#ink if I’m wrong pls correct me

[slyzia]

Where the sky meets

Woo! Collab with @inkymkk our second piece! (Technically our first but this was posted second to the other)

I really had fun with this and designing Gary’s outfit was cool as hell. Ink also did incredible well and I’m so glad this came out just amazing. We both based out designs off of fly type pokemons. If you can guess which two Pokémon is it I’ll reward you a telepathic thumbs up from me!

Anyways, I love you all. Please take care of yourselves and remember to try your best everyday!

[popmushroombrains]

Doodles

can I just post like literally everything I draw? Is that allowed?

[rosemary-crane]

Pt. 2 of the stem of my corset-making ✨mistakes✨

So as we last left off, I was in the throes of complete and utter Audacity, thinking I could make the corset perfectly, with zero(0) experience with corsets. So, I made a mock up with cotton muslin and 1/2” twill tape, as seen below, wrote down my alterations and tried applying them.

Jk, I started having DoubtsTM, not helped by the fact that I was wavering over how wide the waist actually was, because my mockup and the description of the pattern’s measurement weren’t the same, whether to leave a few in. gap in the back or making it meet perfectly center back after lacing up (as is historically and og pattern accurate), getting confused when my mockup did not have the measurements as a costuber who was using the same pattern, and last but not least, I was fitting only one half of the corset and without any boning/busk, because I hadn’t gotten them yet. :/

Fml the pics got cropped weirdly

anyways, eventually I caved after trying to make another mockup as seen above and still not sure but unwilling to use up more fabric and time because I wanted it all done by December, and decided to run with the Etsy description measurement and add 1” on both halves of the corset, but split evenly between the panels 5, 6, & 7, because I thought they were too small, and extend the bust line on the other panels by half a cm to cover my nips, but hey at least my boobs weren’t bulging unseemly so over the bust of the corset so that part was clearly Fine otherwise. Mind you, I didn’t sew in the bone channels except like 2 and that was more for funsies than actually helpful in fitting a mock up. I also made a little make-shift pattern around the end of November for the top band of boning in the cups since that wasn’t provided but appeared to be added only after sewing panels 2, 3, & 4 together. Also, sometime in August to September, my busk and metal stamps had arrived and I made time to try and stamp the flowers onto the metal loops. Even though I had bought them in the smallest size available, the stamps were still too big to fit on the loops, which I ALREADY KNEW when I bought them, but I was in Denial :D I still tried, but quickly realized that for some godforsaken reason, the metal stamps weren’t stamping no matter how hard I hit it with a hammer (because we don’t have any softer mallets) and I’m✨ a cheapskate✨ so no buying another tool. Just to make sure, we tried stamping the actual um, hmmm would u call it a body? of the busk just to test whether it was the stamps or the small surface space, but even then they refused to properly create the stamped image so ig it was the metal?? *leans into the metaphorical mic* So that was a failure. AND AND just to top it all off, I realized that the busk I ordered was too long for the pattern, and because I didn’t want to make the front longer at the bottom, I had to order a shorter one, which also took time.

So, around mid to late September, like any good young individual, I was so confident things were going great that I drew up my altered pattern pieces all nice and official-like. Clearly, several months and a pound of blood, sweat, and tears later, that was wrong, cause I now am having to go back and scrap all of them except panels 1 and 7 >:///// but since I was oh so proud then of my work, here’s the general lineup, partially obscured out of respect for the pattern maker. Also, I had later decided to double the bones in panels 5 6 7 because I only realized after drawing them up that the bones I got, 3/16”, were like half the width of the og pattern bones, and pls don’t ask me about the smaller vertical bones in panel 7, because even I don’t remember what the fuck was going on there and u can’t erase ink. And if ur asking, well why the fuck didn’t u just buy bones in the correct width? Well, the supplier I ordered them from took like, 2 weeks to a month to arrive which wouldnt arrive in time for my deadline and were expensive as fuck, so I thought that I could just skate on by on my thiccc panels of tiny bones. It was already December 6 by the time I realized this mind u, so I also had to push my deadline back to December 20 as the latest I could tolerate, because I wanted to wear it for an event at the end of the year.

my fabric arrived in late September to early October and this was when I realized my second mistake, which was that instead of greige, I got cool grey toned to purple, so that was fun :/ like I like that color but it still wasn’t what I was originally going for, so a lesson in always buying a swatch first ig. Also it looked less like a sateen and more like a plain weave, and I was expecting something with a sheen like my moodfabrics cotton sateen, so another lesson in the reliability of quality from random suppliers. ://// I gave them both a thorough soak in clean water before leaving the to dry on the line for like 2 days? Just as a precaution if I ever get the corset wet so that it doesn’t shrink or warp, and also any excess dye for the sateen. I had finished drawing and cutting out my patterns sometime during all this too. Then I also ironed them both out to get rid of wrinkles, which I did over 3-5 days I think. I was also trying to buy cotton thread in a similar color to the fabric, but my first spool ended up being too light and in a fit of desperation, I tried dying it, failed miserably in terms of efficiency, and finally gave up that attempt to buy actually similar colored thread with a sample of some of my sateen. :|

From there, there’s multiple options on how you cut ur pattern out, but since coutil is so dense and sturdy, I decided that I would cut the pattern pieces out of that first, baste them wrong sides together to the sateen, then cut them out using the coutil pieces as the pattern for the sateen, which is much lighter and delicate. Obviously, you have to make sure to cut them according to the grainlines, and then for me, also baste them to match the sateen’s grainline. I spent a good chunk of time doing this, all the way into the beginning of November. I can remember because I vividly recall sewing basting through Halloween instead of getting out of the house. I don’t have any pics of this because I was so focused on making that I didn’t remember to take pics. 😔✌️ I did start sewing panel 1, my new busk, and the twill tape and did in fact remember to try testing the sewing machine on scraps of coutil and sateen first, but was again delayed when I had to face the fact that I had to get an actual awl and not just use the thin knitting needles I already had access to in order to poke holes for the pegs of the busk to poke through because I didn’t want to cut the fabric and compromise the stability of the corset, which would be under quite a bit of tension. I was also taking classes so I got delayed several times, increasingly so as we got closer to the end of the year/term. Even then, it was only until the beginning of December that I finally got to properly start sewing everything together. And by then, everything I had ordered had also arrived, which is good. Well, not rlly in regards to the grommets haha ha….

[boiling-potato]

Correct me if I’m wrong but ink is also in the arcana fandom right? (Pls ignore if I’m wrong) soooo can I maybe request an art? I just really wanna see her reverse ending… more specifically I want to see her if she became the demon instead of Nadia (if too busy then pls take your time! I can wait! 😊)

Oh yeah! She is! Wow! it's been a while since I've seen an arcana request! And I gotta hand it to you Anon, devil Ink does sounds interesting~!

ಡwಡ✨✨

Already working on it!! Thanks for the request by the way! (◕ᴗ◕✿)

[ep1cg33k]

The AUs (+Dream and Nightmare) Start a Chat Group

Introduction: Alright, I had a random idea, that amused me. What if these dorks started a chat group. Fair warning, this is coming off of G33kVerse, and will potentially contain spoilers for "Literary Nightmare", and "G33kTale". (Yes, I have finally decided that Literary Nightmare is a part of the multiverse of G33kTale.) Now, to the spoilers: Nightmare has been uncorrupted. Ink isn't there because he is dead. (No, I will not tell you how he died.) G33k has met them. (No, I will not say how, all you need to know is that they meet them.) You have been fully informed, now. So...

Onward to the chat group!

The actual thing itself:

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25 has joined the chat.

Angy Octopus has joined the chat.

G33k has joined the chat.

WalkingWindowsVista has joined the chat.

WalkingWindowsVista: Who named me that?!

Angy Octopus: Not me.

G33k: Lol.

WalkingWindowsVista: G33k!!!

Angy Octopus: You're only supposed to put one exclamation point. Like this: G33k, it's rude to take people's phones, and do things like that! See?

WalkingWindowsVista: 🙄

Angy Octopus: Rude.

G33k: It wasn't me, I just thought it was funny.

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25: I THINK I KNOW WHO DID IT.

WalkingWindowsVista: Who?

Angy Octopus: Blue, your caps lock is on.

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25: I KNOW, IT'S STUCK.

G33k: How? Didn't you just get a new phone?

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25: YES. I'M STARTING TO THINK I'M CURSED. 😢

WalkingWindowsVista: Answer me, berry!

Angy Octopus: I don't think you're cursed. Maybe you just have a habit of accidentally turning it on.

G33k: Makes sense.

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25: HOW, THOUGH? I DON'T HOLD THE SHIFT BUTTON THAT LONG.

Angy Octopus: Oh, you turn caps on by holding "Shift"?

G33k: Yeah...?

WalkingWindowsVista: TELL ME WHO CHANGED MY NAME!!!

Angy Octopus: OH, COOL! Now if only I could figure out emojis. :(

G33k: You could get Dream to help you.

Angy Octopus: He's busy helping one of the AUs.

G33k: Oh.

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25: IF YOU COME TO UNDERSWAP, I COULD HELP YOU! 😁

Angy Octopus: No, it's alright, I can wait on Dream. And while I wait on him, I can figure out some of these things on my own. :)

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25: IF YOU SAY SO.

oglzy🦴 has joined the chat.

oglzy🦴: sup

G33k: Hello, Classic.

WalkingWindowsVista: WILL SOMEONE PLS TELL ME WHO CHANGED MY NAME!!!!!!!!!

oglzy🦴: wut's the vista's malfunction

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25: OH RIGHT, I WAS GOING TO TELL HIM WHO I THINK CHANGED HIS NAME!

WalkingWindowsVista: About time!

G33k: Aren't Windows Vistas always malfunctioning? 🤨

oglazy🦴: lol

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25: I THINK FRESH CHANGED IT. HE'S ALWAYS MESSING WITH YOU, AND IT CERTAINLY WASN'T INK, AS HE...

Angy Octopus: How about we talk about something else?

WalkingWindowsVista: Of course it was Fresh. Why can't that parasite leave me alone?!

Angy Octopus left the chat.

G33k: Why did Nightmare leave?

oglazy🦴: prob hit the wrong button

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25: I'LL INVITE HIM BACK TO THE CHAT GROUP. 😅

Angy Octopus has joined the chat.

Angy Octopus: Wrong button.

oglazy🦴: called it

Angy Octopus: But, in the process I did find the emoji board! 😄

G33k: 👍

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25: NOCE.

WalkingWindowsVista: Nice*

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25: THAT'S WHAT I MEANT, I JUST HIT ENTER TOO SOON.

oglzy🦴: oof

G33k: Mood.

Angy Octopus: All of you are making me feel old.

oglzy🦴: aren't u over 500

Angy Octopus: Maybe.

WalkingWindowsVista: Hey, noot, I found the perfect emojis for you! 🐙👴

Angy Octopus: 😒

oglzy🦴: lol

G33k: Be nice.

Angy Octopus: What does "lol" mean?

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25: IT MEANS "LAUGH OUT LOUD".

WalkingWindowsVista: What the berry said.

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25: PLEASE STOP CALLING ME "BERRY". IT'S ANNOYING.

WalkingWindowsVista: Ok, berry.

Angy Octopus: This chat group was a terrible idea.

G33k: I couldn't agree more.

NeighbrohoodSkelepal has joined the chat.

G33k: I stand corrected.

NeighbrohoodSkelepal: Sup, broskis?

