#now she's at a state that she says that her wild friends are envious of her and she loves it

[adrianastrix]

Putting Satan in a tiny pet carrier and siccing it into any small child who looked at me funny.

Look, officer, it's not animal trafficking if the animals tested my mettle in battle, found me okay and decided to willingly follow me so I make them better battlers to make their friends jealous.

Anyway, here's what Satan has to say about you getting me arrested.

[ginjones]

“What did Apollo dream of?” Asks Hob, his voice a questing note which brushes the curve of Dream’s ear. He lies in naked warmth across the corded thew of his back, breathing life into marble. Breathing for them both. They had stayed this way for hours. Swathed together in the casual rituals of Sunday. An indulgent afternoon spent riding the blissful peaks of orgasm. Fragments of time dissolving into the peony blush of an August sunset.

Muscles tense beneath him and for a moment, Hob wants to swallow his words. The question has come too early. He should have waited. Let another century pass in quiet restraint for answers to fall unbidden. Then Dream moves under him with tectonic force, and every muscle rolls to bear his weight with ease. Impassive eyes stare blankly up.

“Music,” Dream states simply and then, after a pause “how the notes of a Lyre might soar and scatter their seed in the wheat fields of Crete. He dreamed the way God’s dream. With intent.”

“Oh.” Hob replies, “…alright.” He is not sure how to take this or for what answer he had hoped.

When Dream had returned to him in the bright glory of a June afternoon, had called him friend and sat in alignment on the seat of a twin chair, he had felt himself exalted. Then came the gifts of a name, several in fact, and the first offering of answers. That he had lain at the base of a glass sphere for 133 years. That he had missed the sound of birds taking flight. That blood will turn a dark sepia if left to stain a cold stone floor. Hob had felt the brush of fingers to his palm then. He had felt each subtle contact point of hands, of wrists, of legs. He had said nothing. Dream, he had told him, is in the process of rebuilding.

Hob gives himself freely to this process. By July the casual touches had transformed into weekly rituals where, in the summer heat of his flat upstairs, they had venerated each other in the arching of bodies, in the twisting of limbs. In warmth. In wetness. In light.

Dream looks up at him now, the light of ancient stars reflecting in his eyes. He smiles faintly. “I have had many lovers, Hob”. And he knows this. He knows. But he wants to know more. He wants to unwind the tangled eons of his being and find the subtle frays of conquest. To trace the heart line of his relations with the gods of another age. To wonder perhaps, what they felt like to this impossible creature who, after making himself a willing body, became the vessel for their dreams.

And his traitorous mind will not stop its reckless imaginings. Of perfect bodies mounting each other with graceful fluidity. Rutting for hours, decadent in the gleam of their own transcendent   splendour. He regards his own body then and finds it lacking. And yet, to trace the distant lands of Dream’s past is to know him, fondly, completely. He holds the envious blade to his heart and smiles. 

“I want to show you something,” Hob says, “Wait here.”

He rises from the alter of the bed to gather the offerings of books. Stories told by others to share. Hutton’s Queens of the Wild, a battered copy of Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classiciae he had bought second-hand in Cambridge. Human tales to dying gods who wait, in the tomb of the earth, for idolatrous rebirth. He places them down kindly and wraps himself again in the comfort of the bed.

Seraphic black eyes glance over the pages for the briefest of seconds before one is turned, then another and Hob realises this is how Dream processes information. So that entire books could be read in minutes; knowledge subsumed, taken inwards, and swallowed whole. Each story catalogued and reformed as a star in the nightscape consciousness of the collective unconscious.

“And what about Brigid?” Hob asks again, brushing a finger over the image of a woodcut in Hutton’s book. Dream’s body curves towards him; the pale crescent of a waning moon.

“Protection to those who would adorn her with the pearls of their words. Love given at a price. She was triple natured and dreamt of sacraments in milk and blood.”

He imagines the proud swell of her breasts and the lustrous warmth of her sex. How Dream might have laid her down among the richness of the living earth, her legs parting in mimicry of the unfurling of shivering leaves. How he might have bent to kiss the curve of her fruiting form and then, with the surge of yellow iris and bloodied poppies their consummation would sing in the arrival of spring.

Dream watches him closely with the subtle glimpse of a frown. His features correct themselves back to unspoilt marble. He glances back at the book.

Hours pass, or maybe days, and Dream is feeding him grapes. He watches with fascination at the ripe burst between his teeth. He places one perfect finger to the corner of his mouth and Hob takes him in. They make love again. Dream edging inside gently; a curtesy that belies the sheer strength of him. His shoulders are the roll of Atlantic waters, his corded muscles the terrain of mountains. Every quiet command to sit or bend down or open for me is the distant promise of a rainstorm. A body made for the pleasure of the divine. In the drop after the rising heat of release, he is reformed in bliss and made anew.

 “And Saturn?” He asks, once more.

It is midnight now. Time hangs suspended from one day till the next. His throat is the frayed edge of a salt slicked rope. Language has come back to him slowly and with it, the recollection that he wants to learn more. He has been placed under soft, dark sheets and held in the willowy bough of cool arms. His world has shrunk to hold nothing but the senses; the smell of his own body, juniper and vetiver. The glow of orange lamplight casting shadows on the wall. The delicate ache of muscles. The sound of distant voices rises thorough the stone of buildings, the wood of floorboard.

Dream is under the blankets with him too. He opens his eyes; sapphire bright.

“Unwavering devotion despite the hardships of capricious seasons. To be fed the rich loam of toil. Saturnalia was a decedent celebration, but his worshippers did not sleep. They turned away from my realm to follow the ghost of his words.”

“And you’re okay with me not being…Like; you don’t mind if I’m not someone one who could…”  Be a god for you, He thinks. Be better than I am. Be good enough to keep you.

Dream graces him with the rarity of a true smile and moves to close the distance. He is pulled to rest his head in the cove of a moonlit scapula. He is held there in silence; Dream placing a hand to the soft warmth of his stomach then tracing the thick trail of chestnut hair that leads down towards his pubis. He nuzzles into the crook of his neck and Hob can feel the subtle sensation of air. Dream is breathing him in. In this sanctuary they have created for themselves he is reminded of several moments. Where Dream, bathed in morning light, has watched him butter bread, or rinse dishes, or change tracks on a playlist to find a favourite song. He has watched him water plants, watched him eat. Has asked, several times in fact, to place a hand to the bob of his throat when he swallows. Sometimes, when he has woken from the swell of sleep, he finds Dream’s attentions on the aura- space around him. His eyes lit from the inside, tracing the phantom movements of some unseen, imperceptible thing. Half asleep still, he has seen Dream move a hand through the gloaming air in a dextrous swirl of intent. Capturing something, examining it, then looking back at him. You dream such wonderful things.

And here, resting together, Dream’s voice brushes the curve of his ear.

“You are more than a god, Hob. You are human.”

@softest-punk

[twinkleimagines]

* Don’t be jealous princess*

You and Drew have been dating for over a year now, you had actually gotten together right after Chase and Maddie has. Usually you weren’t the jealous type but when you noticed that your boyfriend spent more time with Your shared friend Maddie than he did with you it had started to bother you.

“ hey chase” you spoke as you saw your friend and coworker from the show OBX’s face pop up on your screen.

“ howdie y/n what’s up?” He responded running his hands through his hair fluffing it out.

“ howdie howdie” you responded smiling down at your phone. “ I was gonna go live later this afternoon on the obx page and I was gonna see if you and Maddie wanted to join me at some point” you responded , flopping down on your sofa.

“ uhm duh” he beamed out.

“ awesome “ you responded nodding your head . “ where is Maddie ?”

“ oh she’s at Drew’s” you sat still for a Monet, your brows furrowing together.

“ huh” you responded, a frown placing on your face. “ that’s funny” you responded. It was really to yourself but Chase heard you.

“ what?” He asked getting curious himself.

“ Drew hasn’t talked to me all day” you responded softly, the expression showing clear on your face.

“ oh” was all chase could say, not really knowing what to say.

“ does it not bother you?”

“ what?”

“ they’re Always together Chase. “ you responded. Chase sighed heavily looking out one of his bedroom windows , thinking how to respond to your statement .

“ well, we’re all so close . The whole group. And they live in the same apartment complex. I’m also always busy so I can’t be around as much. “ you nodded slightly agreeing with him.

“ but” chases interrupted causing you to look back up at the phone. “ Drew could at least tell you he’s with her. If Maddie didn’t tell me and didn’t text me all day that would definitely have me worrying. “

“ I know! I feel like all day I’m fighting for his attention and they’re always together. It use to not bother me but when I’m waiting until the end of the day to hear from Drew just to find out he’s been with her all day is beyond annoying”. Chase nodded sighing heavily. You could tell by what all you were saying was starting to cause a concern for him as well.

“ I’m sorry chase I just-“

“ no no I get it y/n I do” he responded . “ I don’t personally think there is anything going on between the two of them but I would talk with Drew just to clear up and confusion and stuff” he suggested . You both spoke for another 30 minutes before hanging up. You sighed before attempting to call Drew, his phone going straight to voicemail which only angered you. You sighed with frustration as you dialed maddies number, pressing speaker as you waited for her to answer.

“ hey y/n” she responded with her bubbly voice.

“ hey” you responded kind of stern. It was honestly harder than you thought it would be to hide the envious of her being with your boyfriend .

“ what’s up you okay?” She asked , noticing the tone in your voice.

“ yeah” you responded, hardly convincing. “ where’s Drew?” You asked .

“ hold on” she said her tone lowering .

“ here Drew, it’s y/n” she said . You could hear her say in the back ground ‘ I think she’s upset’ before you heard Drew answer.

“ hey princess” he responded. You frowned, you were so happy to hear his voice but you wanted to be with him so bad and you hated how you were feeling jealous over his friendship with Maddie.

“ hey babe” you sighed out. “ what are you doing?”

“ I brought Maddie some of mommas casserole and then we’ve been playing board games. What are you up to princess ?” You rolled your eyes of the image of Drew and Maddie playing board games but quickly shook your head pushing those angered thoughts away.

“ well…. I was waiting on you” you replied softly, messing with the strings on your pajama shorts .

“ waiting on me?” He responded . You scoffed slightly. Of course he’d forget.

“ my OBX live is within the next hour, you were going to come over remember ? “ you exclaimed.

“ ahh… shit princess I’m sorry my phones been dead so I hadn’t even paid attention to the time. I’ll come over” he said moving around.

“ No no it’s okay, you won’t get here in time anyways..” there was a moment of silence between the two of you before Drew spoke up excitedly.

“ you can just add me and Maddie to your live!” He suggested excitedly . You pushed your lips together in frustration, squinting your eyes In anger.

“ yeah sure ok” you responded without much enthusiasm but Drew hadn’t caught on.

“ awesome princess I’ll charge my phone okay I love you “ he said .

“ I love you too” you said before hanging up.

“ ughhh” you groaned before throwing yourself back against your couch.

****

“ okay thanks chase we’re gonna bring Maddie and Drew on next ! “ you said into your phone. You had been on Instagram live with chase for a good 45 minutes , answering wild questions from the fans , waiting for Drew to text you that they were ready to come in the live .

“ okay love you y/n bye guys!” Chase said before ending his side of the chat.

“ okay let’s get Drew and Maddie on” you said quietly before biting your bottom lip as you searched Drew’s name in the view list .

“There they are!” You beamed before clicking Drew’s name .

“ hiiiiii!” Maddie said excitedly waving into the camera. Drew was sitting next to her on her couch, waving into the camera. You could feel the jealously pooling back through but this time you really had to hide it since over 20k people were watching . You had only been 5 minutes into it with Drew and Maddie when you started noticing comments from the views mentioning how it was weird that Drew was with Maddie and not you. You had even seen one comment

‘DREW- why are you not with your GF????’

You watched Madelyns face to see if she would notice the comments too and you could tell she had seeing as her smile went away. The live didn’t last much longer considering most the comments were nothing but shaming Drew and Madelyn for being together and not with you or Chase. It blew your mind since the fans never really pointed it out when it was chase on live with them but when it was you it was like that’s all they could speak on.

***

You were awoken from your nap to the sound of your doorbell ringing, your living room dark as it was night time.

“ coming” you said pulling one of Drews t-shirt down that he had left over at your house.

“ hey princess “ Drew said as you opened the door, a set of flowers. You were honestly very excited to see him, but being annoyed as to how much he’s being leaving your out for Madelyn was over powering your excitement.

“ thanks” you mumbled while grabbing the bouquet of flowers before stepping out of the door way letting him in.

“ I’m sorry I’m sent here for the live but I figured movie night can make up for it “ he said, his tall figure slouching down pecking your cheek.

“ sure” you answered walking towards your kitchen, grabbing a glass of water.

“ comedy? Horror?” Drew questioned following behind you. You sighed as you felt his large hands wrap around your waste, “ romance” he said seductively in your ear. You pushed his hands away stepping away from him.

“ Drew stop” you said walking towards your counter, pushing your hair behind your hair.

“ princess what’s wrong?” He asked, genuinely concerned. You furrowed your eyebrows, almost in anger at the fact he was being so clueless to it all.

“ really drew?” You responded . You really didn’t want to be one of those toxic controlling girlfriends, but you knew if you didn’t bring it to attention it was going to honestly eat you alive.

“Y/n what’s wrong?” He stated straight into his figure up looking at you with confusion.

“ ugh” you scoffed, throwing your hands up. “ isn’t it obvious?” Drew just looked at you dumbfounded and completely lost.

“ I miss my boyfriend “ you stated , leaning back against the counter , looking down at the floor.

“ what? Princess what are you talking about?” He said walking towards you.

“ we’ll drew, we’ve been together for over a year and yet you’re with Madelyn more than you are with me. And it’s becoming like an excessive amount.” You stated, pushing your hair back. He chuckled slightly, shaking his head.

“ are you fucking laughing ?” You scolded pushing yourself up off the counter .

“ yes I am “ he stated crossing his arms as he propped himself against the counter next to you. “ are you jealous?” He replied in a mocking tone, clearly amused. You went to speak but nothing coming out as you didn’t know how to respond.

“ don’t be jealous princess”

You rolled your eyes before brushing past him, purposely brushing your shoulder into his bicep since his figured towered over you. “ whatever Drew don’t take me serious then” you spatted out before flopping down on your couch , pulling your phone out.

“ princess I do take you serious” he said before standing in front of you , looking down at you. “ it’s just you’re so cute when you’re jealous, especially when you have nothing to be jealous about” he replied before grabbing your hands, pulling you up to stand with him. “ all of us are just such close friends, and Madelyn lives below me so we’re just closest to eachother when we need company. There’s nothing going on between us princess you never have to worry about that” you looked over looking around in your kitchen, not wanting to look him in the eyes.

“ I don’t mean to be jealous” you said still not making Eye contact. “ but when my boyfriend is with another girl s day and can’t even call me or text me at all the whole day… kind of hard to not question things. “ he sighed heavily nodding.

“ yeah honestly that was kind of shitty of me. I got lost in time and I had my phone up and - it doesn’t matter. I’ll do better princess. “ he said before leaning down to kiss your lips. You sighed with relief into the kiss, wrapping your arms tightly around his abdomen, pulling his muscular figure against yours. You giggled as he moved his lips from your cheek down to your neck , and then back up again to peck a quick one on the tip of your nose.

“ so” he said , holding your face in his hands. “ comedy, horror, or romance?” He asked again, with a big smirk playing on his face. You shrugged knowing the smile he was giving meant you guys weren’t going to make it through the movie anyways.

“ what ever “ you responded staring at his plump bottom lip, fantasizing about pressing against it once again.

