#thankfully it turns out that mr hand and mr hands are 2 very different individuals

[mynameis-a]

the blender blog has helped me discover many characters that i never knew existed.

sometimes this is a good thing! (see the arknights hyperfixation)

but most of the time its just

[yoondles]

Grow As We Go - M.YG

CEO! Min Yoongi x CEO! Reader, Arranged Marriage AU

Summary: Marrying your ex isn’t really something you want to do.

Themes: Heavy angst, fluff if you squint for 2 seconds, smut, it ends happily.

Word count: 10k, Unedited

Inspo: Trivia: Seesaw by MYG & Grow As We Go by Ben Platt

Warnings: Yoongi calls you a whore, Yoongi’s pp is huge, reader is a virgin, talks about their toxic relationship, biting/nipping, breast play, light humiliation, fingering, oral (f receiving), squirting, creampie, unprotected seggs, mature language and that’s about it 😐.

A/N: lastly, I haven’t gotten the chance to proofread this and I’m sorry for any mistakes. This is my first fic so feel free to share your thoughts, thank youuu! 😭

You knew you were screwed. The way he held placed his hands inside his pocket, the heavy footsteps that would leave an impression to the carpeted floor of the airport, and the way his eyebrows arched. You were really fucking screwed.

It was the same posture he held one year ago, a few months prior to the separation that lead to the awkwardness that blossomed amidst your honeymoon days. It was eerie silence. You saw the way his veins would pop the moment he saw you as if he was clenching his jaw hard, trying to prevent himself from doing anything he regretted. You refused to make an eye contact with him.

The crowd was going wild, five months after your announced marriage, this was your first public appearance together, as a couple known by the entire nation. The fact that he was Min Yoongi didn’t help either, in fact, more people got interested in your relationship because it was about Min Yoongi.

He was one of the seven bachelors, the current head of BigHit Inc., a large conglomerate. He’s an adopted son of the late Mr. Bang, all of which grew to become individual talents, either blessed in terms of dancing, singing, poetry, even rapping. “Where the fuck have you been?” Cocking one of his brows up as he scrutinised you, looking at your small figure with an imposing look, something that would’ve threatened any normal citizen.

But not you. You knew Yoongi like the back of your hand. Having spent about 5 years of your life in an attempt to make the best out of your arranged marriage with him really helped out. Except for the fact that the two of you haven’t spoken for about one year prior to the wedding itself, and the fact that you were former lovers who decided it wouldn’t work out.

“Japan,” you shrugged him off, dismissing your assistant by giving him your luggage as you tried your best to hide your face from the agonising cameras that the paparazzi held against your face. Thankfully, they were kind enough to make way for the two of you, parting as the newly wedded pair made their way towards the vehicle.

He scoffed at your answer, baffled. He pushed his hair back in annoyance, “why didn’t you tell me anything about this?” You ignored him. Noticing the whispers and glances the people exchanged with one another. You were drifting away, pulled back to reality with the harsh grab you felt in your shoulder, stopping you from moving further. “About what?” You shook his hand off as you attempted to push through. The vehicle seemed to be moving further away from the two of you as tension was quick to rise.

“You, Japan?” You shook your head, walking a tad bit faster this time around. “Hello?” He spoke a bit louder this time, the large empty area made sure that everyone heard him. It was the echoes that reached you. “Just, let me get inside the car,” your voice was getting louder by the second, as the media started cluttering around the two of you, trying to get into the details of what seemed to be an argument between two of the richest heirs in South Korea.

“Can you let me talk to my fucking wife?” His voice was a tad bit louder than earlier, it was nothing that surprised you. He seemed to be fond with wanting himself heard, what shocked you though was the harsh grip that left you wincing as he pulled you inside the car. It was only when you were in front of the door that you managed to shake him off, opening the door yourself as you slumped against the leather seat.

Quickly, you turned away from him, closing your eyes as you forced yourself to shut him out. Pretending that Min Yoongi was a fragment of your imagination and he was no way real, that this was some made up bullshit you fantasised about at 3 AM. “Y/N!” He yelled out your name, anger evident in his voice, as the metal on his seatbelt crashed repeatedly against the plastic, cursing loudly as the driver began to move.

“You couldn’t have fucking waited, could you?!” The loud empty halls in your makeshift home was amplifying your voice. The loud banging of the door was your signal to continue your short rant regarding his unprofessional work, in front of the news outlets that would milk every second that passed in front of them.

“To hell with that, why didn’t you fucking tell me you were going to Japan?” You mocked his tone with a very small voice, removing your heels as you paraded the long hallway, rolling your eyes in the process. Coming to a halt the moment he pulled you back to him with a harsh tug on your wrist. You were quick to react, his face contorting as if confused as to whether he should apologise or continue his facade. “Why should I?” It was a push and pull type of relationship, undoing your dress in front of him was a huge part of the show.

The garment was quick to pool around your feet, swaying your hips gently as you flaunted your white pair of underwear. Moving towards the closet, eyes meeting his through the large mirror. For a moment he paused, taking a few seconds to glance at your body. Taking every curve, every mole, everything he could with such a short amount of time.

“Well, let me see. I’m your husband!”

“Legally, wouldn’t say I voluntarily married you.” You shrugged, grabbing the closest pair of pyjama you found. “Real mature, y/n. It would’ve been nice if I’d gotten a memo, you know?”

“It’s not like you would’ve cared.” You did your best in everything, and right now, pissing him off was on the top of your priorities. Casually grabbing the discarded garment as you walked outside your bedroom, dumping everything in the nearby laundry room, he continued to follow you around like a shadow.

You knew he was pissed. His breathing was a lot harsher, unlike earlier when he was wearing a mask, right now you could see he entirety of his face as he bit his lip in annoyance. “We’re going there, aren’t we?” You nodded, feeling a lot more giddy knowing you did your best to rile him up. Jumping your way towards the kitchen, greeting the maids as you walked over the counter, grabbing a yellow banana.

“Do you seriously think I have no right to know where you are? Is that another privilege I’m not entitled too, hm?”

“Yes, actually. I don’t want you meddling with my business, I want you as far away as possible.” He pursed his lips, placing his hands against his hips as he looked at you dumbfounded. “Contrary to your beliefs, I don’t care about your stupid company. I just want to know if my wife’s safe or if she’s dead.”

“Don’t use the wife card on me, Min Yoongi. Stop acting like you gave a damn about my well-being two weeks ago.” The air conditioning seemed to be working extra harder as the air surrounding the two of you seemed to be a lot more thicker and colder now. His eyebrow slowly arched upwards as he gazed at you, carefully shooting the banana peel inside the automated trash can.

Walking your way towards the fridge to grab a cold glass of water, as he intently gazed at you. “What are you talking about?” You couldn’t help but chuckle at his response, offering him a glass of water before placing it back inside the fridge as you washed it yourself. “I’m just returning the favour, it’s not like I knew where you’ve been the past two months.”

Yoongi was confused, it was amusing to look at him, acting innocently after the crimes he’s committed just three months into the relationship that sealed the two of you towards a muddy path to eternity. “Two months? What?”

“Yes, I don’t fucking know where you’ve been, how you’ve managed to slither past my hands, and how you fucking act like you don’t have a wife at home.” That shut him up. It was silence that followed the short confession you managed to squeeze out after days if trying to keep everything together.

“So to hell with Japan, to hell with you trying to know where I’ve been. Because I’ve been clueless for the past two months, not once did you tell me you were off somewhere.”

It was oddly, fulfilling. To be able to give your pent up emotions some freedom after a few days of relaxation. It was a different kind of satisfaction when you saw the way his face moved, the way his facial features would move with every word that left your mouth. You saw the way his Adam’s apple bobbed, as if figuring out why everything had to happen.

It was at this moment you declared your first victory, moving past him, making sure to touch his shoulder with yours on the way out of the kitchen, locking yourself in your bedroom. Your own personal space, far away from what was intended to be your shared space. Because you and Min Yoongi both appreciated privacy far too much.

It was an immature fight, sure. But that was everything that you and Yoongi had been. Immature lovers who wanted each others’ time for each other, the only thing that you managed to do well was break up publicly and settling everything in private. That was a big enough red flag, however, there was an agreement older than the two of you. Somehow, it managed to slap you both in the back of your heads.

Your relationship with him remained platonic. As if nothing had changed between the two of you, like you were the same pair of lovers who broke up with one another one year ago. Living with him had been many things, it was very exhausting having to keep up with his lifestyle.

It was draining to the point of no return, where you’ve been pushed past all your limits and somehow he chooses to ignore everything instead of addressing it. And it had always been like that, was there not any growth? You assumed there would be some, at least a few, but you thought wrong.

You wanted everything to die out, before proceeding with your plans. The two of you had made an agreement that within the span of two years, you’d be out of the marriage. However, with his brothers growing massively successful, the press made sure to watch almost every movement Min Yoongi made. It doesn’t help that he was private, now that he had to be exposed the media tried its’ best to pry him open. So yes, it had been very exhausting. You only needed two years, and you’d be back to the same situation you had been before.

Eating dinner had been uneventful. It consisted of you looking for the perfect video to watch while sitting in the dining table, your food getting colder every minute that passed. As if you hadn’t had an argument earlier, you had no idea where Yoongi was, whether he was safe or if he was fucking another bitch in the club, hell, maybe he was with someone who could satiate his needs, be there for him, fill up whatever you space you failed to replenish.

Was it painful knowing that? Yes. You could be there for him, you wanted him to at least try and approach you as much as you tried to form a coherent bond with him. It won’t be the same as it was two years ago, but you at least wanted to have a friendship with him. You want the two of you to be able to talk to one another without yelling, cursing. You wanted something to happen, something that was better than your current situation.