WalkingWindowsVista: End me. Please just end me.

NeighbrohoodSkelepal has left the chat.

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25: THERE. I KICKED HIM OUT. SERIOUSLY, HOW DID HE EVEN GET IN WITHOUT ME INVITING HIM?

Angy Octopus: Don't ask me, I don't even know how to turn down the brightness on this frustratingly difficult to use piece of technology.

G33k: Don't feel bad. For a long time, I couldn't figure out how to make a screenshot.

oglzy🦴: srsly kid

G33k: Yep.

Angy Octopus: Seriously, kid?*

oglzy🦴: wut's wrong with how i'm typing

Angy Octopus: It's a little annoying to me.

WalkingWindowsVista: Says the one who has "Angy" in their name.

Angy Octopus: I didn't name myself this.

WalkingWindowsVista: Then who did?

Angy Octopus: Cross did.

G33k: 😑

G33k: Of course.

Gold Harted Been has joined the chat.

Gold Harted Been: Hello.

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25: HELLO, DREAM.

Angy Octopus: Dream, your name is spelled wrong.

Gold Harted Been: I know. I meant to fix it, but I've been too busy.

G33k: That name does seem fitting, though.

WalkingWindowsVista: It would be more fitting if it were "Gold Hearted Nuisance".

oglzy🦴: do u have anything that's not rude to say

WalkingWindowsVista: Nope.

Angy Octopus: Can you please refrain from throwing insults at my brother? At least he hasn't been a pile of salt the whole time he's been here, and does something other than sit around in a blank space watching a soap opera AU.

G33k: Oh dang!

oglzy🦴: 10 points to the noot lord

WalkingWindowsVista: Nerd.

Angy Octopus: Vexatious insect.

Gold Harted Been: Please stop fighting.

WalkingWindowsVista: I would've loved to see you still being controlled by that parasitic creature.

Angy Octopus: Fresh is going to get you one of these days, and I'm going to laugh.

WalkingWindowsVista: You and your corrupted self aren't that different.

Angy Octopus: What's that supposed to mean?!

G33k: Error, stop!

WalkingWindowsVista: You're both evil and only want to see others suffer.

Gold Harted Been: Nightmare, don't listen to him.

oglzy🦴: Error, that was uncalled for!

WalkingWindowsVista: Well, it's true. Only someone who's really evil would wish Fresh upon someone, or laugh if they got nabbed by him.

Gold Harted Been: You started it!

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25: DREAM'S RIGHT. YOU STARTED THE FIGHT BY BEING A JERK TO DREAM, AND HE WAS JUST TRYING TO STAND UP FOR HIM. WHEN PEOPLE ARE MAD THEY SAY THINGS THEY DON'T MEAN. HONESTLY, THE ONLY EVIL ONE WHO'S LIKELY TO BE EVIL HERE IS YOU. YOU DESTROY WORLDS. WHAT HAS NIGHTMARE DONE?

WalkingWindowsVista: He makes people miserable.

Gold Harted Been: No he doesn't! That's just his

Gold Harted Been: I forgot how to spell it.

G33k: Aura?

Gold Harted Been: I think so.

Angy Octopus: Dream, it's fine. There's no need to stand up for me. After all, he's probably right. I'm just going to leave the chat.

Angy Octopus has left the chat.

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25: GREAT, NOW SEE WHAT YOU DID?!

WalkingWindowsVista: Yup, and I feel no guilt for it. 😎

G33k: Lol, that emoji kinda resembles Fresh.

WalkingWindowsVista: Great... Now I have another thing that parasite has ruined.

oglzy🦴: u do realize wat u might've just done right

WalkingWindowsVista: Upset Nightmare? He'll get over it.

Gold Harted Been: It's not hard for him to get re... Um... Help, I don't know how to spell that.

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25: RE-CORRUPTED.

Gold Harted Been: Thank you, Blue.

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25: ANYTIME, FRIEND.

WalkingWindowsVista: I doubt the situation will get that bad.

G33k: You literally did exactly what caused him to get corrupted before.

Gold Harted Been: You know about that?

G33k: Yeah, he told me.

oglzy🦴: well they do talk to each other a lot

Gold Harted Been: True.

WalkingWindowsVista: I still don't think he's going to get corrupted. You got rid of it, right? And he would have to eat more of those weird apples, right?

Gold Harted Been: No.

WalkingWindowsVista: You didn't change him back?

Gold Harted Been: No. He got free on his own.

WalkingWindowsVista: I guess that explains why he could get changed back.

oglzy🦴: energy cannot be destroyed, it can only be changed or transported. so, even if dream had managed to change him back, it likely would've just suppressed the corruption.

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25: WHAT CLASSIC SAID.

Gold Harted Been: And you say that you're lazy.

oglzy🦴: i'm

MAGNIFICENTSKELTON25: I am*

oglzy🦴: idc

G33k: That doesn't seem very lazy, to me.

oglzy🦴: being lzy doesn't mean i'm not a dork

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25: YOU STILL TYPED A LOT.

oglzy🦴: who said i typed anything 😏

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25: AND HERE I THOUGHT THERE MIGHT'VE BEEN HOPE FOR YOU. 😒

G33k: Lol.

Gold Harted Been: I'm going to go check on Nightmare. If I don't say anything for 7 hours, I'm likely a statue.

MAGNFICENTSKELETON25: BE CAREFUL.

G33k: Yes, please do. Being turned into a statue doesn't sound very pleasant.

oglzy🦴: sounds great to me u don't have to do anything

WalkingWindowsVista: You literally CAN'T do anything.

Stabstabstabstabstab has joined the chat.

oglzy🦴: yep that's the point

Stabstabstabstabstab: Point? 🔪🙂

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25: WRONG KIND OF POINT, KILLER.

G33k: 😐

Stabstabstabstabstab: Is Cross here?

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25: Why?

Stabstabstabstabstab: No reason.

oglzy🦴: wut's killer doing in the chat

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25: I INVITED HIM.

oglzy🦴: y

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25: WHY NOT?

oglzy🦴: he's crazy

Stabstabstabstabstab: He's right.

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25: HE'S LITERALLY JUST YOU FROM ANOTHER TIMELINE.

WalkingWindowsVista: And you guys were getting onto me for being rude. 🙃 How hypocritical.

G33k: Pu tuhs.

WalkingWindowsVista: ???

G33k: 🙂

WalkingWindowsVista:???

G33k: ...

G33k: What?

WalkingWindowsVista: Did you really just spell "shut up" backwards?

oglzy🦴: i think they did

WalkingWindowsVista: Why?

G33k: To confuse you because I'm bored.

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25: GREAT GOOGALY MOOGALY THIS HAS ALL GONE TO SHOE!!!

oglzy🦴: pls tell me u did said "shoe" on purpose

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25: I WISH I DID.

WalkingWindowsVista: It couldn't have been Fresh, right? He left.

G33k: Yeah, and it would've said it if he rejoined.

Stabstabstabstabstab: It wasn't me.

NeighbrohoodSkelepal: I'm back, mah rad brotato pals! Ya didn't think I'd go that easily, did ya?

WalkingWindowsVista: I'm outta here!

oglzy🦴: i second that

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25: I FORGOT I HAVE TO MAKE DINNER, SO ME THREE!

G33k: Nope, not staying, either.

WalkingWindowsVista has left the chat.

oglzy🦴 has left the chat.

MAGNIFICENTSKELETON25 has left the chat.

G33k has left the chat.

Stabstabstabstabstab has left the chat.

NeighbrohoodSkelepal: Brah, dats cold, I was just gonna hang out with ya.

Le Description-

This was fun. When the AUs make a chat group, what could possibly go wrong? I'll tell you what: Everything. Everything could go wrong. Yes, this was supposed to be Blue's idea. Classic doesn't care about grammar, Dream can't spell, Nightmare doesn't know how to use anything, G33k is just there. Why did Killer want to know Cross's location? Who knows. This is Killer, he unpredictable. And poor Nightmare, he can't get a moment's peace. Error better be sorry for that. Now, to the credits! Undertale is owned by: Toby Fox   Ink is owned by: Myebi/Comyet Error and Fresh are owned by: TheCrayonQueen/loverofpiggies   Killer is owned by: rahafwabas/rahofy-stetch Dreamtale is owned by: JokuDream/jokublog   Cross is owned by: JakeiArtwork/jakei95 Underswap is owned by: The AU Community (originally popcornpr1nce)   G33kTale and G33kVerse are owned by: Me Feel free to do fanart if you want. Just, send a link, or something. I'd love to see it!

[homoose]

hi hi queen! do you know anyone who is taking requests right now?

OH BOY ANGEL DO I EVER

I’m pretty sure the following angels are taking requests (pls correct me if I’m wrong, babes!) ♥️

@rigatonireid

@spencers-dria

@writing-in-april

@aperrywilliams

@reidemandweep

@reidingmelodies

@wheelsup

@spencehotchner

@ghostings-ink

@samuel-de-champagne-problems

@alltooreid

@gubetube

💜💙💚💛🧡❤️ check their guidelines and then request away!!!!!!!! ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

[oak-png]

hey! for those of you that came to my account to be mad that i'm bullying @mega-pvp, just know it's all for jokes! :))

some things you should know:

if you're mean to shiru you die by my hands

same goes for ink

i like asks a lot pls send them pls

if i accidentally use the wrong pronouns for you please correct me! :))

if you find any of my 4 alt accs, dm me the name of it to confirm you won

if you wanna write/draw anything sus of me and mega kinnie, ask us first pls :^)

if you make any art of me, please @ me in it and tag it with #oak fanart

send a 🎤🎧 for a song rec!

socials:

insta - oak_png

twitter - oak_png

tiktok - oak_png

reddit - oak-png

[little-birdseeker]

A letter to the botanist

[And because i wanted to write a bit more, i also did something for @illia-ast :3 Though it builds on the previous little story here, you might want to read that too. But you don’t have to! Pls enjoy~]

There was another moogle on his way, another letter in his bag. This one was flying over Vylbrand, and he had to deliver that letter to a certain botanist who was living there. If you could see this particular Moogle though you would be suprised by his wet fur. You would expect it to be more groomed, as it was certainly precious to him. If you would have guessed that this came from the harsh winds he had to fly through, you would be partially correct. The real reason though was a catastrophic mistake he had made in Shirogane.

The letter he was carrying came from the same Miqo’te as the one mentioned before. You already know what happened, right? Yes, of course, the tail. Her very precious tail. And this was a young moogle as well, not prepared for anything. And way too slow for a not very amused catgirl. After tickling and fluffing through the fur of the poor moogle for a few minutes he finally managed to escape her, after promising her to deliver the letter as fast as he could. No time to take care of his fur! And thus, here he was. Maybe he had learned his lesson. But to be honest - he will do that again. Just… not with that girl. No, never again, kupo!!

The letter itself was not much different to the other one. One spell so only the botanist could open it, and another one was as harmless as the within the other letter. This time it was more like a very little firework. Mostly red, of course, we are still talking about the probably redest cat alive, but there were some oranges, yellows and purples mixed into it as well. And as it was done with the same technique as prisms, there was no danger to set something on fire at all.