“ whatever” he mocked before leaning down again to kiss you, this time his hands landing on your bottom, giving it a squeeze.

~~~~~~~~

❤️❤️ feed back much appreciated ❤️❤️

[imagination-is-key-in-my-world]

Awkward Encounters

Authors Note: At first, I was going to write this as the reader being in Tessa’s perspective but then I thought that it would be too much of a copyright. There may be some similarities to the story but I have written Tessa in as a separate party. Tessa is still with Noah in this. Also, I will be referencing parts from both the movie and the novels. In this particular fanfiction Tristan is a girl, like the movie.

Summary: You are a freshman at college and your life there started pretty normally. Your best friend is Tristan who is dating Steph who is roommates with Tessa. That was until you went to a party with Tristan and the girls. You had no idea that the mysterious British boy was going to intervene when you come face to face with the Bitch that is Molly.

Warning: Swearing

Pairing: Reader x Hardin Scott

Word Count: 4,423

“Come on Tristan, I told you.” I moan. “I can’t go to another party; I am still recovering from the last one.” I cling to a cold compress, trying my best to shield my eyes from the light that is seeping in through the open door.

Tristan threw a pack of Ibuprofen onto my lap that she snooped around in my bag for. “If it’s that bad, take one of these and get your butt out of that bed.” I groan at the impact from the small box just for the effect. “Don’t be a baby and get up.”

I roll over on the bed to face the wall. “Can’t you just go with Steph?”

“No!” She abruptly spat out. “I want to go with you. Steph is bringing Tessa and I don’t want to show up alone.”

“But you will be with her when you’re there. What’s the point in me getting out of this lovely cocoon that I have made, just to walk you to the party?”

Tristan had her head bent over, pulling her hair into a high ponytail on the top of her head. “You know that what you just said was the whole point.” She sighed. “Everyone is going to stare at me when I walk in there all on my lonesome.”

I eyed the short revealing dress that she was pulling onto her petite and envious body. “You know everyone will be staring at you no matter what if you wear that.” I laugh. “Those legs are going to be the headliner for that party.”

Tristan winked at me and continued adding more accessories to her ever-growing ensemble. “That my dear naïve British friend is the goal of this outfit.” She dropped to her knees faster than I could pry open the antibiotic wrapper. Gripping onto my hand she pulled me away from my mission to rid the world of the swirling furniture before my very eyes. “Y/N, if you do not go, I will literally never talk to you ever again.”

I raised my eyebrow at the sight before me. “Is that a promise.” I bravely say.

“Y/N! Please!”

“Fine alright. Give me five minutes.” I surrender, using every ounce of strength that I had left to lift myself from my comfy nest. “But you owe me, big time.” Tristan’s arms were around my neck faster than I could respond. Her soft lips that I am sure Steph adores, pressed against my forehead.

“I love you so much Miss Y/L/N!” She squealed.

I let out a stiff laugh as I saunter off to the bathroom to sort whatever state I currently appeared to be in.

***

“You know, when you said that this was going to be a cool night for us both? When did I factor into the equation?” I scoff, lifting the red solo cup to my lips. The bitter taste made my stomach curl, but what was worse was not drinking around all these over-the-top drunk people.

Tristan was straddling Steph on the sofa by the side of me. These two did not understand the true definition of PDA and why some people may find it uncomfortable. Including myself.

I inch further down the sofa that was unsurprisingly very sticky. If I wasn’t feeling queasy when I turned up, I certainly felt it now. I try to distract myself from the fact that I had to peel my legs from the leather material just to cross them. The sound was very unflattering.

“Why are you in my seat?” I roll my eyes the minute I recognised the irritating voice that filled me with angst and hatred from across the room. Molly Samuels. Her whole presence just irritates me, and it appears that I am not the only one with this response. I gaze over to my left to see Tessa shaking her head at the general distaste she had for the girl. I lift my cup up to Tessa who shyly mimics. ‘To stuck up bitches, ay?’ I say to myself, quietly so that she couldn’t hear.

Molly pushed Zed Evans and his girlfriend for the night out of her shitty throne causing his date to land hard on her arse. I am sure it wasn’t the first time that Molly has done this to declare her ‘power’ to the whole room. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” The blonde cried as Zed attempted to pick her up from the floor which was soaked in alcohol.

“Does this brat literally think she can talk to me right now?” Molly scoffed, flicking her hair over her shoulder. Turning to her so-called friends for approval of her comment and actions.

“What did you just call me?” The poor young girl shook off Zed’s protective arm and stepped right in front of Molly’s nose. Probably not the best move, but I have always found that Molly needed taking down a peg or two.

“You heard me, loud and clear” She popped her tongue on the letter ‘l’ in loud. “A little slutty brat who thinks for a second that Zed will call her back after he fucks her tonight.” Molly’s teeth were snarling almost like a wild animal.

“At least I’m not a bitchy whore who thinks that everyone here is her friend.” There were a couple ‘ohs’ and ‘ahs’ almost as if we were at a panto and not a college party after Zed’s girl’s response.

The second Molly let the words register her hand was leaving that poor girl’s cheek, along with a bright red handprint in its place.

“What the fuck, Molly!” I heard the words clear as day, but I never in a million years imagined that they would come from my mouth. But there I was, standing right in front of Molly, shielding the young girl from another blast to the face.

I could hear people whispering behind my back. ‘What is she doing?’ ‘Is she stupid or something?’ ‘Does she not know what Molly is like?’ Despite being close friends with Tristan, I never would have expected her to step up to defend me, especially when Molly Samuels was involved. She stayed on Steph’s lap; eyes bugged open. Utterly frozen.

“Wow Y/N? Get involved in other people’s business much? Just because your life is too sad, you feel like you can insert yourself into other people’s.” I roll my eyes at her pathetic attempt to rattle me. “You’re just a sad little virgin that no body wants around. Tristan only invited you tonight for her own benefit. Just look around, you don’t fit in here.”

I stay silent. I may have only spoken up once tonight, but that was enough for me. Frat parties are my least favourite place to be. The only reason I came here tonight was for Tristan. I should have left the minute she started making out with the red-haired beauty.

“Cat got your tongue now, bitch.” Molly’s face was inches from mine and I choked on the strong aroma of alcohol on her breath. “Oh, wait I forgot, the girl doesn’t own a backbone.” There were a few stifled laughs here and there. Zed stayed silent, as did Tristan and Steph. None of them making the effort to stand up for me. “Let me guess. Tristan batted her big eyes at you and begged you to come tonight, didn’t she? Then ditched you the moment someone prettier came into the picture.”

I gulp back the bile that I knew had risen to the back of my throat. “Why don’t you go back to your dorm. Oh, better yet, get on a fucking plane and fly back to shitty England. We could only get lucky and hope the thing crashes with you inside it.”

“That’s enough Molly!” The voice behind me held a British twang similar to my own. A voice I had only heard about but never actually seen. The bad boy, Hardin Scott.

Hardin Scott was attractive. Since I got here, I knew he was the talk of the college. Everybody knew who he was and that he wasn’t good news. His white shirt displayed his various tattoos clearly through the thin and tight fabric. His black hair was pushed back to show his piercing eyes and anger set eyebrows. His eyes never left Molly who was stood behind me.

“Oh, Hardin you know I am only messing with the virgin.” She forces a small laugh. “It’s not like I can control the planes is it.” Her head tilts to the side as her gaze locks onto mine, only to intimidate. “I mean I wish I could.” She muttered so that only the people stood around her could hear.

“Do you ever know when to stop!” Hardin barks, not acknowledging me physically. “Do you ever think that you’re the one that people don’t want around?” He questions, moving slowly across the room. I hadn’t noticed but the volume of the once booming music had been lowered to a slight hum in the background.

Hardin was now stood right beside me glaring down at Molly who mimicked his stance. “Ding Ding. Come on guys let’s just drop it!” Nate calls over when he noticed their glares on each other were far from breaking.

Molly was the first to move. “You’re right Nate.” She coos. “Let’s play a game.” She scans the room of her so-called posy who all appeared to be done with her shit for the night. “It’s Friday night. We need to play a game. I will even let the little virgin here play along, too.”

I am very aware that all the eyes were now back on me.

This wasn’t something that I wanted to be a part of. It took me what felt like an eternity to move my feet across the room to where Tristan was sitting. “I am going to head back to the dorms.” I declare quietly to her, but I can tell that they are all listening.

“No please stay, it won’t be the same if you go.” Tristan reaches for my hand which I pull away.

I don’t know why I am letting Molly’s words sink in so much. Everybody who knows her knows that she is full of herself and couldn’t give a shit who she hurts.

“No, it’s late.” It was only nine. “And I have assignments that are due.” I lie, they are all finished. “I’ll see you back at the dorm.”

I start towards the door but I can hear Tristan calling after me to stay.

As I reach the front door to the frat house, I hear Molly’s voice loud and clear. “So, Hardin truth or dare?”

***

The walk back to the dorms was anything but peaceful. The cars were loud and honking at me as they passed. Classy.

I reach for my phone in my bag. I could do with tuning out the world for this half hour walk back in the dark. But my fingers only find a vibrant red lipstick that I couldn’t pull off in a million years.

I stop dead in my tracks. This was Steph’s bag; I grabbed the wrong one during my never-ending embarrassment.

I couldn’t go back, but I couldn’t go further either. Where was I supposed to go, Steph’s key wasn’t in here so it’s not like I could sleep in her room for the night. No cash, key or phone meant that I had no other choice. I had to suck it up and go back.

“Fuuuck!” I shout, not caring that I startled an elderly woman who was placing a rubbish bag in her bin just outside her front door.

“Not a very ladylike thing to say.” I hear a mocking chuckle behind me causing me to jump out of my skin.

When I turn around, I am greeted by the tall British bad boy covered in ink standing about 6 foot in front of me.

His head cocks to the side when I don’t answer him. “You don’t say much, do you?” My eyes scan over his attire, black ripped jeans, white top, and a jet-black leather jacket. “But you do stare a lot, don’t you?” That British chuckle makes it’s second appearance tonight.

“What do you want?” I blurt out, shaking my head at the fact that I was indeed caught staring at the boy.

He steps a little closer to me, closing the gap between us ever so slowly. I watch in amazement at how sexy he makes walking look. “You left this at the party.” I hadn’t realised that he had extended his hand to reveal a clutch bag. My clutch bag.

“Oh!” I speak. “Thanks.” I take the bag from him and prepare myself for the walk back.

“Don’t take any notice of Molly. She is a bitch.”

“Yep.” I chip in, turning to walk back towards the college dorm rooms.

I only get a few steps ahead when I feel a cold sensation wrap around my bare arm. Why the fuck didn’t I bring a coat? I gaze down at the hand that is pressed to my skin. “Where are you going?” He softly says. His tone and action were not at all forceful but something about him made me shiver with fear deep inside the pit of my stomach. I was warned about Hardin Scott. Tristan said that he wasn’t exactly good news around her group of friends. Acting with his fists before connecting his words, that’s what she said at least.

“H-Home.” I stutter, half from the interaction, half from how fucking cold it was. I straighten up. “I am going home.”

“Alone?” He jumps in straight away.

I don’t answer. I just look back at his hand around my arm.

“S-sorry.” He stutters, removing his hand from my arm. “It’s just it’s a long way back to the dorms and it is late.”

I shrug my shoulders at his declaration. “I know.” I simply say and start to walk again but I am blocked by the gorgeous boy standing in front of me. “Oh fuck, you’re not going to kill me, are you?”

“No of course not!” He blurts.

“Good! Now could you” I gesture to the fact that he is stood directly in my path. He catches on to my hint and steps aside.

“You’re not going to walk there alone, are you?” His voice sounding desperate.

I spin and mockingly look around for people, lifting my hand to shield my eyes as I continue my search. This provokes a choked sigh from Hardin. Once I am satisfied with my ‘search’ I say “yep” and continue to walk.

“But it is late.” He chimes in again walking backwards trying desperately not to break my gaze as I try desperately to avoid his. “And you’re alone.”

“Yes, we have established this.” I mock, glaring at the stoned pavement or sidewalk ahead of me.

Hardin reaches both hands out in front of himself creating a wall which stops me from taking another step. “What is your problem?”

I take a step back, alarmed at his outburst. “My problem. You’re the one who has continuously blocked my way for the past ten minutes.” I bark. I try to move around him but he doesn’t budge, copying my actions to stay ahead of me.

“I am trying to offer my services.” Hardin exclaimed but then scowled at his choice of words. I too have a hard time accepting the word ‘services.’ Just as I go to argue he opens his mouth. “Fuck that’s not what I meant to say.” His hands instantly dart to push his hair back out of his face. A nervous tick I assume. What did he have to be nervous about? He is the one stalking after college girls at half 9 at night.

“Look can we start over?” He offers shoving his hands into his jacket. My arms promptly raise to cover my bare arms where goosebumps have started to form. Why didn’t I bring a jacket? “Could I possibly walk you back to the dorms?” His eyes dropped to the ground to stare at a pebble that he toyed with his shoe. Was he anxious?

“Why?” I question fairly quickly.

“I just want to make sure that you get back safe!” His tone wasn’t very friendly. I cock my head to one side. “Sorry, that came out bad.” His tone softening. “I just didn’t like the way that Molly spoke to you earlier and I also hate the fact that you would be walking back in this sketchy neighbourhood alone.”

“Fine.”

***

We walk all the way back to the dorms in silence. Hardin looked uncomfortable the entire time as if he were being forced to be here. I sure as hell did not make him.

I pull the key from my bag and slot it into the lock on the door. Pushing the door slightly open I stand with my arms still draped across my shivering body in the doorway. “Well, thanks for walking me back and bringing me my bag.”

Hardin didn’t budge. His eyes were locked on my body, traveling from my legs to my face. His face turned a shade of white when his eyes caught up to mine. “Fuck!” He announced.

“What!” I jump at his sudden change in demeaner.

“Your lips.” He gestures to my trembling lips that haven’t stopped shaking since I stepped outside of the frat house. “They are fucking blue!” Panic surges over him as he rakes his hands through his hair. “Why didn’t you say you were cold?” He started passing back and fourth in front of me.

“There wasn’t much you could do.” I counter. “My own stupid fault for not bringing a coat.”

I walk inside the room and grab a jacket and throw it on over my shaking body. Hardin enters after me and grabs my hand carefully. “Fuck lot that will do.” He picks up a towel and drags me back down the hallway.

I try to pull my arm back but it is no use. “Where the hell are you taking me?” I say a little too loud. Silently cursing myself if I may have woken up any of the other students living down this dorm.

“The showers now come on.” He tugs a little harder as his feet guide me towards the shared bathroom just a few floors down from my own.

As we reach the bathroom, Hardin throws the towel over the railing and reaches in to turn on the water. I couldn’t help but watch his every move. “Get in!” He cries. Gesturing to the box that was filling with tempting hot steam.

I hesitate. “Y/N, get in the fucking shower.” I jump, not at his tone. But at the fact that he used my name. How did he even know it? Oh right, he was at the party when Molly was insulting me. “If you don’t start undressing now, I will have to start doing it for you.”

I raise an eyebrow but decline his offer, stepping into the box and pulling the curtain across to shield my naked body.

***

Hardin was right, I needed that shower. I hadn’t realised how cold I had gotten from that walk home. I stood in that shower for what felt like half the evening.

I shut off the water and begin to pull the curtain slightly across so that I could reach for the towel that Hardin had placed on the rail when Hardin’s hand slips through holding the towel between his fingers.

“Thanks.” I mutter, draping it around my soaking body.

I step out to find that Hardin’s hair has dropped and started to stick to his forehead in places from the steam. His eyes dart up and down my body, quietly.

I am the first one to break the silence as we stand there in the shared bathroom. “So, I should um, probably get back to my room.”

I watch as Hardin lets my words break him from his still stance. “Yeah, um, after you.” He holds his arm out and follows me out of the bathroom. Something has shifted in Hardin. Tonight, I have seen him; angry, intimidating, shy, solemness and lost for words. It was a lot to take in during a short period of time.

I open the dorm door and step inside. When I hear the door shut, I jump and almost drop the towel. “Shit, sorry I didn’t mean for the door to shut so loudly.” He curses under his breath.

“It’s okay.” I mutter. I cling to the towel as I stare back at Hardin who hasn’t moved or made any effort to leave.

“Y/N?” Hardin’s voice softer than ever tonight, bringing my eyes to meet his. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“What do you mean?” My words coming out slowly. His head dropped to face the floor. Was he trying to count the flecks of glitter on the carpet from Tristan’s body butter or something?

“Why didn’t you say that you were cold?” I roll my eyes, this again. Crossing my arms over my stomach.

“Like I said, there wasn’t anything you could have-”

“I could have given you my jacket.” He interjects. Taking a step closer to me. His body was merely a foot away from mine.

“But then you would have been the one with the blue lips.” I counter. Tilting my head to the side in a modest challenging manner.

This stirred something within Hardin, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I know that he isn’t used to a woman not agreeing with every word that comes out of his mouth.

I suddenly shake my head as I feel a slight chill spread up my back. I am still in my towel and now I am very much aware of that. Quickly I turn away from his locked-on gaze.

“Can I have some privacy please.” I mumble, not able to turn around to face him. “I need to, uh, get changed.” I add.

Hardin lets out a small grunt but eventually I do hear the click of my dorm-room door close. I don’t know why but I feel a shed of disappointment at the fact that he listened and actually left.

It takes my hands what feels like hours to release the tight grip that I held on to the towel. Allowing it to fall onto the floor.

“You know what-” I hear the click of the door and his voice fill my ears. I jump from my spot in the middle of the room. He doesn’t finish the sentence, instead Hardin slams the door behind him. “Fuck!” His eyes firm but glued on my body.

I quickly try to grab the towel up off the floor, but it is no use. Hardin instantly placed his foot over the soggy material. “Don’t.” He lets that one word fall from his lips as he slowly continues to decrease the distance between us.

“Hardin!” I shout. “Give-” I can’t finish my argument as I find his finger is placed over the top of my lips.

Hardin doesn’t speak, he just shakes his head. His soft hand moves from my lips and trails off to my cheek, holding me in place. My eyes locked onto his own, frozen in place. I watch as his eyes bounce from my own to my lips, seeking permission. His other hand snaked its way around and laid itself on the small of my back, pulling my naked body closer to his.

I was completely thrown off by the audacity of my body responding to his touch, bringing me to him. Everything happened in slow motion from the second we were back in my room. I knew that Hardin was trouble, everybody did. But no one actually prepares you for a moment like this. Where you are stood in front of a gorgeous guy whose whole attention you own. Did I say he was gorgeous?

I shake my head breaking the eye contact trance I was in. “Har-”

“You’re so beautiful.” He interrupts, breaking right through the barrier I was desperately trying to build. Correction, he shattered the wall to pieces and I find myself pushing my lips aggressively against his, hungry for the contact.

It takes him a second to return the haste in my actions within his own. Moving his lips to mimic the speed that I had set for him. It took no time at all for that jacket that he kept holding over me for not taking since we got back to the room to be thrown onto the floor, revealing the crisp white T-shirt underneath.

His hand wandered lower to lay slightly above my bare arse. While my hands slithered up underneath his shirt. Desperate to feel the skin underneath and to trace the ink that it held. The hand that rested on my cheek now held tightly to the back of my neck making it impossible to break the kiss, not that I wanted to.

I could stay like this forever, kissing Hardin has awoken something inside me that I didn’t even know existed. This overwhelming hunger for his contact. I tug a little on the hair on the back of his head which in response summoned a deep growl from Hardin that I didn’t think I was prepared to hear. Any sense of doubt that we should stop kissing left my mind the second I heard that sound.

“Y/N? You would not believe what you missed after-” Tristan stood in the open doorway, her mouth held open just as wide.

Fuck. I jump back from Hardin and scramble for the towel, concealing my naked form from my roommate. I look over to Hardin who didn’t look at all affected by the events in the last ten seconds.

“I can tell your busy so I will just, yeah.” Tristan steps back and shuts the door behind her.

I run into the closet and quickly throw on a set of underwear and a long-oversized shirt that came down to lie just beneath my arse. “I think it’s about time I start locking that door.” I joke as I step through the closet door.

My eyes roam the room for the handsome boy I was just making out with only to be greeted with an empty room. My shoulders fall, “I guess that’s goodbye.” I mumble, trying my best to hold myself together. Locking the door before falling onto my bed.

Part 2?

[swimmingleo]

Changes: or to take the higher ground before it's too late

I'm going to be real here folks, I cry ugly tears to this song. Bad.

Changes is a song on Cam's album "The Otherside". It's country, it's folk and it's an album a bit influenced by changes in Cam's life (a change of label, personal life). She collaborated with Harry on the song Changes, as she opened for him on a venue and was already working with Tyler Johnson.

From what I gathered: Harry sent her the demo of the song, implying he made most of the writing on this one. What I'm basing this claim on is her interview for Rolling Stones (read it here):

I heard [the demo] and was just like, “Oh, this ache to outgrow something that you don’t want to outgrow!” It felt so good. I normally don’t take outside songs [...]

‼️DISCLAIMER‼️when analysing this song, I'm gonna go from the idea of it being written with a queer mindset (how surprising of me). Cam rendered the song beautifully and it is very much her own, but I believe Harry's input is consequential. After all that's his lil whistle and cute fishsona in the MV.

Sad queer analysis ahead.

Let's analyse the lyrics first:

There is a town

Somewhere down a country road

The speaker describes the town to us, from memory, from experience. "There it is, down the road, can you picture it ?"

I see it now

I take it everywhere I go

The speaker doesn't currently live in the town, they're on the move (nice throwback to the coutry road). But despite all the travelling, they realize the sedentary smalltown never leaves them. It's part of them. It left a mark on them.

The river sways, I can almost hear it now

As if to say, "You're not the only one who wants a way out"

The town is so real to the speaker they can sense it, eyes and ears. But it gets a bit dark: the river sways like it's trying to leave its bed. The river is envious of the speaker who managed to leave. The town is so toxic even nature wants to get away from it. Or the speaker resents the town so bad that they project their own resentment on the river.

So, I go

'Cause I don't wanna feel like I don't know you anymore

I memorize those roads

This is the call for the speaker to leave for good. Their motive doesn't seem to be ambitious or anything grand. They leave because they apprehend a feeling. Apprehending a feeling, something that may not even happen, is the way of an anxious person. Anxiety is the motive of their departure. However, they still memorize the roads leading to the town, just in case. Perhaps one day they'll come back.

Somewhere out in the big wild country

Someone's fallin' in love in a backseat

Givin' it away

Like their hearts won't ever break

Suddenly it's about love ! Young love, one that is lived in the small compartment of a car, somewhere hidden and safe in the big wild country. As if the countryside was unexplored and threatening.

God bless the young hearts sippin' cheap wine

Gettin' drunk with their friends for the first time

Thinkin' nothing's gonna change

'Til everything changes

The speaker looks at the youth with tenderness, wishing them the best. But once again, they're not in the town in the present time, they don't see the youngsters fooling around, they can only guess from first-hand experience. And it's very specific: falling in love, getting drunk with friends and thinking everything's gonna be easy like that forever until it's not and heartbreak ensues.

From there I hop in with the raw queer theme of those lyrics. It started by falling in love and it ended up in a heartbreak. In between, the speaker got drunk for the first time with their friends, people they trusted enough to let go a little, but in the end everything changed. Why ? Alcohol makes you forget about code of conduct, how you're supposed to behave. It makes you say or do things you might not have done sober.

We can interprete this chorus as the beginning of the end for the speaker. It's the only part of the song evocating the past, and it's fun and easy, but it's also where things started to get bad the way they are in the present. Something might have happened that first time the speaker got drunk and it marked the end of innocence and careless childhood, and it probably has to do with love as no other factor is provided apart from falling in love and heartbreak.

They never leave

They're all havin' babies now

Watchin' daytime TV

Livin' off the gossip of a cruel small town

They. With Harry, it's always You, Me, and They. They are having babies, all of them, like it's not a very difficult thing to do, it's just natural. They have the leisure of the day, not a thing to worry about, if not gossip. It's not implied anymore, the small town is downright cruel. Gossip fuels it, but on behalf of someone else, and that someone is most definitely the speaker who left and who describes its inhabitants in the most mundane way, perhaps with a hint of contempt. The speaker seems bitter.

So, I go

'Cause I don't wanna feel like you don't know me anymore

Don't recognize my face

Reprise of the pre-chorus except now, the speaker provides another reason for their departure. Not only they feared they wouldn't know the town anymore, they also feared being seen as a stranger. It's not like the speaker actually changed physically: but it might as well feel like it. Again, apprehension, anguish. As implied in the chorus, things changed to the point where the speaker feels they would seem like a whole another person to the rest of the town, a stranger, a threat to the integrity of the conservatives. So they leave before this shift in perception can happen.

There ain't nothing here for me anymore

They say they don't hear from me anymore

And I don't wanna hear it anymore

The town is not outwardly hostile. It's still the town that saw the speaker as a kid. The town doesn't understand why the speaker left, but the speaker won't give in and get in touch. They want to be as far away as possible, until they don't hear the questions, the river, everything. It's almost like the speaker doesn't carry the town in their heart at all. They want to forget it all, and it hurts everytime the town tries to lure them back in. The way Cam sings it is painful to me man

Somewhere out in the big wild country

I was fallin' in love in a backseat

Givin' it away

Like my heart won't ever break

Had such a young heart sippin' cheap wine

Gettin' drunk with my friends for the first time

Thinkin' nothing's gonna change

'Til everything changes

Yeah, just the confirmation of the chorus being the speaker's experience. I went ahead and assumed it was already lol but it's like a plot twist effect. It's dramatic. It's a personal song to someone.

TO MAKE IT SHORT to me this song is intense and very in touch with the queer experience. Though it describes a specific situation, it is surprisingly not that detailed or full of metaphors the way Harry often writes: this town could be literally any smalltown in the countryside. The backseat could be the one of any car, cheap wine is something any teen can afford. I like to think Harry wrote it for himself but is also aware so many people went through the same thing, and still will. I have to admit I'm heavily biased writing this, as the experience of a queer kid struggling to find their place in a well settled smalltown is familiar.