Your two weeks in Japan had been the greatest time of your life since your marriage. You’d assume that working there would be no different than if you worked from home, however, there was no empty space in Japan. There was no Min Yoongi reminding you that you were married, yelling that you hated your current life situation and that you wanted to escape. It was a breath of fresh air, but it only lasted for a while, not after his secretary bombarded your secretary.

The door closed with a loud “bang!”. It was something you’ve gotten used to over the course of five months, because you know well enough that Yoongi could never close the door without trying to release his pent up anger. He looked sleek, admittedly, he looked very charming wearing his black turtleneck, and his black coat. But you knew that you needed to stay away, as he removed his shoes, you shut down the television, walking fast while chewing on a piece of kimchi. There was a pause, it was the moment you made eye contact with him.

But you ignored it, walking away with your bowl towards your room. Normally, he’d find you in your room, however, he arrived earlier than usual. Fridays would usually mean that he’d be coming home late, trying to clear up his schedule for the weekends, but he was here in all his glory. “Have you been keeping up with the news?” You were holding a chicken bone, gnawing on it as you were about to pull the door, entering your room, but you were a few seconds late. You shook your head slowly.

He took a few steps closer as he began to open his phone.

“Min Yoongi caught desperately trying to save marriage!”

That was one of the very few articles that had appeared in his phone. Alongside, “Divorce Makes Way For The Newly Wedded Min Couple!” You gave him a shrug, unsure as to what he was waiting for, what reaction he wanted upon showing you mediocre headlines. “Well, I’m glad they’ve reported reliable news.” You could practically see smoke fume out of his nostrils in annoyance. “The fuck do you want me to do? Make a call and tell them no, when we were clearly in the middle of an argument earlier?”

He gritted his teeth, his tongue poking out his cheek as he placed both one of his hands in his hips, the other reaching his forehead as if he was trying to ease a random headache he managed to acquire within the three minutes of talk time you allowed each other to have. “This is the first time they’re seeing us, I’m quite pleased with the reaction.” The sarcasm was dripping off of every word, again, you shrugged. Gently placing the bowl down as you stared at him trying to figure out what he wanted from you.

“You’re a CEO, Min Yoongi. You’re not a performer like your brothers are, this doesn’t mean shit to the millions you earn weekly. None of this matters.” You knew that the reason for this was his brothers’ fame, they were out in the spotlight while he was in the dark. This urged the media to move towards Yoongi’s direction more, as he seemed someone who was more intriguing. Someone who’s name stood out in the crowd, despite not being a public character.

“Do you not care about the reputation you have as an individual?”

“Well in the first place, none of this would have happened if you sat down in your goddamn office chair, like you’re supposed to be doing. Not waiting for me in the airport,”

“Glad you appreciate the effort though, was I supposed to not greet you? After disappearing for two fucking weeks?” He let out a laugh, huffing as he placed down his coat somewhere in the sofa. “You yelled in front of everyone, I asked you to wait, to at least let everything boil down to the moment we were inside the vehicle!” It was a matter of proving who’s fault it really was at this point, it was the same immature fight you’d always have but never seemed to resolve.

“Why do you care so much about everyone else? Why do you care about their opinion, when they barely know you.” That was your conclusion, you halted, and moved towards your room. The bowl was left halfway full in the counter, long forgotten as you’ve lost whatever was left of your will to eat the moment Yoongi presented the news articles he found to be fascinating.

In an attempt to move on from the situation, you distanced yourself from him. The already existing wall between the two of you had only grown taller. You did your best to avoid him, even going as far as checking the CCTVs from your office just to see if he was home, letting him do his nightly routine before proceeding to going home yourself. You wanted no physical interaction, in fact, even the invitation that had been sent for the two of you had been forwarded by him through email.

Even your cellphone numbers had been rendered useless, as you barely talked through messages, not once had he called.

You didn’t know how the night would pan out, you just had to get through this, wear a dress that fit the theme, and pretend that the two of you had been happily married for the past six months. Easy, you thought it’d be easy. However, the void that stood in between the two of you had been way too big to even mend. So, you sat there, tapping your fingers against the soft satin fabric of your dress. Awkwardly licking your lips as you failed to make an eye contact with the man beside you.

You clutched your tiny purse as you had been escorted out of the car by Min Yoongi himself, doing your best to try and act natural. Hooking your hand against his arm, as he cleared his throat in surprise, raising a brow towards your direction as you began to walk the red carpet. Similar to the airport scene, the media was everywhere. In addition to the crowd you’ve managed to form, a bunch of business elites were also waiting for the arrival of the lucky couple, having big names in the business field, wanting to please the two of you for possible collaborations and merges. The two of you were the star of the show.

You began critiquing the way the two of you walked, how his steps were far larger than yours and how you always fell behind. The way your arm awkwardly hung from his, how you attempted to push back stray pieces of hair with your other hand.

Parties had always been your cup of tea, you enjoyed them, you saw them as business opportunities. But for the first time in your life, you lacked the confidence to power through the event, your feet were already worn out from the heels you chose to wear, everything was not going as planned and you were terrified that it showed through. What a hypocrite you were, scolding Yoongi for caring too much despite being anxious yourself.

There was a buffet, wine, champagne, and all of Yoongi’s brothers had also been present. They greeted the two of you, which you happily returned, never missing the sly smirk they gave off especially the way Taehyung laughed at your awkward posture, pointing out that he read the previous articles that mentioned the two of you. The part you dreaded was yet to come, it was at that moment that the old Mr. and Mrs. Choi walked in front of your and began asking you questions.

“You look wonderful tonight!” Mrs. Choi gushed at the two of you, her hands clinging onto yours and Yoongi’s as she began to shake the two of them. You smiled politely, exchanging quiet glances with Yoongi, you were screwed. The old couple loved gossiping, they were familiar with all distributors and were often referred to as the “trusted affiliate” that could juice out everything out of a growing issue in South Korea.

“So do you, I really love your earrings!” You returned the excitement, pointing out wherever your eyes had landed first, so it happened to be her earrings. “Thank you! I got them from Chanel, a little outdated but they do the job.” A few awkward sentences later, they began to ask you about what they were really here for. “I’m so glad the two of you were able to attend, I’ve been anxious since the moment we read the issues, we thought you’d be separating, again.” It was the emphasis on the word again that had Yoongi clenching the glass a little harder, enough for the tips of his finger to turn white. However, his composure remained calm, you gently tapped your heel against his leather shoes.

“Arguments do happen, I’m sure you and mr. Choi have also been victims of small fights every now and then, in the end, don’t we all find ways to resolve these?” He ended by bringing the wine closer to his lips, the dark hue beginning to stain his pink plump lips. The couple laughed.

Navigating a conversation with the Choi’s had always been dangerous, at any moment either one of you could stumble upon a trip mine. On top of this, the lack of communication with Yoongi could lead to possible contradiction of your answers, you didn’t discuss anything nor did you prepare for any interviews.

Their many attempts to find new headlines had almost been unsuccessful, almost. “When are you planning to have kids?” Mr. Choi asked, drinking the sparkling drink in his hand as Mrs. Choi complimented him through her fond eyes.

“Right, it has been six months since the two of you had been married. When are we seeing little Yoongi’s, little y/n’s?” The four of us shared a hearty laugh, “well, my wife and I want more time for each other. Not to say we don’t have any plans in the future, but we don’t intend to have kids as of this moment.” It was a good enough answer, barely any information but it was enough to get a good click worthy title. “Oh, interesting. As much as we’d love to stay, we do have to meet a few more people.”

“We’d leave the two of you be, I’m certain you’d want to talk to hipper and younger guests.”

The two of you gave a polite smile, sighing loudly as they finally left your table. You downed the glass of wine faster than you had done before, the heat in your throat finally easing the tension you’d been feeling. You shared an awkward glance, lightly chuckling after deeming the interaction as somewhat successful.

“You did great,” you praised Yoongi, he started scratching the back of his head as his cheeks glowed in a pink hue, avoiding eye contact for a few seconds. “Who would’ve thought that that would work out?” Biting your lip as you shyly smile at him. It was you getting flustered all over again, similar to how your dimples would show, how you’d look at your feet in order to avoid his stares, those five beautiful years had always been dear to your heart. However, the breakup was almost inevitable.

The two of you were growing at your own pace, while you were busy preparing to be the next CEO, Yoongi had already been managing the company. Although you tried to make ends meet, it still happened. It started with small immature fights, soon it evolved to the days you would fail to meet, bigger arguments emerged, and although you tried your best to settle everything, you were not in the right state of mind. The never ending pressure that erupted from your family, the business meetings, the small problems you encountered in your day-to-day life. Everything collided.

You wanted to find comfort in Yoongi, you wanted him to be the safe space you needed whenever you wanted, but you became selfish. You would tell him everything, disregarding the fact that he too had problems, that he was also suffering considering that a job meant to be split into seven members, were all being handled by one. He tried his best, but on some days it got too much for him to handle, and one day, he finally exploded. He ended the relationship the two of you had, a five year relationship ended in the course of three months.

And now here you were, using your newfound attitude as a way to cope with the heartache that you still feel deep within your heart. Acting like a spoiled kid who was denied for the first time.

What you didn’t know was how much Yoongi had been suffering too. How much he wanted to come to you, and how much he needed to be with you. To him, the arrangement was a blessing in disguise. It felt like a huge blow in the gut when you had suggested a divorce after the noise you’ve made died down, from then he began to feel dejected. Slowly overworking himself, trying his best to distract himself from the fact that you would never be his. The distraction he made soon lead to distance, distance between the two of you.