The letter itself was written with the same red ink as before. Isabelle loved it, obviously, but honestly? It was still not the ink she wanted to have. It was not… sparkly and glittery enough! Maybe she needed to learn to make her own ink? Or find someone to make it for her? Hmmm… But well, that was something for the future. For now, it was enough. Enough to write the following words:

‘Dear Illia,

Happy new year!! Did you have a pleasant party? With friends? I did, here in Shirogane! Have you been here? It’s beautiful, and not as cold as in Limsa, which I like very much, as it means i can wear my dresses without having to freeze! Or a kimono, when I finally get one. It is just a liiittle bit weird because there are not many Miqo’te around here. I think that’s the reason many look a bit confused at me. One time, they asked me about my hair! Why i dyed it that way. But it is natural! Like you hair! Or am i wrong? Anyway, i told him that it’s natural. Although i’m not sure why. Did I tell you about that? I look nothing like my parents! They look sooo different, and I often asked my mom about it, but she never gave me an answer! Just reassured me that I am her daughter. Maybe i need to investigate that someday. Hmmm… Oh, now I rambled so much, sorry! Maybe we can talk about that some other day! Anyway, i wish you a very good year, stay safe and stay healthy!

With much love,

Isabelle Birdseeker ♡’

[oghoneytryst]

wild card.

request: best friend!harry and y/n are drunk one night and stuff gets spilled where they’re both in love with each other

or

where an innocent game of UNO with tequila and a twist makes harry and y/n’s night go wrong

a/n: hi. this is my baby. i love her a lot. pls treat her well.

this is also quite long, so I guess save this for later and read during that sweet spot in your life where you have all the time in the world. thank u enjoy.

----------

Insensible to how the night will progress, y/n admits that the aftereffects quickly following a tequila shot’s persuasive innocence rather impresses her. 

“That,” she blurts out, “looks downright disgusting.”

Y/n breathes in the retched smell, leaning on the cheap granite with her weight pressing down on her forearms. Her eyes wander over the islands of accidental spills scattering across her kitchen counter – alcoholic puddles have gone to waste. Harry, positioned over his mess of a workspace, stands confidently tall on the opposite side.

“Oh, shut up!” he retaliates, throwing half of a lime at her ebullient figure.

The citrus bounces against y/n’s skin, right beneath her collarbone. She emits a gasp of shock from the cool sensation, but still manages to trap the small fruit to chuck it back at her best friend.

“Asshole!” she laughs. Never should she have teased Harry over his ability to recreate the infamous drinks he has downed in foreign countries. Peering down at the failed concoction before her, y/n bites down on her tongue and prevents any smartass remarks from sliding right off.

Well, alright, one more can’t hurt.

“I don’t think you’re making this right,” she says, ignoring whatever metaphorical daggers might possibly impale her best friend’s fragile ego.

Harry, in turn, sticks out his tongue. “You don’t even know what I’m making,” he remarks, picking up the blender to examine the poison inside.

“Sure, I do. It’s some drink you had in . . . Belgium.”

“Brazil,” he corrects, “but close. Your geography skills are truly remarkable, d’ya know that?”

 “Well, I’m sorry, Mr. I-Have-A-Net-Worth-of-70-Million, but we don’t all have the privilege of expanding our education through continent-hopping on our private jets.”

Harry lowers the blender. His brow furrows, staring quizzically at his friend, then asks, “70 million? Really? Is it really that low?”

The two share an instant look of amusement; sparkling eyes and wide-open mouths. The kitchen walls echo with their wasted laughter. A drawn-out “Wowww” vibrates from y/n as she soaks in the Cheshire man’s conceited joke. Harry has to assure her over and over that “I’m joking, I’m joking!”

A couple minutes pass by. “You’re making a right mess of my kitchen,” y/n points out. “Are you planning on cleaning all of this up?”

“Of course,” he promises, then mirrors her position: leaning on the cheap granite, weight pressing down on his forearms. With a wide countertop anchoring right between them, Harry inches closer, cautious with his effect. “You don’t peg me as some sort of animal, do you?”

His beautiful features are even more inviting up close. Despite the friendship that blossoms through every year, y/n finds that Harry evolves with intimidation. Perhaps it is that charming charisma of his that grows with his every new love affair; either way, the stench of his alcoholic breath and the dirty stubble of his chiseled face – it has her drooling at every reunion.

“Of course not,” she breathes out, instantly catching onto her mistake when Harry’s face scrunches from the smell. “Ah . . . shit, sorry.” She laughs. Yet another invisible cloud of stench attacks her best friend, and all that she can do is cower behind the shelter of her hand in embarrassment.

Harry chuckles. “It’s alright. My breath is just as retched.”

Her hand pulls away from her toxic mouth with his assistance. His thumb finds leisure and softly caresses her knuckles. Y/n is almost dumbfounding in her lost stare, but her brain throbs from the bewildering thoughts nesting inside.

For one, she admires the way her hand disappears in his own; the inked cross sways back and forth to a calming rhythm on his soft skin.

Furthermore, there is a glimmer always present in his green eyes; kindness and serenity and comfort interconnects to craft the universe within.

Finally, his trademark that mesmerizes this lifetime and the next to come. She falls in love with his silent smirk, drowns in his prominent dimples that she imagines has captivated the world.

It is this and a plethora of other wonders that has her lost amongst a sea of hopefuls. There are a countless number of hearts that beat for him: a simple, extraordinary man. Unlike them, she will never be brave enough to tell him so.

It can’t be more of a clichéd nightmare to live in: reserving her most passionate desires and suffering in the presence of her unattainable best friend. A tragic fate, she admits, that graces her in the most torturous way.

“Um...” y/n blinks, settling back into the reality of the night. “So, are you going to finish whatever it is you’re making, or what?”

Harry chuckles, releases her hand and straightens up. “It’s already done. Besides, I thought you said it looked downright disgusting.” He puts his long legs to use and takes a single step toward the kitchen sink. From a rack adjacent to it, he pulls two wet glasses left to dry and returns to set them down on the counter.

“Oh, well I did, but that just makes it all the more interesting! Plus, you’ve wasted about half of my liquor cabinet, so I’m hoping that this will at least make for a memorable experience.”

“Well, in that case,” Harry, proud and tall, pours even portions of his concoction into their respective glasses, “bottoms up!”

Y/n smiles and accepts the glass from her cheerful friend who radiates with self-fulfillment. She normally doesn’t take risks with strange potions, knowing that the contents can very well end up surging back up her stomach and on her living room floor. Be that as it may, she knows that harry is prideful. She will do anything to see that charming smile of his, even if the painful realization hits her: a smile is all that she can wheedle out of him, despite wanting so much more.

With a delicate shake of her head, she raises the glass in sync with her eyebrows as to say cheers! The drink burns in her throat, but she downs it in a rush, hoping that it will loosen her up for the long night to come.

“No, you fucking didn’t!” Harry exclaims, 67 minutes having happily ticked away. Joyous tears pool in his eyes, fits of giggles bouncing off the living room walls.

“I swear, I’m not kidding,” y/n chimes in, downing another swig of her beer.

Needless to say, Harry’s magic potion did not sit well with her. As deliciously relieving as it had been, y/n had been wary of its powerful effects. Like creator, like creation, she had recited in her hidden thoughts prior to Harry suggesting the two relocate to the couch in the living room.

Since then, there have been silly story exchanges, and one of y/n’s has brought Harry to the brink of amusing insanity.

Y/n leans an elbow against the back of the couch and elaborates. “In my defense, I had a lot to drink that night. We had planned to go out and celebrate, but most of us ended up getting plastered at the pre-drink, so we just stayed at Sophia’s place. I think she was a little pissed at us, though. She really wanted to shag someone that night.”

“Not like you would’ve let that happen anyway,” Harry accuses, grinning at his friend’s shock and confusion. He licks the taste of retched beer from his lips and explains. “C’mon, we both know you’re incredibly clingy when you’re wasted. One second apart from Sophia and you would’ve cried more than when you’d thrown your phone out the window.”

“Hey!”

“I mean, seriously, y/n? Airplane mode? How do you manage to come up with that logic?”

Y/n simpers and sinks deeper into the cushions. “I was drunk!”

“All I’m saying is,” Harry laughs, blanketing a single hand over his squinty jaded eyes, “I’ve had my fair share of drunken mishaps, and never once did I think to throw my phone out the window with the intent of having it turn into an airplane.”

“Hmm. Then I suppose you’re not as imaginative as moi,” y/n teases, raising her shoulder to meet with her chin.

“I’m sure that’s the word you’re looking for.”

“It is. And also!” Y/n pauses, forcing her mouth to keep closed as a hiccup ripples through her body. “I’m not clingy! I may be affectionate sometimes, but as far as I’m concerned, I am currently riding on Shit-Face Avenue and have not clung to you once. Have I?” She shakes her head. “No, I haven’t.”

“You haven’t.” Harry shrugs, leaning against the back of the couch. “You could though, if you wanted to.”

Y/n stiffens. She blinks away the images that rise to the surface of her lingering eyes. As intoxicated as she currently is, the suggestive remark does not go unnoticed. In fact, if she doesn’t know any better, she can be right to assume that her best friend is implying a dangerous journey into uncharted territories.

Yet, having been friends with him for so long, she has caught onto his antics, especially those deriving from alcohol consumption. He claims her to be the clingy one, but there is no denying the overly affectionate, touchy man that overpowers him in such powerless situations. She has experienced it before, although it has never gone farther than his arms around her, and a sloppy peck on her face.

She’s never allowed it to go further.

“Anyway,” she trails off, breaking through the creeping silence that she isn’t aware had sneaked its way in. “I didn’t realize my mistake until the next morning, when my phone was already shattered and the damage had been done. So, it goes without saying that I’ve learned my lesson. Don’t get super wasted and expect your equally intoxicated friends to stop you from throwing your phone out the window.”

Harry laughs. “Y’know, if you didn’t want your drunk alter ego to post anything embarrassing on your social media, you could’ve just deleted the apps altogether,” he suggests. “Join me on my cleanse.”

“Oh, please.” y/n scoffs. “You’re acting all high and mighty as if you’ve deleted Twitter off of your phone.”

“Alright.” Harry raises his hands in surrender. “Sometimes I’m curious as to what’s going on in the world. Sue me.”

“For all of your 70 million? Don’t have to tell me twice.”

“Oi!” Harry giggles. He takes out the pillow supporting his back and chucks it at his best friend. “Alright now.”

“Seriously though.” Y/n shoves the pillow back into his grinning face. “That would’ve been good money to have when trying to get my phone fixed. Damned thing was so expensive in repairs that I couldn’t even afford it.”

“Then how’d you get it fixed?”

“I didn’t. It cost less to just replace it. Or rather, pretend that it had been stolen so that my phone company could replace it for a lower price.”

For such a casual conversation, Harry’s sudden intrigue grows with this new information. He sits upright, tucks the decorative plush pillow behind his back, but never leans against it. Instead, he faces y/n with a single beer bottle in his hand and an expression that depicts the rusting gears turning in his brain.

“Wait, so...” Harry pauses. He points at the slim device laying face-down on the coffee table. “That’s an entirely different phone?”

“Yeah?”

“But it’s the same number.”

“Right.”

“But then...” Another insightful pause. Harry licks his lips and continues, “Your messages and stuff. From your other phone. Did they transfer or are they—”

“Gone,” y/n finishes for him, perplexed at his perplexity. He is behaving rather strangely, almost as if he has hesitance – as though he will say too much. She’s not too sure what exactly it is about her phone that stirs so many questions out of him.