GETTING DRUNK AND QUEER IDENTITY is an analogy Harry already used in Fine Line when he sang "We'll get the drinks in so I'll get to thinking of her". To drink is to let go, to unveil the most subconscious aspects of yourself you might not want to deal with otherwise. You don't care about judgement and you get to explore those parts freely. In Changes, this is the last memory they recall before stating the changes and their departure. Perhaps getting drunk for the first time would be when they realized they're queer. Or acted upon it, causing their little world to shake. They chose to leave before it eventually wouldn't feel like a choice anymore. There is no life for people like them in a cruel smalltown.

SMALLTOWN BOY

This song reminds me an awful lot of Smalltown Boy by Bronski Beat. The song is about a queer boy having to leave the smalltown where he grew up because of persecutions and no future prospects.

Mother will never understand why you had to leave, Smalltown Boy

They say they don't hear from me anymore, Changes

But the answers you seek will never be found at home, the love that you need will never be found at home

There is nothing here for me anymore

Other people not understanding why they leave. People who can't truly empathize even when they mean no harm. They would never understand the speaker's departure, because those people get to find love and have babies and live a peaceful life in the countryside.

You were the one that they'd talk about around town as they put you down

Livin' off the gossip of a cruel small town

Yeah yeah. I really struggle with just seeing this song as nostalgia when such harsh words are being used. I do believe there is a part of fondness for that town, that countryside setting and the early days. But it's not all tender memories.

CHANGES AND ERODA

Of couuuurse we all noticed the adorable purple fish with the pearl necklace. It represents Harry, no question, as it whistles Harry's part. And of couuuuurse we all made the link with the erodian fish, and some even noticed they formed the bluegreener pair when their colors are inverted.

It makes sense for those fishes to be connected with this interpretation of Changes. Both works are about a small town, lost in the nature, where the people are watching, aware of everything that isn't normal, that is peculiar. The early life of the peculiar boy is similar in every way to the early life of the speaker in Changes. The fish in Adore You grows too big for the island and has to leave, and though Eroda makes amends with the peculiar boy, he leaves as well because his future, his fulfilment, is somewhere else. So does the speaker in Changes.

IN CONCLUSION

The more I write posts like this, the more endeared I am by Harry's world. How Harry writes for himself, but also for other people with songs like this. How nature finds its way in all that he does. How grounded he is, how he doesn't seem to forget where he came from. It really is such a rare thing to see in a mainstream popstar's writing and art. How can someone say he sold his soul to LA is beyond me

[killtheprophet-blog]

||: THE INNOCENT

On the day it begins, crown prince Mathias Florent of Exhal is bored out of his mind. At eighteen years of age, the prince is accustomed to boredom, having sat in on affairs of state since he was twelve. He wants to learn it all, he truly does, but he finds his mind wandering during meetings, trailing more often than not into anxious questions of what he would do when he was in his parents’ situation. More often than not, he leaves these meetings early. 

Today is one such time. The meeting was on the topic of rebuilding the temple in Danyara, fixing it with installations that would better represent the kingdom’s dedication to the future. The updates the visiting priest had laid out for them sounded curious indeed, and Mathias felt awful for abandoning, but the extensive conversation surrounding the future had begun to overwhelm him. 

“Fear is natural,” Sil says now, perched next to him on the battlement, legs swinging in the late morning air. “You don’t need to be ashamed of your fear.”

Mathias sighs, matching the rhythm of his swinging with hers. “You’ve said that before.”

“You haven’t listened.”

Mathias bites back a snappish reply, lowering his head in mortification. She’s right. “The future is too big,” the prince murmurs. “There is too much of it. I try to envision it, to enclose it all in a little ball that I can hold in my hands, but it keeps unraveling. How am I to take responsibility for that?”

“Don’t,” Sil shrugs, then laughs at Mathias’ openmouthed horror. “I mean, not yet. You’re still young, and your father and mother still hold the throne. You still have time to learn, to observe, to live without that pressure. You should take advantage of that. Let the here and now matter more than the then and there.”

It sounds nice. It sounds very nice. To live that way would be glorious, freeing. Like Sil. Mathias’ best friend since birth, Silhouette is the daughter of one of the palace stewards, and she displays a level of brevity and carelessness that Mathias is both in awe of and envious of. Even now, leaning out over the edge of the battlement in a heart-stopping gesture of daring, she glows. Her tanned skin turns gold in the high sun, and her burnished-bronze hair, only a few shades darker, glints like metal in the same light. Mathias holds her in much higher regard than he should, he knows, but it is hard not to when the young woman is all he wishes he was. 

“Sometimes I think you should rule in my place,” he says, realizing he has spoken aloud only once the words are out. 

Sil chuckles, tipping back just when it seems she is about to slip over the edge and fall. “I have no claim. I don’t think they’d allow me anywhere near that throne.”

“I could commit treason,” Mathias suggests. “A coup, maybe. Choose a royal decision to oppose and take it too far. They would lock me up on the spot if they thought I was a threat.” 

“Treason is messy,” Sil shakes her head, a mischievous grin spreading across her round face from ear to ear. “A scandal would be better.”

Mathias raises an eyebrow, unable to avoid the smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “Did you have something in mind?”

“Not particularly, but I am sure I can come up with something if need be.” 

Mathias sighs again, lifting his legs and executing a practiced spin that lands his feet on the stones of the battlement, his back to the edge. “It’s tempting.” 

“But…?” Sil prompts, performing her own flawless spin to face him. 

“I don’t think I’m quite ready to give up just yet.” 

Sil’s grin this time is proud instead of mischievous. She tilts her head onto his shoulder for barely a moment, then hops to her feet and grabs his hand. “C’mon, Highness. Let’s worry about the here and now.”

The royal palace is an old building, one of the first built when the Travelers first landed on Exhal from the Wild Lands. It represents a place of strength, a foundation for a steady and sturdy kingdom to come. It is a constant throughout history, something that was born with the country and will die with it, too. The gaps between the stones in the walls hold thousands of whispered secrets, and the earth beneath the floor is composed of the bones of time itself. Wandering through the palace halls sometimes feels like walking through the heart of the world, the murmurs of the inhabitants becoming the pulsing of blood running through the building’s veins, the drumming of your feet the beat, beat, beat. The deeper you go the further it swallows you, blending you into the surroundings like a smear of ink. And Mathias has never been deeper than this. 

His father, King Reyne, is wary of the prince’s explorations. He worries that something will happen, that the bowels of the palace hold secret horrors that will take his son from him. An irrational fear, but a fear all the same. Mathias shares the same fear, but unlike his father he uses it as a reason to go. If he pushes at it, at the edges of what he is afraid of, maybe they will give way. If he falls through them, perhaps he will fall into the jaws of something darker and more vast. Or perhaps he will learn to fly. On the other hand, he does feel a twinge of guilt. Reyne has so much he is concerned about already, what with three regions, each with their own lesser regent, to maintain. 

Mathias’ mother,  the Queen Lilah, encourages him to explore. She always says that a sense of curiosity is a gift to a king, a willingness to dive into the unknown something that will serve the prince well when he rules.  She tells him that his father has the same wondering nature, but he chooses to cultivate it through research and literature instead of adventure. “He stays buried in what brings him comfort, and refuses to even touch his toe to the cold water. He is a stubborn one, that man. Dear to me, yet endlessly infuriating in his immovability.” 

Rhys often describes Mathias as the juxtaposition of his parents. In his words, there is no better demonstration of the king and queen’s opposing natures than the son they made together. With his father’s quiet caution and his mother’s brash determination, his mother’s calm logic and his father’s overactive mind, the crown prince is a quilt of contradictions, a paradox of will. Mathias himself always thinks this makes him sound like some sort of accidental mess, but Rhys reassures him that it is a very good thing, as it means there is no one else like him, and there never will be. “You will shine in the history books.”

Sil says they all think too much. 

Currently, the only thought Mathias has is that he is lost. Wandering the depths of the palace is a regular pastime of his, but there is so much of it that it is easy to get turned around in the lower levels. As the aforementioned ‘foundation’ of the country of Exhal, the palace’s own foundation is sunk several layers into the ground, brick and wood taking root below to ensure that it will stand even when everything else has faded into dust. The darkness and earthiness of these deeper rooms and halls evoke a particular feeling of being buried, of the ceilings preparing to release and pound you into the packed-dirt floors, watering whatever creatures may dwell there with your blood. Due to this, they hold mostly dungeons, cells, and darker things of which Mathias does not wish to think. 

He is not entirely sure how he got here. He was wandering, as he does. Sil was with him, but she slipped away, called to some daily task she had forgotten. He hadn’t been paying much attention to his movements. He had been trying not to think. And now he is decidedly lost. 

The walls down here seem more compact, the stones set closer together so as not to allow any cracks. No one has bothered to lay a floor down, and the thick soil crawls with worms and assorted insects that curl around the prince’s feet. Whatever hangings that once adorned the walls are now tattered and rotten, barely anything more than a fragile film dusting a portion of the room. There is no light down here, not even enough to allow Mathias to locate the torches in their sconces that he knows to be present. Shadows flit back and forth at the edges of his vision, becoming hands that grasp lazily at his clothing as he wanders past. He tries not to let the panic set in, telling himself that they are only shadows, there is nothing they can do to you, nothing at all. But his breath has begun to quicken, his heartbeat seeming too loud in the empty room. Is it a room? He isn’t quite sure. 

Terror is scratching at the edges of his rational mind, twitching aside the curtains. Claws sharper than knives tearing into the part of himself that understands that there is nothing to be afraid of, ripping the mask in two to reveal the scared little boy beneath. Not a king. Barely even fit to be a prince. 

Suddenly unable to catch his breath, Mathias reaches for the wall, desperate for the shock of cold stone under his fingers to bring him back to reality. His fingers find nothing but damp air and the scent of something rotten on his tongue. He gasps as his feet slip, having leaned too far in confidence that there would be something solid to fall against. Alas, he is unable to catch himself in time, and momentum carries him into darkness. 

He expects to be falling for only a second, landing on the floor within the blink of an eye. But just like the wall, his expectations betray him. It is as though the room itself (is it a room?) has dissolved into an empty void designed to trap him within. His heart stops dead as the air whistles past him, confident that at any moment he will be swallowed up and disappear forever. But then, in a rush that knocks the breath out of him, he lands. 

Something crunches underneath him, and Mathias worries for a split second that his bones have broken. But the absence of pain and continued mobility tell him otherwise. The panic fades for a brief respite as he lies there, taking deep breaths to calm his racing heart. Then the desperate fog in his brain clears, and he realizes that what he is lying on is not dirt, nor is it stone. Nor wood or cloth or any other material a floor could rationally be made of. Nor is it solid. It shifts as he moves, things sliding and clacking against each other. Something is digging into his back, something hard and sharp and unyielding. His hand finds something smooth and rounded, and he digs the pads of his fingers into it, lifting it up to his eyes as they adjust to the blackness. He can still barely see, but he can make out enough to recognize a human skull. Gaping eyes and a grim smile, tendrils of inky darkness crawling out of every crevice. He knows it’s just a skull like any other, but in his frazzled mind the angles of the face almost look… familiar. For a moment, the puzzling notion distracts him, until his other hand finds itself plunged into a ribcage, and the truth of where he is dawns on him.

He has fallen into a pile of bones. 

Shaking, Mathias tries to pull himself into a sitting position, flinching every time he feels the ancient remains moving under him. His thoughts have transformed into a buzz of white noise that leaves no room for anything else, which is honestly probably a good thing, as his capacity to overthink is often a hindrance rather than a helping hand. He crawls on all fours across the impossible boneyard, searching for an end, any end. He can’t find his purchase on the smooth, shifting material, and the travel is more repeated collapse than crawl.  He squints into the curtain of shadow ahead, searching for any sign of anything other than the bones. 

When his fingers sink into something soft and wet, it is almost a relief, the simple reassurance that there is something else there with him. Then a creeping cold shocks his spine, and he shudders as he pulls his hand free. Something slick sticks to him as he does, and he forces back the bile that rises in his throat along with it. He scrambles backward with a desperate, fumbling fervor, slipping and having to pull himself out of cascades of bones multiple times. His limbs find other, warmer, squishier things as well, things that he recognizes but wills himself not to. Then his back hits a wall. A wall. Something solid and familiar in the impossible graveyard he has found himself in. No, he realizes suddenly as he turns himself slowly to feel it, catching the golden outline that promises escape; not a wall. A door. 

Sobbing in relief, Mathias shoves his shoulder into the door. It gives way easily, and the prince falls through, landing on the carpeted stone he is used to. The door swings shut behind him, and he presses his back to it, in the irrational terror that something will follow him through. He closes his eyes, inhaling deep, heaving in irregular breaths as his heart tries to find a beat. There isn’t enough air out here, he can’t get it in, his chest is squeezing in, the muscles contracting in on themselves and suffocating him. He can’t breathe. The boneyard has got him. It let him leave, but not before it sank its hooks into him to ensure that he would never escape. He will become one of them soon enough. 

But then there is a hand on his shoulder, a voice, words he can’t quite make out. Arms around him, rubbing his back in soothing circles as his erratic heart steadies. Then, blissfully, shakily, he can breathe again, and the gentle words whispered in his ear come into focus. 

“Breathe, your Highness. You’re alright. You are watched over. Breathe. In, and out. Like waves on the shore, just like that. In. And out. Slowly, now. That’s it.”

He doesn’t recognize the voice, but the arms around him are warm and secure, and right now that matters more than anything. He lets himself rest there for a moment, waiting until the trembles have subsided enough that he feels able to move before pulling away. 

His rescuer, as it turns out, is the priest of the Judge whose meeting with the court Mathias had left early. Eskell, if he is remembering tars name correctly. A wide figure with brown skin a few shades darker than Mathias’ own and unruly dyed-green curls reminiscent of a dog’s fluffy pelt, the priest looks like a friend, someone who can be trusted. Tars warm eyes are filled with concern as al studies the prince, hands still resting on the young man’s shoulders. 

“Are you alright?”

Mathias nods, not trusting himself with words at the moment. 

“Did something happen?”

This time the prince hesitates. “I…. I saw something.”

“What did you see?” The priest is gentle, urging, but not pressing. Genuinely curious, genuinely worried. That small fact alone gives Mathias the courage to continue. 

“It was… there was… something that can’t have been. I saw it… I think. It was dark. But I felt it… I knew. But I also knew it couldn’t be.”

“What was it?”

Mathias shakes his head. “I can’t… just look behind the door.”

Eskell’s brow furrows. “What door?”

“The-” Mathias glances over his shoulder at the space he knows he emerged from. There is nothing but wall. Wall, and a tapestry of a wooden door cracked to reveal skeletal hands reaching through. “I… but I saw…”

“Look at me,” the priest tilts the prince’s head up with a gentle finger. “I do not doubt you. The gods work in ways entirely other than ours, and I have faith in that. You have to choose which you have more faith in: what you see, or what you know.” 

Mathias nods, gaze straying to a mirror on the wall opposite. In it, he sees himself. His hands are coated in drying gore, and his eyes are as hollow as a skull’s. 

Behind him is a wooden door, cracked to reveal skeletal hands reaching through.

[yslkook]

rear view (5)

mind of mine masterlist

summary: sora sets you up on a blind date, and the night ends up being an enjoyable, pleasant surprise. pairing: “badboy” jk x “shy/reserved” oc warnings: cursing, alc, excessive use of pet names, kinda toxic friendship

Five minutes. Ten minutes. Then fifteen minutes. Then twenty-five. The waitress has come by twice already, giving you a look of sympathy when you sigh and give up on waiting.

He’s not coming, you realize with a sigh. You check your phone for any messages from him for the millionth time in ten minutes, only to see that you have no notifications waiting to be opened.

So you were really stood up. But maybe something came up? An emergency, maybe? You give him the benefit of the doubt until he has the opportunity to explain himself. But truly, you’re already over the excitement of a first date. A blind first date. You’re already over daydreaming over the potential of him.

Instead, your heart aches over the rejection. Perhaps there was no emergency. Perhaps it was you.

You leave the restaurant in a hurry, tipping the waitress despite not ordering anything except for a glass of water (that you hadn’t even finished). You leave before you can spiral through your thoughts in such a public place, knowing that tears are already pricking at the back of your eyes.

You walk aimlessly through the familiar streets of the city with blurry eyes. It was silly of you to get your hopes up over the mere idea of possibility. You had enough self-respect to know that he had done you so wrong, but it still didn’t soothe the hurt.

You never put yourself out there, not really. But when you do, this is what happens. You get stood up. It doesn’t help that the man you actually wanted to go on a date with had pulled away from you a little bit in the last few days.

This is just a distraction. From your own sad, frustrated heart. Frustration of yourself, mainly, for not really going after what you truly want.

Such is life. In a few hours, you’ll be okay. You know you’ll get over it soon. But for now, you just want to wallow in your self-deprecating thoughts.

Wallowing in your self-deprecating thoughts led you to a bar with dim lights and only a few patrons in it. It also led you into having exactly two shots and two drinks, resulting in your present tipsy state.

You’re alone and you could drop your head to the bartop and just cry and cry and cry. In some corner of your mind, you knew this was a bad idea.

Truly, it was not one of your best ideas.

You contemplate calling a friend to come pick you up, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. You don’t want to talk to anyone. Or so you’ve convinced yourself.

Even the bartender looks at you like you’re pathetic. Maybe you are.

You start to cry despite your best efforts to hold it in, vaguely aware that your perfectly done mascara is streaking down your face in dark rivulets. The bartender looks alarmed and asks if there is anyone you can call.

You’re about to sob again and say no, there’s nobody. In your narrow mind, there is nobody, nobody who wants you-

But then your phone rings. And it’s Jungkook.

“H-hello,” You mumble, hoping your voice sounds more sober than you actually are.

“Why’d you pick up? Aren’t you on a date?” Jungkook asks, something teasing with an undercurrent of concern in his tone.

“I mean, I was…” You reply, desperately focusing your gaze on the edge of the bartop. As if that’ll keep your voice from breaking.

“No second date? He couldn’t get it up? Bet the guy couldn’t tell his head from his ass, huh-”

“He didn’t show up, Jungkook,” You say sharply, having possibly the first moment of clarity you’ve had all night, “He didn’t fucking show up, he didn’t text or call me, and now I’m drinking at a bar by myself.”

There’s a pause and then a dry laugh that pulls a watery laugh from you, too.

“Well, why didn’t you say so? Where are you? Let’s get drunk together then, baby.”

“Y’know what,” You slur, “I don’ care! I don’ give a sing- singular fuck-” You hiccup and glare at Jungkook, who is sitting next to you with amused eyes, not nearly as drunk as you are.

“Okay, party animal. Is that so?” Jungkook raises an eyebrow and pushes your glass of water closer to you.

He’s so close to you that you can smell his cologne and feel his warmth radiating through his leather jacket. His piercings glint with the dim light of the bar, but he looks as ethereal and demonic as ever.

You think his eyes flash red for a minute. You must be really drunk.

“Hell yeah,” You mutter, “Fuck that guy. Nobody ever wants what ‘m selling a-and I even waxed for this-”

Jungkook knows you’re good and drunk because you hardly ever open yourself up like this. At least in front of him. He’s never seen you so open, not even with your own mutual friends. It’s nice to see you with your guard down.

He wants what you’re selling, but that’s a conversation for later.

“Why didn’t you call Sora?” Jungkook asks bluntly, “Your annoying as fuck best friend would’ve come to pick you up, right?”

After all, she was the one who masterminded this entire disaster. Even if he was pouting over the fact that you were going on a date with someone who wasn’t him, he’s more concerned over the fact that you hadn’t even wanted to go. And yet, you still went because of some weird obligation you felt you owed Sora and this stranger.

It makes Jungkook’s chest burn.

Your face immediately falls and you take a large sip of your water, “She’s not around. She went to her parent’s place for the weekend.”

“Yoongi? Hoseok?” Jungkook sighs, “Who else would you fuckin’ call, baby?”

“You called,” You say quietly, looking up at him with swirling soft, dark eyes, “Besides, I just wanted to... sulk for a bit.”

Jungkook hates when you look at him like that. As if he has the answers to the entire universe, to the meaning of life. It makes him feel vulnerable, like you’re staring directly into his heart. He doesn’t know how Yunho could ever have stood you up- when you’d probably look at him the same way.

He doesn’t know how Yunho could ever have stood you up, when you look so pretty. Clearly, you had dressed up for the loser- your eyes bright and pretty against your makeup, your dark green blouse neatly tucked into your dark wash jeans and your oversized coat sitting pretty on your shoulders. Your lips are painted red and pulled into a pretty pout as you chew on your bottom lip. Thin, gold chains sit around your neck.

It annoys him. Annoys him that some asshole stood you up. Annoys him that some asshole hurt your feelings enough for you to find a friend in alcohol this way. Annoys him that your lips are about to bleed-

“Stop that,” Jungkook scolds lightly. You look at him in confusion and before you can say anything, he gently pulls your bottom lip out of the enamel cage of your teeth. Your breath hitches at his touch, heart immediately accelerating. “You’ll make your lips fuckin’ bleed. Is that what you want?”

Instead of answering, you take a swig of your water and avoid his intense gaze. Jungkook has always somewhat intimidated you, from when you had first met him (barely as acquaintances, when Hoseok had cheerily introduced you both) to now.

It’s not the piercings, the all black and the tattoos visible on his knuckles, his forearms, and the peek of ink on his neck. It’s his entire presence- he’s always felt so larger than life to you that he overwhelms you sometimes. Drives you to the point of silence, like now.

You’ve always been a little envious of him through the years (even from just being friends with him on the periphery) if you’re being completely honest. If he wants something, he just goes and gets it. And then there’s you- deliberating and contemplating every possible outcome before ultimately (likely) convincing yourself out of whatever it is. Especially if it proves to be an inconvenience to anyone around you.

“Who was the fucker anyway?” Jungkook asks abruptly, tearing you from your train of thought.

“Huh?”

“The asshole who made you cry,” Jungkook says breezily.

“Oh, uh. Yunho, he’s a friend of a friend of Sora’s,” You croak weakly with a feeble smile, “But it’s okay, I mean, I’m sure there’s a reason-”

“Don’t do that,” Jungkook hisses, eyes flashing once more at you, “Don’t make excuses for an asshole treating you disrespectfully. You can say he’s an asshole, you can tell him to fuck off. Did you even want to go?”

“I-I don’t know,” You say with wide eyes and a nod, “He’s an asshole and he can fuck all the way off, so far off that his head gets stuck up his ass-”

Jungkook lets out an airy chuckle, a smile that fills up his entire face and it makes your heart skip a beat. “Good girl,” Jungkook mutters, shuffling a little closer to you, “And if I ever see him around, I’ll kick his ass, baby. Don’t worry about a damn thing.

“Besides,” Jungkook nearly purrs, his tattooed hand dangerously close to your thigh but his fingers float upwards to dance over your chin, “You’re brilliant and pretty. It’s his loss. I don’t think you really wanted to see him anyway.”

You wish you could have said something suave to match his dark, balmy charm, but instead you just choke on your water and Jungkook laughs at you.

Jungkook’s only fatal flaw (in his humble opinion, at least) is that he’ll never say no or that he’ll never back down from a challenge. Much less a challenge from you.

Which is exactly why, about an hour later, he’s three shots and two drinks deep into an impromptu drink-off that you’ve challenged him to. The apples of his cheeks are flushed and your laughs are wild and uninhibited.

Your words are slurred, questions and answers spilling off of your tongue in a drunken haze. But you look so happy, you sound so much happier than you did when he had called you. Your cheeks ache from how much you smile and drunkenly giggle around him, and he always wants to see you like this.

Jungkook can recognize that much even through his own drunkenness. Your eyes are crinkled in mirth at something he’s said (he’s probably making fun of you), hands playfully shoving his shoulder.

He catches your hand easily- he’s tempted to thread his fingers through yours, if only to see the flustered look on your face and to see your reaction. What Jungkook wants, he gets.

So he pushes his fingers between the small spaces of yours, watching carefully for your soft gasp and the widening of your dark eyes. He grins at you, before pulling his hand away. It’s like a shock to the system, as if you’ve been doused with cold water.

“Whattsa matter?” Jungkook teases but you only level him with a glare.

“Don’t hold my hand,” You say sternly (as sternly as you can while being absolutely intoxicated) with furrowed brows, “If you don’t mean it, don’t hold my hand.”

“And who said I didn’t mean it, pretty girl?”

You hide your face from him yet again by taking another hearty swig of your drink, trying to ignore the burning in your face. You quickly change the topic, shifting a few inches further from him to create space.

Jungkook only laughs at how easy it is to fluster you.

Jungkook keeps his arm tight around your shoulders as you both walk through the now thinning streets of the city. It’s not as crowded as it was a few hours ago, but you’re clumsy and drunk.

He’s wary of people’s gazes on him and on you. You don’t seem to notice it, but he does. Jungkook always does- people are so quick to judge. Can’t seem to mind their own business.

But it doesn’t bother him, especially not when you feel as warm as you do against him.

You’re rambling about something- he doesn’t think he’s ever heard you speak this much ever- when you nearly trip on a misaligned edge of the sidewalk. But Jungkook catches you with a strong arm around your waist and scoffs at you.

“So fucking clumsy,” He rolls his eyes and you ignore him.

“You gonna tell Sora that her date was a dickhead with a micropenis,” Jungkook asks bluntly. You laugh (really, it sounds like a snort).

“That’s mean,” You mutter, “I can’t confirm or deny that claim. I guess I’ll text her later tonight…”

The truth was, Jungkook knew of Yunho. He was all stiff suits, slicked back hair, polite, prim and proper with a disgusting self-satisfied smirk that seemed to always be on his irritating face. The kind of guy with a five, ten, fifteen year plan. Probably a trust fund baby with retirement funds already squared away. Every single small thing planned out, right down to the detail with no room for veering off of the path.

It makes Jungkook question Sora’s agenda when it comes to you. Can your supposed best friend not know you to this degree?

Everything that makes Jungkook roll his eyes. Initially, he would’ve thought that that was your type. The kind of person that checks all of the boxes on paper. But he’s beginning to realize that maybe he doesn’t know you as well as he thought.

Why would Sora set you up with someone who stood you up?

If he had been quietly seething when he heard from Hoseok and Yoongi that Sora had set this date doomed to fail up for you, that was his business. Jimin and Taehyung took pity on him (after a few minutes of making fun of him), and had suggested he call you. He almost felt like Sora was doing this to spite him- ever since she caught him checking you out all those months ago, she’s had it out for him.