He tried to act tough around you, spiteful even. But when he remembers how you implicitly rejected his proposal to a life with him, he’d attempt to push through. Putting on this mask as if he was tough, that he was different from the Yoongi you once knew, that he’d no longer be there for you. He halted all of his actions, actions he thought would bring the two of you together. Forming a stronger bond compared to the five years you’ve spent together.

With you acting poorly in front of him, using aggressive retaliation, and him being terrified of the rejection you unknowingly did, your relationship was in a standstill. You were two people who wanted each other, and sadly, there might be no way of knowing that you two did feel the same way.

Despite the flashing lights, the smiles you tried to offer other business associates, you still ended up back into your dark and gloomy house. It was large, had many empty walls and was barely decorated. There was no way of telling if the house was occupied or not, it was far too... professional? It had no character, no visible sign of change, it was bare.

The dark room you managed to inhabit for the past six months reminded you of how lonely you’ve been feeling, how different you were from the persona you tried to play outside of the walls. You’ve grown so accustomed to loneliness that it became such a huge part of your life, you could barely even remember how you acted before you were married to Yoongi, how carefree you were. It was pitiful how a rich, privileged woman like you was stuck inside a place you didn’t feel comfortable in.

It wasn’t the idea of being alone that made you feel lonely, it was living with someone with no physical reaction despite being entitled to at least a little bit of skin-on-skin contact, a hug would’ve been a big help. With these thoughts, you pulled your hand away from Min Yoongi’s as you began to wave the pathway towards the front door. Crossing your arms as you moved in, avoiding him as you made it as quickly as possible towards your bedroom.

Yoongi stood behind the door, for a night that had gone so well, your reaction had been far too harsh. Leaving him as soon as you had the opportunity, as if he were something so toxic to you that you couldn’t even stand being with him, alone, for at least a minute. He felt his chest swell, it wasn’t the good type of swell, it was fucking painful.

Removing his leather shoes, and walking towards the master bedroom, he asked himself what ifs, what if the two of you managed to handle everything more maturely, to the point of having a proper relationship up until now? What if the two of you had really wanted it? Would things be better?

Good grief, of course, things would have been so much better. He cursed himself silently, muttering under his breath as he took the moment to blame himself for just ending the relationship the moment he had the chance too. He didn’t even give himself enough time to process the decision he’d been making. On that same day, he was collected by Kim Namjoon, his brother, in a local bar. He was passed out, his Armani suit reeked of alcohol as he tried his best to push Namjoon away. Telling him desperately that he was fine and that he could drive himself home.

If only fate had been a little forgiving, if only. Coincidentally, on that same night, two establishments away, you’d been busy getting drunk. Two drunk adults had been found passed out, the two of them reeking of alcohol, upset about the same relationship that could’ve been something if it weren’t for their carelessness.

The bitterness of yesterday had easily died down the moment that your nostrils engaged with the familiar scent of coffee, it was an early Saturday morning. The curtains had been automatically opened using an A.I, giving you a marvellous view of the infinity pool outside your room. Stretching your limbs as you carefully stepped outside after putting on your Hello Kitty slippers, you were greeted by your husband doing what he was best at, making coffee.

The situation would’ve been more lax if the two of you were on speaking terms but, you weren’t. He offered you a fresh cup of coffee, something you were quick yo take, a soft “thank you,” escaped your lips before letting the warm liquid pass through. Whilst you stood there in your Sanrio pyjama, the other man stood fully clothed with his suit. He was all geared up for work, something you never quite understood. From what you know about him, he’d always been quite the workaholic, he didn’t have time to pause.

“I’ll be off,” he pursed his lips, forming a thin line of something that resembled a smile. You nodded as you took another sip of the warm coffee. Just like that, he left holding a tumbler with coffee, and his car keys. “Well, at least he bothered this time...” you murmured, walking towards the refrigerator to gather ingredients for your pancakes.

You were busy dancing as you flipped distorted, the television was playing, it served as your background music as you enjoyed the short freedom you had. You made another cup of coffee, bringing the mug and grabbing maple syrup from the cabinet, drizzling it on top of the semi-perfect pancakes. Comfy in your pyjamas, you sat down in the couch and began to dig into the pancakes. You were in the mood, for just basically anything. You were at peace, that was what you felt. Two seconds away from pressing the button to finally turn it off, a scene quickly caught your attention.

The man who made you coffee was the same guy in the TV, Min Yoongi was guesting with his little brother on a survival program, it was about a new girl group awaiting for their debut. Today was the day they get to decide which of the members would be debuting as an official member, as a collaboration between two of the largest entertainment companies Yoongi was called out in order to monitor the members. Hoseok had been a judge since the beginning, here he was sitting next to Yoongi as they made small talk. You paused, holding the empty plate as you grew more intrigued.

Everything was going well, up until they met face-to-face with the trainees. All of the judges reunited with one another, one particular judge, Suran had been quite affectionate with Yoongi. It started with a handshake, that was no big deal, it was a formal exchange between two important judges on the show. It was something normal, very normal.

The show escalated smoothly, rushing towards the kitchen counter as you quickly washed the plate despite the maids offering you their own hands. You jumped towards the couch, and sat down, your heart was racing from the adrenaline rush. But it was all worth it as the show continued. There was nothing that interested you, aside from Min Yoongi, so of course you paid attention to him the most. It caught you by surprise when the camera panned towards their direction, there was a soft voice as Suran held Yoongi’s hand, complimenting his bracelet, making small connections with his hands. “It’s really pretty,” Suran murmured, the host went silent upon noticing the interaction between the two of them.

Yoongi was quick to bow, thanking her as soon as possible. “Your cheeks have gotten really pink!” Hoseok exclaimed, his laughter echoing through the stage. Clapping his hands every once in a while as he continued to make fun of his older brother.

Normally, it wouldn’t be a big deal to you. You weren’t exactly the jealous type. However, with the way you and Yoongi were right now, and how quick he was to react to Suran’s simple compliment, the way they exchanged smiles, how they held eye contact for even a split second. Everything was making your blood boil.

You swallowed hard, it didn’t help that throughout the rest of the show the judges and the trainees kept teasing the two of them. How much did you have to pay for in order to get the same treatment as Suran did? Why did he act that way? Most importantly, how come Yoongi never lets you see this side of him, why does he always have to be mad or annoyed whenever he talked to you? How special was Suran to him that the moment the two of them stood close to one another, they had no trouble navigating through their conversation.

Oh you definitely weren’t jealous, yes you were simply making comparisons and that was natural, right? No, you hated yourself for feeling this way. How come he acted like that around her? Why can’t he act like that around you? You were annoyed at how he moved on, how happy he was. On the other hand, here you were, watching he two of them converse, still moving on from the breakup that had happened more than a year ago. You pitied yourself, you really did. “Fucking hell,” you muttered upon noticing the pooling tears from the corners of your eyes. It was at this exact moment that someone had kneeled before you.

When had he arrived? And why were you only finding out about this. Yoongi was looking at you with a worried look in his face as you desperately tried to hide your face from him, closing your eyes as soon as possible and grabbing the neck hole of your shirt as you lifted it up to cover your eyes. He grabbed the remote control and finally shut down the TV, “shh,” he quietly engulfed you with his body, the scent of his cologne slowly emanating from him. He guided you, lifting you up and walking towards your bedroom, covering your face from the rest of the maids that began to throw looks towards your direction.

It was the humiliation that struck you the most, the fact that he caught you watching his guesting on a show, and somehow found a reason to start getting jealous and ending up in such a pitiful condition which involved crying for affection was beyond you, you didn’t know what had happened. Why did you let yourself do this? You silently cursed yourself. “Baby, what happened?” He had a way with his words, somehow he managed to blend in a nickname, somehow that was enough to remind you what you had lost.

You shook your head repeatedly, trying your best to deny any feelings you showed. Pulling your shirt down, you were forced to meet his eyes, his thumbs found your tear stained cheeks, wiping them off gently as he locked eyes with you. “Why, what’s wrong?” He asked you again, you built up the courage, it was either now or never. “I don’t like seeing you with Suran, no, I don’t like seeing you acting like that around anyone else.” Your hiccups got in the way, but you managed to tell him exactly what you had wanted.

“Y/n...” he paused for a moment.

“How come you act like that around them, while you treat me like this? Why do they get better treatment? I’m your wife Yoongi, how come I get the leftovers while they get full course meals?” You heard how ridiculous you sounded, cringing at your choice of words and the way they flowed out of your lips. But you were humiliated enough, if it were a different situation then maybe you’d be laughing at yourself. “I want you all to me, Yoongi. And I know that it’s not possible, but I want us. I want what we both lost,” his fingers carded through your hair, the other massaged your back in a soothing manner, there was dead silence for a moment.

You knew you lost him.

His arms snaked around you, pulling you in closer to him as he gently placed a kiss on your forehead. He lifted your face up using his thumb, finally he kissed you on your lips. “But you already have me, y/n.” You knew it wasn’t real, there was no way this was happening right now. “You have me,” he muttered against your ear before gently sealing the space left in between your lips.

The tears you poured were all worth it, you knew from that point on that the relationship you once broke had been finally mended. You felt weight being lifted away from your chest.

You were sighing against his lips, fixing your posture as you slowly wrapped your arms around his neck, his hands slowly moving south. Grasping your arse as you shifted your position, sitting on top of his legs. You didn’t know what had taken over you at that point. You were desperate for more. The whine that left your lips wasn’t something you had voluntarily done, the moment he pulled away from you, his lips were a lot more plump. His chest was heaving, he threaded his palms in his hair as he eyed you. The two of you did your best to catch your breath.

It wasn’t the first time you stopped in the middle of doing something so sensual, you’ve always wanted your first with someone who you were willing to fully commit to.