“Pictures, messages, even my contacts. My phone company deactivated the other phone, but everything on it is inaccessible anyway. They said that it’s possible to just take out the SIM card and put it in a new phone, but since I already went along with my stolen-phone plan, that solution is out of the picture. So, I’m just taking the blow, but it all works out. I had gotten rid of contacts that I don’t talk to anymore, and I got my old contacts from other people – I got yours from Sophia – and I felt very refreshed overall. There’s a lot of losses though. Lots of memes that I have to scour the internet to find again.”

“But . . . but like, you’re still receiving messages and stuff, right? After switching phones?”

“Well, yeah, I hope so. That’s the whole point. Why?”

 Harry shakes his head dismissively. “Jus’ wondering.”

It is a very casual way for him to disregard the curiosity brewing in the air. It has potential for success, if not for y/n’s investment in his every thought, especially with those that concern her.

“Harry,” she warns. In a split second, she imagines herself handling the glass bottle by its neck, sticking the other end in his face as a threat. She fortunately resists to do so when picturing the toxic-liquid spilling out and infesting her couch cushions.

Y/n squints her eyes. “Why are you so interested in the pivotal and precise details of my phone?” She leans closer to him, fighting the grin that tickles her lips. She tilts her head and executes a strange yet inquisitive expression. “What are you hiding?”

Harry can’t withstand the giggles from bubbling out his throat. He brings his hand up to y/n’s nose, and pinches it between his index finger and thumb.

“Squish.” He chuckles, which causes y/n to let out a symphony of snickers, and soon he finds his own face heating up with vivacious amusement.

“No, but really,” says y/n after composing herself. “What’s up?”

Harry prims his smiley lips and blinks up at the pasty ceiling. “The sky.”

“Harry!” y/n laughs. It swells her heart to hear him so happy and entertained; his glee multiplies alongside his hyena laughter. Yet, she’s impatiently itching under her skin, desperate to know whatever secret it is that he is hiding.

It takes a few ticklish kicks of her sock-clad feet rumbling against the side of his legs for him to raise his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright!” he gives in, and traps her impatient ankles with his large hands. Her limp legs settle over his thighs, one of his arms drapes over her shins. “I was jus’ wondering cos’ I might have gotten drunk one night and I might have called some people on my contacts list.”

Y/n raises her eyebrows. “Did you call me?”

Her best friend thinks on it for a short moment. He chews at the inside of his cheek, tips his head from side-to-side, internally at war with himself. “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t remember. Did you get a call from me?”

“I don’t know. It depends. When did you get drunk?”

“Erm . . . that night it had been August. Nick’s birthday party. What ‘bout you?”

Y/n allows a few seconds to pass for the information to absorb. She then sinks further into the cushions and slaps a hand over her eyes in realization. “August. Sophia’s actual birthday.”

“Oh. How unfortunate,” Harry monotonously replies, but the infliction of his tone near the end of his sentence gives him away. There is a laughter that he is trying to suppress.

“No, you’ve got to be joking!” y/n groans, unveiling her face. “You’re telling me that you drunk called people and I missed it?”

“No. I mean, I might not have even called you that night. As far as I’m concerned, Mitch might have been the only one who received a voicemail.”

“There were voicemails?”

“Not really. Mitchell’s the only one who didn’t pick up.”

“This sucks.” Y/n pouts, chugging down the small amount of beer left in her bottle, and discards the glass vessel on the coffee table.

“Aw, lovie, it wasn’t anything. Just a drunken mistake. It’s just me slurrin’ on some words that don’t make sense.”

Y/n smiles. She rubs at her left eye as her right hand sluggishly points in his general direction. “Not your lovie,” she mumbles, and reaches out her arms to him. He doesn’t react to her response, but complies with her affection and scoots closer. Her legs bunch up to her chest, his left arm encircling halfway across her waist. She wraps her flimsy arms around his broad shoulders, and loudly whispers into his ear, “And any entertainment is funny entertainment,” then snuggles her head into his left shoulder.

Harry laughs at the sudden shift in ambience. He’s not sure if her statement has made sense, but he’s not sober enough to puzzle over it. “Remember when you said you weren’t clingy?” he whispers, presses his cheek on the top of her head, with little fuzzes of her hair sticking to his skin.

“Shut up,” she grumbles, scratching at his belly. His stomach instinctively shrivels up from the tickling sensation, but following his short fit of giggles, he settles back into the moment. Limbs entangle, hearts softly beat next to each other, and a million unspoken words paint the entire room.

She wants to stay here forever. She knows very well that once the moment is over, he will be off to another place, somewhere lightyears away. It’s like a nervous tick of his: never being able to stay still. Touring nonstop for five years most likely encourages this behavior, and he’s lucky enough to have the money to escape whenever he wants.

And though it is a blessing – to have so much control over his life – she can’t help but feel sad for him. She doesn’t know if he ever thinks years ahead into his future, but in case he doesn’t, she does it for him. She imagines him falling in love with his one; the person that he will share his private stories with and create a new life with. Whoever it is that earns his devotion is who y/n empathizes for, because certainty is not always in Harry’s vocabulary.

Commitment and settling down is not something of ease for him when considering all that he has been through. The heartache. The pressure of a million watching eyes. The loneliness. He’s not the same boy he used to be – he even said so himself. Though he is who he is for the better, y/n still mourns for that lost part of him. She wonders if he will ever settle down, or if he will continue to move at a pace that is impossible for anyone to keep up with.

Any moment longer and y/n will begin to tear up from her own overthinking. She’s grateful for the scare that Harry gives her when he spots a small red packaging on the coffee table.

“Ah, sick!” he exclaims. He snakes his arm from around her waist, discards his beer bottle on the coffee table, and reaches for the card game. “You had Uno this entire time and didn’t think to tell me?”

Y/n loosens her own grip as he takes the cards out of their packaging. Her arms slip from shoulders and rest on her lap. “I didn’t peg you as an Uno enthusiast.”

“Of course. Bet I’d kick your arse,” he says, winking at her deviously.

“Oh, I bet you could.”

Harry whines while shuffling the cards in his hands. “C’mon, y/n! Just a couple games.” 

“It just seems incredibly underwhelming right now.” She shrugs.

Harry doesn’t response right away. Instead, he sifts through the deck, and mischievously smiles. Suddenly, y/n is worried. 

“Let’s make it more interesting then,” he suggests.

“...Interesting how?” 

“We play as normal,” he explains slowly; his thumb slides the cards into his opposite hand one-by-one. “Except when one of us puts down a wild card,” Harry slaps the distinctive black card face-up on the table, “the other person has to answer a question.”

“A question?”

“Yeah, and not some bullshit question like what’d you have for breakfast? No, it’s got to be a question asked with the intention of spilling a secret.”

Y/n’s eyes pry open a little more at this. She sits up straighter, tucks her legs under her weight, and shifts uncomfortably. As close as she is with Harry, there are still many things that he does not know about her. It all ranges from simple adolescent mistakes, quarter-life crisis thoughts, and of course, the big lottery secret. 

“I’m definitely not drunk enough for that.”

“Then we’ll spice it up some more,” Harry offers with persistence and determination. “Every time you have to pick up from the deck, you have to drink. It’ll loosen you up. Sound good?”

No. It doesn’t sound good to her. It sounds like an extremely messy route to a destination undiscovered, one that y/n fears will have the potential to damage their friendship. It isn’t so much for the mere possibility that she will slip up and admit her admirable feelings for him. Rather, it is for the truly riveting secrets that he threatens to get her to confess. Everything and anything that he feels curious enough to ask about will be available to him with just the slap of a single playing card.

As incriminatingly frightening as this is, y/n can’t help but wonder about his own little devious secrets. There is no dismissal of the mysterious aura that crowns over his cryptic mind. Harry is the single most unreadable person that she has ever met. As much as she knows him, she doesn’t. He keeps as much of his life as private as can be, and for good reason. He’s a clever man, one that can be described as a great, undefined question mark.

It is all so tempting. How is she to possibly say no to a peak into his baffling mind?

Once she mumbles out a quick “Sure” in confirmation to his twist, the two set out an agreement of rules: only pick up once from the deck to save a few brain cells, dropping a plus two on top of another plus two creates a plus four and so forth, a reverse is basically like a skip, and please, no fucking train.

“And whoever gets Uno, the other person finishes their drink,” y/n announces. She grows giddier over the game by the second.

Harry smugly grins at her. He shuffles the deck to make sure the colors rightfully scramble from the last game that y/n and her guests have played. “For someone who wasn’t too sure about the game,” he deals out two hands of seven cards respectively, “you sure are getting a little cheeky.”

Y/n innocently shrugs. She scoops up her cards and faces away from Harry to keep him from cheating. She deflates at the sight of her hand – a few green, a couple blue, some action cards here and there – nothing entirely exciting. In other words, no wild card. She masks her disappointment with her most impressive poke face, and challenges Harry by raising her chin up confidently. “What can I say? I might get a little competitive when I’ve had a few drinks in me.”

By the time that Harry gathers up his own cards, he reaches and flips over the card at the top of the deck. A yellow 0. “Is that right?” he wonders aloud. He has already caught a glimpse of his hand and has the seven cards neatly compiled into a small deck in his hands.

“Most certainly.”

“Well then, Ms. Competitive, would you fancy starting us off?” 

Y/n narrows her eyes. “Does that mean that you don’t have anything to play?” she asks, placing down a yellow 2. 

“It means that I’m trying to be a gentleman and let you start the game.” Harry puts down his own card – a red 2. He smiles cheekily. “But I guess you’ll never know now, huh lovie?”

Y/n searches her hand and grumbles. “Damn it,” she whispers under her breath. She grabs ahold of her choice of drink while hugging her cards protectively to her chest. She takes a good and lasting sip. It burns terribly, almost hard to swallow, which makes her wonder if perhaps this game isn’t going to be as enjoyable as she once believed. She can, however, feel a stiffness in her shoulders relieve itself. She trudges on, one arm stretches out to grab from the deck. When she peers at her new addition, she involuntarily lets out a cheer. “Aha!” her hand slams down a vindictive red +2. 

Harry locks his jaw, his tongue swipes amongst the inside of his bottom lip. He nods understandingly, a crooked smile stretching unevenly on his face. “So that’s how it’s gonna be, eh?” he asks rhetorically, all set to pick his poison from the table.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” y/n replies, watching him suffer as he downs his drink, a few seconds longer than hers in celebration of the double pick-up. “I’m only playing the game.” 

“Yeah, right. ‘f course.” Harry sets his glass down and picks up two cards. Y/n is about to make another smart remark, but she misses the twinkle in his green eyes prior to him smacking down his choice of card.

The first wild card of the night.

Y/n freezes. Her jaw slowly unhinges; she blinks at the black card practically sparkling in the dim lighting. She must be color blind. It must be another red card, or maybe it is a misplaced blue, but the oval shape divided into quadrants is a little harder to ignore.

“What the fuck?” she exclaims, glares at Harry, who sits with his shoulders raised to his ears, a shit-eating smirk plasters his not-so-innocent face. “No way,” y/n shakes her head, “you cheated.”

Harry’s shoulders drop. His mouth squishes a U-shape. “Wh – how would I cheat? I’m only playing the game.”

Y/n rolls her eyes when he throws her own words back at her. “Yeah, well, your strategy is shit.”

It’s true to her, at least. As the owner of the card game, she has played a handful of times. She has figured out her own strategy to success. To her, playing the wild card is the last move a player should do to ensure victory. However, in this moment, this ideal might not entirely work out in her favor. There is nothing more that can confirm that than when she finds herself in defeat, awaiting Harry’s torture.