God, he hates her. Hates her judgemental eyes, the way she sticks her nose where she doesn’t belong. The way she makes you feel so small and manipulates you into her own bidding, and you don’t even realize it. He wishes you would.

All Jungkook knows is that he likes your smile, he likes hearing the intonations of your voice, and he likes the way your legs look in that one skirt he had seen you wear when he had seen you with Yoongi and Hoseok.

All he knows is that he likes you the most like this- your guard down, your eyes wide and shining at him. He can pretend that your eyes shine for him, for now.

After all, as Sora had so eloquently screamed at him- you’d never go for a guy like him. So he’s content with this.

But you surprise him when you gently ask him to come upstairs to your apartment once he walks you home. You tell him that it’s late, that he’s welcome to stay the night on your couch if he wants to.

(You nervously stammer a few times and scratch the back of your neck bashfully, but the offer is there.)

In the end, Jungkook declines, not wanting to cross a line with you that hardly exists. You tilt your head to the side in confusion with a slight pout but nod in understanding.

“Then wait here until your Uber arrives,” You say, handing him a glass of water.

So he does, toeing his shoes off as you welcome him inside. If Jungkook notices your nerves (you genuinely can’t remember the last time you had a man who wasn’t Yoongi or Hobi in your apartment), he says nothing. But he notices your not so sly glances his way, lingering on his eyes, his arms, his thighs.

Jungkook smirks to himself- he thinks your best friend knows nothing about you and what kind of person you would be into.

“Nice place,” Jungkook nods, glancing around your cozy condo.

“Thanks, I guess,” You roll your eyes and gesture for him to sit on the couch. Every inch of your apartment that he can see is covered by little notes of you in the mix of pastel and dark colors- the throw pillows, the coffee table, the television stand, the small record player that sits in the corner of your living room.

“Maybe you’ll invite me over, some other time, huh?” Jungkook murmurs. He thumbs your cheek and it takes every ounce of you to meet his hooded eyes. Your breath hitches, the sound loud in your ears, as you lean into the heat of his thumb.

“Jungkook,” You mumble, “Thank you. For hanging out with me after a shitty evening. I… I had fun.”

“I had fun, too,” Jungkook says honestly. You’re a little mesmerized by the shine and sparkle of his eyes. “We should do it again sometime, baby.”

With that, he leaves- just as he sees the flabbergasted expression on your face. It’s one he’s become accustomed to as of late. When you wave your fingers at him to say goodbye, he shoots you a wink and a smirk.

To his surprise, you blow him a kiss before closing the door in a hurry.

tags: @kookdbean @codeinebelle

MoM tags: @tiemeuptogoldenchains @boymeetsparadise @jungkooksseuphoria @kaepjjangiya @drumsofheaven @ppeachyttae @tae-bebe @yiyi4657 @mygscafe

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

The Perfect Bad Boy (Pt. 03 of 18)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove X Reader

Word count: 2.9K

Summary: Working as a lifeguard in the Hawkins Community Pool, you try to fit in after moving from New York. Things were going pretty well when you notice you've been under someone's stare. Billy Hargrove, Hawkins' bad boy, has been staring at you since day one. You never intended to have anything to do with him, judging by the reputation he has. But Billy won't leave you alone, determined to show you his feelings are different this time...

As if your heart flooding you with confusing feelings wasn't enough, there are weird, strange animals lurking in the woods... But those have to be just part of the wild live of the woods surrounding Hawkins... Right?

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{Stranger Things Masterlist}

×

Like a Damn Train

You're walking back to where the guys are with your milkshake in hand, side by side with Monica. The day was calm, and this is a good way to end it. You're at this cute snack bar, all painted in pastel blue and pink colors, and some lights to match. It has two different spaces, but the inside is almost empty since it's a bit hot today, so people rather sit on the outside. But despite having enough empty tables for everyone, you're all leaning against the cars, chatting and laughing. You're a party of ten people, double the number of those who came with you, the others just stopped by.

You do feel a little cast aside since you don't really know the people or situations they're talking about. But Monica is kind enough to stand by your side, being sure to explain what's needed for you to engage in the conversation. Her cousin Jason is here too, as is her boyfriend, Christopher, who has always an arm around her shoulder.

“I'm telling you. That girl is trouble. She's a compulsive lier. I can't believe I dated her for almost a year.” Clark complains about his ex, who decided to use her spare time this summer to try and get back with him. “She called me once, in the middle of the night, crying, saying she crashed her car and was bleeding to death. I almost crashed mine trying to get to her as fast as possible and when I did, guess what? She was completely fine.”

“I always warned you about her,” Monica says, and the others nod.

“I should've listened.” Clark nods to himself. “From now on, I will listen to Monica.”

“Always listen to Monica.” She repeats in a meaningful tone, looking at you and raising an eyebrow.

“What?” You shrug your shoulders, sucking on your milkshake.

“Nothing." She dissimulates.

“It's about that Billy guy, isn't it?” Jason asks, gesturing his soda can at you.

“Yeah, you've been talking to him a lot lately.” David, one of those who stopped by and decided to join the party says. He's been giving you glances since he got here, but you're pretending not to notice. He'll get the hint soon enough and let it go.

“We're friends.” You simply say, leaning against Monica's car. David was at the pool today, you remember because you had to tell him not to dunk his friend. And that means he probably saw when you stopped by Billy's chair to ask him if he saw your whistle, which he had found on the floor near the girl's locker.

“Friends? With Hargrove?” David laughs. “Not possible. The guy only thinks about one thing. I doubt he even has a brain.”

“Well, he gave me a ride home when my car wouldn't start, so... He's not that much of a jerk if he bothered to help.” It's not your intention to defend Billy, but it feels wrong to let David say these things when Billy has been so nice to you. You know you have to keep an eye open just in case, but so far, it's being as he said it would be. Just two people who work together trying to get along.

“And why do you think he did that? I assure you it wasn't out of kindness.”

“She's the new girl in town. Maybe he thought she lived too far and offered help.” Christopher says, shrugging his shoulders. “You can't read minds, David, you don't know what inside people's heads.”

It's clear David isn't very welcome here. People don't seem very comfortable around him, and all his comments get some kind of snap. “Are you kidding me? It's Hargrove we're talking about here. He never talks to a girl unless he wants something. And we all know exactly what that is.”

“Since when you're the expert?”

“Since I know how guys think, Monica. Don't act like you got everyone figured out just because you're coursing Physiology.” He says, and his tone makes Christopher shoot him an angry stare.

“Mind your tone when you speak to my girlfriend, David.” He mutters, and David rolls his eyes. It's cute to see how he defends Monica, and it makes you smile. They're a freaking power couple, looking so good together.

“I'm just saying–”

“I know this sound.” Jason cuts him off, making everyone shut up to listen to... God knows what. “The car. There's only one car in Hawkins that makes this sound.”

“Billy's car.” Mon states and everyone looks at the street at the same time, and seconds after his Camaro speeds through, like a lightning bolt. “There he goes.”

“Was he looking over here?” Candace asks.

“At that speed, everything he sees is a blur.” Her sister Alice mutters.

You're not really paying attention, eyes glued to the now empty road, not sure why.

“I can't stand him. His presence alone makes me sick, the bastard.” David continues, crossing his arms over his chest. “You can do better, (Y/N), trust me.”

“You're envious of him.” Candace states and her sister follows with a laugh.

“Why in the hell would I be envious?”

“Because he's way hotter than you are.” The words come out of your mouth before you can think. “Basic psychology, isn't that right, Mon?” You elbow her, who giggles and nods.

“Couldn't agree more.” As she speaks, you hear the car again, as if it's coming back. The same noise they said belongs to Billy's car. But since you're not the expert here, it could belong to any other car, so you don't give much thought about it.

“No shit.” Jason mumbles.

“What a way to ruin the night,” David complains, rolling his eyes. His dirty, greasy hair sticks to his forehead, and he pushes it back.

“Unbelievable,” Monica says, looking at something behind you.

No, no. It can't be him... Right? You don't move, looking at your milkshake, completely ignoring how everyone seems to be staring at you.

“Hargrove.” David hisses, in a low voice.

You turn your head to see if this is really happening, and the moment you spot him, you look away. He was in a hurry to be somewhere, what is he doing here?

“Go talk to him,” Monica tells you.

“What makes you think he came here to talk to me?” You're quick to snap back, sucking what's left of your milkshake and putting the empty plastic cup on the hood of her car.

“Because he's coming this way and you're the only one here who speaks to him.” She speaks fast, wide eyes.

“Fine.” You raise your hands in surrender when she starts pushing you away from her car. “I'll go and say hi.” You give two steps backwards, shrugging your shoulders, and making sure everyone notices how casual it is. Then you turn on your heels, walking towards him, but slower, just in case he'll walk right past you. But he doesn't, he stops when you do, not quite keeping the distance he should. “Hi,” you mumble, suddenly very much aware of the eyes on your back.

“Hi.” Billy flashes his bright smile, the one that makes you think he's happy to see you. As if he hasn't seen you in a very long time. “Hanging out with your party, huh?”

“Yeah.” You gesture at where they're standing, trying to get a grip of yourself. C'mon, to hell with what they say. Or think. “I needed a night out. What about you?” You take a look at him, trying to be quick about it. He's wearing a black jacket and a dark red shirt underneath, which is unbuttoned. “Judging by the clothes and how fast you were going, you must be heading to a date. Or a party.”

“Second one.” He looks at something behind you. “Decided to stop and get some fries. Join me inside?”

“Mmm...” You're not sure if you should leave Mon and the others, so you take a look at them. And you see David's face, shamelessly staring as if it was his business. “Oh, we were just talking about you.” You raise your voice a little, and you both make the way to the small group of people. Monica has a funny look on her face. “Right, David?”

“Only bad things, I hope,” Billy says, eyes quickly scanning through the party. He knows he's not welcome, but he doesn't seem to care. Why would he? He just walked in like he owned the place. “I have a reputation I'd like to keep.”

The expression on David's face is priceless, and some people cover their mouths, hiding a laugh.

“Let's get those fries,” you say, pulling Billy by his jacket. “But only if you're paying.”

“Obviously.” He gives one last look, straight at David, before following you inside. Only half the tables are occupied, so you pick one on the back, next to the window. “I'll make the order.” He says as you take a sit. Through the corner of your eye, you see the crew moving more to their left, just where they can have a better view of your table. Looking at them, you wave, smiling. Monica won't stop talking about it tomorrow.

“So. What kind of wild party are you going to?” You ask when he comes back, seating across from you.

“Tommy's. Wanna come?”

“No. It's not my kind of party.” Monica told you about Tommy, that in some ways he's far worse than Billy. Guess you shouldn't judge this Tommy only by what you hear, but since you have nothing else to compare it too, you'll stick with what you've heard.

“It figured.” He shrugs his shoulders, penetrating eyes burning thought your skin.

“Let's eat quickly then. So you can go to your party.” You don't understand why he came all the way back here. Just to eat fries? He was going to a party and stopped for some fries? You'll have to ask Monica about it. Maybe there's a psychological explanation.

“I'm not going anymore.”

Okay. That's even weirder. “Why?”

Billy only smiles, and you're starting to notice it makes you feel funny. You don't like staring for too long, so you have to find something else to focus your attention on... But there's nothing so you just look down at your hands. “You know that David guy is into you, right?”

“What? Of course not.” You take a look through the window, catching some of them staring. Monica is one of them, obviously. “I mean, he was staring, but... I don't know. I'm the new girl after all, and in a small town like Hawkins I get that people are a little curious about the outsider.”

“That wasn't a curious look, believe me.”

“You can't really talk about it, right? You're the heartbreaker of Hawkins.”

Billy leans forward, and when the waitress comes with your fries, he doesn't even seem to notice. You don't get why he's staring for so long, like memorizing a map. “I will be straight forward with you, (Y/N).” He starts, his voice suddenly darker, as if the game was over and whatever he's about to say is a matter of life and death. “I like you.”

That makes you giggle, completely ruining the atmosphere. “Okay. You like a lot of girls, Billy. I thought you said just friends.” You're a little disappointed. Guess you were just a little bit excited about maybe, just maybe, befriending Billy, not sure why though.

“No. I don't have to like them to–”

“Let me stop you right there.” You burst out. “I don't need the details.”

“I never liked any of them. Why do you think I never met any girl more than twice?” What can you say to that? Shrugging your shoulders, you keep your eyes on the fries as you eat. You have no idea where this is going. “But you, you hit me like... bang.”

“Like bang?” Raising an eyebrow, you repeat and giggle again.

“Like a damn train.” He's not joking, he's dead serious. “Since the day you walked into the pool, I couldn't help but stare.”

“Billy, I–”

“I always hated when girls started talking about their lives, their friends, their families, but you... I want to know you. Your favorite color, your favorite hairstyle, your favorite ice cream flavor.” Drumming your fingers on the table, you give a quick glance at your friends, looking for Monica as if you could send her a message through your mind, asking for help. “And it's so freaking bizarre because I never thought it could happen to me. I thought about approaching you as I usually do, try to seduce you. It would be so much easier if that was everything I wanted, but it isn't.”

“Uhm...” Okay, you're completely lost here. More than you were on the first day at the pool. “Pink. I like to let my hair down. And chocolate.” You try to remember the order he spoke, despite feeling like this is the stupidest thing to say right now. But you don't know how to react. Nobody was straight to the point like this, all of them always had some kind of game. Pretending they don't care, acting like they're superior, acting like they're stupid... Everyone who ever tried something with you had a strategy. But this guy, town's bad boy, who leaves a long trail of broken hearts wherever he goes, he's just putting all the cards on the table. And you were caught off guard.

“I noticed the first two.” He gestures at you. You're wearing a pink shirt and your hair is down, flowing down your shoulders.

“You don't know me enough to like me, Billy.” You sigh, not sure what do say next.

“Only time will tell.” Billy smiles again, biting on a frie. “Just give me a chance.”

“What about the 'just friends' agreement? I was totally down for that.” Friendship is easier. So much less complicated... And it would give you a one hundred percent security that Billy wouldn't hurt you. Not that you'd ever allowed him to get close enough to do that... Right? Right. “Friendship always comes before any... Romantic relationship. It's just the natural flow of things.”

“If that's what you think, we'll start off as friends then.”

Damn it. The smile again. What the hell is wrong with you today? Monica is getting to your head with all her 'mission' thing. “Friends,” you repeat because it would be so mean if you just backed off now. He did help you when your car wouldn't start. And he's paying for the fries.

“(Y/N)!” Someone yells and you immediately look through the window. It's Jason. “Let's go, we're leaving!”

Already?

You mean... Great. You need to get home to think. “I have to go,” you say, standing up after grabbing a few more fries.

“I can take you home.” He offers.

“I'm not sure. Wouldn't it be a little mean to them?” Part of you wants to go home, leave Billy and this whole talking behind, get back into reality. Get a grip on yourself and think this through. But there's something else, a tiny piece that lit up when he offered you a ride.

“You already came with them. I don't see why you can't leave with someone else. I will let you ride shotgun.”

“You really think I'll go with you just because I'll ride shotgun? I can call shotgun with them, you know?” You giggle, eyes suddenly locked on his.

“With them, it's just a possibility. With me, it's a fact.” The guy is cocky, no doubt about that. “Would it change your mind if I say please?”

“Begging doesn't suit you, Hargrove.” You snap, smiling. “I'll let them know.”

He winks at you before you turn to leave. You change your mind a couple of times before you reach Monica and the others. But now you're sure. You want to go with Billy. You haven't finished the fries yet, anyway.

“Guys, you can go. Billy will give me a ride home.” You say as some of them get into Candace's car.

“Ok,” Mon smirks, giving you a look that means she'll want all the details later.

“What?” David speaks up, a humorless laugh leaving his lips. “Monica, I thought you said your friend was smart.”

“Are you calling me dumb?” You gasp, unable to believe your ears. Who the hell does he think he is? The guy doesn't even know you.

“If you're really considering letting him–” He gestures at the snack bar, straight at your table. “–take you home, yes, sweety, you're pretty dumb.”

“David shut the hell up.” Monica has a finger on his face.

“Who do you think you are to put of your nose in my business?” You raise your voice, stepping forward. You're not the one to be insulted and keep quiet. “This is my damn life and I do whatever I want. You're not even a friend of mine so back the hell off.”

“I'm trying to put some sense into your empty brain and you're turning it on me?” He looks around as if searching for support. But half the group is by Candace's car, and those who are closer don't seem to back him up.

“The hell is going on?” Billy yells startle you a little and you turn your head to see him coming from the snack bar.

“Isn't it obvious that nobody here wants you around?” David barks at him, making an abrupt gesture towards Billy.

He stops by your side, towering over you.

“David here just called (Y/N) dumb,” Christopher says in a provoking tone. “Right, David? Do you have anything else to say or did the last sentences drained out your intelligence? The tiny little bit you have of it.”

“You called her what?” Billy steps forward, slightly hiding you with his shoulder. He's angry suddenly, raising his voice.

“Drop the gentleman act, Billy. Everyone knows what you want.” David comes forward too, throwing his empty can on the floor. “But if she wants to go from the new girl in town to another of Hargrove's sluts, that's all her choice.”

You're about to speak up when Billy moves, closing the distance between him and David, pulling him by the collar of his shirt and punching his jaw hard. You heart skips a beat and your stomach burns. David falls to the ground, a hand coming to his chin. Everyone gasps, hands covering their mouths. You see when Billy is about to move again, so you grab his arm.

“I told you. If you didn't quit being an asshole someone would put you in your place.” Jason says as he speeds away in his car, giving Billy a thumbs up.

But you barely notice the commotion, trying to understand what just happened.

“Call her that again and I'll make sure to break your nose the next time.” Billy barks, looking down at David, who awkwardly crawls backwards before standing up and walking away.

“C'mon.” You start pulling Billy, noticing how the muscles on his arm are tense, even through the jacket. “Let's go.” You move to stand before him, seeing the anger in his eyes as he watches David stumble to his car. Why is he so pissed? “Bye, guys. See you tomorrow.” You say, pushing Billy's chest, sighing in relief when he finally gives up and starts walking back into the snack bar.

Your heart is beating so fast you can feel it pounding against your chest. Billy gestures for you to walk in front of him as he gives one last glance at David's car as he speeds away. Running a hand through your hair, you notice how people are staring as you sit back on the table.

“That was unnecessary.” You burst out, still feeling hot from all the sudden commotion. You have your eyes set on Billy as he sits across from you, anger still clear on his expression.

Nobody ever did that for you. And you have dated before. Only two guys and for a short period of time, but still... You're surprised he'd go through all that trouble because of you, a girl he barely knows. “But thank you.” He's still so mad, like he's caged inside his rage. He keeps staring through the window as if waiting for David to return. “Billy?” You call him, standing up and moving to seat beside him, touching his shoulder. It seems to drag him out of his thoughts, and he looks at you, the anger vanishing, turning into something else. Something you can't name. “Thank you.”

“David is an asshole.” He simply says.

“He is.” Your eyes fall on your arm, still on his shoulder, so you move it away. “Nobody ever stood up for me like that. It's not that I can't deal with an idiot like him, but... It was nice.”

“Whenever you need, princess.”

The name and the smile make your stomach burn again, and you look down just in case you're blushing. As much you appreciate what he just did, you can't let any kind of feelings build up. “So...” You pull the plate with the fries closer, taking one and biting it. “You gonna be my bodyguard now? Beating up whoever calls me bad names?”

“I will if you want me to.”

You know he's smiling even though you're not looking. Biting your lip, you clear your throat. “I think that's ok. But I doubt David will cross my way again.”

“He better not.”

The rest of the night goes by calmy. When you're done with the fries, he gets you another milkshake even though you tell him you already had one. You stand by his car until the milkshake is over, and that's when you finally head home.

His car is do damn fast. Way too fast. You're looking at the road ahead, wondering how the hell he can drive at such a speed. “Billy, would you slow down a bit?” You ask, happy when he complies.

It's a little past eleven when he stops by your place, and you take a deep breath before opening the door. “Bye. See you tomorrow.” Smiling you step out of the car, walking around it. But you stop when you see he's getting out too.

“What? I'm gonna walk you to the door.” He shrugs his shoulders, and you look down as you both slowly walk to the front door. Once you get there, you awkwardly turn around, looking at him, noticing how the dim light from the porch lights up his face... He's cute. More than cute. He's... Very handsome.

Alright, stop staring now.

“Thanks again for the ride home... And for defending my honor, Billy Hargrove.” You mutter, your voice is strangely low.

“Anytime you need.”

“Yeah...” Clearing your throat, you gesture at the door behind you. “Gotta go.”

“Sure.” Billy looks down at you, and he suddenly moves closer. But before you can push him away, or even process what he's doing, you feel his lips on the apple of your cheek. It's almost unreal how his lips are soft. Billy doesn't come out as soft... He's rough, the bad guy. But this... This is confusing. You're sure you're blushing this time, frozen, as he pulls away. “Good night, (Y/N).”

“Good night,” you mumble, turning the door handle. But it doesn't open, so you try again. “Shit... Oh, it's locked.” You search on your pockets for the key, excited to get in and get the hell away from Billy. This is unfair. He knows the effect he has on girls. You struggle with the key, sighing in relief when the door finally opens.

“Did I just make you nervous?” He asks as you step inside.

“Good night, Billy,” you repeat, giving him a half-smile before closing the door.

Today's events are getting to your head. What Billy did was... Badass. Hot even. You're a girl, how are you supposed to feel after a guy punches someone to defend you? It's only natural, right? Right. Shit, you really need to talk to Monica.

Running a hand through your hair, you turn around, ready to take a shower and get some sleep. But your aunt's image by the stairs scare you, and you hit the door with your back.

She has a smile on her face, bright and wide. “Hello, honey. Who was that guy?”

[atths--twice]

Rumor Has It...

Going through my stories and I don’t think I’ve posted this here before. I honestly was not super aware of how to post stories here for the longest time. Anyway, even if I had, no reason not to post it again, eh? We could always use more fics to read, right? 

This story was written for the summer fanfic exchange last year. The prompt was this: “Something a la Gillovny Cutting Room party era rumors, but MSR.” Now... this was a little tricky, but I got the job done. : ) 

Hope you enjoy. : ) 

The basement in the J. Edgar Hoover building, was always subject to rumor and urban legend. Even when no one worked down there, nor had any desire to, it was still discussed. Boxes, old files, and copy machines were all that occupied the space for years, and yet stories were still told of it.

There were far too many dark corners where a person could meet for a rendezvous with another for there not to be rumors. No one ventured down there too often, so the space was perfect. The whispers that reached the ears of agents becoming a mixture of fact and fiction.

While time had changed some things, it had not changed everything. The copy machines were taken out, files cleared away, and boxes tossed as they became too weak and ripped when relocation was attempted. A small bathroom was added to the space, and a storage area was walled off to better confine, contain, and organize the  files, keeping them out of the open area and behind a locked door where they could no longer be easily rummaged through. People agreed it looked much better, but still it was not an area with heavy foot traffic or spoken of too often.

That is, until the day Fox “Spooky” Mulder took up residence down there. That was when the rumors really began. He was thought to be a crazy alien nut who liked the weird cases. Cases others would not touch. He was hardly seen wandering the halls. Instead, he immersed himself in his ideas and theories.

Fox Mulder was brilliant, and also quite handsome. Some women overlooked his “spookiness” and tried to get his attention. They flirted when they saw him and asked him about the cases he worked on, but none of them stuck around long. His answers were so long winded that those who asked often required a bread crumb trail to find their way back to reality.

No, for the majority of his time in the basement office, Mulder was considered weird and generally avoided by his colleagues who did not wish to be treated to a story about Sasquatch or aliens. The rumors about him were rampant, but for the most part, Mulder was left to his own devices.

That all changed the day he was assigned a new partner, Dana Scully. She was a fairly new agent, a medical doctor recruited to join the FBI as a forensic pathologist. Dana Scully had arrived with rumors of her own.

“Do you really think that’s her natural hair color?”

“Did you hear she dated Jack Willis? He’s so much older than her. I guess he likes them young.”

Perhaps one of the worst rumors, especially considering she did date Jack, was the name she acquired at the academy: The Ice Queen. She was rumored to turn down men and not “put out,”even after being wined and dined. She was also rumored to be a ball buster who was frigid because she did not date fellow agents. As if her dating life was a measure of who she was as a person.

Women who tried to get Mulder’s attention before Scully showed up, were envious and rude towards her, leaving her disinterested in forming relationships, even with colleagues her same age who had similar backgrounds. This only served to perpetuate the rumors circulated, but Scully did not let the rumors affect her, knowing it would make no difference if she tried to quell them or not. She was not one who required many friends, and she enjoyed her work. She kept her head down and worked, not worrying over relationships, hers or anyone else’s.

Not until early on a Tuesday morning, when a wild rumor flew resulting in them being called to Skinner’s office to answer some questions, did she give it much thought.

Sitting outside his office, waiting for Mulder to arrive, Scully clasped and unclasped her hands, breathing deeply. Closing her eyes, she put her head down, the call to come to Skinner’s office still ringing in her ear, his shout like an echo.

“Hey." She heard Mulder say quietly as he sat next to her on the couch. She opened her eyes and looked at him, watching him smooth down his tie as he smiled slightly at her. “So how angry is he?” He tilted his head toward the door and Scully shook her head.

“Agents? You can go in now,” said Arlene, Skinner’s secretary, with a slight smile. Scully sighed as she stood up and walked toward the door with Mulder following close behind her.

Entering the room, Skinner had his back to them, looking out the window. No one else was in the room, and Scully sighed again as she sat down, Mulder taking the seat beside her. He glanced at her, but she did not look at him, her eyes facing forward waiting for Skinner to turn around.

A few minutes passed before Mulder cleared his throat, and Skinner’s shoulders slumped before he turned around. He stared at both of them, his gaze holding on Scully’s as he breathed deeply.

“I take no pleasure in calling both of you in here to discuss the things that have come to my attention. I believe you know that Agent Scully, considering our phone call earlier,” Skinner said, his eyes burning into hers. She sighed and nodded slightly.