Within the five years that you’ve spent together, Yoongi had always respected your boundaries. He stopped the moment you told him. He was a man of self control, but you knew that at some point he’d eventually reach his peak. Right now, there was nothing else you’d wish for aside from this finally happening. “Do I have you?” His forehead touched yours, his warm breath fanned over your saturated lips, closing your eyes you once again touched his lips.

He groaned against your lips.

Something unusual erupted from inside you, it was something you’ve felt before. Only now, you weren’t doing anything to stop it. Your lips parted, neck bending sideways as your breathing stuttered. His lips began working wonders, never leaving a spot on your neck untouched.

The flame that erupted from inside you began to engulf you, the moment you felt his lips against the side of your jaw, you knew you were done for. You began to slowly move your hips, moaning as you felt him nip slowly against your skin. His hands wandered through every crevice, eventually finding untouched area just below your cute little top.

You moved faster, trying to chase something you weren’t quite sure for, but for a moment you thanked the heavens above for Yoongi’s rough pants. You were a stuttering mess, grinding harder, pushing yourself even deeper against his thighs as you tried to reach something, just anything. You knew you were close, so close.

His hands worked wonders under your shirt, already unclasping your garment. Yoongi gave you all of his attention, which is why your heavy breathing didn’t go unnoticed. You were inches away from reaching that something, however, he pulled you away from your rhythm with one quick nip against your jaw, his hands clasping against the flesh of your arse, coming to a disagreement as he pulled onto them, giving you a quick slap.

“Yoongi,” you didn’t know if you were pleading him, maybe it came to you out of instinct, annoyance, you weren’t sure. But you were in too deep, you could honestly cry if he didn’t give you what you needed at that moment.

A low chuckle erupted from him, his chest moving against yours, reminding you of how close the two of you were. “Patience baby, this is your first time...” he gave you a quick peck. Holding the hem of your shirt as he gently lifted it off of you, catching his breath at the sight of your bare breasts. Hands finding their natural position as he flipped the two of you, you head cushioned against the pillows as you stared at his eyes, completely captivated by how desperate he looked, how desperate he wanted to lay his hands against your perky buds.

Starting from your lips, he made his way slowly downwards, making sure to nip the exact spot he knew to be sensitive, at this moment you hadn’t bothered to check if he was leaving marks, but with the time he took to make his way where you had wanted him, you would honestly be pissed off if you didn’t have any. He suckled on one of your breasts, making you arch your back off of the soft mattress. Gasping loudly at the newfound sensation, a drug you were exposed too for the first time, you felt his smirk. Long slender fingers began to touch the other, only adding more to the pleasure, making sure that neither of your mounds felt left out.

He pulled out of the other with a pop, mouth lingering downwards, kissing around your belly button before making its’ way towards the other one. The light illuminated the signs he left on your other boob, out of curiosity you touched your gleaming bud while he put all of his attention on the other. It was far more sensitive, your breathing had turned harsh, your throat felt constricted as you failed to let out moans, Yoongi’s ears were filled with nothing but short gasps. Your hips used your legs as support trying to get any form of contact, however, Yoongi’s legs never faltered. You only grew more desperate with every minute his lips dwelled on your breast.

Your underwear would surely be clinging onto your lips by now, you were irritated by the fabric, you wanted more, you needed it off of you.

“Yoon, please,” tears were pooling by the corner of your eyes, despite begging Yoongi whilst grinding your hips against his body, your hands grounded him against your breast. You were dazed, as if you were drowning and yet you didn’t want to be pulled out of the water, it was painful, and yet you indulged in it. It was a newfound addiction you knew you didn’t want to let go off, it was driving you crazy, towards the edge of all the boundaries you wanted to break.

He hummed, sending vibrations through your chest, you moaned loudly. You chased your breath, trying your best to calm down as he lapped your breast. You groaned even harder, protesting and demanding for something else. He grounded your hips with one of his hands, forcing you to lay still as he let go of your breast.

“God, y/n,” he left his words hanging, you lay still catching your breath as you tried to process what was happening. Sweat trickled from his neck, temporarily staining his black top. His hair was a mess, something you were responsible for, desperately clinging onto it as he showed you undiscovered territory with the small flicks of his tongue. Gently kissing your lips, you let out a sigh of relief upon feeling his calloused fingers against the material of your bottoms.

Raising your hips as you he managed to pull your underwear and your pyjamas at the same time. He pulled away from the kiss, appreciating your naked figure, his mouth was slightly open as he drunk in every detail of your body. You had nothing left to hide, lifting your chest slightly off the bed, flaunting your curves.

The moment he was able to process everything that was laid before him, he knew he was screwed. Memorising every detail, even the small mole in your thigh, everything was imprinted in his head. He knew that he’d be having a hard time from this day forward.

“A fucking goddess,” he murmured under his breath, making eye contact with you as he gently dived down, spreading your legs farther away from each other. Slowly, you revealed your entire body to him. He felt like wanton, appreciating the way your tight nether lips gently opened for him, slick evident in your thighs caused by the never ending squeeze of your legs a few minutes ago when he’d been too busy appreciating your breasts.

You looked away from him, it dawned you how exposed you had been. The way he was fully clothed, with nothing but unruly hair as evidence of the sensual act you’d been committing, you felt humiliated. Despite the fact that he was on his knees, attempting to make an eye contact right below you, you knew he was in control. He gave quick pecks just below the area you had wanted him most, “look at me,” warm air hitting your womanhood. You were innocent in this sense, everything he’d been making you feel was a first to you.

“Y/N,” he licked the inside of your thighs, and when you refused to look at him for the second time, he pulled you downwards. Like a rag doll made for him. His tongue darted straight to your clit, you’re knees felt like jelly. Closing your thighs as a response to the sudden movement, his arms we’re quick enough to wrap around your thighs, forcing them open as he let his tongue lick through the mess you’ve managed to create.

He suckled on your clit, as if licking it gently weren’t enough. Leaving open mouthed kisses, as he pushed onto the sensitive bundle of nerves using his wet appendage. You desperately hold on to the sheets, crinkling them, using your arms as support as you tried your best to hold on for your dear life. You could feel every movement he made, the way his tongue desperately tries to enter your tight hole, the way his lips would wrap around your clit, the way he would smirk after hearing you moan his name repeatedly.

“Shit, Yoongi!” You’re voice called out to him, a tad bit louder than your moans. You gasped for air, hands wrapping around his hair, legs quivering upon the new sensation that set fire to your entire body. He continued to lap your cunt, your lips growing even tighter around his tongue. The sounds he’d been able to produce was enough to drive you to the edge. Hearing how loud he was able to make your cunt sound was beyond you.

A few short breaths, the quick tug in your stomach, and the elated beating of your heart. It came crashing down on you.

You did your best, trying to close your thighs as it began to feel too much, beads of sweat trickled down your forehead as you clung onto his dark hair. With one last gasp, and the closure of his lips, you came with a yell of his name. Your release was greeted by his lips, drinking you in like his favourite wine, overwhelmed by the stimulation you felt you begged him to stop. You rode your high against his muscle, finally, he pulled away.

His chin was gleaming, signs of your release scattered around his lips. Using his thumb, he picked it up. “Open,” he raised one of his brows towards your direction, you looked at him in confusion only to follow his orders. You were greeted by his thumb, you sucked on it, not hesitating despite tasting your own cum. He pulled it out only to replace it with his mouth, sharing the familiar taste, on a regular day it would’ve been odd, but to hell with it.

Whining against him, you tugged his sweater, demanding it be discarded somewhere in the expanse of your room. Chuckling once more he finally pulled away, with a quick flick of his wrist, he threw his top somewhere. You were greeted with a body you weren’t used too. He’s been working out, oh, he’s definitely been working out.

The way his chest moved as he heaved on top of you, the way his arms would flex and the veins that crawled from his hand to his shoulder, as if he was carved by the greatest sculptors. You swallowed harshly. God, he was fucking gorgeous.

You were brought back to reality when his finger poked your entrance, biting your lip as you watched in fascination, the way you wrapped around him, the way it quivered after its’ peace had been disrupted for the first time. Pumping his hand slowly as his eyes never left yours, watching the way your face would contort with every movement, closing your eyes as tightly as you could, soaring higher than the clouds that you had to remind yourself to breath every once in a while.

He felt you flesh, making slow movements as he tried different angles, deciding which one made you moan the loudest. Finally, he found your spot. His movements getting a lot harsher by the second, “god damn it, Yoongi.” You cursed him under your breath, gasping as he went faster and faster. “You think you can take more, baby?” his voice was gentle, a stark contrast to the way his hand moved harshly against your weeping cunt.

“More, please, more,” you chanted your mantra. Your wetness spreading to the rest of his fingers, a second one slipping into the mix. His movements were fast, but not fast enough. You tried to meet his thrusts, his eyebrow cocking upwards at the way you moved below him, observing how desperately you wanted to reach your climax for the second time tonight. “Who would’ve thought you’d be this desperate for my fingers, hm?” His voice getting lower and lower throughout the duration of the sentence.

You were in your own little bubble, his hand quickly surging forward, scissoring his fingers apart in an attempt to get you more loose, to get you to open up for him. Two fingers weren’t enough. Gasping as you felt his fingers do their best to stretch inside your needy little hole, his other hand reaching forward as he tried to distract you from the sudden movements he made inside.

Your clit was getting stimulated, while his other hand pumped even faster. You’re mind went blank, unsure as to what Min Yoongi had been saying for the past few minutes. You assumed you would reach your limit at any second, however, you felt a jolt of pain when he inserted his third finger. Cursing loudly as you held his hand, your breathing growing more shallow. He pumped his hand a little harsher, giving an emphasis to the three fingers he had inside of you.