Harry takes a moment to ponder, strokes his chin in an evil manner before coming to a halt. From the low chuckle that escapes him, y/n knows that it cannot be good for her.

“Y/n,” Harry declares, savoring the syllables on his tongue. “Which one of my exes did you like the least?”

It takes a second for the question to seep through to her brain. Her thoughts already cloud, so she’s uncertain if the inquiry is entirely terrible. “Are you serious?” she retaliates, corking up a single eyebrow at him. “Out of all the questions that you’re dying to ask me, that’s your most pressing one?”

Harry chuckles with mock amusement. “We’re starting off easy, baby. I hope you know that this isn’t the last confession I’m getting out of you tonight.”

Y/n shakes away the flutter in her heart from his endearing pet name. It is quite easy to pretend that he says it with significance – that it is real. “If it’s so easy, then don’t you think you could have asked me this whenever? Not through a conniving card game?” 

Harry scoffs. “Sure, like you would’ve told me the truth. You’re always on about Harry, as long as you’re happy, I’m happy. Bullshit. It’s just the two of us singles now, spill the tea, sista!”

More giggles erupt from y/n. It’s hard to concentrate and Harry’s subtle slang doesn’t make it easier to focus. Before she knows it, the name, “Kendall” is running off her tongue.

“Kendall?” Harry repeats, sinking the information into his brain. “Why?”

“Nuh-uh.” 

“Oh, c’mon, y/n! You have to elaborate on it! You didn’t think much about it. Why her, eh?”

“I don’t know,” she answers. “She’s just the first one who came to me.”

“This game isn’t fun if you lie, y/n.”

“But I’m not—” Y/n pauses. She catches the knowing and burning look on his face. Her act isn’t fooling him, so she sighs, and proceeds to create a quick web of reasons as to why this ex disinterests her from the rest.

In her brain, it is simple, but when she tries to string it into comprehensible sentences, she finds it a little more complex. 

Maybe it is because Kendall makes her feel inferior with her high-class model status. Of course, that doesn’t entirely separate her from his other model exes. It has to be because of something in association with that: her undeniable beauty and impossibly unmatchable body type. The way her waist pinches effortlessly, her long legs that can stretch for miles. Y/n has seen the orange boots of hers that fit right over her entire leg, the same ones that she imagines herself uncomfortably drowning in.

Maybe it is the on-and-off relationship that she’s had with Harry. It is an unexpected romance that begins in 2013 and randomly pops up every other year. She remembers his trip to St. Barts, as well as the pictures from the yacht that had been leaked. They cling onto each other, groping, touching, kissing – an intimacy that strains her. He’s introduced her to his mother, perhaps as his girlfriend, when he’s only ever introduced y/n as a friend. Despite their relationship not working out, the two still get along. Their friendship remains.

And maybe, just maybe, it is because she can’t seem to find any sensible reason to dislike her at all. There must be a reason Harry remains her close friend. It may be that one has to know Kendall to understand Kendall, and though y/n hasn’t dug into the depths of her mind, she has met her once or twice. And once or twice, she had been kind, she had been cool, and she had been distastefully perfect. 

“I don’t know. I guess it’s because you two seem kind of different.” Y/n shrugs. She nests the sharp branches of her thoughts back into the shadows of her mind. “Just a weird pair, is all. Satisfied?”

“Sure.” Harry nods. He has the faintest ghost of a smile. “Blue,” he says, continuing on with the game as though the tension in the air is unnoticeable. 

A couple more rounds pass them by. Though y/n manages to win both games, she declares it a loss seeing as though she hasn’t been able to cop the holy grail wild card. Harry, on the other hand, has tested their friendship with a lucky +4.

It is clear that Harry is using this game for his own personal and informative gain. He pries for answers that always linger in his head, ones that he assures y/n are normal for best friends to share, but never once has she given him the satisfaction. 

That is, until now.

“What’s your biggest kink?”

It throws y/n off for a second, especially when the tequila shot is slicing down her sensitive throat. It is an invasive question that not many expect from him, but it’s obvious that alcohol clouds his better judgement. “Excuse me?” she remarks, blinking profusely. “So much for being a gentleman.” 

He can’t seem to keep a straight face. His cocky energy radiates at her fluster, so what can she do but get it over with and answer his question?

She begins rather shyly, knowing right away which specific sexual pleasure it is that drives her over the edge. She then learns to embrace her driven taste that, to her dismay, has not yet occurred. In her head, she can’t control the images from sneaking up on her, pushing her straight off the cliff. She can’t tell if the incredulous smirk that Harry has on is due to his shock and satisfaction from her confession, or because he can also imagine himself in such a fantasy with his own partner of choice. 

Despite how in-depth and personal y/n goes on about the fiery flare that burns in her stomach, she will never tell him that it is him and his body that she imagines discovering hers, and that it has never been easier to fantasize than with her personal choice physically in front of her.

Even now, as they start a new game, the obvious shift of tension does not dissipate. A hotness still lingers in the air, but the two friends pretend to be fools for the sake of their friendship. Whether the cracks are crumbling or the cement is stiffening, neither are too sure of.

Y/n picks up her cards, prepares herself for disappointment despite her latest victory. What calls attention to her dull eyes ignites a sudden spark that has been missing. The wild card stuffs between her red 7 and red skip, and it parallels the most beautiful sight that she can ever recall envisioning in her short and simple life. 

She can’t let the opportunity slip away. It no longer matters to her whether she is the one who calls the infamous Uno phrase at the end of this round to claim another reign. Harry cannot slither his charismatic magic to the deck any longer, as she assumes he’s been doing considering his unfathomable luck with wild cards. 

She is the one with the power of the first turn. She is the one who isn’t thinking clearly, slaps down the familiar black card in all of its glory, and cheers to herself with a silent seizure of celebration. 

And Harry is the one who stares in shock, baffled by the turn of events.

“Hmph.” His lips purse to the side in an awkward manner. He wonders how he can swivel his way around this predicament. “Right, and I’m the one with the shit strategy?” 

His comment on her impulsive play does not rain on her gloating parade. Instead, she bounces her leg up and down, scouring for a question that will leave him with nothing but his vulnerability. Harry has accepted his fate; he leans back on the couch in anticipation. He eyes the vodka bottle on the table and wonders if it will do him any favors.

Y/n takes some time to scheme. With her prior hand of colorful cards, she had a million questions storming in her brain at lightning speed. Now, she draws a complete blank, with the towering beanstalks and sunflowers mowing down to an empty, dying field.

In such a desperate time of need, a single question rises. She hesitates and wonders if she really wants to know the answer. She wonders if her goal is to inflict pain upon herself – is it a pleasure that she cannot control? It is the only solution in the midst of seconds ticking away, Harry’s impatience growing.

Harry. He sits and basks in the glory of her uncertainty. Chances are that he anticipates a seductive retaliation to his over-the-line inquiries. This possibility might be more fun since that is what he is trying to get out of this game: fun; enjoyment; entertainment. A good story to reminisce, but nothing more.

“Are you in love with someone?”

If there has ever been a person capable of flustering Harry up to the point of complete bewilderment, y/n effortlessly earns that title. No promotional interview has ever stumped him as much as this single moment does now. Though he usually stutters and responds to questions vaguely without even really answering them at all, he knows the solution to all of the media’s curiosity. He is careful to not reveal too much, as some things are meant solely for his knowledge. He holds no obligations to share his secrets, and he holds no true obligations to spare y/n an answer. It is easy for him to simply walk out of the game as a sore loser; a coward of a man whose word holds empty.

The reality of it is that he does have an answer. He’s sure that he does, but there is a hesitance that lingers when he considers if he is truly being honest with himself. For once, he does not know himself as well as he thinks he does.

“Don’t answer rhetorically,” y/n adds, pressing on amid the silence she causes. “Don’t say your mother. Or Mitch or Stevie Nicks or something like that. Just . . . do you love someone?” 

Harry’s smile diminishes. In its place: a hauntingly emotionless appearance. He is far gone in his own thoughts, and y/n worries that she has broken him. “What’s the question then?” he asks, allowing y/n to breathe and choke all at once. “Do I love someone, or I am I in love with someone?”

His allusion to the contrast quite honestly fazes her. She doesn’t bother to notice the divided significance that the two phrases have. Pining the two under the perfect spotlight unveils a stark perspective that makes her question her own emotions. Does she love? Or does she fall in love, down a smothering abyss that reaches no definite end? Is she sunbathing on the moon, or is she hurtling through the infinite depths of space?

It is a simple request for clarification, but she wonders if Harry tortures himself enough with notions of love to make such a separation between two very similar things. 

“Um,” y/n pauses – this is a second chance. She can retract her statement and avoid the heartbreak that may follow one of his answers. “In love,” she answers instead. “Are you in love with someone?” 

She expects him to think on it. She expects the pressure to deflate from his lungs in a shaky breath. She does not expect him to be so certain over something so confusing and undefinable.

“Yeah,” he answers, tops his sentence off with a nonchalant, cherry-sparkling shrug. 

“Who is it?” she presses on, already accepting the discomforting ache.

“I’m not telling,” he says. There is no offense to his tone, but she knows that there is a secret he is protecting. She does not know why he is protecting it from her.

“Well, you have to give some kind of an elaboration,” she persists, and subtly clears her throat. It burns with the sensation of emotions closing it up. “Is it . . . are they like,” y/n exasperatingly exhales. She slumps her shoulders in defeat. “This person . . . are you sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

“But not entirely?”

“It’d be pretty embarrassing to be entirely in love with someone who I’m not even sure is in love with me back.” 

Y/n grimaces. How can they not? 

“Okay, so, you’re in love with this person, but do you think . . . y’think you would ever stop everything for them?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean like . . . slow down. You’re young, H, and you’re just starting to reach the peak of the mountain. And once you’re at the peak, there goes the stars. Who knows what else after that? You can’t see it yet because maybe you don’t want to, maybe you like not knowing what’s next. But that person that you love, or are in love with, or whatever it is, do you love them enough that you’ll settle for just the clouds? And not the high ones, I’m talking about the really low ones that few people get to touch and maybe even die trying to—”

“Y/n,” Harry whispers. He leans closer to her trembling, broken down frame. “Why are you crying?” 

His firm hands grip onto her shoulders. He tries to comfort her, concern sketches into every precise detail on his face. He has momentarily forgotten about the game; his cards are discarded, facing up on the coffee table for any prying eyes to see. He’s not sure where everything went wrong, but the puzzle is the least of his worries if he cannot get this single piece to fit.

Y/n sniffles, absolutely humiliated by her own pity party. Once so optimistic, she blames the alcohol that drowns her in unexplainable sorrow. “You can’t ask me that,” she replies and wipes away at her eyes. “I’m the one with the wild card.”

“Y/n—”

“Just answer the question so we can finish this stupid game, Harry.”

Harry frowns. This poor construction of a façade that y/n hides behind is so heartbreaking. She forces a brave face, but he knows now more than ever that she wants to fall apart. Maybe if he weren’t here, she actually would – but in his presence, she keeps her chin up, lips pursing, and awaits an answer to spite the wetness on her cheeks.

“It’s hard to answer,” he says quietly, never once breaking the contact with her glass eyes. “I don’t think I can know until it happens. You know that looking too into the future is hard for me.” Y/n nods and absorbs every single word. “I don’t think you’re supposed to know when you’re in love. But this is my life, y/n. I can’t slow down. I can’t run away. It’s different for me.”