“Sir, I’m afraid I’m out of the loop. Agent Scully said you wanted to see us, but …” Mulder said in confusion, and Skinner sighed.

“Agent Mulder, I’m referring to some information that has reached my ears regarding this past weekend at the team building workshop. More to the point, after said workshop … in the ... hotel lounge area.”

Scully watched Mulder as Skinner spoke and saw his face change, his eyes unable to meet hers save for the quick flick her way. He lowered his head as he leaned forward and locked his fingers together.

“Sir, I’m still confused. As I told you earlier, I don’t remember much about that night. I … I had a couple of glasses of wine and …” she said, looking at Mulder before looking back at Skinner. “I didn’t … I know I wouldn’t get up on stage and sing. Much less play a tambourine …”

“Scully …” Mulder said in a whisper, his head shaking imperceptibly. She kept staring at him, and he finally glanced her way, nodding his head.

“What?” she asked, horrified.

“Sir, could we have-”

“Why don’t I-” Skinner said over Mulder, tilting his head towards the door as he made his exit, leaving the two of them alone.

Scully watched him leave and then turned back to Mulder, her eyebrows raised. “What the hell, Mulder?” she said quietly.

“Scully, it wasn’t just a couple of glasses of wine,” he sighed and stared at her.

“Maybe a mixed drink too, but, I wasn’t out of control. And, Jesus, if I was having fun whose business is it here? It was after the stupid workshop, on my own time,” she said, her anger rising. “I don’t need to be lectured like a child and be forced to apologize for my actions. I’m not going to sit here and listen to this,” she said, starting to stand only to be stopped by Mulder.

“I don’t believe that is why we're here today, Scully,” he quietly said as he held tight to her arm. “Half the people at the workshop were drinking and acting the fool, much worse than you.” She glared at him and angrily shrugged his hand off her arm. “I’m not implying you were acting like a fool, just stating how others were behaving,” he quickly added, smiling slightly.

“If that’s the case, then why the hell am I being singled out? Because I’m a woman? A woman who generally doesn’t “act a fool” as you say, and so I have to be made an example of for the men in the office? You know, this is the kind of bullshit that stops women from pursuing careers in these fields. This boys club mentality that exists and women never have a chance-”

“It’s because I punched Tom Colton for the things he said about you,” came Mulder’s raised voice, immediately silencing her. She stared at him in utter disbelief and he nodded his head.

“What?” she whispered. “Tom? I have no recollection of him being there. Not in any capacity.” She shook her head, and he sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.

“He wasn’t there in connection to the weekend, he was just … there. I saw him when I was at the bar waiting for our drinks, which were definitely not wine,” he sighed, looking down at his hands before looking at her. “Scully, you were standing on the stage and singing or attempting to, and someone did hand you a tambourine.” He stared at her, and she shook her head, to which he nodded, a small smile on his face.

“Mulder … I have no memory of that, not even a little …” she stopped as she suddenly did have a recollection of standing and shaking a tambourine, people singing and talking loudly, the room unbearably hot. “Oh my God, Mulder.” The door opened as she felt her cheeks flush, embarrassed beyond belief.

“Sir, we’ve come to an understanding and I want to apologize for what I did, and I will speak to Agent Colton and apologize to him as well as soon as we leave your office,” Mulder said, standing up as Skinner entered the room.

“Agent Colton?” Skinner asked, his face puzzled.

“Yes, Sir. Is this not about me punching Agent Colton in the face?”

“You did what, Agent Mulder?” Skinner shouted, his eyebrows shooting up.

“Uhhhh,” Mulder stammered and looked down at Scully for help, but she was still seated and had her hand partially covering her face.

“Agent Mulder, this meeting was about … things that were witnessed and heard outside of Agent Scully’s hotel room. And downstairs by the elevators beforehand,” Skinner said pointedly.

“The ... elevators? Oh ...” Mulder said and sat back down with a sigh, as Scully looked at him, confusion on her face.

Skinner sighed, sitting down behind his desk, and Scully looked between them, waiting for one of them to speak. “Mulder, why did you punch Agent Colton? Do I need to make a call?” Skinner finally asked quietly.

“I … uh, I don’t think so, if he hasn’t said anything?” Mulder said, not sounding entirely certain.

“What would make you punch him, Mulder?” Scully asked him and he looked at her, his eyes telling her she did not need to hear it. “Mulder?” He sighed and shook his head, but she continued staring at him, forcing him to speak.

“He made comments about you that were not becoming of one agent about another. I made myself known and told him to watch his words. He and his buddies seemed to think that was funny, and then he said something else … so I punched him. He deserved it, and I don’t regret it,” Mulder said to her with a glance at Skinner who sighed and shook his head.

“What did he say, Mulder?” she whispered.

“Scully,” he said with a shake of his head.

“I need to know.”

“You don’t,” he told her gently. “That guy is an asshole and that punch was a long time coming. I don’t regret it one bit, other than it took so long.” He smiled, and she stared at him, searching his face. She sighed and leaned back in her chair, her head down.

Skinner cleared his throat and she looked up. “That uh, it doesn’t cover why I called you both here as at least one of those things is not a problem.”

“Neither of them is a problem if you know Agent Colton,” Mulder murmured, and Scully shook her head.

Skinner sighed again and looked down at the desk. “There were a few agents who expressed concern over … actions they saw between the two of you.” He looked up, and Scully frowned at him, still not knowing what he meant. He looked at Mulder who nodded and shook his head, which caused Skinner to sigh once more. “Look, I know that … male/female partnerships are subject to scrutiny more so than traditional same sex partnerships, I do. Just … you two seem to attract more attention, and when I hear things from others …”  he sighed again, and Scully stood abruptly to her feet, finally realizing what they were talking about.

She looked at each of them, unable to speak, her anger and embarrassment too high. Turning around she walked out of the office, past Arlene and to the stairwell, not having any patience or desire to wait for the elevator to take her to the basement office.

Two flights down though, she stopped and sat on the steps, her head in her hands. The night was coming back to her now, tumbling through her brain, almost begging to be remembered.

The heat of the room and the feel of the tambourine in her hands, made her feel happy and giggly, definitely past tipsy but not completely drunk. A drink was handed to her, and she saw Mulder’s smile as he shook his head and stepped back into the crowd.

She drank it down quickly, the alcohol burning her throat and then her stomach, but making her feel braver and bolder. The song ended and the crowd cheered. She laughed and handed the tambourine to some woman next to her, her eyes searching for Mulder as she did.

Stumbling down the small stage, she felt a hand on her elbow and looked to see Mulder beside her, his smile huge. “You’re just full of surprises, Scully,” he said close to her ear as a new song started and everyone cheered again.  

As they came through the crowd of people, she turned to look at him, losing her footing resulting in his arms catching her before she fell. The closeness of him made her dizzy, more so than any alcohol. He smelled so good and she told him so, his eyes widening in response. She laughed and pulled on his tie, bringing him closer to her, and allowing her to smell him closer.

“Scully,” he breathed, his voice low and close to her ear.

“Mulder. God, you make me …” she said, her words drowned out as the crowd erupted again.

Her eyes flew open as she remembered what she said and the words burned like hot lava inside her, destroying everything in its path. How was she supposed to be around him now that she remembered what she said? She needed to leave and never come back, the words too embarrassing to live with, much less think of every day with his eyes watching her.

“Oh my God,” she said, her voice echoing in the empty stairwell, as she suddenly remembered it was more than simply the words she said to him. There had been … touching.

A lot of touching.

She stood up and continued hurriedly down the stairs, determined to grab her things and get out of the office before Mulder saw her. Pushing the door open she looked left and right, walking past shelves of boxes, trying not to be seen.

Unlocking their office door, she put her keys in her pocket and quickly went to grab her bag and her phone. Items secured, she reached for the doorknob as the door opened and there stood Mulder. He stared at her in surprise and then frowned when he saw her bag in her hand.

“Are you leaving?” he asked, closing the door behind him. She could not look at him, the words she said to him that night burning in her mind, teasing her tongue to tell him again.

“Mulder. God, you make me … so wet.”

“I … uh yeah … I forgot I have … um ...” she stammered and tried to step past him, but his hand on her wrist stopped her, forcing her eyes to meet his. Hazel and full of worry and concern, they were the same as that night …

The feel of his hands around her waist, his gasp of surprise at her words, his breath smelling of alcohol, made her knees weak as she stumbled into him. He tightened his grip before pulling back slightly to look at her. His eyes were open, and she felt she could see into his very soul if she looked long enough.

She wrapped his tie around her hand and tugged, bringing his mouth close to hers. Their breath intermingled as his fingers dug into her waist. Someone bumped her from behind, and she fell into his chest. His hard, muscular chest.

But that was not all that was hard.

He groaned and he pulled her closer, making her gasp. “Scully,” he breathed in her ear, and she shuddered against him. “I think … think we should head upstairs.” She nodded against his chest, and he pulled back to look at her. His eyes moved all over her face, and she smiled.

He turned her and led her out, walking behind her. Her pulse was racing. Every place he touched her felt like fire. One she never wanted to extinguish.

At the bank of elevators, he pushed the UP button and as he turned around, she grabbed the lapels of his jacket. She pulled hard until his mouth was on hers, and she kissed him. His hands went to her waist and then he was pulling her into the elevator, his mouth fuzed to hers. He pulled back, breathing hard, shaking his head.

“Mulder,” she moaned, reaching for his tie, but he stopped her, holding her hands between their bodies. The elevator dinged and the doors opened. He kept a hold on her hand and walked her down the hall.

At her door, she pulled him in for another kiss, falling against the door as he pushed into her, his tongue exploring her mouth. Her hands went to his hair, and she dug her nails into his neck, making him audibly groan.

He pulled back again, resting his forehead against hers. “Scully,” he whispered and she scraped her fingers along his neck, breathing hard. “Where is your room key?”

“Pocket, I think,” she said, her words feeling and sounding slurry even to her own ears. Mulder nodded and felt in her suit jacket pockets before he found it and opened her door.

She stumbled back, taking her shoes off as she walked inside the room, then trying to unbutton her jacket but her fingers did not cooperate. Forgetting about it, she stumbled to the bed and sat down. The room began to spin and she shook her head, before she fell back and remembered no more.

“I need to go, Mulder,” she said, barely above a whisper, and suppressing a sob. “Please … let me go.”

“You remember,” he said, a statement, not a question, and she nodded, her eyes downcast, embarrassment washing over her. “What do you remember?” Her head snapped up, and she found his eyes soft and understanding, not teasing and not judging.

“I remember …” she began, and he took the bag from her hand, setting it on the small desk, his eyes never leaving hers. “Uhhh …”

“Do you remember my hands being on your waist?” he asked as he put them there once again. “Do you remember how close you were to me? How it felt as though our very breath was mating?” She closed her eyes and leaned into him, whimpering quietly as she did. “Do you remember how my heart was racing? How my breath felt frozen in my chest because of your words, and the thoughts they created in my head?” He pulled her toward him, and she reached for his tie, realizing this was going to end way better than she thought it would when she had considered bolting out the door.

“Do … do you remember how your tie felt like silk when I touched it? How I wanted to run it over other parts of my body to see if it was as soft there, as it was in between my fingers?” she whispered, tugging his tie and making him moan her name. “Do you remember how the heat of the room made me want to strip all my clothes off, but I would have still been too hot, your touch making me ache? Do you remember that, Mulder?” She pulled back to look at him, her eyes seeking that he felt the same way she did, one hundred percent.

“I remember all of that, Scully,” he whispered. “I remember that and so much more.”

“Show me, Mulder,” she said, her fingers under his tie and seeking out the buttons on his shirt, pushing the first one she found through the buttonhole. One finger slid inside and scratched at the heated skin she found there. “Show me everything you remember.”

He stared at her for seconds that felt like forever, before he leaned in and kissed her, his lips just as soft as she remembered. His fingers gripped her waist and she wrapped her arms around his neck, his hair and skin as soft and warm as she remembered. He groaned in his throat as his tongue once again explored her mouth, as amazing and delicious as she remembered.

And once again, when she whispered in his ear the effect he had on her, his eyes widened, and he gasped, just as she remembered.

Yes, the basement office in the J. Edgar Hoover building, the one that was home to Fox Mulder and Dana Scully (although her name plate had been ordered, received, and lay in the desk drawer, the execution of it being hung up by either of them had failed) was known for being where odd things resided and strange theories were discussed. On that Tuesday morning, however, there was nothing odd about what was happening up against the wall, causing the doorknob to rattle, and moans to escalate to louder and louder decibels.

Times change, but places where memories have been made, especially the really good ones, the very walls themselves have a tendency to remember. In particular, the walls of a shared basement office, that was avoided by so many and thus created a rather private space for a tryst that had been waiting patiently for seven long years.

[syrinxsilenus]

You’re Mine

Summary: Ryoma and Sakuno are dating for three years. Everything seems going well and they're going strong until a transfer student from America suddenly appeared and shake their relationship foundation. "So you drunkenly set me up with some girl when I was four? How can you be so crazy oyaji!"

You're Mine

Written by: SyrinxSilenus

Chapter 1: Ryoma has a fiancee?

Sakuno couldn't believe that it had been three years since she and Ryoma had started dating. Sometimes she couldn't help but still questioned herself if everything that had happened was real or she had been trapped in a very realistic dream for so long.

Who would even think that Ryuzaki Sakuno, a plain, clumsy, and directionally challenged girl would have the Prince of Tennis, Echizen Ryoma's interest?

Four years ago…

She couldn't understand the significance of Ryoma giving her his red tennis racket before he left for America in their first year in middle school.

Sakuno had been confused because she knew the racket was precious to Ryoma and that he didn't just let anyone touch it. At the same time, she felt exhilarated, like wild butterflies were fluttering inside her belly.

Sending Ryoma off to America for the second time hadn't lessened the ache in her heart, but Sakuno knew that the world needed to discover Ryoma's tennis. She believed with all her heart that he would be number one.

Sakuno was still depressed even a week after Ryoma's departure. Not seeing him in the court felt as if a big part of her had been ripped off. So imagine her surprise when she had suddenly received a letter from Ryoma containing his current address in America.

Overwhelmed with happiness, Sakuno had squealed and jumped in delight and muttered about things that she wanted to write to him in a daze.

She had sent him letters every week since then. Informing him of everything that happened to the senpais and her life. To her surprise, Ryoma actually wrote back whenever he could. Although his letters were short and direct to the point, Sakuno didn't care at all. She was just happy that he had bothered to reply.

Exchanging letters with him made her feel like he hadn't really left and that they finally had some sort of connection. A year passed by so quickly and she was finally entering her final year in middle school. That was when he returned.

One morning, when she was hurrying out of the house to go to school, she almost had a heart attack when she saw him leaning casually beside their door with his hands tucked inside his pockets. A tennis bag on his shoulder and his signature fila hat on his head.

Sakuno had gaped at him like he had grown three heads before he finally looked at her.

"Yo, Ryuzaki," he had greeted her as if he hadn't been gone for more than a year.

She didn't know what possessed her, but the next thing she knew, she was already wrapping her arms around his neck as she cried happy tears. She hadn't imagined that from then on, the two of them would be inseparable.

She couldn't remember how it started, but they slowly transitioned from mere acquaintance to close friends.

She, a dense idiot like no other, hadn't thought much of it until one of their schoolmates tried to ask her out on a date and Ryoma had launched a deadly twist serve towards the boy's face.

He spat out a spew of angry words that she couldn't remember aside from: "She's mine. Don't touch her."

Utterly flabbergasted, Sakuno just stood there, mouth wide open like a fish out of the water until Ryoma grabbed her hand and dragged her to the rooftop.

When she came to, Ryoma had already trapped her with her back on the wall, his arms on either side of her head as he leaned his forehead on hers, demanding her to go out with him.

Still reeling from everything that happened, all Sakuno could do was to nod frantically with her eyes as wide as dinner plates.

She squeaked a high-pitched, "Yes!" and Ryoma smirked in satisfaction.

It took her the whole day before everything sank through her and she ran inside her grandmother's room to scream, "Ryoma-kun asked me to go out with him! And I said, yes! Hoeeee!"

Sumire laughed at her, saying, "Took you long enough to realize that? You're staring at Ryoma in a daze since the tennis practice started and he even walked you home, holding hands."

Sakuno let out another squeak, sounding like a dying rat as her face shifted to different shades of red. That night she hadn't had much sleep as Ryoma invaded her thoughts until morning came.

That confession happened three years ago.

Now, here she was, staring at the blackboard as their homeroom teacher blabbered about a transfer student from America.

Sakuno blinked as Tomoka kicked her desk lightly, pulling her out of the memory lane.

"Psst, Sakuno, Nami said that she saw a blonde girl in the registration office earlier and that she's so pretty like a supermodel. Looks like she's our new classmate," Tomoka whispered beside her.

Blinking twice in confusion, Sakuno tilted her head to the side, "We have a transfer student?"

Tomoka looked at her in disbelief just as someone started chuckling behind her.

Sakuno blushed in embarrassment and Tomoka rolled her eyes while the person behind her lightly tugged one of her braids.

"Neh, off to dreamland again?" She could practically hear his smirk.

She ducked her head to hide her flustered expression. "Mou, stop teasing me, Ryoma-kun."

"Heh, whatever do you mean, Sakuno?" Ryoma replied, amusement was clear in his voice while he continued to twirl her braid in his hand.

She wondered what kind of obsession Ryoma had with her hair when he told her a long time ago that it was too long. Also, he loved to bury his nose on the crook of her neck or the top of her head. He was so weird sometimes.

She heard Tomoka giggling beside her and she pouted.

"Yu-san, please come in and introduce yourself."

Their attention was brought back to the front as a beautiful girl entered their class. Her straight blond hair danced gracefully as she walked with model-like strides. The beauty smiled charmingly, earning murmurs from the class

'So pretty…' Sakuno thought as she observed the new transfer student.

The girl had a pair of beautiful forest green eyes, a cute pointed nose, and red lips – obviously painted with lipstick. Her eyelashes weren't as long as Sakuno's, but they were long enough to enhance her big eyes. Her eyeliner was thick and obvious, but they made the green in her eyes even more prominent. Her school uniform looked so fitting that her beautiful curves were shown so clearly along with her perfectly shaped legs.

Sakuno squashed the sudden urge to check her own legs.

'Tomo-chan said mine are to die for, but she's probably just trying to cheer me up. Mou…'

Sakuno liked to observe beautiful girls in general, not because she was envious, but it was because of Tomoka's habit of pointing out their looks. Though in Sakuno's part, she focused more on the beauty they tried to conceal or seemed unnoticed by others.

She had always been down to earth, always looking for the best in people. That was why Tomoka always scolded her for her naivety, but she couldn't just change her views in one night. So it was a shock to her when she suddenly felt a twinge of envy towards the transfer student.

"Oh my god, Sakuno! She's staring at Ryoma-sama!"

Especially when Tomoka hissed that beside her.

Ryoma continued to twirl Sakuno's braids as their homeroom teacher rambled on and on. His girlfriend's attention was back to the front but his mind was elsewhere. He just wanted for lunch break to come faster so that he could spend a private moment with Sakuno.

He was getting bored again and sleep was starting to draw him in. He yawned as he rested his cheek on his desk, putting one of Sakuno's braids on his nose like a mustache for him to smell.

'Strawberry.' He really liked Sakuno's shampoo, although it lacked another one of her natural scent – vanilla – it still didn't fail to lull him to sleep all the time.

'Is homeroom not over yet?' A yawn escaped his lips for the second time.

'It's so quiet here...wait, quiet? Since when did my classmates learn to shut up?'

Suddenly awake, he slowly lifted his head to check his surroundings only to find all of his classmates staring at him.

Ryoma raised an eyebrow as they started murmuring while flickering their gazes from him and to the blackboard.

Utterly irritated, he followed their gazes only to blink in confusion as an unfamiliar girl stared back at him with so much intensity Ryoma was tempted to glare back at her.

"Psst, Echizen, do you know this chick?" Horio whispered beside him.

"No," Ryoma smoothly replied with his forehead creasing.

"She's looking so intensely at you, as if she's stripping you off your clothes," Horio added, snickering.

Ryoma glared. "Shut up."

"Umm, Yu-san. You have to introduce yourself," Ms. Kanagawa reluctantly stated, shifting her eyes nervously between her and Ryoma.

The girl eyed their homeroom teacher for a second before she returned her gaze back at him, fluttering her eyelashes.

Ryoma cringed internally. He hated girls like that.

"I'm Yu Reina, 17 years old. I'm a Japanese-American and we just moved here from Los Angeles yesterday. Please take care of me," the girl introduced herself, bowing politely.

'Yu Reina? Why did that sound familiar?' Ryoma thought as he scratched his head. The girl was still staring at him which unnerved him so he laid back his head on the desk and put Sakuno's braid on his closed eyes.

"Why did you move to Japan?" Ryoma heard one of his male classmates asked.

"I returned here to claim my fiancé since it's due time we meet each other again."

Gasps echoed around the room, but Ryoma was back to being sleepy.

'Sakuno's hair really smells so good.'

"Is your fiancé here in our class?"

'What bento did Sakuno cook for us today?'

"Of course."

Ryoma could vaguely hear the murmurings intensifying around him, but he was so close to succumbing to unconsciousness that he just ignored them.

"WHO IS HE!" Horio's annoying voice jolted him out of his drowsiness and Ryoma raised his head to glare at his loud teammate.

He lifted his foot to kick Horio's desk when someone suddenly stood in front of him, blocking his view of Horio.

Annoyed, Ryoma glared at the person who interrupted his little revenge when the smiling face of the transfer student greeted him.

Ryoma glared at her. "Oi, move out of the way," he demanded but the girl appeared not to hear him as she just continued to smile at him.

The classroom turned eerily quiet. Ryoma shifted his gaze to his girlfriend only to find her staring at the transferee in disbelief.

"Ryo-kun, it's been a long time," the unknown girl said.

Ryoma narrowed his eyes. "Who the hell are you?"

The girl giggled. "Don't be like that. We spent a lot of time together when we were little, you can't possibly have forgotten about me."

His annoyance increased. "No. I seriously don't know you. Now move out of the way," he demanded.

"Ryoma-kun…" he heard Sakuno murmur. There was something in her voice, something that he didn't like and made him feel alarmed.

"Sakuno?" He asked and was about to touch her shoulder when Sakuno's loud-mouthed best friend suddenly stood up.

"Are you saying that Ryoma-sama is your fiancé!? Don't kid us! Ryoma-sama is already dating someone!" Osakada screamed, looking red in anger.

His eyes grew three sizes larger and he immediately backed away from the girl as if she was carrying a deadly contagious disease.

The transferee frowned. "That can't be right Ryo-kun. Our engagement has long been arranged. You can't have any other girl but me," she said, staring at him in accusation.

He didn't like the way she was looking at him. No, it's not just that. He simply didn't like her ever since he saw her earlier.

"Shut up. I don't know you nor am I engaged to anyone yet," Ryoma stated firmly, eyeing Sakuno who was staring down at her lap.

"But Ryo-kun, I'm not lying! We were always together when we were kids–"

"Tennis," he interjected, making the girl stop in her sentence.

"Tennis is what I have done since I was a kid. I didn't have time to play around with toddlers so quit your nonsense."

"No! I'm your fiancé! Ask your parents! They know about it," the girl insisted.

Ryoma was about to spat something nasty when their homeroom teacher cleared her throat.

"Yu-chan, Echizen-kun. You should talk about personal matters after school. We should all calm down and sit now."

The transfer student stared at him in frustration before she huffed and crossed her arms.

"We're not done yet," she declared before she marched towards the empty seat in front.

Ms. Kanagawa cleared her throat again. "I'll be checking your attendance now," she said as she started calling out names.

Ryoma barely paid attention to her. He was focused on his girlfriend who was facing the front, neither looking nor saying anything to him.

Somehow, Ryoma was engulfed with a sudden feeling of fear. He didn't do anything wrong, but with what happened, he was worried that Sakuno would…

He suddenly stood up. "Sakuno's not feeling well, Ms. Kanagawa. Let me bring her to the clinic."

Sakuno jolted. "W-What?" she blurted out, blinking at him in confusion.

Ms. Kanagawa gazed at Sakuno worriedly. "You look pale, Ryuzaki-chan. Very well Echizen-kun, make sure she doesn't collapse on your way there," she said as she pushed her eyeglasses up her nose.

Ryoma inclined his head before he gripped Sakuno's hand and stared hard at her, demanding her to just go with the flow.

His girlfriend sighed as she stood up and let him guide her out of the class. He could feel everyone's eyes staring at their backs, but Ryoma couldn't care less.

Sakuno was quiet as they walked, even when he guided her to the opposite direction of the clinic and led her to the rooftop instead. Ryoma squeezed her hand as he felt his heart start to beat faster.

'Is she mad?'

He and Sakuno rarely argued since they started dating. She was always so understanding that sometimes, he was the one who felt guilty whenever he did something wrong.

The only time she got mad at him was when he stubbornly insisted to attend tennis practice even though he had a fever. It was the first time Sakuno yelled at him. Ryoma hadn't felt that kind of fear since his mother caught him skipping classes with Momo and Kikumaru-senpai once.

Since then, he was cautious of making Sakuno mad, but she was too kind that she would just stay quiet and let him scold her whenever they had a disagreement.

Now though, this was a different matter. Ryoma knew that Sakuno had low self-esteem and was extremely selfless, so he was afraid that she would...break up with him just because some girl claimed to be his childhood sweetheart. He was afraid that Sakuno wouldn't fight for him and just surrender to the other girl.

He shut the door of the rooftop as they arrived and faced his still quiet girlfriend who was looking down on her feet.

"Sakuno…" He didn't know what to say.

He was getting frustrated when his phone rang and he answered it without looking at the caller's ID.

"What?" he spat out.

"Oooh, you don't sound so happy seishounen." His perverted father's singsong voice greeted him, making

his irritation skyrocketed.

He eyed Sakuno, not letting go of her hand as he answered his father. "Oyaji, what do you want? I'm busy–"

"This is about Yu Reina, you brat! She might go to your school to–"

"Too late, she's here. She invaded my class and caused me a lot of trouble. What is she spouting about, some stupid engagement?" He noticed Sakuno looked up at him. Their eyes met.

He squeezed her hand one more time before he shifted the phone to loudspeaker.

"Ah… that. It happened when you were still four. Mr. Yu and I are buddies, y'know. So we joked around about marrying you and Reina-chan together since she was always following you around, and ah...we were kinda drunk and things just happened..."

"And?" Ryoma prompted, his temper rising by a minute.

"So...we signed a written agreement..."

Ryoma heard his father's nervous laugh on the other line and his grip on the phone tightened.