He pulled the other away from your clit and stilled his movements, you tried to move away from his hand, doing your best to form coherent thoughts as you were torn between pushing even deeper or pulling away. You gasped for air, feeling him kiss your cheek as his deep voice murmured against your ear, “you’re going to need more than two if you want us to go all the way in, baby.”

Jesus Christ, how big was his cock?

These were your exact thoughts, ��a minute, Yoongi.” You did your best to relax, forcing your hold to relax as he held his hand steady your cunt desperately in need of action. His other hand went back to massaging your clit, while the remaining began pumping in a slower manner. Despite getting used to the feeling of having three fingers inside of you, it was still too much for your tight unused cunt. However, it made you feel something, soon, the pain was ebbing away. “Faster,” you wish you hadn’t told him that, as his palm began hitting your clit in an abusive manner, driving you over the edge.

The strange feeling began to build up inside of you, his pace grew faster, faster, and faster. Before you knew it, you came undone. You pushed his fingers away, your legs shaking as you desperately closed them. Despite not having anything inside of you, the pleasure was still very evident. You opened your eyes to a wet Min Yoongi, realisation dawned you. “Fucking hell,” he smirked, shushing you gently as he pried your legs open, observing the quivering hole that once sheltered three of his fingers.

You had squirted.

It explained so much, the way the sheets were damp, the way his chest had been shining, your cheeks were flushed.

Your eyes found his bulge, restrained by his belt and the rough material of his pants. You didn’t know what had taken over you, but you wanted his cock. You wondered what else he could make you feel. “Want your cock, Yoongi, please. Need it so bad,”

“Do you think you could handle more?”

You nodded eagerly, despite the dwindling tiredness in your eyes, you knew you still wanted one thing just before you pass out. You wanted to explore how much you could take, what else you could possibly feel, you wanted everything. Desperation. You were desperate for everything that Min Yoongi could give you. “Please,” that was all it took to push Yoongi over the edge. His pants and his boxers had been discarded in a flash, you gazed at him, specifically at the massive thing between his thighs.

You gasped.

Maybe you were taking more than you could afford to take, upon seeing the worried look in your face, Yoongi was quick to comfort you. Telling you that there was no rush in taking things this far, but with a quick roll of your wet cunt against his hard cock, he ceased his words. Letting a growl erupt from his chest as he moved his cock against your pussy. “You’re a beast, y/n.” Positioning his manhood against your wet hole, slowly entering you. Just his tip felt massive enough, the tears that threatened to spill earlier, were full on leaking out of your eyes as you shut them.

Gasping loudly, making an inaudible noise as you felt his tip enter you tiny little opening. “Taking me in so well,”

“Pussy still tight after taking all three of my fingers, you’re a fucking whore.” He stilled his movements, pausing every once in a while as he was slowly hugged by your body. “Ha-ah,” you moaned as he pushed it in even further. “How are you this fucking big,” your manicured nails marred the flesh of his back, marking it with small little crescents. He ignored your remarks, instead he focused on how he’d possibly fit everything in you. You thought you’d be ripped in half when he first entered his third finger, however, at this point you were certain you’re literally split into two. His monstrous cock doing its’ best to intrude your virgin walls.

Inch after inch you felt your sanity being washed away from your body, for a split second you knew your soul lifted away. Your eyes rolling back as he continued to penetrate you with his massive manhood, tiny scars forming in his back from how hard you gripped him. His thumbs sinking on your hips in an attempt to keep you grounded as he pushed himself in. The only warning you got was a quick peck on your forehead before he pushed to the hilt. You yelled, back arching off of the comfortable mattress, your tears staining your cheeks. With the way his breathing became shaky, how his words would falter and the short pauses he took in order to process the idea of having him spear through you in its’ entirety, he was over the fucking moon.

Moving away from him in an attempt to ride him, he couldn’t help but laugh at the desperate actions you took just to get fucked. Pulling out until its’ just his tip before harshly slamming back down, knocking the air out of your lungs as you tried to form coherent sentences, before giving up halfway through and just yelling his name repeatedly. “Ruining your tight fucking cunt for everyone else,” his breathing was harsh, he came in raging inside of you. Harsh pain emerging from your pussy as you took your first and last cock, biting down on your lip as you tried to calm yourself down.

Pulling your perked up nipples before releasing them with a pop, adding more pleasure to the large intrusion in your walls. You couldn’t hear anything, the only thing you could process was the filthy sound your cunt made against his balls. The discernible wet noises, the way the bed creaked against the wall, the way he heaved on top of you, for a split second the two of you owned the world. His lips met yours, his gentle kiss was far different from his rigorous thrusts.

Just when you thought he couldn’t go any faster, he’d prove you wrong with the next. Marking your neck with more purple hues, making you completely his, giving an emphasis on every suck with a harsh thrust, ending it with a gentle kiss on your exposed flesh. You knew you were going to be sore the next day.

Assisting your legs, wrapping them around his waist, he felt your cunt clench around him. “You’re close aren’t you, your cunt clenching around me, refusing to let go of my cock.”

“You’re mine, y/n. No one can ever fuck you the same way as I do,” he growled against your ear as his pace started getting harsher. You couldn’t keep up with him, the next thing you knew you were a shaking mess before him. Coming undone and clenching him, making your pussy a lot more tighter. You tried to push him away, you had already come undone three times in one night, you didn’t know if you had the capacity to cum once more.

However, all you got out of him was an apology, pounding even harder with the added pressure of his thumb circling around your clit repeatedly. “Carving my dick inside of you, because you’re all mine,” You whined in protest, more tears threatening to spill from your eyes as you tried to keep your composure. The pain of overstimulation taking over your entire body, you were all worn out.

Despite all the earlier attempts to push him off, at this point you had no energy left. So you took it all, growing far more needy for another gush of liquid in your cunt, yelling out gibberish as his pace slowly began to falter. Biting your lip, closing your eyes, you felt another tug in your stomach. As if your first orgasm had never ended, you were cumming, for the last time, hopefully.

“All. Fucking. Mine.” With each word he thrusted harder, you felt warm liquid painting your walls white as you choked out a sob. Clinging onto him as he gently pulled out. Meeting your eyes and gently wiping away your tears, jokingly slapping his arm afterwards. “The audacity you have, after doing it so roughly.” His gums appeared in front of you, the same gummy smile that made your heart bloom finally appearing once again.

He kissed your forehead before tucking you in bed, the sticky feeling from the sheets only making you wince. He stretched out his back before walking towards your bathroom, soon enough you heard the shower. Despite the icky and sick feeling of the sheets, you managed to take a 30-minute nap, only to be woken up by Yoongi gently blowing on your face. “Let’s go upstairs...” he whispered softly, pulling you up, as he wrapped your robe around you.

Carrying you as if you weighed nothing, as he walked around the house with nothing but his towel wrapped around his waist. For the first time in months, you finally got to see how his bedroom looked like. You groaned in pain after he put you down against the grain of his marble counter. Grabbing a wash cloth and rubbing the damp towel all over your body, using warm water, finally cleaning up the mess he’s managed to make. Dressing you up in a pair of your own pyjamas he must’ve gotten earlier.

You clung onto him like a baby koala afterwards, forcing him to lay down with you in his bed. The scent of pine trees covered the silk sheets, accompanied by his favourite cologne from Paco Rabanne.

Just as if a year of separation hadn’t happened, you found your way clinging to his body the same way you did when the two of you had been dating. The small peck on top of your head was nothing unusual, the instinct of having his arm gently wrap around you after such a tiring day from work. Slowly, everything pieced itself. You wondered just how you lived through a year without him, how much you wished you’d spent it together.

He inhaled your scent, closing his eyes as he felt the satisfaction rushing in his veins. “I love you, y/n... so much, so, so, much.” He whispered against your ear, lips finding your temple as he gave you another kiss. Telling you how much he appreciated you, terrified that somehow the two of you would find your way back to the same place you ended up in, all alone and in desperate need of comfort from each other. Yoongi took his time to tell you all the sweet nothings he wished he told you before you separated.

By the end of the day, the two of you were just thankful you’d finally found your way back home.

© Yoondles 2021, All Rights Reserved

[loving-daisy]

Cry For Me | George Weasley x Reader

Masterlist | Cry For Me Masterlist 

Chapter 9 - Fool

Words: 6.8k

Warnings: nothing much; fluff and angst

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I made a fool of myself

____________________

Much to Y/N Icestone’s dismay, her request to Draco; Draco’s request to his father; Draco’s father’s request to Professor Snape didn’t last long. After the official split of the controversial Gryffindor-Slytherin couple, Y/N let all the emotions flow. Months of bottled-up feelings freely flowing. 

Hatred, mostly. 

The girl just couldn’t stand to see or even get a tiny little glimpse at the boy who captured her heart, held it carelessly, and smashed it into pieces. The mere thought of him even enraged her. Hating the fact that she was so gullible to believe that someone truly liked her because of her and her alone. Not the titles, the money, or the power that she came with. 

But as the saying goes, when one door closes, another one opens. Sure, her relationship with the Weasley had a very unfortunate ending but at least another story went on - her friendship with Draco Malfoy. And Draco, being the good friend he is, decided to help her. 

Even if all the blonde Slytherin did was send an owl to his father, it did help a lot, truly. 2 weeks being George-Weasley-free during potions class. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, as the individual potions’ work eventually dissolved as they had to work by pair again. 

“This next potion you’re about to brew is much more difficult than the last.” Professor Snape informed the class. “Truth be told, I’d still prefer everyone to work individually.” 

Honestly, there’s not a potion that Y/N Icestone can’t brew perfectly. Sure, there could be some difficult ones but the girl is always up for the challenge. Working alone versus working with a pair didn’t really have that much difference. She firmly believed that she’d do well even without a partner. I mean, the girl basically proved herself in the last 2 weeks. 