“So, you wouldn’t try?” she asks, which coaxes a shrug out of him. “Not even for the person that you’re in love with?”

There’s no response from him, but that alone is enough of an answer.

“Okay,” y/n croaks out, settling back into her gaming stance. “Green.”

To their sharing dismay, the game continues. Harry drops a green 4, y/n combines a green skip with a red skip and a red 0. While her sniffles resemble torpedoes to his ears, he feels powerless to do anything about it. He feels worthless, and sort of dirty, sitting on her couch, pretending as though she isn’t having the absolute worst time of her life, all because of him.

It’s uncomforting. It’s wrong. She has this pain and it is strong, so strong that it impacts him severely. He senses a burn in his nose. He tries to focus on the numbers and figures on his cards, but his vision blurs. He dabs at his jaded eyes, clears his throat, shakes his head, but all of his thoughts revolve around her distress.

“Uno,” she calls in a rush, impatient for the game to end. She imagines the following events to transpire: she excuses herself and goes to bed; Harry lets himself out, locks the door with the key hidden not-so-cleverly under her doormat; he climbs onto a plane and leaves for somewhere far, far away, in another part of the world where the beauty of torturous pain cannot follow him; they remain friends, but there is something different between them, something unspoken, something that just cannot be fixed. They are friends, but they are not the same friends as before.

She can’t possibly imagine the +4 that he smacks down over her discarded yellow 6 after downing the rest of his drink. It’s impossible – how does he win so much in life and in a silly game?

“Fucking plus four,” y/n whispers under her breath. She sets her cards down with her bottom lip quivering as she reaches for another choice of poison. What stops her hand right over the glass bottle is Harry’s own devouring hers. He puts her actions to rest as the world, for one miniscule moment, stops entirely. 

“What do you,” Harry pauses, searches for her eyes. He’s begging for some compliance; his universe collides with hers. “Do you have feelings for me?”

Y/n closes her eyes. She shuts them tight, pulls her hand away from his protection, and wishes that he wouldn’t touch her again. “You can’t ask me that.” Her lip curls as she refuses to answer.

“Wh – what do you mean I can’t? It’s my turn—”

“No,” she argues. She blinks her eyes open and roughly brushes the tears away with the back of her hand. “You can’t ask me that, please, don’t ask me that.”

Harry wants to retaliate. He almost demands an answer from her, but one sight at her in ruins, and he has no choice but to back off. “Fine,” he says, “but I still get to ask a question.”

Y/n sits up straighter. The frown on her face transforms into a cold, hard stare. “Fine.”

“Would you kiss me right now if you had the chance?”

Y/n seems to have a lack of concern for his question, but her interior screams in agony. Oh, how the night has progressed, but one ounce of courage intertwines her vision with his, and her answer is very clear. 

“No,” she answers honestly. It isn’t the response that he expects. 

Still, he keeps his ground. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to be another drunken mistake that you regret in the morning.”

Before he has the chance to react, y/n is already reaching for her drink, and sips it straight from the bottle. 

“You wouldn’t be,” he musters out after she licks the remnants of alcohol from her lips. “I’d still remember it in the morning, and I wouldn’t regret it. And I wouldn’t regret anything that happened after that, too.” 

She doesn’t know what he wants from her. She’s damaged beyond repair, and quite frankly, she’ll never look at her beloved Uno the same way again. This isn’t how she once pictured her night to turn out, and now she wants nothing but for it to end. 

Y/n swallows. She picks up her cards, then counts four from the deck to add to her hand. “What color?” she asks, and leans down on her nervous knees that bounce up and down. 

“Y/n, can you stop this for a second? Can we just talk? Please?”

Y/n doesn’t want to talk. In fact, the plea makes her brain pound again the confinements of her skull. “You know,” she rubs her eyes, and throws her card across the table, “I quit. I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

She stands up from the couch and faces away from Harry so that his eyes can burn into her back. She increases the distance between them, preparing herself to fall apart once she makes it to her bedroom.

“Wait,” Harry says, standing up with her discarded pile. “But you picked up a wild card.”

“Harry, I’m done playing.” She waves her hand, not bothering to spare him a glance.

“Alright, then just ask me!”

“What—”

Y/n emits a gasp when her whole body forcefully turns around, pressing gently against the wall. She feels his hot and toxic breath hugging her skin, two hands firm on her shoulders.

“What the hell?” she asks, struggling to push him away.

“You don’t need a stupid card game to ask me what the voicemail said, so just ask me.”

Y/n stops her movements. Her puffy eyes stare up at desperation in its purest form. “Voicemail? But you . . . you remember calling me?” she asks, thinking back to their earlier conversation about his drunk antic. “You left me a voicemail?”

“Ask me what the voicemail said, y/n. And I’ll tell you.”

She’s at a loss for words. Her mind feels as though it cannot comprehend a single thing that swims through her eyes and ears. His face, so marvelously structured, the most beautiful face she’s seen. He’s so pretty and he’s so vulnerable to her, but she’s not sure if she wants him to be.

“What did the voicemail say, Harry?”

Her best friend huffs. This is the point of no return. “From what I can remember, it erm, it went something like, hey y/n...” 

“Hope you’re having a good time, wherever you are, not too sure, doesn’t really matter. I’m on a . . . I don’t know, a roof, sort of? A balcony, sorry, I’m safe, don’t worry. Um, I’m pretty drunk right now. Nick doesn’t know when to stop with the tequila shots. Anyways, yeah, I’m plastered. And on a balcony. And I’m looking at the stars, and the moon, wow, it’s like so bright. And I’m looking and I’m thinking where is y/n? Why isn’t she looking at the moon? Then I say to myself, oh, right, she’s not here. And I dunno, that sucks. It sucks when I realize that and it sucks that you didn’t pick up your phone.

I don’t know. This is just . . . ergh. I don’t know even know what ‘m saying anymore. I can’t think right now, all of this is coming off as word vomit, but I can’t think, but I’m still thinking. And I’m wondering why do I feel so sad that she’s not here? Then I tell myself, you stupid bloke, it’s cos’ you love her. And then I remember. Right, that’s right, I love her. I love you. In love with you, I mean, cos’ I’ve always loved you, even when you’re being annoying and even when you don’t pick up your phone.

...Ah, shit. I just . . . I just realized what I’ve done. Shit. That’s not good. If you can just . . . ignore that last part, please, I’d really owe you one. But um . . . I know I’m drunk, but the tequila is dissolving the gate in my brain and it’s letting all of this stuff out. So, the stuff’s been there, it’s just . . . yeah, it’s not cos’ I’m drunk. I’ve always wanted to kiss you and stuff. But, if you uh, if you listen to this, maybe we can talk about it. If you want. But if you don’t, then just, I don’t know. Ignore me, I guess. Pretend it never happened? Sounds good. Alright. Shit. Goodnight, lovie.”

Harry paraphrases his drunk rant as much as he can. He leaves out the pauses of hiccups and laughter, the um’s and erm’s, the spontaneous profanity. He recites to her the most important parts, she ones that she needs to hear. Or rather, the ones he needs her to hear. By the time that his revelation comes up, y/n already has hot tears streaming down her sensitive cheeks.

“So . . . it was you,” he says, bold enough to reach up and wipe away the tear that drips under her eye. His hand hovers over the side of her face, cupping her there soft and tender. “That was your question. I remembered everything I had done in the morning. I didn’t regret it, cos’ at least then I knew whether or not I was embarrassing enough to be in love with someone that didn’t see me the same way.” 

Harry bites his lip. For the longest time, he had reason to believe that she had rejected him. She had ignored something that she hadn’t even known she had been ignoring. Time is now incomprehensible. It feels to him like a Mardi Gras parade of flinging daggers, striking him from every different direction.

“I’m tired,” y/n says. In the most delicate way, she reaches into the space between them and pushes his arm away. The bubble that encloses their innocence for each other now shatters, shards of memories and confessions prickling the very air they breathe, suffocating their lungs until there is nothing more to suffer over.

He stands frozen. He watches her trudge away, inching farther and farther, and he knows that it will be over. Because of him, there is a possibility that even something as simple as friends is off the table.

“Stop walking away from me,” he demands. She hears the strain in his voice, the perfect crack that, if pushed any further, can temporarily damage his vocal cords. He’s tired. He needs rest; she doesn’t know what she needs, but of course, she puts him first. She puts his health over her own, his wellness over anyone else’s. He doesn’t want to leave, but he has to. He has reached the end of the sentence – the very period that no comma, no semicolon, no pause or break or continuation can ever overpower. 

“Goodnight, Harry,” she says, not bothering to wipe away the sorrow fallen on her cheeks. She can’t hear him – almost as if he doesn’t exist and never has. It is so easy to pretend, so that’s what she does. It makes the rest of her journey to her bedroom that much simpler; it also makes it that much harder to ignore the sound of her front door opening and closing, fumbling and locking, until a sonder silence snuggles next to her for the hours to come.

part two

[cryptidofthekeys]

All the writer asks!!!!!!

I’ve already answered the pen n paper one so I’ll leave that one out and answer the rest haha

ink: what do you do to “set the mood” when writing?

hmmm… well to usually set the mood would depend on the type of story I’m writing, if its horror/really angsty shit then I’m definitely going for dark themed music, if its something fluffy n cute- then im gonna go for some really happy upbeat music, so to set the mood- it’d usually depend on the genre

diary: how many pieces have you written that are just for you or will never see the light of day?

……Shhh… Let’s keep those my dirty little secret… (their not nsfw, thats not what I mean by that just to clarify)

journal: do you ever write just so you can enjoy something to read?

Hmm I guess I’ve done it once or twice before, but I dont do it too often-

novella: do you prefer to write short stories, one-shots, or entire novels?

I don’t think I’ve even came CLOSE to an entire novel but, I do a lot of short-stories and ESPECIALLY one-shots, im not very good at chapter based stories or anything

pulitzer: tell about/link a piece where you felt your writing was the best.

Ooooh fuck this is a tough one, Im too lazy to link it but- in my Yan!Henrik story there were some parts I ABSOLUTELY loved and felt were p damn good and in the werewolf story I wrote as well, some good parts in there too, but I definitely feel more fond over some of the scenes in the Yan!Hen story than any other one

genre: what genre do you prefer to write in?

Honestly, I’m pretty open to genres, like- fantasy, science-fiction, etc- the whole shabang- im not too picky bout any of them-

narrator: what pov do you like writing in best?

hmmm I guess like- wouldnt it technically be in third person with the way I write, for the reader its always You and or they, I always keep a story gender-neutral so that way all readers can be who they want to be in the stories, it can give them a better chance to imagine themselves in said position, now if i got a specific thing to do, male, female, non-binary, etc- then yeah I’d do that

backstory: how did you come to love writing?

That’s a- actually kinda simple tbh- its not an interesting story- At first I was actually unsure about it, but then- the more I wrote, the more I got super into it-  It was just… super fun to me after I did it for awhile

time-lapse: how long have you been writing (as a hobby or for work)?

It’s a hobby for now, but I do wish I could open commissions- but hmm its been like, maybe 5-6 years by now, maybe even a bit longer

characterization: describe your favorite character(s) you’ve written.

You should know this for sure haha, my favorite characters to write with tho- I’ll just say who they are, all the septic egos p much except… im still not too confident with writing Angus yet, some of the Iplier egos, like the Jims, Harold, and Eric, and I’m trying to branch out to other fandoms, I like writing with David n Daniel, from the cc fandom, and I’m trying to work on Dream Daddy characters too, Joseph, Robert, Mary, etc- and then my own characters too- I dont write wiht them often but I try

carnegie: what authors and/or books/stories have inspired you to write or influenced your work?

hmmm… I get inspired fairly easily so it’d be hard for me to name anything like that off the top of my head tbh

faulkner: what tropes do you LOVE writing? which ones are your guilty pleasure?

