones, much that we cannot yet speak about for we do not wish to influence you or cause you to sit back awaiting the arrival of some concept of  "savior".

Love yourselves, all of yourselves not just the "good" parts, and allow your inner process to unfold. A great deal of clearing-- physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually is taking place at this time.  Many of you are experiencing odd symptoms of one sort or another on one or all levels,

The clearing of old energy is individual because energies needing to be cleared result from individual experiences and different lifetimes.  One person's process  may be to actually re-experience something  while another's  will simply be to feel exhausted or sick.  Allow you process without comparing it to another's.

Allowing indicates a consciousness able to  trust that the God/I AM of your being knows how to express ITSELF as and through you without your need to tell it how.  In every situation, simply say; "I allow..." rather than  "Teach me how to allow" because if your intention is to be taught, opportunities for practice will indeed present themselves.

Rest and pamper yourself when you feel the need but don't endow your clearing symptoms with power. Love and support  your physical body as it clears old cellular memory and integrates new frequencies of Light .  Speak to your cells telling them to release low resonating energies acquired through inheritance and experience, and  allow frequencies of Light to replace them.  Visualize bright golden Light moving into each cell and pushing out any shadow as it does so.

Everyone at some point reaches a level of awareness in which they must cease looking to others for love, cooperation, gratitude, appreciation, friendship, support, etc. even from those where it is most expected.

These things are God qualities, facets of Oneness, that  human beings in and of themselves do not have to give.  Looking to some person for what God alone possesses can only result in disappointment because individuals are only able to express  God qualities at the level of their attained state of consciousness.

Every person eventually evolves to a place where they must begin to acknowledge their Oneness with Source and seek only from  IT.   This then allows whatever is needed,  be it the solution to a problem or the receiving of appreciation, to manifest outwardly though the avenue best qualified.

Solutions often appear through a person from whom it is least expected or even a stranger.  Never doubt that what you need will appear, often before you know there is a need  if you rest always in a consciousness of Divine completeness.

Third dimensional energy is and always has been about looking outside of self for everything.  This is because third dimensional energy can only express as duality and separation.  Enlightenment means realizing that harmony, wholeness, completeness, abundance, love, acceptance, appreciation, safety, security, and infinite supply are already fully present within never dependent upon outer appearances but rather upon a conscious realization of SELF versus self.

God qualities express and flow through humans, but can never flow from them, simply because human beings in and of themselves do not have these qualities to give.  Once you understand this, you stop being disappointed by another's  lack of empathy, appreciation, friendship, love, support, or gratitude because you understand that every person is only capable expressing God at their level of consciousness.  Everyone is  expressing their highest level of awareness.

By not expecting another to give what only God has to give you are loving and allowing them to be who they are at this particular point in their evolutionary journey.   At the same time you are allowing yourself to trust that what you may seem to need at any given time already exists  within and so you allow the God qualities of your own Divine Consciousness to flow wherever and through whomever is the best vehicle.

In these times of change you are witnessing the disappearance of much that has always been held as being "tried and true"-- facts about successful living that you could rely on.  Fear often arises for even the spiritually evolved when suddenly they discover certain solutions no longer work or carefully laid plans fall apart.

You have all lived lifetimes based in mind alone, where plotting and planning was the only acceptable way to resolve  issues of any kind.  Shifting away from mind alone and into truth and intuition is difficult at first when things begin to no longer work the way they are "supposed" to.  

Because almost everyone still carries frequencies reflective of familiar and commonly accepted  ways of doing things,  panic, confusion, and fear will often manifest as an individual moves to a level of consciousness that requires trust and allowing.

Begin to put everything you have learned about truth throughout this and your many other lifetimes into practice and  begin to totally embrace the fact that you are a Divine Being having third dimensional experiences through your own choice.

Spirituality was all well and good and even quite comfortable when it was something discussed in classes, listened to in lectures, read in metaphysical books, given through a psychic, or by meditating now and then.  It was something you enjoyed with like minded people and left you feeling "holy" and perhaps even a little "better" than those who didn't know what you did.

That work is complete.  You are ready to leave behind spiritual tools  based in a sense of separation that promoted  struggle in a vain attempts to contact some far away God or become enlightened.  You  came to believe that spirituality could only be attained through effort, ceremony, right practices, and a whole lot of work.   You now know that everything you sought through these practices is within.

You may still be guided  to seek help from a certain teacher, book, or class to help you move through a "stuck" place, but spiritual  tools are never intended to become one's lifeline.  A continuing reliance on anything outside of SELF simply prevents one from realizing that everything they need is fully present within. The books, classes, crystals, mantras, and gurus necessary to one's earlier steps are meant to be  bridges leading within.

Example; Crystals carry unique and often very powerful energy, but are meant to align with  and strengthen this same energy within the individual, rather than give them something they don't already posses.

Those of you who are  spiritual teachers in some capacity must keep in mind that it is vitally important that you never allow human ego to keep your student coming after they are ready to go "solo".  A spiritual teacher's job to give wings to each student as they lovingly guide them toward realizing their Oneness with Source.

Integrate each truth as it reveals itself to you and live from your highest attained level of awareness. At some point  IT begins living ITSELF as you without effort or study on your part.  Most of you are either already there, or close to it or you would not be drawn to or even understand these messages.

Let go dear ones.  Let go and jump off that spiritual cliff you have teetered on for so long.  Allow your Divine self to be your sword and shield.   Accept that you really are a Divine expression of God in material  form and never have been a powerless human subject to all the manifestations of duality and separation.

I AM everything I have sought for lifetimes...there is no longer any need to keep seeking.