“But due to a lot of errors and mishaps, I’m gonna allow you to work in pairs. Your partner will be your previous partner. Now, get to work!” Snape ordered with a scowl, grasping his black robes as he started to walk around the classroom. 

I should’ve just asked my Father. Too bad he never got close with Snape. Too bad Draco’s not here. The Slytherin thought, letting out a huff before making her way towards her previous table - the one she shared with the boy she’s trying to avoid.

____________________

As the Slytherin sat on top of the stool beside the desk where their bubbling cauldron was placed, she couldn’t help but send a look towards Daphne who was putting ingredients into their cauldron. 

Sensing Icestone’s look, Greengrass’ attention diverted to her best friend, raising a brow as if asking “what’s wrong?”. Y/N rested her elbow on top of the desk, placing her chin on her palm, pouting. 

Daphne let out a small chuckle, shaking her head from left to right. But just before she was about to mouth a few sentences towards the sour-mood Icestone, the shocked look on her best friend’s face stopped her in her tracks. 

Professor Snape immediately waltzes towards Icestone and Weasley’s shared desk, crossing his arms as he towered over the ginger with a scowl. “Mr. Weasley, I know that you have a knack for making stuff explode but for the love of Salazar, stop practicing the nonsense in this class. Have you not learned your lesson from the past week?” He let out, tone full of disappointment. 

“As expected from a Gryffindor. You just lost your house 10 points.” Snape continued before reaching out for his wand, making the mess disappear. 

“Detention, Mr. Weasley.” The potion’s master ordered before turning his heels to walk away. 

Before the Slytherin was able to open her mouth and make a snide remark, Professor Snape looked back, eyes burning holes at the girl’s forehead. “You too, Ms. Icestone.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped in disbelief. It’s not like any of the mess was her fault. It was all Weasley’s! All she had to do was prepare all the ingredients and line them up in order for the ginger to put it in so what’s bubbling in the cauldron was definitely not under her control. The girl firmly believed that she should have gotten detention for actually doing her part right. “But professor-”

“Not another word.” 

Great. So much for avoiding George Weasley. 

____________________

Later that day, Y/N Icestone found herself walking out of the Great hall to go straight towards the dungeons. But not towards the Slytherin common room. Rather, towards the potion’s master’s classroom. To serve detention. 

Truthfully, the girl didn’t know what it was like to serve detention under Snape’s name. Was it harsh like what other students claimed it to be or were people just over exaggerating? 

But come to think of it, Y/N Icestone didn’t know what it was like to serve detention under any other professor’s name. She has never gotten herself into detention anyways. If it wasn’t for the Gryffindor, she wouldn’t have even been here. She would’ve kept her record clean! 

Fortunately for the girl, Professor Snape’s favoritism towards the students under Slytherin was true. The reason? Well, the only reason why Icestone got detention is so that someone could keep an eye on every other pupil who got detention as they manually scrub all the dirty cauldrons. The potion’s professor simply told the girl that he had important business to attend to and so he’s entrusting detention towards her. 

Additionally, he promised that Icestone’s record would still be clean and that he’s adding 10 points to Slytherin for the girl to help him. Unfortunately for the girl, no other pupil was serving detention under Snape but George Weasley himself. 

Oh how Y/N Icestone wished that there was another unfortunate student who messed up in Snape’s class today. 

25 minutes into detention, the Slytherin was starting to get bored. After all, she too wasn’t allowed to use her wand. But hers was kept inside her pocket either way; Kept inside her robes with the ginger’s. 

But still, despite having the privilege of just sitting there and not scrubbing dirty cauldrons, her rage towards the ginger didn’t disappear. No matter what angle you look at it, she still wouldn’t be here if the Gryffindor didn’t mess up. 

The Slytherin huffed in boredom, piercing her cold eyes towards the boy. 

“I hope you’re aware of how much I despise you right now.” Y/N spat, deciding to break the silence inside the classroom. 

“I’m sorry.” The ginger murmured, trying to scrub the cauldron he was holding a little faster. “I’ll try to work faster. There are about 12 cauldrons left.” George informed.

Y/N hatred flowed freely, yes. But no, it couldn’t last for so long. Not when George Weasley makes it so hard for her to hate him. Why was the boy so nice? 

You look happier. She recalled. It was all bullsh-. 

“What happened anyway? Didn’t I line up all the prepared ingredients for you on the table? Didn’t you follow what the book said?” The girl questioned, hoping to at least get a decent explanation from the ginger on why their potion was suddenly messed up. 

The last time George messed up his potion was because of someone else tampering with it. But since the partner system in Snape’s class was administered again, Y/N doubted that it was another work of her housemate because even if George was their target, Y/N would be included in that target because they were...well, partners.

And the girl knew that no one dared to mess with her. 

“I’m sorry.” George repeated. Refusing to look at the Slytherin, his attention was still mainly towards the cauldron. 

This time, Icestone was now really annoyed. “Is ‘I’m sorry’ the only words you know how to speak of?” she grunted, rolling her eyes. 

“Sorry-, I mean, I’ll do better in the future, I promise.” replied George. 

“If there is a future.” The girl murmured, huffing. 

The boy didn’t know what she meant but he decided to just ignore it and get to work.

____________________

“Where have you been?” The Malfoy heir questioned after standing from his seat to walk towards the Icestone heir. 

“Draco? What are you still doing here? It’s late.” The girl pointed out, moving past the boy to sit on one of the leather couches located inside the common room. 

“Hey, I asked you first!” The blonde complained, following the 6th year and sitting beside her. 

By now, the cold room located under the black lake was quiet, seeing that it’s already late at night and there were classes tomorrow. The only people present were Icestone, Malfoy, a few students from year 7 studying, and the prefect who decided to stop by and organize the announcement board. 

Y/N leaned her head on the seat, sighing before closing her eyes. “I was monitoring Professor Snape’s detention class.” She informed with annoyance not towards the blonde, but towards the task. 

“You? Why you?” asked Draco. 

The girl turned to face the curious boy, eyes staring at his confused ones. “Well, he did say that he had some important business to attend to.” 

The blonde furrowed his brows, still not satisfied with the answer. “Okay, but why you? It could have been the prefect or whatever.” 

The girl let out another sigh. “Because stupid George Weasley was my partner in potions and he messed up so Snape decided to include me in his suffering. Thankfully, I didn’t do any scrubbing. My nails would have sucked!” 

“Partner?! I thought you guys worked individually now? Didn’t my father...” 

“Yeah...but apparently, there are too many dunderheads in the class so…” The girl said, rolling her eyes before shrugging. 

“Why’d you wait for me? Didn’t you say you had a test on Defense today?” She asked to divert the topic away.

“Well…” 

“Yes?” Y/N urged, anticipating as she examined the boy’s look. Draco’s usually perfectly styled hair was no more as he wore his uniform trousers and a plain white shirt. 

The Malfoy heir let out a small and shy smile. “I wanted to give you something.” 

Icestone stood straight, both hands held out towards Malfoy as she waited for him to give her whatever it was that he was planning to give. 

“Is it chocolate chip cookies? It better be chocolate chip cookies.” She commented with a grin, her eyes sparkling at the thought of her favorite sweet. 

Draco chuckled at her actions. “Close your eyes.” He instructed before fetching the object inside his pocket. 

Y/N felt the boy’s warm hands go over hers, feeling jewelry being put on her wrist. In the absence of the warm feeling of Draco’s hands, the girl opened her eyes, the grin on her face never faltering. 

Taking a look at her right hand, there it was, clasped on top of the Slytherin’s wrist, a silver chain bracelet with diamonds and emeralds resting beside each other. 

Her eyes made contact with the blonde’s gray ones, shock and slight confusion on her head. “What’s this? I don’t recall that it’s going to be my birthday soon.” She playfully asked. 

Draco grinned, eyes turning towards his own wrist. “Do you like it? It’s a family heirloom but I had it customized to give it a little bit more style that suited both of us. Diamonds for Icestone and Emeralds for Malfoy.” Draco explained as he lifted his own wrist, a similar bracelet placed on top of it. 

“Do I like it? No, I actually love it very much. It’s gorgeous.” Y/N stated, earning an even bigger grin from the blonde. 

“Thank you, Draco.” the girl thanked, engulfing the blonde into a big hug. 

Green apples and peppermint. That’s what Draco Malfoy smelled like. Y/N Icestone thought the scent made her feel nostalgic about her own childhood. After every tutoring session with Mr. Princeton, the fairy that she had back then would bring her some sliced green apples and tea. Specifically, it would be peppermint tea if it was the cold season. 

The girl didn’t know why she suddenly thought of her childhood. Maybe it was because of the way things are now. Maybe it was because she wanted to go back to the old days. Maybe it was because the boy on her arms made her day 100% better or maybe it was a sign. She is yet to find out.

“So, where’s my chocolate chip cookies?” 

____________________

Oh, thank Draco Lucius Malfoy for making THAT one day a little bit better. 

Ever since last week’s potions class and the detention that followed, the days passed by quickly. Sure, there was still a little tension whenever Gryffindor and Slytherin shared classes but slowly and surely, Y/N Icestone was starting to let go of it. 

There’s no point in dwelling in the past. Lixie once told her. Additionally, her hatred doesn’t even last long. Not when the ginger makes it so hard. Hatred will bring you nothing, anyways. 

It’s been two months since the Icestone heir sent that enchanted letter declaring how she was the one playing with the ginger. Meaning, two whole months have passed ever since the controversial couple split up. 

Truthfully, the time the Slytherin spent thinking about where she went wrong, what went wrong, and what lacked in her rarely came anymore. Back then, when she’d be idle and alone, she’d stare at nothing and suddenly cry due to her mean thoughts. Now, Y/N Icestone knew her worth, and turns out, she was too much for George. She was too good for him. Daphne and Draco made sure she knew that. 