…. Why not ALL the tropes? …okay maybe not ALL of them

o’connor: what tropes/genres do you dislike writing?

Eh, im a p open person to tropes/genres- I mean unless like a trope could count as in, like- “it was all a dream” or “you were the killer all along” or some shit like that, then that type of shit isnt REALLY my cup of tea

dickinson: what insecurities do you have about your own writing? what do you think you should improve on?

There’s a lotta things I think I could improve on, honestly… I think, its not a matter of insecurity really, more so like- no matter who you are, there’s always room for improvements, I think we all improve on things every day, writing, drawing, roleplaying, even simple things- after all, there’s nowhere to really go except forward in life, so I just tend to go with my own flow, and if I improve than I’m happy with that, if I dont? Welp, that just means I still have a bit to go-

playlist: what kind of music/songs help you write? do you have a writing playlist?

oh god I w i s h I was organized enough to fucking- have a writing playlist ashdjshfdsj, it just depends on my mood- sometimes I get distracted by songs tho-

record: have you written things based off of songs? do you like to?

…I wrote one, its a really old one and im not too proud of it, but, people like it apparently so I keep it up since it seems to make em happy and thats what matters in that regard, but nah im not BIG on writing things based off songs

nobel: have you published anything you’ve written? online or irl?

Hmmm not yet, I don’t think I’m ready to physically publish my stories or anything, although my dad does encourage it, he tells me I should find a publisher or whatever and publish some stories (it wouldnt be ones with like- characters from things like camp camp, dream daddy, etc of course- it’d be ones with my own characters)

notepad: can you write anywhere or do you have to be in a specific place and mood to write?

D e f i n i t e l y a specific place and mood, my mood’s totally off and wrong right now and its frustrating bc im trying to write but the body and brain is like no motherfucker, be in pain and hate me more than you already do

parchment: how often do you or your personal life influence your writing?

I dont… know if ANY of my personal life has… influenced my writing? not that I know of anyways

dedication: if you were to publish a book or multiple, who would you dedicate the book(s) to?

I think… I dont know who I’d dedicate the books too or anything-

trope: what’s a pet peeve you have about writing?

…honestly? The one pet peeve I, myself, have with writing is the I/Me POV- now of course its fine if others use it, it could be easier to them, or they simply like it a lot, but I myself, just- cant fucking s t a n d that type of pov

input: what’s something you hate that people say to you about writing/your writing?

Okay- I need to be honest here, bc I get a lot of them, when I constantly state that I only do one shots and not chapter stories but the whole “pls continue” “another part to this please” “Do more of this” that doesnt really make me wanna do more, it makes me wanna move on actually from any of that, like im not about that plz continue, do more!!! type of comments

critic: what’s the best piece of advice you’ve ever received about writing?

Oh god I’ve received TONS of good advice from people, especially when it comes to some of the German I use for Henrik, I will admit… I’ve been severely slacking with learning my German, and I…. I deeply regret it tbh, but- I never mind and am actually grateful when someone corrects me when using a word incorrectly in a sentence or whatever

mifflin: what do you feel is your strong suit in writing?

A n g s t

houghton: what’s something you love that people compliment your pieces on?

I love all compliments tbh, I especially love comments on my angst like NO HOW DARE YOU OP, or OP wha t the f uck- my  he a r t, or anything like that- …im a sadistic lil gremlin arent I? I love breakin hearts with angst, but like any compliments I receive on my stories are all greatly appreciated, I just most of the time I dont have the time to respond to them, BUT- I do read em, every last one of em-

[mochismilesbrighterthansun]

Blurred Lines

Chapter 4

Pairing: Park Jimin x reader

Word Count: 4232

Warnings: Dark theme, violence, bad language, eventual smut. Degrading names. Mentions of death. Mentions of sexual abuse. 

Genre: Angst, Smut.

Summary: Jimin takes a job as a correctional officer alongside Jungkook. You are a prisoner in Max and deemed a very dangerous inmate. But Jimin can’t help but feel protective over you.

A/N: This story contains violence and abuse physical as well as emotional if it’s not your thing pls skip it. Also this episode talks not explicitly but mentions a sexual abuse. 

You were in your cell, you were reading a book that Jungkook had helped you pick. He had escorted you to the library and he was currently standing outside your cell talking to another CO. Jimin wouldn’t approach you anymore, he would only throw small smiles your way.

And on more ocassions than one had you caught yourself sneaking glances his way. His smile was something that would just brighten your day no matter how shitty this place was. And that was a dangerous thing. To anchor yourself to something so temporary. Because you could feel it. He was too good to be here.

You had told him that he needed to back off. But Hoseok and Jungkook had not backed off. They were so nice and friendly. You liked talking to them, but you hid it with sarcasm and eye rolling. Both men had caught onto it but chose not to comment on it. After the outing incident your time outside had been limited.

You were okay with that, as long as you weren’t in seg. This had been the longest you had been out of seg, and to say you were happy was an understatement. You sneaked a glance outside your cell and you could see clearly Jimin. He was listening intently to whatever Hoseok was saying, he nodded once. Twice and then turned, you saw him smile at someone.

It wasn’t his usual smile, it didn’t reach his eyes. You casually tried to glance to see who was receiving even that half smile. But you couldn’t see. You barely received a good morning, there was no good bye, ever.

“Hey it’s time to eat.” Jungkook’s voice startled you. He was giving you one of his bunny smiles.

“I am not really hungry.” you mumbled hugging the book to your chest.

“You know the rules, you have to come get something. Besides you haven’t been eating that well.” he said. He reached for his radio, “Open Y/L/N” he mumbled to the black square.

You sighed dramatically and got up throwing the book onto your small bed.

You walked outside your cell and looked back at Jungkook. “There, I am out. Can I sit and pretend to eat?”

“Y/N, just go grab a tray and try to eat yeah?. I don’t want you passing out. Then Jimin will really kill me.”

You scoffed, “As if he cared.” you mumbled.

Jungkook stared at you wide eyed. “He actually does you know?, he cares a lot.” you turned to face him to ask what he meant but he was gone, walking back to his post.

You looked to your front and tried searching for Jimin. Once you spotted him you stared trying not to make it too obvious. This was a moment when you wanted to actually cry. You wondered if Jimin would have even glanced your way if things were normal and you were not a prisoner.

You shook your head. You couldn’t have those thoughts. Instead you wanted to hate him, motivate yourself to not give a crap whether you were inside this shithole or out. Sometimes it mattered and sometimes it didn’t. Lately though?, it was beginning to matter. And you couldn’t afford to think like that.

It was another Saturday. You sat quietly in your cell. It was visitation day, but you never received not even one. When your dad went to see you that first day before you were taken there he explicitly said no visitation and you knew better than to doubt him.

So when Hoseok knocked on your railing to call for your attention you were surprised.

“Weren’t you supposed to be on visitation room?” you asked smiling.

“Yep, and you just got a visitor.” he said brightly reaching for his radio.

You rolled your eyes. “You are so full of shit, I don’t get visitation.” you said.

“Open Y/L/N,” he put his hands on his belt and waited for your cell to slide open.

“What are you doing?, I don’t get visitation ever Hoseok.” you argued recoiling to the far end of your cell.

“Hey calm down it’s me alright?, I wouldn’t lie to you like this.” he extended his hand to you slowly as if to not scare you.

You touched his hand tentatively. “Are you sure?” you looked at him straight in the eyes.

“Yeah why would I lie?” he asked with a smile, “Come on.” he said leading you to visitation.

The room was divided by a glass, and you could only talk to the other person through a phone attached to a wall. You walked inside and Hoseok motioned to the end of the room. You walked until you reached the end but you stopped dead in your tracks when you saw who it was. Your younger sister sat on the chair, she looked so out of place. Her innocent eyes were darting from one side to another.

You went to sit in front of her and her face jerked to her front. You grabbed the phone attached to the wall and motioned for her to do the same.

“Hey.” she mumbled into the phone not meeting your eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing here Dana?” you asked angered. “We swore, you swore to me  that you would never set foot in this hell hole.”

She flinched at your words.

“Tell me.” you demanded.

“I left home,” she finally met your eyes. “Dad is crazy things are worse than before and now I am alone.”

“I told you where to go if you needed help, Arid can help I know he can be a little crazy.” you smiled, “But he is good alright I know he wouldn’t hurt you.”

Her eyes watered. “He is dead.” her voice was so quiet, you were sure you heard wrong.

“I am sorry what?,”

“Raphael’s people killed him. At first I thought it had been dad but, dad is killing Raphael’s people left and right.”

You closed your eyes. That’s why things had gotten so much worse for you, they were trying to teach your dad a lesson but your dad had no idea what was going on with you.

“Raphael’s wife has been real generous with me.” you said. “She almost killed me a couple of times.”

“What?, why didn’t you call us?”

You scoffed, “So he could make it worse?, I know what kind of father I got and -” you stopped talking seeing black ink on Dana’s wrist. “Show me your ink.” you said with wide eyes.

Dana hid her wrist.

“Dana I swear to fucking God if you don’t show me your fucking wrist!” you screamed into the phone. A small tear slipped from her eyes as she pulled on the sleeve on her arm. There was an iguana taking space from her wrist to almost her elbow. You threw the phone onto the window then.

“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry Y/N please look at me.” she was standing touching the glass trying to get to you.

You weren’t one to cry in front of other people but you did then. A sob teared from your chest as you stared at your baby sister’s arm.

“I had to you need to understand -”

“No!,” you cut her off. “Don’t you see?, this means that this.” you motioned to your uniform. “This was for nothing you fucking idiot!” you were screaming and crying at the same time.

Hoseok was behind you in a second. “Calm down Y/N ,” he whispered as close to you as possible without using a restraining force but you were out of it.

Your palm slapped against the glass. “I am rotting in here for you and you fucking threw that away, what the fuck is wrong with you!” you were still crying.

Hoseok pulled on you but you pushed him.

“Why?, why did you do this?”

Dana was looking at you with fear and regret.

“I am sorry, it was the only way.” you could barely make the words but you could understand.

“You should have ran away. Anywhere. Anything would be better than having that fucking tattoo on your arm you piece of shit. How could you do this to me?, I gave up everything for you!” you screamed.

All the attention was on you now. Hoseok had no choice but to pull on your arms and put handcuffs on your wrists. You tried to pull at them but Hoseok took hold of your wrists.

“Don’t they will leave marks. They are for show okay?” he whispered searching for your eyes but your gaze was fixed on the floor and tears kept running freely.

You had never felt so much grief in your life. You knew what she had to do to get into that gang. And you knew her life was over, she had a second chance and she screwed it up.

Hoseok began pulling you lightly but your sister hit the glass to get your attention.

“Please I am sorry Y/N,” she cried to the glass.

“You are dead to me.” you mumbled, she couldn’t make out what you said. But Hoseok heard you clearly. He stared at you for a little before he began leading you to your cell.

“What did you say?!, Y/N no, come back bring her back..” she kept screaming but her voice faded as soon as you reached the hallway.

You walked in silence. For the first time on years you felt broken. No one had been able to make this feeling so harsh in your chest. It felt empty. You couldn’t breathe. And you couldn’t stop crying.