"So you drunkenly set me up with some girl when I was four!? How can you be so crazy oyaji—Oi, Sakuno! D-Don't cry." He frantically let go of her hand and wrapped his arm around his girlfriend, rubbing her back as tears started rolling down her cheeks.

"Oops, so Sakuno-chan's there. Hehe, sorry seishounen. I think there's a misunderstanding about this agreement so you should bring Sakuno-chan here and we can discuss this properly later. For now, you should...comfort your girlfriend or you'll end up being sing–"

Ryoma dropped the call and returned his phone to his pocket as he lifted Sakuno's face up to meet his eyes. Her nose was turning red now; he hated it when she cried.

"Sakuno, I–"

"A-Are you g-going to b-b-break up–" He didn't let her finish her stupid question as he abruptly claimed her mouth in a searing kiss.

Sakuno clutched on his uniform as he gripped her hips tightly, backing her up to the wall.

"R-Ryoma," she murmured against his lips as he heatedly kissed her, making her whimper. Reluctantly, he moved away from her to gaze deeply into her brown eyes.

"Don't start spouting nonsense. We're not breaking up. You hear me?" Ryoma firmly stated, eyes never wavering from Sakuno's.

"B-But what about y-your engagement? Nanjiroh-san said that they signed an agreement and–"

Ryoma shushed her frantic mumblings with another kiss that ended in three seconds. Kissing her was the best way to shut her up whenever she started to babble.

"Don't worry about unimportant things. I'll have my idiot father fix his own stupidity. There's something wrong with that agreement. If you're going to insist about that stupid engagement, I'm hauling you to Hong Kong to get married," he seriously said, causing Sakuno's cheeks to redden.

"Mou, Ryoma-kun, stop joking about something like this, I–"

"I'm not joking," he scowled at her, feeling insulted, "I will definitely marry you if they force me to be with that girl, and not even Ryuzaki-sensei can stop me."

Sakuno blinked at him in surprise as her grip tightened on his shirt. "Y-You won't leave me f-for her?"

Ryoma leaned his forehead against her, looking straight at her brown eyes. "Never."

A single tear rolled down her cheeks and he wiped it with his thumb as he slowly descended to kiss her again. Gentler this time. The familiar fluttering in his stomach returned full force as Sakuno's soft lips brought him to a sea of explicable sensations that made his instinct take over his body.

'Like hell we're breaking up!' Ryoma was a selfish person. He was aware of that all this time. If he wanted something, he would have it. Ryuzaki Sakuno was no exception. 'She's mine!'

His hand expertly unbraided her hair, letting it cascade like a waterfall on her back as he weaved his fingers through her silky strands.

His mind shut down as the smell of vanilla and strawberry invaded his senses, making him forget about their problem, where they were, or his own name.

He softly nipped on her lower lip before slowly releasing them, panting slightly while his fingers ran down her side. He felt her shudder from his touch as her grip tightened around his neck, but her fingers on his hair were gentle, lightly combing through his dark tresses.

"W-What are we going to do n-now?" Sakuno muttered, looking straight into his eyes with a worried frown on her cute face.

The redness on her cheeks looked darker than before and her eyes looked a bit glassy. She was definitely quite frazzled. It was a wonder she still managed to ask him a question.

Ryoma rested his forehead on her as he let out a deep sigh. "We need to talk with my father first."

His girlfriend nodded slowly. "I-I don't want to get back to class," she murmured.

He grinned and chuckled a little in response.

"What?" She asked with a pout.

"This is the first time I hear you suggest we skip class," he said between chuckles.

Sakuno hit him lightly on the chest. "It's not funny! It's just...just–"

Ryoma buried his face in the hollow between her neck and shoulder whispering, "Okay" under his breath.

He sat down and leaned his back on the wall with Sakuno sitting on his lap, resting her head on his chest as he placed his cheek on top of her head.

The wind blew softly, rustling their clothes and Sakuno's hair as the smell of vanilla and strawberry wafted through the air, lulling Ryoma to sleep as his arms tightened around her petite body.

That was where they spent their time until lunch arrived.

To Be Continued...

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13871251/1/You-re-Mine

[blainehellyes]

Of Charities and Jealousy

Hello lovely people, I’m here today with my first fanfiction. I know the title is crap  but this is based on a charity event and a jealous Ethan. This is my first time writing in 4 years so please go easy on me. This has not been proofread so uhh I’m sorry.Please please review this and if you guys like it I might write a part 2.

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC (Dr.Anika Warren)

Warnings: Just..jealousy and some NSFW at the end

Words:1.3k

Tag list: @hatescapsicum @theodorepjames4 @nooruleman @drethanramslay (Thx for helping me guys)

———————————————————————————————————–

It was the night of the charity ball which was being organised in order to gather some funding and for a hunt of some high profile patients for Edenbrook.The gathering was graced with various notable specialists and some entirely well known individuals, all of who had to be charmed to secure the eventual fate of the hospital.Naveen had brought up this idea, much to Ethan’s annoyance.Despite the fact that Naveen knew about his feelings about extravagant occasions and sucking up to individuals, he had to be there for the hospital. 

Ethan was deep in thought, he had come out to the balcony for some fresh air after somehow making it through almost half of the evening without snapping at these self absorbed people. He detested them as much he hated texting, maybe more. That was not the only thing he had in mind, he had not seen Anika Warren the whole time. And as much as he fought , he could not stop himself from thinking about her. He needed to see her and it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep those feelings at bay.

After a while ,Ethan returned to the gathering, he was  busy conversing with an old companion, Dr.Lisa Frey when a ripple of peach and sparkle caught his eye. He pardoned himself to go look and sufficiently sure, it was Dr.Warren. She was wearing a peach gown with spaghetti straps and she looked emphatically flawless. The colour was a stark contrast to her tan skin and Ethan was hypnotized.

She was talking to someone, engaged and smiling bright. Before he even knew who she was conversing with, he felt an ache of envy. It was not the way that she was conversing with another person, or that she was cheerful, it was that the individual, a man who had his hands on her back and was drawing her closer.He was gripping his wine glass tight, any harder, he would break it. And he almost did when the man turned around.

Dr.Tobias Carrick.Ex Best friend, now sworn enemy.

Ethan was distraught. The manner in which he was conversing with her and the manner in which she was reacting to him made his blood boil.He was flirting shamelessly and she was reciprocating his actions.

He tried to chastise himself, told himself that she did not belong to him and she could do what she wanted.Be that as it may, some place somewhere down in his heart, he was envious. They had attempted to drive away their affections for quite a while and when that fizzled , they were attempting to walk through this new relationship slowly.He trusted her, completely , and he would have been fine if it was any of the other individuals there who was talking to her. But it was Tobias, and Ethan felt hurt.

She appeared to see his dissatisfaction, possibly it was how he was stiff or perhaps something different. Yet, she pardoned himself and came to him.

“Hi Dr.Ramsey” she said flirtatiously. “How are you? I didn’t take you for a man who might go to these sorts of things” she stated, signaling to the gathering.

“Dr.Warren."Ethan said briefly. He didn’t have any idea how to react, and he was unable to converse with her regularly without snapping.

"Ethan..?” She said carefully, she had gotten on to him and was worried.“Are you alright?”

“Yes Dr.Warren, I’m good.Now could you please excuse me?, I have a few things to deal with. Where I don’t play with irregular individuals like you” he snapped. He regretted the words right away. She had turned red and her eyes were glossy.

“You’re mad about Tobias?”

“Oh, you’re on first name basis now?Great”

“Ethan he was just talking to me. Unlike you he is not a child and can keep a woman’s attention with his wit” Anika said angrily

“Oh, then go on then. Go talk to him. I’ll be right there waiting for you to finish.”

“Oh my god ethan are you jealous?”

“Jealous? About Tobias? No”

“Then why are you acting this way? Why don’t you talk to me properly? “ Anika asked, growing increasingly annoyed.

“I’m not acting any way Dr.Warren. Now move.” With those words, Ethan left.

Anika was furious and hurt. He was a stubborn ass when it came to such things.He was jealous, it was clear as day and she needed to talk to him.Throughout the evening she tried to catch him and each time, his replies were short and he found a way to avoid her.

She was brainstorming, trying to think of a way to get his attention when she got an idea.

Ethan was on the other side of the hall, talking to Naveen. He was visibly relaxed and smiling. This was the perfect opportunity. She went up to them and started talking. Ethan got tense the moment she came but could not run away.Not with Naveen there. She had him trapped and he knew it and somehow, he smiled.

“Naveen, how do you think the party is going?”She asked innocently

“As of what I can see, it’s going pretty well. You have managed to talk to so many people and charm them. I should thank you.” said Naveen

“Oh..you are welcome Naveen” she smiled and blushed and Ethan could feel his heart skip a beat.

They were engaged in idle conversation for quite a while when suddenly, Ethan felt a sliver of touch on his leg. Imperceptible one but he knew the game she was playing. Slowly, her hand travelled farther and his breath hitched. Naveen did not notice and she was playing this game well.

Ethan suddenly excused himself saying he needed a break and walked out. Naveen gave Anika a smirk and she could feel herself getting red.

“Go follow him, you lovebirds should not be kept apart” said Naveen.

Her plan was going quite well, she followed Ethan outside, to a clearing. There were trees around and they were hidden from the world. Ethan did not notice her and sat down on a bench.

She saw an opportunity and sneaked up behind him, Snaking her arms around his neck, she started kissing his neck, slowly and with feather light kisses. She was having the effect she wanted.

“Anika..what are you doing?”

“Oh, nothing Dr.Ramsey..”she said as she continued her ministrations. She walked around and sat down beside him, kissing his jaw. She knew his will was breaking and she was here for it.

“Anika…i won’t last long like this” said Ethan. It was becoming hard for him control himself. He wanted to take her then and there.

“Do you know how beautiful you look?” he remarked “You look like a princess..the things I want to do to you..” he trailed off

“Then do them Ramsey, or are you too much of a coward to take control?If I had my way I would like you to fuck me right here on this bench” she breathed

Ethan was losing control and he was losing it fast. There was a growing tightness in his pants that he needed to take care of.

“I would want you to fuck me hard Ethan, I know you want it too. I don’t care if anyone sees us, I want everyone to know who has my heart”

That was it for Ethan. He had lost. He swiftly turned and pulled her into his lap and their lips crashed. It was fire ,it was ice. It was everything. He was jealous, he wanted to do things to her that would remind her that she was his. He wanted to make her forget about Tobias.

With much difficulty he pulled apart, her face and her hair falling onto it were enough to make him want to devour her then and there.

He managed to get up and he held his hand out

“Come on, let’s get out of here” he said.

Anika followed him with a giggle, she had succeeded and now she knew she was in for a wild night.

A/N : If you read till here, thank you. It means a lot. Please tell me how it is. I like writing and this is the first time I’m writing for this fandom so advice is much appreciated

[yeojaa]

SWEET LULLABIES, chapter iii. (w. JJK)

You've never loved in half measures.  It's always been all or nothing.  You didn't even mind when your heart was bigger than theirs.  Lopsided or not, you made up for whatever they wouldn't give.  But when you've finally met your match, what will happen?

alt summary.  You're crazy in love and for once, so is he.

pairing.  jeon jungkook.  

genre + rating.  a whole lot of angst with a bit of fluff if you squint.  general.

warnings / tags.   friendship, best friends, best friends to lovers, friends to lovers, canon compliant, jeon jungkook is whipped, smitten jeon jungkook, jeon jungkook is bad at feelings.

reading.  sweet lullabies is a series of one-shots that tie into and conclude my other story, sugar high.  both are part of the best friends means forever series.  this is a bonus chapter from kook’s point of view. 

word count.  ~6250

chapter 3.  Save Me

The one where he’d almost lost you.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over it;  luckily, he doesn’t think he’ll ever want to.

After all, you’re a dream come true.  You’re everything he’d ever hoped for, years of toffee-sweet daydreams and quiet desires wrapped up with a ribbon and presented in the form of his beloved best friend.  His Polaris - his north star in every sense of the word, guiding him home whenever he needed it.  A person to hold him close, to tend to the oft-neglected garden blooming behind a brassy ribcage.  You’re everything he’d ever wanted and even the things he hadn’t known he had.  

“What’re you thinking about?”  A question slotted into silence by a gentle hand and half-lidded stare, warmth dusting over the exposed expanse of Jungkook’s collar.  It feels like a beckoning to dreams and he can’t help but smile, expression endlessly soft as he inspects the girl in his arms.  His girl.  

He hums once, a noncommittal sound.  “Nothing.  Go back to sleep, baby.”  It’s true for the most part.  It’s nothing now.  But once upon a time, it’d been the single most frightening possibility.  Losing you.

And oh, how close he’d been to that.

NOVEMBER 27, 2017

“Seriously?”  It sounds bad - he knows it does - tight and terse between his teeth.  It’s coloured an alarming shade of red and acts like a beacon to those around him because there aren’t many things that have him acting out in this particular way.  

After all, he’d grown up in a very short period of time - something he was endlessly proud of and incredibly grateful to his hyungs for.  Their patience and mentorship had helped shape him into the well-adjusted young man he was now.  

Or usually was.  Not right now, though.    

“What’s wrong, Jungkookie?”  It’s Jimin -  seated closest to him and always somehow strangely aware of everything - who speaks first and in dulcet tones meant to coddle and soothe, lithe arm finding its way around his maknae’s shoulders.  Seated how they are, it’s easy, but Jungkook notices with amusement that it won’t always be.  Soon, he’ll be far too broad for this.  Their little muscle pig wasn’t so little anymore.

His response is immediate, though filled with petulance and beneath that, the tiniest tinge of shame.  “Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me,”  comes the same songbird, his head dropping to rest easily against the youngest member’s.  Jimin knows he’s pushing but he also knows he needs to.  It’s easy to read the golden boy.

Silence stretches for a beat, then another, and he almost sighs - but doesn’t.  Jungkook can feel it rising in the other’s chest before it’s stolen away by his grudging response.  They’re less childish now, though still a bit sullen, rounded by a pout that he can’t seem to help.  “It’s just Soo.”

It doesn’t come as a surprise to the smaller dancer, his expression thoughtful.  “What’s going on?”

Wasn’t that the million dollar question?

Truthfully, Jungkook didn’t know what was going on.  In fact, he wasn’t even sure if anything was going on - or if it was all just in his head.  That was the worst part:  the uncertainty.  Each intrusive thought, each second guess.  It felt like a downright disease, taking up precious space in his skull and refusing to let go.  

“Jungkookie?”  There’s no expectation in Jimin’s inflection.  It���s only concern in sugar-spun tendrils, holding the nickname aloft.

“I don’t know,”  Jungkook finally manages in a whine.  The slope of his brow is knit together, distress threaded into every line as his arms fold, crossing in a huff over his chest.  He hates feeling silly like this, so he does his best to turn the emotion on its head and force it into something else.  It’s not necessary but it feels a bit better, like a fortress he can hide his heart within.

A sigh expels, exits through his nostrils in a sharp push of air.  He knows Jimin is just trying to help but he’s having trouble formulating words into coherent sentences.  The thoughts are too jumbled in his head, bouncing around like an overzealous energizer bunny.

“She’s been really distant lately.”  A partial answer, because he’s sure there are a million other reasons he could give.  Like he was simply stressed (true) or you’ve been posting about your great new life in the States and hardly answering him (the same answer as his original but a little too much to admit).

Or even that you’d mentioned a new friend - a male friend who, surprisingly, hit closer to home than he’d expected - and now he was seething.  Except he’d never repeat that last one.  It wasn’t his place to.  He was your best friend.  Nothing more, nothing less.

“Aren’t her exams coming up soon?”  

Leave it to Park Jimin to find the middle ground - that grey area in between all the good and the bad and frame it in a way that had Jungkook frowning, softly rounded mouth dragging in distaste.

He hadn’t even thought about that.  Or maybe he had, but it’d gotten lost among all the white noise and loneliness.  Frankly, he’s not sure.  His thoughts were always full of you and it was hard to distinguish sometimes.  “Maybe.”

“So maybe she’s just busy?”  As if Jungkook hadn’t already considered that.  He wasn’t trying to be crazy.  In fact, he hated it with every ounce of his being.  But he’d seen the photos you’d sent (admittedly, directly to him) and he knew you weren’t too wrapped up in your finals.  You’d found time in between the late night study sessions to attend house parties, knocking back venti-sized Americanos the next morning to stave off hangovers.

It was surprising, actually.  You’d never been great at handling your liquor - something you insisted you got from your father - but you were out all the time now and always with them.

Yejin, he didn’t mind.  She’d appeared in FaceTimes with you often enough that he’d developed his own sort of rapport with her.  She didn’t give a shit about the Korean music industry and treated him like anyone else, albeit with a lot more scoffing English than he’d ever faced before.

It was her cousin that left a bad taste in his mouth, a mixture of vinegar and battery acid.  Not that Kim Woosung was a bad person - at least, from what he’d heard from the people here, and definitely not from you.  Rather, it was jealousy, that cruel green monster rearing its ugly head.  It’d made a home in his chest, unleashing balefire at anyone remotely close to the aching thing in his chest.

Because that’s what you were - his heart in human form.  

But he’d never expected you to disappear halfway across the world.  He’d always thought you’d be here, holding his hand.  Now he had this gaping you-shaped hole in his chest and he didn’t know how to fill it.  Truthfully, didn’t know if he wanted to.  

“Maybe,”  he relents, quiet as a mouse.  He knows he isn’t fooling anyone by the whispered admission but it’s a shutting door, sealing the conversation for another time.

NOVEMBER 30, 2017

He can feel the stare burning into the back of his head before the words reach his ears.  

“What time did you sleep last night?”  There’s no judgment, no anger - just soft shades of concern and coaxing swept across each syllable. That’s why Namjoon was such a good leader - he knew how to approach his members.  Understood them, possibly, better than they did themselves.

“I don’t remember.”  Jungkook’s answer is full of apology, a guilty smile framing the pink turn of his mouth and forcing a dimple into his cheek.  He thinks it must’ve been around two or three in the morning, as he’d stayed up to talk to you after your first class.  Stayed up after being out all day and practising for hours.  

The shadows under his eyes might as well have been a glaring neon sign or an advertisement for the sleep-deprived.

Namjoon says nothing, his expression still endlessly kind, just barely touched with reproach by the line of his lips and the subtle tension in his jaw.  He’s careful - he needs to be when it comes to matters of the heart with his maknae.  Because despite his dismissive laughter and playful nature, Jungkook was also one of the most sensitive members.  He just hid it well - sweeping it behind his bunny smile and witch’s cackle.  

Consideration stretches silence on for a beat longer before the taller of the two is smiling, crescent moons forming his eyes.  A hand cards through silk the colour of smoke and he regards the younger boy with tenderness.  “Don’t forget to take care of yourself, okay?”

“I won’t.”  What Jungkook means to say is he’ll try to remember.  He has to, for them.  Because his actions weren’t just his own - hadn’t been since he’d committed to this crazy wild path years ago - and he has to be considerate.  Has to be better.  “Thanks, hyung.”  

“Just watching out,”  comes the elder’s response with a noncommittal wave of his hand, focus already reassigned to the book laid across the table in front of him.  He’s so immediately absorbed into it that Jungkook’s a little envious, legs of his chair dragging over linoleum as he edges himself into Namjoon’s personal space.  

It’s a testament to their close bond that he doesn’t even flinch, simply shifting ever so slightly to the right to allow Jungkook a better view over his shoulder.

Maybe this is what he needed - a distraction.

“Hyung.”  The inflection immediately perks Namjoon’s attention, head turning just so to acknowledge the other’s address.  “How do you...”  A prolonged pause as Jungkook mules his next words over, finger resting delicately on his cupid’s bow.  Was he really doing this?  “How do you... distract yourself?”  Okay, so not quite the question he’d meant to pose, but good enough for the time being.

Straight brows pitch higher, shooting up in surprise.  Whatever Namjoon had been expecting, it isn’t this.  “What do you mean distract myself?”

Suddenly, Jungkook’s on the spot, the full weight of the rapper’s stare turned on him.  The focus makes him waver, teeth wearing through the supple interior of his cheek and the soft petal of his bottom lip.  Fingers fidget, push and pull on the sweater paw he’s formed.  

“Uh.”  Good one, JK.  

He clears his throat once, twice.  He looks a little chagrined, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.  

“When you’re going through things—”  The attempt at ambiguity is as transparent as the windows around them.  “—that are hard, how do you distract yourself?  How do you forget about it?”

“Well, you don’t just forget about your problems.”  Something about Namjoon’s expression has him looking away, flustered.  “I say it’s always better to try to fix your problems than to run from them but,”  and Jungkook latches onto this inch of give,  “if you need a distraction for a while, find something that takes up the extra time you’d otherwise spend stressing about the problem.  A hobby, maybe.”

Well, he had tons of those.  He gamed in his downtime - his Widow headshots were unparalleled, if he was being honest.  He filmed whenever they were out;  he’d even cut and uploaded his and Jimin’s recent trip to Tokyo.  He worked out, forcing his body into a state of fatigue that left his thoughts far too tired to run cruel circles through his mind.  But it was never enough.

“I have hobbies.  It doesn’t work.”  There’s a desperate edge to his words that he hadn’t meant to let slip.  “It’s fine.  Whatever.”  Again, another door closed.  Slammed shut by his own foot in his mouth.

“Then maybe it’s an issue you can’t just distract yourself from.”

Of course Namjoon’s right.  Jungkook knows that but it doesn’t help the bitterness that bleeds onto his tongue and rots enamel.  “That’s not an option.”  Rather, he wouldn’t let it be.  There were do’s and don’ts in best friendships and confessing your unrequited love was on the hard list of don’ts.

“Jungkook-ah...”

“What?”  It explodes off of his tongue, though he doesn’t mean for it to.  The nerves are fizzling in his stomach, ricocheting from his mouth like fireworks into the quiet between them.  They’re too bright - demanding attention.  He thinks, if they were real, they’d paint pretty silhouettes of the girl he can’t get out of his mind.

“Just tell her.”  

“No.”  

They’re an immovable object and an unstoppable force.

Harder now, edged with exasperation and so much concern it makes Jungkook’s heart stutter in his chest.  “You have to.”  

“I can’t.”  Emphatic, spoken with both lips and eyes.  They beg for understanding, like a man lost at sea desperate for a ship on the horizon.  Because that’s exactly what he is – a lovelorn sailor swept to his doom by the siren call, one he’s utterly defenceless against.  He wouldn’t be like this if he had any other choice.  

“Okay.”  A pause, a sigh, a relent.  “I’m here if you need anything.”

DECEMBER 14, 2017

It’s two weeks later when he needs that anything, driven to it by the radio silence he feels in his bones, tearing apart each and every part of him like a black hole devouring the stars.  Because rather than it being a tangible pain he can distract from - replace with another, sharper sting - it’s become a dull ache that exists in every action and inaction, engulfing his thoughts even as they try to focus on anything else.

He thinks he can’t be held responsible for the choices he makes when there’s too much going on in this head of his, his thoughts far too jumbled to be held accountable.

So he smiles at the very pretty girl that’s been deemed the anything he needs and tries to focus on the way her mouth curls, painted an intoxicating shade of ruby red.  He trains his attention on the flutter of her lashes, the coquettish way she ducks her head when he meets her stare.  He memorizes the way her voice pitches and drops, sugary sweet and decidedly feminine.

Does it because it’s the only way to fill the lovesick hole in his heart, even if it doesn’t really work.  Even if the puzzle piece doesn’t quite fit, corners snipped and reassembled to take up the space the essential piece has left behind.

“I can’t believe you asked for my number,”  she's saying, all rose-tinted cheeks and a smile he finds endearing.  Fingers - short, slim, dainty - smooth over the ceramic of her cup and she peers at him from over the edge.  It’s meant to be sly, to draw his attention to the way her mouth curls around the lip, and for a moment, it does.  It piques something in the back of his mind, apathetic green monster rearing its ugly head at the prospect of something new.

Something not named Park Soomi.

He latches onto the interest with both hands, proverbial grip torn apart by rug burn and his attempt to hold onto it.  He needs this.  He needs this so fucking bad.  “Why not?”

“I mean, you’re you.”  The way she says it makes the hair on the back of Jungkook’s neck rise and the fingers in his lap curl into fists.

It brews bitterness on his tongue - the aroma of his coffee lost to the taste.  He can’t help the reaction, even while he knows he can’t blame her for it (nor should he).

After all, she had the Namjoon stamp of approval.  And if there was anything he trusted, it was his leader‘s judgment.

“I’m just a normal guy,”  he insists, mouth full of laughter he forces out.  He says it with as much meaning as he can, though he knows the words don’t hold much weight.  Not when they’re so at odds with the truth.  Luckily, the two aren’t mutually exclusive.

She doesn’t have a rebuttal now, only choosing to offer that same soft smile. 

It doesn’t trap him like a star in the galaxy, but it holds his attention.  It reassigns it from the hole in his chest to the brightness of her teeth and the sweetly rounded cupid’s bow and that’s enough.

“I’ll prove it to you.”  Whether he means the words, he’s not sure, but they come of their own volition, sounding off like a promise.  He thinks he can feel warmth spiking across his neck, creeping up past the collar of his flannel once the words settle, a blanket draped over the cozy space they've carved out in the hole-in-the-wall cafe.  When her eyes follow the heat, coaxing it higher with her stare, he knows it’s there.  It makes him swallow thickly - was he in over his head?

When her hand drifts - those big doe eyes of his tracking every movement - and fingers ghost over the tops of the back of his, he knows he is.

“You’re dangerous, huh?”  He asks, though he knows the answer.  Can see it reflected in the impossibly dark depths of grey circle lenses, contrast stark against the perfectly layered and blended makeup smudged around her eyes.  It’s something he’s used to - that idolizing, somehow endlessly adoring stare he’s seen a million times, in the sea of faces he performs for - but here, it feels different.  A little closer to home.  

"Only if you want me to be."  And he thinks he does.

DECEMBER 21, 2017

"Good morning, sleepyhead."

Your voice cuts through his early morning exhaustion, striking a proverbial match as neurons fire off beneath his skin, nerves fizzling in his stomach.  It rings clear across the airwaves and for the first time in what feels like ever, it feels like nails on a chalkboard.  For the first time, it doesn't have honey melting into every crevice, warming him from the inside out.

The smallest flash of irritation flares - a lightning strike in his jumbled thoughts.  It's so drastically different from anything he's ever associated with you.  Maybe this was good.  Maybe this was progress.  

"You called."  Deadpan, because Jungkook's still half-asleep but more than that, he's rough around the edges, your hot and cold treatment of him the past few weeks simmering bitterness in his veins.  "Finally found some time for me?"

The intake of breath has him immediately regretting the words, a breath sucked in sharply through his teeth.  He imagines you're doing the same, by the silence that stretches on.  That, or you're tearing a hole through your cheek.  He wants to tell you to stop - to apologize for being an asshole at 7 o'clock in the morning, but he doesn't.

"I've been busy with exams,"  you finally speak and it sounds so small, his heart twists itself over and over.  It doesn't break, though, and that's a feat he never thought he'd accomplish.