However, even if months have passed ever since her relationship with the Gryffindor, both Icestone and Weasley were having a hard time. 

After being convinced that there’d be no way the ex-lovers would communicate seriously for final closure, both parties tried to bury their feelings deep inside them. But putting too much stuff inside a bottle will burst it open. 

“What did you want once it was all over, George?” Icestone quietly spat, trying hard not to divert the other people’s attention towards them. 

Today was the day where the week’s potions class happened. It was annoying for Icestone, really. 

Come to think of it, Y/N Icestone loved potions. She even wanted to practice a career centered in potions someday. But this class? She hates it. She used to love it but now she hates it and ironically, the same reason why she loved it and hated it now was the same - being partners with George Weasley. 

One minute they were quietly working on the contents of their cauldron and the next they were confronting each other about their previous relationship. 

“...” 

The Slytherin sighed, dropping her hands beside her before putting a palm on her forehead. “I’m a fool!” She declared, disappointed laced all over her voice. 

The girl let out another sigh before continuing. “I was so bloody stupid for thinking that you were different. I’m a fool for believing that you love me. I’m such a fool! I was never like this before. How did you make me become such a fool for you?” 

“But did you?” Asked George, expression with a little bit of curiosity and unknown hope as his brown eyes pierced into the girl’s glassy ones. 

“Did I do what?”

It was only then when the boy started to feel a bit embarrassed about the thought of telling the girl in front of him what he wanted to say out loud. Despite being embarrassed, George was never raised to be a coward. He was sorted into Gryffindor after all. 

“Did you love me?”

The girl felt her breath hitch, flustered by the boy’s question. 

Y/N contemplated for a few moments before giving out her answer. 

The question merely required a “yes” or “no” as an answer but oh how it made it seem like it was the hardest question to answer right now. If the girl answered “yes”, then what would that make her? She’d be the gullible girl George Weasley played with! But if she answered “no”, then she’d be lying. Oh, how she hated lying. 

So instead of giving a direct answer, she asked back. “Did you?” 

One side of George’s lips curved, his expression a smirk but mischief absent. “I asked first.” 

He pointed out. “I said, did you?” The Slytherin pressed on, waiting. 

Truthfully, the girl didn’t know what answer she should expect. She didn’t know how to react when she hears the boy’s answer. Is she really ready to know whether the Gryffindor truly loved her or not? 

“Never.” George mumbled, turning his attention back towards their brewing potion. 

Icestone’s jaw dropped, shocked by the ginger’s declaration. Thankfully, her heart didn’t fall into her stomach. No, it didn’t hurt at all. Why? Because the girl knew better. 

“This is going to be the last time you’re ever going to lie in front of my face, Weasley.” She hissed before grabbing a vial to put in their brewed potion and gathering all of her belongings to leave the room. 

“Never did I not.” The Gryffindor continued, sighing nobody but himself. 

____________________

Two weeks after the confrontational outburst regarding Icestone and Weasley’s past relationship, the girl finally became fed up with the sight of George. 

Things just didn't go right for her when it was time for potions class. Mainly because her ex boyfriend was her partner. They just simply couldn’t get along. 

She was tired. For Merlin’s sake, all she wanted was a peaceful year and good grades but the ginger was hindering both of that for her. 

“Professor, can’t I change my partner? Daphne Greengrass and her partner gave me their permission to switch too!” Icestone convinced the potions master. 

The dark eyes of the professor bored itself on the face of the Slytherin. “Can you tell me, Ms. Icestone. Why do you have the need to change your partner? Didn’t I make myself clear at the start of the year that whoever you choose will be permanent?” Answered Snape. 

“I don’t think Weasley is a good partner, sir. Look what happened last time, Professor. I don’t want to fail this class and if he continues to be my partner, he might drag me down with him!” 

Snape’s lips curled into an unamused smirk. “That’s not my problem anymore, Ms. Icestone. You’re smart. You do something about it.”

At least Y/N tried. 

“Listen.” The Slytherin called out, making the Gryffindor face her with a nervous look.

The girl’s arms were crossed, an annoyed but compromising expression plastered all over her face as she stared at the boy’s eyes.

If present Y/N Icestone was to tell past Y/N Icestone how she would be the first one to let her pride down towards George Weasley, she probably wouldn’t believe her. 

But it must be done. Because there is no way that the Y/N Icestone is going to fail potions just because of a boy. 

“If we’re going to force ourselves to work together for Potions, then we have to at least be on speaking terms with each other.” Icestone began, earning a small nod from George.

“We need proper communication, okay?” She continued, earning another nod.

Y/N nodded at George’s acknowledging nod. “So how about we figure this out and start again?” She offered. 

“Yes, I would like that very much. Thank you.” The Gryffindor carefully began, sneaking a look at the girl’s expression before continuing. 

“And, I’m sorry. For everything. For ruining our potions the last weeks and for dragging you to detention with me. I didn’t mean it, I swear! It was just an accident.”  George reasoned, rambling in the middle of his explanation. 

The girl merely nodded to show how she was listening to every word. “So, friends?” asked George as he offered a hand towards the girl. 

Icestone’s cold eyes burned holes at the back of the boy’s hand, contemplating whether to shake it or not. 

Truthfully, the girl’s objective was to make them go in speaking terms again. They didn’t have to be friends, really. They just needed to communicate in potions class so that her grade doesn’t descend even further. 

Also, Icestone was not sure what being friends with George Weasley would bring her. Would it bring her the peace that she wanted? Or would it just mess up her head even more? What would be the consequences of shaking the ginger’s big warm hand? Was she prepared for those consequences? 

But nonetheless, the girl took the risk of compromising. She really wanted the good grades. “Friends.” 

____________________

Turns out being friends with George Weasley didn’t give any harm towards Y/N Icestone. In fact, it felt like a breath of fresh air. 

No, it wasn’t as if their previous midnight escapades at the astronomy tower resumed. It wasn’t as if they’d greet each other whenever they passed by each other. And no, it wasn’t as if they spent some time in the library to study. No, nothing was like that. 

Their interaction remained inside the potion’s classroom. And it was refreshing, really. Y/N Icestone didn’t have to dread attending the class anymore. She finally had proper teamwork with her partner and her grades were starting to stabilize once again.

Additionally, everyone always tried to be an insider towards the girl’s life. And truthfully? The girl didn’t want another set of rumors about herself and the Gryffindor rekindling their love or some other type of rubbish flying around the school. 

“Wanna know a secret?” George suddenly asks, making Y/N steal a quick glance at him. 

“Sure.” She muttered, resuming her work on squeezing the juice out of the beetle for today’s potion work. 

“The first task involves dragons.” The ginger whispered, looking proud at himself. 

“Dragons?! What are they gonna do with them? Fight them?” The girl asked, shocked.

“Yup.”

“But...isn’t that dangerous?” 

George gave her a nod. “It is. The Triwizard tournament involves 3 extremely dangerous tasks anyways.”

Aside from the information about the Triwizard tournament, the Slytherin was rather amazed at how the Gryffindor got the information. 

“You really have a way around things, don’t you? How did you find out anyway?” Asked Y/N. 

“My older brother, Charlie, brought them here. He works with dragons.” 

However, even if Icestone and Weasley’s friendship remained during potions, the Slytherin was not free from her best friend’s concerned interrogation.

“What’s up with you and Weasley?” Daphne suddenly asks one night when the two were preparing to go to bed. 

“We’re friends, I guess.” Answered Y/N. 

The raven-haired girl sat on her bed, moving towards Icestone’s to lay down beside her, facing her. 

“You can’t be just friends with your ex-boyfriend!” She exclaimed, earning a raised brow.

“Why not?”

“Well, because he’s your ex!” Daphne said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

Icestone chuckled, placing a hand on top of the Greengrass. “Relax, Daph! It wasn’t like...anything in our previous relationship was real.” 

“But you felt real emotions, didn’t you?”

“Well, that was on me!” Y/N reasoned. “It’s not like I have feelings for him, anymore.”

Instead of getting a verbal response from Daphne, all Y/N received was an unamused look. 

“Okay, maybe I do but I’m trying to move on! Like I said Daphne, what we used to be will never be again. We’re just not...compatible.”

Icestone’s best friend’s lips curled into a smirk. 

“You know, I read something in a magazine before. You can’t be just friends with your ex. Or, you can be friends but that only means that one still likes the other.”

“Well, the one who likes the other is definitely not me.” Y/N denied. 

Daphne gave her a raised brow. “Then it’s Weasley?”

“No! I don’t even know if he really did like me. Even if he did, I like to think that he didn’t. The thought makes it easier to move on. Besides, all those are behind us now. Right now, we’re just friends. Really.” 

“I just don’t want you to get hurt again, Y/N.”

“I won't, Daph. I won’t.” 

____________________

Meanwhile, inside Fred and George’s shared dorm with their best friend, Lee, who was actually nowhere to be seen. 

“So you’re telling me...you and Icestone are back to being friends?” The older twin tried to confirm, not really impressed with the idea. 

George answered with a nod and a short “yeah.”, earning a raised brow from his twin.  

“Why are you back to being friends? That’s impossible!” Fred exclaimed, shaking his head as he paced around the room.

“Why can’t we be friends? I think being friends is much better than being strangers. It gives us peace, you know? We don’t really fight during potions anymore.” The younger ginger reasoned. 

“Peace?!” Fred repeated. “Be honest with me, Georgie. Are you really at peace? Is your heart at peace? I know you know that you can’t be just friends with your ex!” 