Hoseok looked at you worriedly. With pity too, he wanted to comfort you but didn’t know how. He only caught words here and there but he had no idea what that tattoo meant, and you weren’t in a sharing mood.  

“Open Y/L/N.” he mumbled to his radio when you reached your cell.

He undid the handcuffs, and you entered your cell without a word. You kept crying you couldn’t stop the tears. You were facing the wall, you felt numb all over lie if this had not happened. You wondered if it was a nightmare.

You scratched at your arms, and you stared at the red marks. Skin broke on parts and there was little blood. You finally sat down and you hugged your knees. You cried into your knees trying to silence your sobs. Your body shook but you couldn’t help it.

4 YEARS EARLIER.

It was dark outside, you had barely turned fifteen a week ago. You ran through the street in a hurry. Your dad had warned you not to walk alone during night but you really wanted an ice cream and the convenience store was only a couple of blocks away from your house.

You ran but your lungs were beginning to burn. You could hear the heavy footsteps running to catch up to you. Until they did. You were never a good runner, so when a hand closed around your upper arm and slammed you against the wall you weren’t that surprised.

Your chest heaved, you could barely catch your breath. When you spotted the iguana tattoo on the man’s neck your eyes grew wide with fear. He wasn’t that much older than you, you could tell. His eyes were wild, he was high on heroin most likely.

“Listen just let me go I won’t tell my dad please.” you pleaded to him.

But he just laughed to your face, he licked your cheek and turned to the side as you began to cry.

“I can’t stop now beautiful.” he smiled so wide his face almost split.

And he didn’t stop until he got what he wanted and left you in the alley on the floor with most of your clothes ripped. You cried until your mother found you and led you back home. Things were a blur for a while, but after that you weren’t the same person.

Arid, your boyfriend did everything in his power to help you. But there was only so much he could do. He loved you a lot. And he was patient. He did help you a lot, he helped you forget a little. But that was a scar that was always gonna be there, and no matter how much time passed it was always gonna be there.

PRESENT DAY

“What the fuck happened, it’s been a week and she is not leaving her cell for shit.” Jimin said looking at your still form with worry etched on his beautiful features.

“I don’t know. I mean I heard most of the argument but I don’t know what it meant.” Hoseok mumbled.

You sat just looking at the ground. For some reason every little bad thing that had happened to you seemed to rush to your head, you tried snapping out of it a couple of days back but you decided to let it fester in your chest for a couple of more days. You would sit here and feel everything, and then you would try to figure what to do.

Your cell slipped open, you moved your head slowly to see whoever had entered. When you saw Jimin you turned back to the floor. He stood there quietly for a couple of minutes.

“What do you want?” you mumbled.

He stared at you a little longer. Your gaze was dead.

“You can talk to me you know?, what happened?” he asked getting closer to you. He squatted right infront of you and searched for your gaze. “Hey you can trust me.” he said quietly.

It was that damn voice, so soft you were sure it could make you do anything. Of course you could trust him and that was the problem. You didn’t wanna trust him this way.

“Get out.” you whispered turning away from his searching gaze.

“Please talk to me, I wanna help.”

You scoffed, “There is no way you can help.”

“Look at me.” he said more firmly. When you didn’t comply he asked again. “Look at me.” he ordered in a more full voice.

When you finally met his gaze you broke down. You covered your mouth to prevent the sobs from coming out too loudly. Jimin’s gaze softened even more if that was possible, worry etched his features as he got even closer to you.

“We can go to the library, I can make sure it’s just us there if you want?” he whispered.  

You nodded because you needed to talk to him. His voice calmed you down, and you were afraid of this because allowing him to have such an effect on you wasn’t a good idea. So he handcuffed you and led you to the library.

When you guys entered he uncuffed you and allowed you to walk to the book shelves. He walked around to make sure there was no one there. He leaned by one of the windows. You grabbed a book and walked next to him facing outside. It was so bright outside, the sun shone so brightly.

“My sister came for visitation last week,” you started. He was already aware of this. “When I got my sentence I made her swear to me that she would never come visit me here, to this shit hole. I didn’t want her to be stained by this place at all.” you laughed bitterly. “I wanted her to have a shot at life. I told her to run away to  be free, I even told her who could help her you know?, I tried to leave nothing to chance while there was a lawyer and a judge fighting to figure out how long I was gonna stay here or whether I’d get the death penalty or not I was planning Dana’s future cause I wanted her to have a shot at being happy. She was only fourteen, she made a mistake and I felt responsible for not watching out for the signs better.”

Jimin’s brow furrowed and he was looking at you waiting for you to say the words. The words he knew were about to come out of your mouth.

“It was her.” a silent tear rolled down your cheek. “She met this real bad guy and I felt responsible because he was Arid’s friend. He sweet talked her and by the time she turned fifteen she was head over heels for the guy.” you shook your head. “He was bad news we both told her. He was doing heroin and being violent but I don’t know what was it about this fucking guy that she just wouldn’t listen.” you stopped to catch your breath.

“Calm down. It’s just us. I’m listening you don’t have to feel like you are defending yourself alright?” he whispered.

“I knew it was game over the day he showed up with that fucking iguana tattoo plastered on his back, he was real proud too. Showing us all how he was officially on the gang.” you sighed and rubbed your face with both hands. “One member of that gang abused me.” you mumbled quietly but Jimin heard you clearly. He felt so much sadness for you in that moment. “After that happened I closed myself so much. Only Arid knew, he killed the guy that abused me but I never told my sister. I always led her to believe my hatred was because dad hated them so much.” you finally faced him with red swollen eyes. “I didn’t want to tell her, and then one night at a bombfire by the beach he was shoving drugs up her nostrils. I tried to get her to stop but she wouldn’t listen, instead she went crazy accused one of the girls there of flirting with her fucking ugly ass bald boyfriend.” you stopped looking outside for a moment.

Jimin tried to grab your hand but you recoiled. You needed to finish.

“So what does the bitch do?, she beats the crap out of the girl. She broke a bottle and stabbed her on the stomach a couple of times. The girl was brain dead last time I heard. By the time Arid and I pulled her it was too late. Her fucking boyfriend fled the scene and I forced Arid to take her. She was a fucking mess and when the police showed up I took the blame.”

Jimin was staring at you in a way you couldn’t describe. You turned your back on the window and crossed your arms.

“We talked before they shipped me here, she said she was done with the bastard. Arid was supposed to help her go away but he couldn’t. Now she went back with that motherfucker and I am pretty sure they got married or some fucking shit because she has that fucking tattoo!” you felt anger rise inside of you. “I just wanted her to have a future.” you whispered.

“You need to tell the truth.” Jimin tried to reason with you.

You looked at him. “I can’t, I can’t do that to her. Not even if she is with that disgusting man, I just don’t have it in me.”

“So you are gonna stay here another fifty years for a crime you didn’t commit?, Are you fucking kidding me right now.” he was angry now. And you could see the set of his jaw.

“I should have never said anything. You said I could trust you.” you said getting close to him. You reached for him for the first time in weeks and tried to get him to look at you. “Please you can’t say anything. Please just don’t say anything.” you pleaded.

Jimin shook his head and turned away from you.

“If that’s what you want.” he said defeated. “I’ll take you back to your cell.” he turned and placed the handcuffs again, he followed you back to your cell.

As the cell slipped to a close you knew you had lost him, any part of him that you ever even fathomed to have. The friendship part because that was as far as you would ever have of him. He looked at you and you didn’t know if it was disappointment or just plain disgust.

“There has got to be something you can do Seokjin.” Jimin pleaded to his friend.

He was one of the best lawyers he knew. He was already working for his father. He had graduated pretty young and was smart. He was one of the most sought out bachelor’s, women constantly throwing themselves at him not just because of his money but because of his looks. He was very handsome dark eyes, thick lips. His skin perfect, tall wide shoulders, muscular. He was a dream man for women.

“Man if she is not telling the truth I can’t do anything for this chick. Unless she says she fucking lied I can’t go in there and try to present a case she is not agreeing to.” he explained. He sat on his black leather chair.

“I know there has to be a way Jin, I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important. Please there has to be something you can do.” Jimin pleaded.

Seokjin sighed and pulled on his dark blue tie. “Is there a chance of the sister coming up front with the crime?” he asked. Jimin made a face. “Okay dumb question. I’ll ask for her file. But it would a hell of a lot easier if she confessed it be a done deal Jimin trust me.” he said.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Jimin complained leaning back on the chair he sat across from Seokjin.

“Fuck the kid wasn’t lying when he said you were whipped for this girl.” Seokjin said, “Why?, I mean you had your pick of women out here, why her?”

Jimin thought about it for a second and shook his head. “It’s not like that, I just feel sympathetic towards her.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that.” Seokjin said standing up to open the door for Jimin.

“Promise me you’ll exhaust every option for this.”

Seokjin rolled his eyes. “I don’t need you to try to advise me on how to be a lawyer. I will see what our best option is here, but without Y/N’s testimony I can’t do much.”

Jimin nodded and walked out of the office. He went to Yoongi’s bar because he didn’t want to go home and be alone. He couldn’t stop thinking about everything you told him. You didn’t deserve being there, but he needed you to want to be free. He couldn’t help you if you didn’t want to be helped.

He sat on his usual stool and waited for Yoongi to approach him.

“You know the deal man, I can’t serve you. Even if it’s Saturday night.” Yoongi said approaching him.

The bar was packed. But for some reason the stools Jungkook and him used were always empty. He didn’t know if Yoongi just wouldn’t allow anyone to sit there.

“Yeah, I know I just wanted to talk to someone.” Jimin said, Yoongi looked surprised then.

“Sure, what about?” he asked leaning against the counter.

“I don’t know if I have feelings for someone.” he looked at Yoongi and a flicker of recognition flashed before his eyes.

“Ah the inmate girl.The one you are always trying to protect?, I thought you knew you had feelings for her?”

“Is Jungkook really going around spreading that I am inlove with this girl?” he asked annoyed.

“Nah he just mentions some details and I made my conclusions. Why would you go out of your way protecting someone unless she meant something to you.” he reasoned. “Listen I am not the most sound man to be giving you advice I know. But you should transfer or try to get out of there. Find another job.”

Jimin looked at him disbelieving, “I am not going anywhere Yoongi, really? What the fuck is your problem?”

Yoongi sighed. “Listen what are you gonna do, this chick is there for a long time and if you think about it you can’t do anything. Isn’t she in like Max?, it’s a dead end Jimin.”

“Did you back out when people told you to stay away from Taehyung?” Jimin asked.

“That’s different.” he argued.

“Why?, he was a street kid when you found him. And you cared for him and you fell inlove with him. How is this any different?”

“Jimin when I found Taehyung he was seventeen, and I was nineteen. I offered him a place to live and food. I offered him a job at one of the bars and he took it. And that’s the thing, he took it cause he wasn’t imprisoned. I am not telling you to stay away from Y/N because she commited a crime or whatever I am not judging her. She is in jail Jimin. How would that work?, you can’t take her out on a date. This shit is fucking unrealistic. And you are giving her hope and that’s fucked up because you will never be able to be a normal relationship. It’s not like you can wait for her to get out.”

Jimin was speechless because Yoongi was right. Unless you confessed you were gonna grow old in that prison. And there was nothing he could do about it.

A/N: I haven’t thanked the people who have been reading my story, but I wanna say thank you so much that you take time to read my writing. I appreciate it a lot.