"I know."  It’s all he can say, an octave softer but still miles away from the sunny warmth he's used to spilling forth like an overflowing bucket of yellow paint.  It feels strange to hold himself so closely, refusing to allow his abundance of affection colour every syllable and sweep him headlong into the love he feels for you.  "Did you need something?"

Another inhale and - maybe his ears are playing tricks on him but it sounds strange, wet - you're speaking as quietly as he's ever heard, as if you're afraid your words will elicit an reaction somehow worse than what you've already faced.  "Did you want to watch a movie tonight?"  

He has to applaud you for your insistence, though the tiny, bitter part of himself glimpses that flair of annoyance at the edges of his vision once again.  

"I'm busy."  It's the truth but it's not something that's ever stopped him before.  Jungkook was notorious for making time for you, rearranging his schedule enough to make Namjoon want to rip his hair out.  So it's odd, even to him, that the next words - the lie - rolls of his tongue so easily.  "We're working on a new routine tonight."

"Oh."  

The single word has enough weight to crush his heart beneath your heel.  How fitting that it's actually the opposite now, and your own is crumbling beneath his foot.  At least, that's what he thinks - assumes by the dead silence that follows it.

"Sorry then."  You're trying so hard to keep your voice chipper that it leaps higher than is natural and rings in his ears, making him grimace.  Even if he didn't know you so well, he'd be able to read you like a book.  You're far too transparent.  "Good luck.  I know you'll do great - you always do."  

A thanks is all he offers in response, ready to end the call and only stopped by a heart-wrenching last goodbye.  "I love you, Kook."  

He wishes he'd hung up faster.  

Instead, he utters a soft "you, too" and ends the call.  He has a date to get ready for.

DECEMBER 22, 2017

When he stumbles through the front door of their shared apartment, he can still taste the sticky, not unpleasant sweetness of her lips.  It tingles his tastebuds like fresh berries and makes him laugh a little to himself, back of his hand rising to wipe away the residual gloss.  

Peeling off his shoes - he’s careful not to cause too much of a ruckus because it’s almost one in the morning and the last thing he wants is to wake anyone up - he finds himself humming quietly.  It’s low in his throat and muddled by the taste of beer but it’s there, sweeping the quiet from the entryway as laces untie and boots are neatly tucked away out of sight.

He’d had fun, much to his surprise.  Honestly more than than he’d expected, because he'd never been the biggest fan of upscale restaurants, or bustling bars, or glossy pink lip gloss.  But that'd changed in the span of one night, all those strange things somehow sparking a bunny smile and his trademark, boisterous laughter.

Because Jungkook likes that she comes with all of that and she’s everything he needs - at least for now.

She’s a breath of fresh air in a life dominated by strict practice schedules and mandated appearances.  In a way, she’s everything he'd ever hoped for in a distraction - pretty, fun, a little demanding.  She keeps him on his toes in a way he isn’t used to, never giving his thoughts enough time to re-centre on the silhouette that exists like a cookie-cutter carving in his chest.

A temporary fix, possibly - surely - but he didn't mind.  Couldn't find it in himself to when he'd found some semblance of peace for the first time in weeks.

"Did you tell Soo we had practice tonight?"

The voice breaks him from his thoughts, shoots an arrow that lands bullseye on his heart, and he gasps.  He hadn't noticed the figure lingering in the kitchen, hunched over their kitchen table with one headphone in and a sketchbook in his hands.  

Of course Taehyung would be awake.  Why was he surprised?

Oh, because of the question.  The one he hasn't answered, instead gaping at the other like a fish out of water.  Mouth opens around sound that doesn’t come out then closes and repeats itself twice more.  Taehyung doesn't repeat himself, simply staring at Jungkook with an expression that cuts him to his core.

Because he's not angry, or judgmental.  No, he's disappointed.  It's written into the arches of his brows, the way his headband-covered forehead wrinkles just so.  

"What?"  It's soft, hesitant, careful.  There's already embarrassment crowning, locking into the column of Jungkook's spine and rooting him all the way through to his feet.  It keeps him from advancing further into the apartment, caught halfway between the adjoined living space and the hallway that beckons him to the safety of his bedroom.  

Instead, his gaze swizzles, bounces and leaps between the door at the end of the hall and the other member sitting at the table, focus trained wholly on him.  It's hard to meet Taehyung's eyes - and that feels uncomfortable in a way he doesn't want to think about.

"Did you tell Soo we had practice tonight?"  Finally repeated, verbatim, in that some low drawl of his.  

It's posed as an innocent question, all sleepy eyes and carefully trained mouth.  It makes Jungkook's own purse, tongue rounding the hollow of his cheek.  Though he knows he shouldn’t, the desire to bite back stirs in his stomach and he has to clench his fists at his sides, nails digging crescents into the flesh of his palms.

“Why?”  He’s aware he’s answered a question with another question - something he finds infuriating himself, but he can’t help it.  He’s not ready for the lecture he’s sure will come.

Taehyung shifts, arms folded across his chest, and says nothing.  It’s somehow more unnerving than if he were to tear into Jungkook.

“We were talking earlier.  She asked how practice had gone.”  There’s a sour edge to Taehyung’s explanation, colouring words highlighter yellow and toxic green.  “Imagine her surprise when I had no idea what she was talking about.”  

Jungkook knows there’s no point - no reason to voice the shame he already knows stitches his features together.  Taehyung presses on, nonplussed by his maknae’s discomfort.

“You didn’t tell her you had a date?”  

“Why would I?”  It’s defensive, juvenile, a world away from what he wants it to be.  It garners him a look that teeters dangerously on flabbergasted, Taehyung’s groomed brows gathering tightly over his stare.

For what it’s worth, his words are measured - far more reasonable than Jungkook deserves.  “Because she’s your best friend?”

“I don’t need to tell her everything,”  and while that’s true - it somehow doesn’t feel great with life breathed into it.  Fully realized, it’s harsh and covered in thorns that catch on the way out of his mouth, tearing up the insides of his cheeks with razor-sharp edges.

“She was hurt.”

That should be enough.  At any other time, it would be.   It’d have Jungkook crawling on his hands and knees - anything to wipe that sadness from your face.  But here and now, caught between a rock and a hard place, it means nothing to him.  At least, that’s what he tells himself, forcing down the bile that rises in his throat.  “Then she should mind her own business.”

Taehyung knows this isn’t the Jeon Jungkook he knows.  Knows that this version of their beloved maknae is but a caricature carved from hurt and frustration and bruises that bloom like weeds.   It doesn’t mean it’s okay.

“You don’t mean that,” he says kindly, softer than he has the whole interaction.

“I do,”   comes Jungkook’s immediate retort, though it lacks any real strength.  It’s small, like it wasn’t meant to be said.

“You need to tell her.”

It’s not the first, second, or third time he’s heard these words;  he wishes it were the last.

“No.”  And he’s walking away again, disappearing into the safety of his own room where he spends the next five hours wide awake and miserable.

DECEMBER 25, 2017

It’s the first time he’s spent Christmas without you. It feels wrong, like any other Monday morning rather than the merry day it is. There’s no golden tinsel strung throughout his thoughts, no cheerily sang carols on repeat in his mind. The magic is gone - stripped away by the loss of you.

You haven’t spoken to him in days.  Since his little white lie - because that’s all it’d been, he tells himself - had come to light, you’d made yourself scarce.  There were no more stories posted to social media, no mentions of your name from the other members.  It was like you’d disappeared, taking all the sunlight with you.

Where he’s once laid his head and called home, there was nothing left.

“Come have breakfast, Jungkookie.”  It’s Jimin peeking into his bedroom, small hands curled around the door frame.  His hair’s a little wonky - sticking up at odd angles - but he appears happy, like he should.

Jungkook wonders how he looks.  If the shadows under his eyes give away all the demons that make homes in the hollows.

“I’m not hungry.”  Or rather, he didn’t have an appetite.  Didn’t have much of anything, truthfully.

“You need to eat.”  It’s the same wide-eyed concern he’s seen edged in everyone’s expression.  It makes his throat constrict, the thing in his chest thumping an erratic rhythm as it threatens to launch itself out of its brassy, broken confines. 

Shoulders shift, rise and fall like a breaching wave, and he shakes his head again.  “I’m really not hungry.”  Even to his own ears, he sounds strange.  His words are held together by flimsy strings, knots frayed and ready to split.  There are stirrings of guilt, tendrils of it curling like smoke through his lungs.  It’s only a matter of time until the fire engulfs every inch of him, scorching all in its path. 

He thinks he wouldn’t mind, if it’d replace the ash that lingers in a fine layer over each thought.

What had happened to his distraction?  Where was it - she - now when he needed it most?

Namjoon’s words reverberate in his skull, rattle around like coins in a pocket.  Maybe it wasn’t something he could distract himself from.  Why hadn’t he listened? It would still suck, surely, but he thinks it might not have mutated, shaped into this new divide by his own hand.

Because now there were miles between you and he only had himself to blame - his own face reflected back at him when he sought to find an answer for the radio silence.

It felt worse than he could’ve imagined.

“At least come join us.”  Jimin is insistent, refusing to let Jungkook wallow in his own self-imposed misery.  Hands coax, tugging at the hem of the younger’s sleeve.  It doesn't move him from his spot, two feet planted firmly as the wheels of his desk chair roll in a semi-circle and return to their original position.  They both know Jimin's weight means nothing against Jungkook's but the dancer is insistent, refusing to budge from where he stands, chest to shoulder with the stubborn boy.  "Jungkookie."

When Jungkook remains steadfastly focused on his computer - on the glowing lights of his keyboard, the front page of Naver - Jimin sighs loudly.  He feels a little bad about it.  Jimin's not the reason he's in this position.  

"Jin-hyung went all out.  You don't want to miss this."  

It's a good tactic.  Any other day and Jungkook would've jumped at the thought of a feast.  After all, he was a growing boy which meant he was always, always hungry. 

As if in response - in a great show of rebellion - his stomach rumbles, breaking the silence he'd meant to drag on.  Betrayed by his own body.

He blanches in the same instant Jimin grins, full mouth spread around a smile that screams victory!

"Come on."  This time, Jungkook relents, lets the other's hands coax him from his seat.  He's still a little begrudging though, shoulders inched forward and chin tucked against his chest in an exaggerated display of resistance.  He even drags his bare feet a little, but Jimin is wholly unbothered.  

Because whether the maknae believes it or not, his members know best.  They know the size of his heart and the fact that a very vital piece seems to be missing.  But that doesn't mean they can't fill it in the ways they know how, with boisterous laughter and his favourite ice cream, hand written letters and silly elf hats.  

They might not have been his Christmas miracle but that didn't mean they wouldn't try.

JANUARY 1, 2018

He thinks it should be easier.  The worst had come and gone, after all.  

He'd spent the rest of the holidays occupied with public appearances and precious moments with his hyungs, exchanging small presents and doing everything he could to keep his mind off of you.  It'd worked, for the most part.  He hadn't had enough time to wallow in that pit of despair he'd come to call home, instead pulled from it by obligations and the hands of his loved ones.

And yet he can't help the way he checks his phone, turns it over and over in his hands like another flip might throw the universe into motion, righting its off-kilter axis.  

"You look stressed."  A voice purrs - but it's not you so he doesn't really listen.  Doesn't even flinch when a warm body settles itself against his side in a veil of vanilla powder and glossy curls.  "What's wrong, babe?"  There's a hand on his knee and lips at his ear, roses painting the shell as she presses herself closer.  

Jungkook’s certain it's meant to be reassuring but he can only lean away, eager to put as much space between them as possible.  For the first time, it feels wrong.  Like the distraction wasn't made for him, but by him.  This isn’t what he wants.  It throws every action, every minute adjustment of her features, into stark relief.

So it's impossible to miss the look on her face, how it screams hurt and surprise and what the hell are you doing?  

"What?"  The word comes in a pair - from him and her.  It's almost comical how she sounds in comparison to him, all edges and affront to his soft utterance.  There's venom in her single syllable, laid there by a sharp tongue and sharper teeth.  It's the first time he's been on the receiving end of it and he has to admit - he hates it.  It gnaws at his insides.  He realizes he's letting her down.

Like Frankenstein, he's created a monster he can't control.

"What's your problem?"  She's far less angry than she deserves to be.  If he were in her shoes, he'd be black and blue, howling at the moon.  Instead, she's still soft, affection dulling the bile that rightfully rises in her throat.  Even now, he can see the way she looks at him - larger than life, with stars in her eyes.

Jungkook doesn't find it in himself to answer immediately, instead staring adamantly at an indiscernible point behind her.  "Nothing."  It's the farthest thing from believable, a lie that fixes itself between them, bright red and beguiling.  

"It doesn't seem like nothing."  For what it's worth, she's trying.  He can tell she is by how her tone changes, adapts to the relutance he shows.  She's trying to coax something more from him, shifting slightly closer when he doesn't immediately recoil.  "The fireworks are on.  Let's go join everyone else."

It's a great idea in theory but it's the last thing he wants to do.  So he says as much, shaking his head in the same moment.

"I'm heading home."  It doesn't matter that he's nowhere near their dorms or that she suddenly looks like a kicked puppy.  All Jungkook knows is that he has to be anywhere but here.  "Have fun tonight."

He's rising before she even has a chance to respond, flipping the hood of his sweatshirt up over his carefully styled strands.  When she reaches for him, he retreats a step, putting as much distance between them as he can in the small room.  It isn't easy - she's everywhere, light reflecting off the sequins of her pretty white dress, the scent of her perfume presenting itself with every inhale.

"I'm sorry,"  he says and he means it, despite the disbelief that paints her features.  

Without looking back, he disappears out the door, sliding past the milling bodies, the various performers and staff that wander the halls.  Excitement still buzzes among the dispersed crowd and he finds himself getting swept up in the occasional hello, deterred from his mission over and over again.  

It isn't until his phone rings, tone interrupting the one-sided conversation, that he's able to pull himself away.  He thanks his lucky stars - until he sees the caller ID.

Because it's you.  You - the person he's been waiting for all this time.  

It has his heart hammering in his chest, his grip on the device suddenly so tight he worries he might crack the screen.  You're finally calling him.  After weeks, you were there, familiar contact photo beaming up at him.

"Hello?"  He can hear the hope in his own voice.  

There's a long pause and he feels his throat constrict.  Had you not meant to call?  Was it a pocket dial?  A million questions run rampant through his thoughts, kicking up dust and gravel that he nearly trips over in his haste to get a response.

"Soo?"

"Happy New Year, Jungkook-ssi."  The way you say his name makes him want to cry with relief because there's tenderness still, hidden beneath the soft, half-whispered greeting.  You sound exactly like you always have, if not a little quieter, with more reserve, and he wants to live in the sound, how it settles into his head like it belongs there.  

"Happy New Year,"  he echoes back in a voice thick with emotion.  

You were finally home.

notes.  this chapter is the painful brainchild of mine and @keywepie​ and as such, is dedicated to her.  thank you for letting me talk your ear off and i’m sorry it took so long!

and yes, this kook is very different from the present-day kook in the series but that’s the point.  he was!!  hurting n sad!!  and way younger!!!!!

[rosemary-morgan]

OC Interview: George Wilder

Thank you my dear @fangirl-ramblings for tagging me 🖤😋 I guess everyone was already tagged? I don´t know . I´ll tag @smollittleflower @thekingofthegoats​ @the-neigh-sayer​ and everyone who wants to write about thier wonderful and unique OC. Or feel free to ignore this game 😂

Date of Interview: 1898

Name: “My full name is George Ezekiel Wilder ”

Are you single: “No, I am very happily married. But it looks like fate has other plans for us *sigh*”

Are you happy: “Not right now. My wife has disappeared and God only knows where she is now. But I know he took her away from me. Even if the law doesn't believe me and and claiming, that my wife has left me, I know the truth!”

Are you angry: “Yes I am! Can you imagine how painful it is to lose the person you love most? Not knowing what happened to that person or what hell they have to go through? And not being able to do anything because you don't know where to find them? Yes, damn it! I'm very angry! And this anger changed me!”

Are your parents still married: “My parents were happily married until my mother died many years ago... my father never got over this loss, and ended up destroying himself with alcohol. He also died a few years ago.

Facts

Birthplace: “Isle of Skye, Scotland”

Hair color: “black”

Eye color: ’‘green’’

Birth date: “25 January 1868”

Current Mood: “I have terrible back pain and I´m tired. I rode through for two days, took only short breaks to eat.”

Gender: “Male”

Summer or winter: “I prefer neither winter nor summer. Spring is my favorite time of the year. The heat in New Austin is sometimes unbearable, so I'm always looking forward to a trip to the East Grizzlies”

Morning or afternoon: “I prefer morning. Especially since I am used to getting up early. I'm actually a farmer.”

Love life

Are you in love: “Yes I am. I love my wife Virgilia very much.”

Do you believe in love at first sight: “ *smiles softly* Yes, because It happens to me. Vigilia stole my heart from the first moment.”

Who ended your last relationship: “I ended the relationship with a girls. I don´t remember her name... uhm, but we were only 14 years old. It wasn't a serious thing. Just holding hands *laughs softly*

Have you ever broken someone’s heart: “I don't think so.”

Are you afraid of commitment: “No, I'm not afraid of commitment. I would like to be a father.”

Have you hugged someone in the last week: “My friends Irma, Alice and Ruby. Also met some new interesting people.”

Have you ever had a secret admirer: “Not to my knowledge"

Have you ever broken your own heart: “Yes. My stubbornness hurt my father and I let him down. I will never be able to ask him for forgiveness...”

Six Choices

Love or Lust: “Sex and passion go together. But the most important thing for me is Love. Love, Sex and Lust - It is my greatest pleasure.

Lemonade or Iced Tea: “Cold Lemonade."

Cats or Dogs: “Both.”

A few Best friends or Regular Friends: “I met Irma a few weeks ago. Then we found young Alice days later and Ruby also joined us. They want to help me find my wife. It's very hard for me to trust strangers, but they don't ask for money. And honestly? I don't have any money either! I used all my money to hire private detectives to search for Virgilia. Many men cheated on me too. But there is a man named Marshall Tom Davies. He is a man of the law - who doesn't always act according to the law, but I respect him. He is a dangerous man.

Wild night out or romantic night in:  A romantic evening with Virgilia, sitting on the porch with a good glass of wine and music - followed by passionate sex.“

Day or night: ”Night. It´s cooler and calm. I enjoy hearing the wild animals.”

Have You Evers

Been caught sneaking out: “I´ve tried that once in West Point. My comrade and I sneaked out of the barracks to get a beer in a tavern. What happened? I was caught and had to do night duty for three weeks. *laughs softly*”

Fallen Down/Up the Stairs: “I never fell off stairs but I fell off my horse. And not just once. This Arabian is a wild animal, and you have to be very sensitive with Elija. Otherwise you will quickly lie on your back!”

Wanted someone/something so badly it hurt: “Yes. I want my wife back! I want her to be safe!”

Wanted to disappear: “There were days at West Point when I just didn't want to be there anymore. Becoming a soldier is very hard."

Four preferences

Smile or eyes: “Both. But eyes reveal a person's soul.”

Shorter or taller: “I prefer to be taller than my wife - and I'm glad that I am taller then her.”

Intelligence or Attraction: “Intelligence definitely. I want to be able to talk to someone about history, culture, art. About important dreams of life.

Hook up or Relationship: “Both is important. A healthy relationship requires a certain connection. Maybe I'm old-fashioned in this regard, but that's just how I am. A hopeless romantic.”

Family

Do you and your family get along: “I was so close to my Dad and my Mum. But when my mother died, the relationship between me and my father broke up. And there is my brother David: He is rotten inside his soul, and I know that this bastard is responsible for kidnapping my wife! He is an envious person and greedy for money! 

I have two older sisters. I love them very much. But we don't have much contact since they live in another state.

Would you say you have a messed up life: “I had a normal life until a few months ago. I was a farmer, looking after my animals, sold goods and I was a married man. Now I am a bounty hunter to earn some money, so I can travel and continue my search for Virgilia. I would say there have been better days in my life!”

Have you ever got kicked out: “No, I left on my own. I couldn't stand to see my father drink himself to death! "

Friends

Do you secretly hate one of your friends: “The only person I really loathe is my brother David."

Do you consider all of your friends good friends: “Yes, I do. They help me in hard situations and they saved my life more than once. That's what I call good friends!"

Who is your best friends: “Irma & Alice. They saved my life. More then once.”

Who knows everything about you: “My wife. She knows all of my secrets. I am open to her, I share the most intimate things with her. I love her more than my life.”

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #287

“keep him tied - it makes him well / he’s getting better, can’t you tell?”

What are you favorite things to watch on YouTube? I like a pretty big variety now. I’d say I’ve been mostly into pet YouTubers lately, especially reptile ones. Oh, and WoW stuff. Can you pick out any constellations in the sky without looking them up online? Besides the Little or Big Dipper (idk which is which), nope. Are you religious? If so, what influenced you to start believing God? If you’re not religious, what convinces you there is no God? I wouldn’t call myself religious, no. I do believe there’s some kind of ultimate power, but hell if I know what it is, and I don’t actually worship it. I don’t believe any “good” god would demand kissing its feet in order for you to end at peace, among a billion other reasons. I believe there is something though because the odds of life and everything is just… too perfect. Plus I believe in the paranormal, so to me, there is obviously something beyond the mortal form. Is there any animal out there that genuinely terrifies you? Is this an animal you’re worried about coming across in daily life? I am terrified of ticks and parasites in general. They’re fucking disgusting. Maggots will also make me scream. Oh, and then there’s whale sharks. In my daily life, I wouldn’t say there’s any that I actively worry about crossing paths with. When was the last time you wore make-up? Around Halloween when Summer, me, and another of her friends did a witch-themed photoshoot. It really fucking sucks that it was so dark by the time we were done that the pictures came out absolutely awful. You can’t see shit, and of course on camera, I look absolutely awful. Have you ever worn colored contacts? No, but I’m totally not opposed for a cool photoshoot. Have you seen any of the Disney re-makes (eg. Aladdin or The Lion King)? What do you think of them? I’ve seen a good number, and I really like them. I think The Jungle Book remake was the best of them. How long did it take you to pass your driving test once you started learning how to drive? Ha, I still haven’t tried. When was the last time you went out for a formal occasion or event? Do you remember what you wore? Uhhhh… I have zero clue. Well, does my last job interview count? I just wore black sweatpants and some kind of formal top. How often do you have the TV on? is it more background noise or are you actually watching things? Y’all know by now that I don’t watch TV. Do you like any songs by Elvis Presley? Well of course. “Devil In Disguise” is my favorite. Do you ever answer the phone to unknown numbers? Nope. Do you eat anything special for breakfast on Christmas Day? Nah. When you go to theme parks, what’s your favorite type of ride? I haven’t been to a theme park in beyond forever, so idk. Are you afraid of falling in love? Ohhhhh yes. Expecting something to change in the next month? No. e_e What is your biggest worry in life right now? That Mom’s cancer will come back. Well, it IS going to eventually flare somewhere else, but no one can estimate when. Could be tomorrow. Could be years. Do you give up easily? It depends. With a lot of things, honestly, yes, because I get upset with my incompetence. What are you listening to? "Going To Hell" by The Pretty Reckless just came on. Is anything bothering you right now? Always. Were you ever made fun of? Yes. Are you currently jealous? I’ve been having episodes of it. Do you find piercings attractive on the opposite sex? I find them attractive on almost all people. Who was the last person you yelled at? I don’t know. Probably Mom. What do you say a lot? “Mood,” “lmao,” “can’t relate,” “same,” “oof,” “yikes,” shit like that, haha. What is your favorite place you have traveled? Chicago. Do you like ice cream? Yeah, that’s my comfort food. Do you like bananas? Yeah, but I don’t dare to eat one if I haven’t had my heartburn medication, because otherwise I get it BADLY. Do you like Paramore? A handful of their songs, yeah. I don’t know a lot though, honestly. Do you plan on getting married? It’d be nice. Ever been given a promise ring? No. Sexual orientation? Bi. Who do you text the most? Definitely Sara. Do you still talk to the person who hurt you most in life? Why or why not? No, because he wants nothing to do with me. I don’t blame him. Have you ever given your number to a complete stranger? Um, no. Well, besides in like, job applications. What color is your keyboard? Black. Your mouse? Mostly black, but it does have this crackled pattern that can glow blue or red. Desktop or laptop? I prefer laptops for mobility’s sake. Do you like sweet tea? I hate tea. How much sugar do you put in your tea? ^ Have you ever called someone useless? Wow, no. Do you have a wood or glass dining room table? Wood. Do you tend to get attached easily? HOLY GOD OF FUCK, YES. Is Joe Jonas really hotter than Nick? I haven’t seen either in god knows how long, but I remember I thought Nick was very cute. Favorite flavor pudding? Chocolate is the only kind I’ve enjoyed. Not that I’ve tried a lot. What are three words used in your area/dialect that many other areas/dialects wouldn't be familiar with? Oh, there are most certainly some, but I can’t think of any right now. How do you feel when your partner is talking to an ex? This would depend on a lot of things. What is the most expensive gift you have ever given? Received? Given, I’m really unsure. I answer enough questions sharing that I don’t have my own source of income, so a lot of times, my mom lets me use her money, but there is obviously a ceiling to how much I can use. Received, definitely my Sager laptop Jason got me one year. Do children like you? I’m always surprised that kids seem to… I don’t know how the hell to interact with kids, but parents tend to tell me that they do like me. If you found your child's diary would you read it? What if you found the diary of one of your parents? Hell no would I read that shit. Both deserve privacy. Have you ever stalked or killed a wild animal? Fuck no. Name something you are now prepared to reveal about yourself that you weren't ready to talk about in the past? The state of my virginity. Name a talent someone has of which you are jealous: I am soooo envious of talented and actually successful photographers. What would you most likely complain about in a hotel? Probably if the bed sheets seemed dirty. Is it possible to be in love with more than one person at the same time? Probably. I’m monogamous though, so I really can’t say because I haven’t experienced this. Do you often feel pressured by others? Society, yes. Should couples live together before marriage? I feel that it’s the better decision, yes. You may not blend well actually sharing the same house. You learn things about your partner. How would you feel attending the wedding of an ex? It would depend on the person. Girt or Sara? I would love to. As a matter of fact, I better be invited lmao. Jason? I couldn’t in ten trillion years. Fiction or nonfiction. I strongly prefer fiction. Can you can lie with a straight face? Yes, if it’s something little. Name three things you have experienced that would shock your parents: Probably just sexual stuff. Do you believe in using the silent treatment? No. I’ve sure done it before, but I’d like to think I’ve grown out of this. Communication is where it’s at. Your most embarrassing thought: *shrug* Your most prejudiced thought: I don’t know. I don’t think I’m very prejudiced. A shameful moment for you: The situation w/ Joel. The biggest gamble of your life: Deciding to drop out of college the last time. Who knows if that was a good choice or not… It’s too early to tell. What is your greatest weakness as a friend? Idk off the top of my head, but I’m sure there’s something. Do you feel better when you have a tan? Nah, I like being pale. I did go through a period in HS of using tanning lotion on my legs though because I was self-conscious of JUST how pale they were. Do you sometimes enjoy being mean? ”I don’t think so. Maybe like... in certain contexts. Like being mean in video games can be really fun sometimes, haha. And being a little mean in a kink setting can be fun too.” <<<< This. Are you high maintenance? Definitely not. Has anybody ever told you that you’re too young to be in love? I think my dad has, just indirectly. Did you learn anything from the last BIG mistake you made? Yes. Do you have a favorite brand of shoes? Yeah, Converse. Do you like rollercoasters with big drops? I’m afraid of rollercoasters so have never been on one. Do you have any inside jokes with your parents? Not really. Have you ever thrown a surprise party for somebody? I don’t think so? Do you know who your mom’s favorite singer is? Oh, she’s totally obsessed with James Hetfield/Metallica. What year were you born in? 1996. What is your favorite card game? Magic: The Gathering, even though I was never great at it or totally understood all the rules. I just adore the artwork, and I like the detailed tactics behind it. Have you ever tried to surf? Nah. Do you want to learn? Nah. Have you ever had a song dedicated to you? What was it? Let’s not with this. What color eyes does your best friend have? Brown. Have you ever been on a blind date? Nah. Which one of your family members do you wish you could see more often? My brother and his son. I got really close to my nephew the last time they visited for a few days. What room in your house is the messiest? Right now, the extra bedroom that I want to make my dayroom. A lot of our “extra” stuff is just shoved into there. Have you ever requested a song on the radio? No. Are you proud of your parents? Yes. Have you ever (accidentally or not) set off a car alarm? I think I accidentally have before. Do you have dimples when you smile? Yes, way more prominently on my left cheek though. Do you find graveyards scary? No. They’re peaceful to me. Have you ever carved anything into a tree? I don’t think so. Do you read those celebrity gossip magazines? Ew, no. Celebs deserve privacy. Do you give or get advice more often? Well considering I’m in therapy, probably get. Did the last type of shoes you wore have laces? No. Do you like the picture on your license/I.D. card? FUCK no. When was the last time somebody hit on you? Idr. Which one of your friends do you feel most comfortable around? Sara. What’s your favorite Thanksgiving food? Just pass me the rolls lmao. Who did you last spoon with? My cat lmao. What was the last video game you played? I don’t recall the last console game I played, so does World of Warcraft count, even tho it’s a computer game? When you’re in trouble, do your parents ever “middle name” you? Ha, my mom will sometimes. Does getting sweaty or dirty bother you at all? If so, has it ever put you off doing exercise? Very much so. I suffer (and I DO mean “suffer”) from insane hyperhidrosis, so I sweat my ass off if I so much as twitch, if even that. I just hate feeling gross. Have you ever thought about how you want to spend your retirement? No, honestly. It’s hard for me to imagine even *getting* to retirement. Would you describe yourself as healthy? Why or why not? No. I’m physically and even more mentally not okay. Do you miss anything about being a teenager? If you are a teenager, what’s your favorite thing about it? Yeah, some things. Though I really don’t even want to think about it. I look back on me being a teen with both wistfulness as well as bitterness. I don’t know which is stronger.

[missroserose]

We’ll Become Who We Meant To Be

Donation prompt #1.  For @ihni​.

“I think that we all do heroic things; but hero is not a noun, it’s a verb.”  --Robert Downey, Jr.

*

“Good morning,” Joyce Byers said with some irony.

She was sitting at the table in the darkened kitchen, lit only by the hood lamp over the aging stove and the bright cherry of her cigarette.  Steve glanced at the clock over the range; it was past one AM.  He avoided looking at the freezer, even though he knew the corpse of the demo-dog was gone; he’d buried it himself, yesterday.

“Sorry,” he said, felt a little like he was intruding on a private moment.  “I couldn’t sleep.”

Joyce smiled, looking for a moment like an old priestess, careworn but welcoming.  “That makes two of us.  Come on, sit down.”

Steve sat, gingerly—Joyce looked so tired, the perennial circles under her eyes even darker than usual.  Not that his own mug was any great work of art, in its current condition.  

As if sensing his thoughts, Joyce asked, “How’s your face?”

He gave an embarrassed sort of half-shrug.  The truth was, it hurt like a bitch.  “Nothing broken.  It’ll heal.”  A pause, as he scrambled for something to say.  “How’s Will?”

She gave a wry half-smile to match his shrug.  “He’ll heal, at least.”  A pause, as she took a drag on the cigarette, held it in for a moment, blew it out.  “Or he won’t.  But he’s a tough kid.  Tougher than people give him credit for.”

Steve thought of the sight that met him when he checked on the kids a minute ago, sleeping preteens draped over each other like puppies sharing warmth.  “He has good friends.”

“Better than yours were?”  Her question prodded at a less physical sort of bruise, and Steve winced.  Joyce shook her head in a vague apology.  “I’m sorry.  I don’t mean to pry.  But you seem awfully lonely.  The kids are great, but…”

Steve understood what she meant.  “I guess.  All my friends were...assholes, really.  They were assholes because I was an asshole.  Then...I fell in love with Nance, and she wanted...someone better.  Someone decent.”  The words started out hesitant, but soon began daisy-chaining together, one after the next, a magician’s scarf pulled from a sleeve.  “And for a little while I thought,  I could do it.  I can be that for her.  So I dumped my asshole friends.  I gave up on being the cool guy, tried to be a decent guy instead.  Tried to be the hero she needed.  And now—”  

He didn’t have to finish the story; they both knew how it turned out.  Joyce simply looked at him, the cherry brightening as she took another drag.

Steve shrugged again, suddenly bashful.  “I was just fooling myself, anyway.  I’ve never been that type.  I think—”  His voice cracked a little, but Joyce pretended not to notice, for which Steve found himself decidedly grateful.  “Honestly, I think she was right to dump me.”

The words sat between them, heavy pebbles polished to a high sheen by their constant tumbling in Steve’s mind.

After a moment, Joyce reached into her pocket and handed over the pack of cigarettes.

“Do you want to be a hero?”   

*

Behind the mall, standing just upwind of the dumpsters and sweating in the humid June afternoon, Steve doesn’t feel like a hero.

He feels…ordinary.  An ordinary wage slave, working an ordinary gig in a mall that, despite what the ads on TV would have you believe, is about as ordinary as you can get.  Dozens of them, all across Middle America.

He finds the thought—the anonymity—oddly comforting.

Which doesn’t make the job itself suck any less.  He lingers for a moment, working up the courage to cross the parking lot in his ridiculous sailor uniform.  There’s just enough wind to ruffle through his hair, dry the sweat that somehow always accumulates there despite the mall’s air-conditioning.  Taking the trash out is possibly the least glamorous part of an unglamorous job, but Steve appreciates precisely one thing about it—it means his shift is over, which means he can finally ditch the stupid fucking hat.  

He takes a couple of breaths, savoring the warm soupy air after hours spent in refrigerated, fluorescent-lit hell.  He fingers the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, debating whether to light one.  He knows Dustin would get on his back about it—haven’t you seen the news?  Those things will give you cancer, Steven!—but he’d like to see Dustin do this job without something to help him keep his cool—

“Boy, we’ve talked about this.  You know good and well what happens when you mouth off in front of your sister like that.  You want her to learn your disrespectful habits?”

The words only half-register in Steve’s distracted state, the anger in them leaving more of an impression than the actual meaning.  It’s the response that catches his ear—he knows that obstinate baritone.  “Are we talking about the same Maxine?  She doesn’t need my help to be smart.  She just keeps it bottled up around you and Susan.”  

That voice doesn’t sound like Steve’s ever heard it.  It’s…whiny, almost.  Petulant, with an undercurrent of something he can’t quite place, something that’s wrong in it the way demodogs were wrong in the junkyard.  Something that doesn’t fit.

“Then perhaps you should learn from her example.”  The voices are coming from round the corner, where (Steve knows, because it’s an excellent spot for a smoke break) two protrusions along the mall’s side make a convenient alcove.

Steve knows he shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but he tiptoes a little closer anyway, careful to keep out of sight.  

“Sure, if you want me to act like a little bitch, I’ll start studying right the hell up—”

Punches, Steve has had reason to discover, sound nothing at all like they do in the movies.  The noise is somewhere between a slap and a thud—the tangible thwack of skin hitting skin, the darker, more visceral thump of the bones beneath colliding with barely a thin cushion of meat between them.  Steve’s gut clenches, and without realizing he’d made the decision, he finds himself rounding the corner.  ”Hey!  What’re you—“

He hasn’t seen Billy Hargrove since graduation—since before then, really; Hargrove hadn’t bothered to show up to the ceremony, and Steve, who had endured what felt like hours of smiling and shaking his father’s friends’ hands, had found himself a little envious.  Now he stands against the wall, posture defiant despite the fingers gathered in the collar of his t-shirt.  His eyes meet Steve’s, widen, something of that same wrongness in them.  “Harrington?” he says, his voice rough as if the word had been dragged out via fishhook—then his gaze drops, perhaps in preparation for the fist that’s pulled back, ready to strike again.

Steve follows that fist along its arm back to its owner.  He doesn’t recognize the man, and there’s not much resemblance—broader build, haircut that might’ve once been military, square jaw.  But the sudden hollow sensation in Steve’s stomach, as the man’s intense blue-eyed gaze turns on him, is horribly familiar.

This has to be Billy’s father.

It’s not his business.  This is clearly a family affair.  It’s not on him to interrupt.  He should turn around and pretend he didn’t see anything.  It’s not his place.  He shouldn’t get involved.  People will be angry at him if he tries to step in.  He’s wearing a fucking sailor suit, for god’s sake—

Billy’s lip is bleeding.

And Billy’s father—is smiling.

The smile has an edge to it, a glitter like the fresh-cut edge of rusted rebar.  It reminds Steve of his own joyless grin, captured in that stupid commercial for everyone in Hawkins to see in between reruns of M*A*S*H—and Steve’s hit with a terrible sense of deja vu, waits for the man to throw his head back.  Hears Billy’s wild laughter in his head.  I’ve been waiting to meet this King Steve everyone’s been talking about—

But he doesn’t laugh, only lets go of Billy’s collar, turns.  Straightens.  “Ahh.  You must be the Harrington boy.”  He takes a step towards Steve.  “I’ve heard a bit about you.  Seems you got a couple good hits in on Billy here last fall before he laid you out.”

Despite the casual tone, despite the sweltering heat, Steve can feel the words trickle down his spine, icy trails left as they pool cold in his gut.  He wants to bluster, he wants to cower, he wants to run; he can’t move, doesn’t even know how his voice will sound when he opens his mouth.  “I’m sorry—”

The man waves a hand, the same hand that had been pulled back in a fist just moments ago.  “No, no.  No need to be sorry.  Boys will be boys, and my son—” here he glances back at Billy, who’s staring resolutely at the asphalt—“has an attitude problem.”  He runs a hand through his hair, adjusts his collar.  “In any case, I should be getting back to the family.  I’ll let the two of you work things out.”  A hand comes down on Steve’s shoulder, somehow far heavier than it should be.  “And Billy?”

Steve doesn’t miss the way Billy flinches when the man says his name.  “Yes?”

“Don’t be too long.  I expect to see you in an hour for the movie.”

They stand for a moment after the man leaves, minutes or hours or days.  The hair on the back of Steve’s neck eventually lays back down.  Billy still refuses to meet Steve’s eyes.

Finally, Billy speaks.  “Go on then.”  He doesn’t look up.  His voice sounds more normal, just…tired.  Defeated.  “You heard him.  Take a swing.”

Steve blinks.  And, for a moment…

…but that, as Dustin would say, is the Dark Side talking.  And didn’t the green guy with the big ears have something to say about that?  Forever will it dominate your destiny…

“I’m sorry,” he says instead.

Billy finally looks up again, and as those blue eyes meet his, all thoughts of Star Wars are immediately gone from Steve’s head.  If there’s one thing Billy shares with his father, it’s that ability to project danger.

“Don’t be sorry,” Billy spits.  “Just punch me and get it over with.  We both know you want to.”

“And have you lay me out again?”  Steve scoffs.  “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“I won’t.”  Billy lifts his chin a little.  “I can take my licks.  I’m not a pussy.”

And Steve…is tempted.  Curls his fingers into a fist as he imagines the deeply satisfying slap-thud of landing a punch on Billy’s jaw.  Payback for days spent with a swollen face, weeks of watching his supposed friends drift away, months of frustration at the constant snubs and taunts and put-downs.

It’d be a good thing, in the end, says a voice in Steve’s head.  A preemptive strike.  Show the enemy your strength, deter them from attacking in the future and causing greater damage.  Heroic, even—

Do you want to be a hero?

Steve takes a breath.  Uncurls his fingers.

“It’s not right,” he says.  “Doesn’t matter if it’s him or me.  You don’t deserve that shit.”

Billy’s eyes flash at that, and he pushes off from the wall.  Gets up in Steve’s face.  “Don’t tell me what I fucking deserve, Harrington.  You don’t know shit about me.”  He jabs a finger in Steve’s chest.  “You don’t know what I’m like.  What I’m capable of.  Don’t you ever fucking pity me—”

Steve holds up his hands, steps back.  Is about to turn on his heel.  Serves him right for trying to be a decent human being to this asshole—

Billy’s hand is shaking.

He glances at Billy again.  Really looks him in the face.  In his eyes.  And something there causes a fluttering hollow, deep in his stomach.  An alien feeling. 

Carefully, exaggeratedly, he looks down, then up.  “Do I look like I’m in a position to pity anyone?”

He watches as Billy’s gaze rakes over his outfit.  Watches his expression turn from angry, to vulnerable, to confounded.  “...the fuck are you wearing?”

Slowly, Steve reaches into his pocket.  Pulls out the cigarettes.

“Tell you what,” he says, keeping his voice casual.  Taps out a cigarette, holds it out to Billy, a peace offering in a white cylinder.  “I’ll tell you if you tell me what your father was so pissed about.”  

“Like he needs a fuckin’ reason,” Billy mutters, but he takes the cigarette between his lips, reaches into his own pocket for a lighter.  “I’m disrespectful, is all.  A bad seed.  Anyone can tell.”  Flicks it, once, twice, but his hands are shaking too hard to get a proper catch on the wick.

“Here, let me,” Steve says on instinct, reaches up to help.  

He only means to take the lighter from Billy, but his fingers brush Billy’s hand, and he nearly jumps at the sensation.  Skin on skin, tingling, almost electric.

Billy goes still.  Steve flicks his eyes back up to Billy’s face, half afraid he’s having some kind of fit, but he’s breathing—rapid and shallow, blue eyes fixed on the lighter, on the place where their hands touch.  Those eyes raise to meet his—not quite a question.

Not quite a denial, either.

Delicately, Steve wraps his hands around Billy’s.  He flicks the wheel on the lighter, holds Billy’s hand steady as he guides it to the cigarette.  The space between them is so quiet, Steve can hear the paper shrivel beneath the heat.

Belatedly, Billy sucks in air, lights the cig properly.  Steve snaps the lighter shut, withdraws his hands.  Waits for the awkward moment to pass, for Billy to step away.

He doesn’t.  Billy pockets the lighter.  Looks up at Steve again.   And there’s something…not wrong in this eyes, this time, but different.  Clearer, like a window that’s been cleaned of grime.

“It was Max.”  The words are mumbled around the cigarette, barely more than a bitter whisper.  He takes a drag, turns his head to the side to blow it out.  “Little bitch was pocketing a lipstick.  Neil was already in a mood, was about to round the corner and see her.  So I—I said some shit.”  He shrugs, looks down at the bloodstained cigarette between his fingers.  “I don’t remember what.  Doesn’t really matter.  It got his attention.”

Steve feels something sour turn over in his gut.  “Does he hit her too?”

A flare in Billy’s eyes, the usual defiance reappearing; for a moment Steve is convinced he’s gone too far.  Steels himself for more venomous words, maybe for a punch.  

Then Billy’s eyes brighten again, and—a tear slides down his cheek.  

“Not yet.”  A trembling hand to his lips, another drag on the cigarette.  “Not ever, so long as I’m around.”  

Their gaze has gotten a little too intimate.  Steve sucks in a breath, moves to the side, takes a few steps over to the wall.  Leans with his back against it, pulls out a cigarette for himself.  Billy joins him, and they smoke together for a moment, in silence.

Steve’s emotions are a jumble.  Surprise, that Billy would care so much.  Anger, that this would be the choice that defines anyone’s life.  Fear, for Billy and for Max.  And something else, something he can’t quite define, but that fills his chest with sweet-scented air.

Awe, maybe.

“Some people would call that heroic,” he finally says.

Billy gives a sort of half-smile, though it’s more bitter than sad.  “Yeah, well.  We’re family.  We’re all we’ve got.”

Steve shakes his head.  “Not true.”  He bumps his shoulder, lightly, against Billy’s.  “You’ve got me too.”  He laughs, then, just as bitter.  “For what that’s worth.  No college.  No apartment.  Three bucks an hour scooping ice cream.  No future.”  He makes a sad little jazz-hands motion.  “Ta daaa.  King Steve, at your service.”

Billy turns, takes a moment to savor the sight of Steve in his uniform.  “Could be worse,” he says.

“Oh?  How, exactly, could it be worse?”

A little of the old cockiness comes back into his stance, as he shoots Steve a wink.  “You look fuckin’ adorable in that suit.”

*

“Do you want to be a hero?”

Steve had smoked his cigarette halfway down by the time he answered.  “Doesn’t everyone?  Fight evil?  Save the day?  Get the girl?  All the movie stuff?”

It was Joyce’s turn to shrug as she tapped her butt out in the ashtray.  “I guess it depends on what you mean by ‘hero’.  Some people want all of that.  Some people prefer things…quieter.  They want to have friends, and a life, and maybe someone to love.  But put those people in danger, put the people they love in danger…and they’ll do anything to save them.  Face down a monster.  Spread a rumor.  Take a beating from a bully.”  She pauses, looks at his face meaningfully.  “Does that make them less heroic?”

Steve hadn’t known that blushing could hurt.  “I dunno.  Maybe those people could’ve done more.  Maybe…what they did wasn’t enough, in the end.”

To his surprise, Joyce sat back in her chair, thought it over.  “Maybe they’re not heroes, then.”  She nodded, as if she’d come to some conclusion, and smiled at Steve.  “Maybe they’re just decent people.”

*

“There is only one heroism in the world:  to see the world as it is, and to love it.”  --Romain Rolland

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Sanders Sides AU: Modern Kingdom of Imagineria

Finally I make one of these! My 8 month writer’s block has finally diminished for now and I’ve decided to make an AU I’ve been working on for about a year (among other things).

This is a Modern Fantasy AU, where technology and real life bullshit exists alongside magic. As all good Sanders Sides AUs go, there will be ships. If you want a non-ship esque AU, leave now because there is a whole lotta LAMP.

Anyway, let’s get right into the character descriptions!

Roman Olivers (Dragon-Hybrid, 16)

Roman was born in Manchester, and even after moving to the modern Kingdom of Imagineria at the age of six, he still has a slight English accent.

Roman and his twin brother, Remus, were adopted after their mother was found dead curled around her children in the Endless Forest, just on the outskirts of Manchester. Their adoptive parents, a pair of now ex-dragon hunters, found the twins and took them in as their own.

They moved a few years later, after their mother’s scent vanished and they could leave without the twins remembering her anymore.

Roman’s mother was a fully-grown ruby-scaled dragon (presumably the last of her kind, according to his parents), and he has visible scales of his own on his shoulders, back of his hands, cheeks, neck and forehead.

He is not a full dragon, and he and his brother are half-human. (Or dragonborn, for all of you D&D buffs. Except that he’s mostly human in appearance)

Roman is insecure about his dragon heritage, and as such he grew a slight hatred for dragons. He has often stated that he would slay dragons that ever even set foot near his family.

He doesn’t have wings, but instead has a scaly tail that sprouts from his lower back.

He trips people sometimes, but don’t tell his mother.

All in all, he has serious body dysphoria.

He’s overly protective of his loved ones.

He’s been suspended twice, once because someone made fun of Remus right in front of him, and another time because someone was bullying Virgil.

Roman can create small flames from his mouth, though those have mostly been by accident. This usually occurs when he laughs too hard.

Roman and Virgil didn’t get along for a very, very long time. He eventually started catching feelings for him when he showed up to his front step on his birthday with a woven blanket that he still has not washed to this day.

Roman met Patton and Logan at a library, where Logan snapped at him for flirting with Patton while he was working.

He sings Disney songs on the regular as a coping mechanism.

He’s currently a sophomore in high school that works as his neighbor's babysitter.

Patton Hazir (Harpy, 16)

Patton was born in the Endless Forest, and when he left it for the first time, he appeared in Imagineria.

Patton’s name is actually completely different, but he doesn’t go by it because it’s too complicated to pronounce.

His nickname was Pat because that was the only part of his name that Logan could pronounce. The last name was a random sound he made after stubbing his toe, which kills his friends to this day.

Harpies become independent of their parents after ten years old, and as such don’t have the obligation to return home every night. Since he wanted to go to school, though most harpies don’t want a modern education, he still lives with him.

His parents are very sweet, and naturally they don’t mind.

Patton looks mostly normal, as harpies disguise themselves to present normally to the human eye. The things that seriously stand out about Patton is the fact that he has no ears, he has a few small feathers in his arms that he can’t conceal, and he has talons for feet.

When Patton is in his true form, he has eagle-like feathers sprouting from his arms in varying shades of soft blue. His waist down morphs into the bottom half of some large eagle, tail feathers and all. His torso and head remain as is.

As time progressed, harpies became more docile, and are now not such predatory monsters. They are still extremely territorial and it is unwise to cross a flock, but they are actually very friendly in comparison to a century ago.

Patton is the prime example of the kindest harpies to ever exist in the history of...ever.

He literally smiles at the sun when he wakes up what kind of-

Many people, especially those who are much older, still regard him with a watchful eye.

Patton thinks basically everything is cute. You could show him an imp and he’d pinch its cheek. (He's done this before and he regretted it immediately after)

The biggest challenge for him was Virgil, who we’ll get to in a moment.

They have some really cute moments together.

He can sing, though he’s really shy about it so it rarely ever happens.

His voice sounds enough like music that nobody complains (often).

Patton also has an insane love for sugar cookies, and whenever he’s stressed, he stress-bakes.

Since he doesn’t have a “modern home” in the forest, he usually shows up at Roman's or Virgil's house with a bunch of cookie ingredients.

He has a tendency to steal food, and can’t go into a grocery store without being closely watched.

He received a joke book from Logan on his birthday, and he regrets it. You cannot say anything without him making a pun.

He’s currently a sophomore in high school, and he assists the librarian at the Public Imaginative Library. He doesn’t get paid, and simply loves helping out. That’s how he met Logan.

Logan (Dryad, 14)

Logan was born in the Endless Forest without true parents, being as he is a tree nymph, or a dryad.

Logan was sorely misguided after he was birthed from Mother Earth, and as such he became very curious very, very quickly.

Mere minutes after being born, he wandered to a riverside and was almost killed by a hungry, stranded mermaid.

Luckily he morphed into a tree right at the bank of the river right before she could fatally injure him.

He has a bite mark on his side, which has healed into a scar from the mermaid attack.

Logan was not born naturally smart, and was in fact very naive at birth. He was curious, and never thought of the consequences of his actions until he left the forest and entered Imagineria.

When Logan left the forest, he hid in public parks, where he changed into his tree form for extended amounts of time.

Logan is a dryad, meaning that in Imagineria, if he wished to pursue an education, he could enroll for school on his own. When he learned how to read (he was 3), he became addicted to knowledge, and enrolled himself.

He skipped a grade, which is why he's so young.

The first word that he learned was "falsehood", and he found it very useful after he became friends with Patton, Roman, and Virgil. It is now his favorite word, and he gets very happy when he reads it somewhere.

The library became his home away from home, which is where he met Patton.

Logan is really book smart, NOT street/survival smart. He knows how to transform into a tree when faced with danger, but he doesn't know how to fight per sey.

Logan's appearance is humanoid in nature (no pun intended), and he has the palest skin tone of all the others. There's a slight green tone to his skin, and he sometimes grows small blue flowers that appear in his hair. He also has pointed ears and long claws that he can retract.

He can see well enough, but after meeting Patton, he grew envious of his glasses and made his own out of branches. Don't tell Patton that.

Logan gave himself his name. He doesn't have a last name because he finds it unnecessary.

Logan is a full-blown vegan, and the others need to take this into account whenever they eat together. He doesn't eat often, but he loves fruit and berries.

He's currently a junior in high school.

Virgil Anansi (Arachne, 14)

Virgil was born with the Curse of Arachne, as his family were a mischievous bunch of practicing witches and wizards. This basically means that they angered the ancient spider spirit and she cursed each generation's first born with the Curse.

Virgil was homeschooled until he was of high school age. He's extremely anti-social and insecure because of it.

Much like Roman, Virgil has body dysphoria, though not as badly due to his family.

The Anansi family is a pretty wild and close family, though they experiment with questionable black magic often. They were shunned from society after crossing Arachne.

Had it not been for his curse, Virgil would be classified as an Anansi Witch.

Virgil has three little sisters (triplets), a baby brother, two really weird fathers, a feral uncle who lives in the basement, a grandmother that drinks enough alcohol to poison a large pony, and a familiar for each of them. That makes 9 people and 9 familiars living together.

Virgil's familiar is ironically a spider, a palm-sized tarantula named Kisa.

Virgil had never felt different until he grew up and had to go to school. He was never bullied physically until he showed vulnerability in public.

Virgil's bangs only cover a little bit of his forehead, where three extra pairs of eyes are. They're a pupiless, orchid purple (as Logan dubbed them), and he can't make them vanish like his extra limbs and abdomen. He has fangs, but they're pretty small and elongate when he's hunting. On his back there is a "tattoo" of three purple diamonds.

Often times, when Virgil is being sulky, he makes spider silk blankets and scarves in his room while he listens to classical music.

Depending on what kind of music he listens to effects the sturdiness of his webs. Classical isn't his favorite genre of music, but he can't exactly listen to My Chemical Romance while trying to make an intricate design.

Virgil is an absolute sass master, and normally wins verbal arguments. (You can probably guess who he argues with the most.)

He convinced Patton to sing with him in the school talent show, and they sang Lovely Night from La La Land.

Virgil and Logan are the youngest of their friend group, though often times they feel like they're the ones reeling the oldest ones in.

Virgil's the youngest, and he's treated like the group's baby more often than not.

He and Patton were not super close at first because the harpy was afraid of spiders, and Roman hated his guts for reasons he still won't confess to. He had a hard time making friends with Logan because he was just as awkward if not worse.

He and Patton got really close after an incident caused Patton to break his arm, and Virgil nursed him back to health with potions and a whole lotta cuddling. It was cute.

Virgil met Roman first, which was the worst first impression he had ever given off. Especially since he immediately thereafter had a gay panic.

Virgil is a freshman in highschool, and eventually creates a job in which he creates spider silk blankets and sells them online.

These are the main four's character descriptions, but I can go into depth character appearances, character stories, the modern Kingdom of Imagineria, the Endless Forest, etc. I'm planning on writing the main plotline on AO3, but I haven't decided yet.

I guess I'll have to see. Mkay byee~