Fred’s words started to sync into George’s mind. Was he really at peace after all the chaos that has happened in the past few months? Was he really at peace after being friends with Y/N Icestone despite still having real and genuine feelings for her? Was he really at peace even if answers to his questions were not being handed to him? Even if there was still no closure between them? 

But then again, being friends with the girl than being enemies was much better, right? At least he still saw her. At least he still talked to her. 

Is that enough?

“You know what, Fred? I can’t be just friends with Y/N Icestone.” The younger ginger declared, standing up from his bed. 

“I want her back, Freddie. But I don’t know what to do. What should I do?” He continued. 

The older ginger gave him a wide grin, patting his back. “Dear, dear, George. How about a plan b?” 

“Plan b?”

Fred nodded. “Yeah, plan b. B that stands for ‘boy I realized that I can’t live without you and that you’re the one that I want so please take me back’” 

“That’s such a long name.” Grunted George, shaking his head from left to right. 

“Oh, no need to be intimidated by it. I can guarantee you that this is 100% going to work.” Fred assured his twin as a million thoughts flooded his mind, one by one constructing a blueprint inside his head to help his brother. 

George sighed, unsure as the look of his worn-out pajamas came into his view. “I don’t know, Fred. The last time you and I made a plan that involved Y/N Icestone, it broke my heart. It broke her heart!”

“That is why we’re gonna mend it back!” Fred said enthusiastically. 

“How?” asked the younger ginger with uncertainty. 

Suddenly, George found himself alone in their dorm after Fred came running out and towards the common room. 

“Angelina!” George heard Fred call. Shaking his head afterward with the thought: how is Angelina going to help with me getting back Y/N Icestone? Fred will probably just flirt with her all throughout. 

“What do you want, Fred?” Huffed Angelina, annoyed at the look of a wide-grinned Fred because it could only mean one thing; mischief. 

“You in?” He asked without any other context, earning a confused Gryffindor chaser. However, the expression on the boy’s face didn’t falter. 

After a few moments of silence, the girl eventually understood what the tall ginger was pertaining to. They did talk about it previously anyway. 

This time, it was Angelina’s turn to call somebody. “Alicia!”  The other Gryffindor chaser stood from her seat, excusing herself from the study group she currently was in before approaching her teammates. “Angie, you called?” 

The dark-skinned girl turned to look at her, her expression the same with the boy; a wide grin. 

“You know that one time when you told me that you owe me because I covered you up from McGonagall for sneaking into the Ravenclaw tower that one night?”

“Yes…”“Well, now’s the time to pay it back.”

Fear started to spread in Alicia Spinnet’s eyes. “I don’t think I like where this is going…” she remarked. 

“Well, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

____________________

The next Monday morning, as Y/N Icestone made her way towards the Great hall, alone (for the reason that Daphne just had the habit of waking up much earlier than her to do all her morning rituals before starting the day), the Slytherin noticed how students of different houses passed on information with each other like it was their form of the morning paper. 

Typical. The Slytherin thought. 

But she wouldn’t lie, she too, was curious about what baseless rumors are being passed around this week. Last week, it was how Harry Potter would probably lose the first round in the first task for the Triwizard tournament. Draco even made it worse for the boy who lived by making his goons hand out pins that state “Potter Stinks”. Y/N thought it was childish but boys will be boys. 

What even made her curious is the way people stared at her, looking at her up and down as if she was a piece of meat. 

I mean, she was used to people keeping an eye on her, she did have a good sense of fashion and her presence alone demanded attention, but something was different for today. Why? Because as people gossiped, they were looking at her. 

“What’s everyone gossiping about these days?” Y/N asked her cat, Lixie, who she was carrying in her arms. 

“Would you really like to know?” The cat replied, still feeling sleepy. 

“That’s why I asked, didn’t I?” 

Lixie yawned, kneading his paws. “Seems like Weasley got himself a new girlfriend.” 

“Fred and Angelina became official?!” The girl asked, shocked. 

“No.”

“Ron and...some girl from Gryffindor?” The girl asked, unsure. 

“No!” The cat hissed, clearly getting annoyed at the girl’s obliviousness. “It’s George, Y/N.” 

“Oh.” Icestone let out. 

I guess Lixie’s response gave her the understanding as to why people were staring at her. The gossip was about her ex-boyfriend. 

Surprisingly, she didn’t feel anything negative from the information. It was better than she expected. She didn’t feel blue, hatred, or any remorse at all. Although she felt a little annoyed at how the people still associated her with the Gryffindor. 

“Who is it then?” she pondered. 

No matter who she thought it was, none of them really matched George. But maybe it was someone she didn’t know. After all, there were a lot of students from Gryffindor that she had no idea of. 

“I don’t know and I don’t really care. I heard she’s not even pretty.” Lixie shared, hoping to close the topic so that he may get back to his nap. 

____________________

Meanwhile, at the Gryffindor table where the center of this week’s school gossip was located, was an annoyed yet slightly scared Alicia Spinnet. 

“I swear to Godric, Fred, if the Slytherins find out about this and make fun of me, I’m gonna tell Angelina to kick you off the team.” The girl grunted as she displayed a balled fist for the older Weasley twin. 

“Too bad she can’t do that ‘cause I’m literally one of the best beaters this team has ever had.” Fred teased, sticking a tongue out. 

Instead of the twins sitting beside each other like they usually do, Fred was seated in front of George who’s back was facing the Slytherin table. Beside George was Alicia while Lee was beside Fred. 

Today’s mission was to earn the attention of the Slytherin in which all George and Alicia had to do was sit beside each other after Lee purposely spread rumors about them dating. Additionally, to know whether the mission was a success or a failure, Lee and Fred were there to monitor everything. 

“Then I’ll tell her your secret!” Alicia challenged, crossing her arms in front of her. 

“What secret?” Fred hesitated, nervousness starting to engulf him. 

“I know you like her, Freddie!” gloated Alicia. 

“Oh yeah? Well, what is there to be afraid of? I’m no coward, I’m a Weasley!” 

“Lee, any news?” George queried after shaking his head at Alicia and Fred’s antics. 

“The snake just entered the hall,” Lee reported, quietly keeping an eye on the walking Slytherin as she took her usual seat on her house’s table. 

“She is seated in front of Malfoy. She’s also beside Greengrass and they’re whispering.” The boy continued. 

____________________

As Y/N took her usual seat beside the 6th year Greengrass, she noticed the girl being more ecstatic compared to every other morning. The girl was glowing, her grin was wide and a shade of pink flooded her cheeks. It seems like she was announcing something very important, seeing the tablemates’ attention focused solely on her.

At least something different was being talked about at Slytherin. Y/N thought, internally smiling at herself.

The Icestone heir observed all the attentive faces, her eyes landing on the blonde boy in front of her, the Italian boy seated next to the blonde, then the quiet boy who always had a book in hand who had the same shade of pink on his cheeks.

A thought entered the mind of the Slytherin, theorizing what her observations meant but deciding to find out to confirm everything. 

Y/N bumped her shoulders to the girl beside her, whispering. “Daphne? What’s going on?”

Greengrass turned to face her, her eyes shining. “Turns out, my parents found me a match! I just received the owl.”

The Icestone mirrored the girl’s smile. “Well, you seem happy about it, Who is it?”

The boy seated next to Blaise Zabini let out a cough, making Greengrass steal a glance before turning back to her best friend. 

“Theodore Nott.” Daphne giggled. 

The smile on Icestone’s face dropped, cold eyes piercing the mentioned boy as she put on her most intimidating look. 

“Alright, Nott. You listen here-” She began.

“Oh, poor boy.” Malfoy murmured, shaking his head with a smirk plastered around his face. 

“Don’t scare him!” Greengrass scolded, smacking her best friend on the arm.

“I’m just kidding!” Icestone snickered before laughing at the boy’s terrified look. 

“Cheer up, Theodore. I’m only joking.” She assured.

“But oh! I’m so happy for you, Daph! You were always waiting for this day to come, weren’t you?” Y/N commented before giving the raven-haired girl a side hug.

“Congrats best friend! We’re both betrothed!” Daphne beamed, returning the hug. 

A series of falling silverware started to fill the Slytherin table, making the two girls pull away at the sound. 

Icestone’s head became flooded with confusion, especially after seeing the shocked look on Draco and his friends’ faces. She slightly tilted her head, trying to figure out what was happening. 

Eyeing all the tables at the Great hall one by one - Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, then Slytherin, everything started to make sense when the majority of her housemates had their jaws dropped, eyes towards her. 

She couldn’t help but let her jaw drop too. 

“Daphne...” she quietly called, trying to avoid everyone else present on the table. 

“Bloody hell! I’m so sorry!” The girl agonized, her previously excited mood being replaced with guilt. 

____________________

“Oh Godric,” Lee happily murmured, face contorting into a smile. 

“What?” Fred, not really monitoring the Slytherin, asked with uncertainty. 

“Look over there!” Lee ordered, eyes never leaving the Icestone heir. 

After following Lee’s line of sight, Fred turned his attention towards his twin, beaming at him. “She looks shocked. I think she saw George! I think it worked!” he chimed with triumph. 

George felt his lips curling into a wide smile.

____________________

Later that day, after Y/N’s last class with Professor McGonagall for transfiguration was dismissed, just before the girl headed back towards the dungeons, her arm was grabbed and she was pulled into an empty hallway. 

Truthfully, the Slytherin felt like everything was a blur ever since the day started. Especially after breakfast at the Great hall. 

Therefore, she wasn’t really focused on everything that was around her, causing her to grab her wand from her robes and point it at the intruder. 

“Relax! It’s just me.” George assured, raising both his hands into a surrendering position. 

Icestone looked at the boy up and down, keeping her wand away before crossing her arms. 

“What do you want?” She mused, tapping her feet impatiently.  

The tall Gryffindor furrowed his brows, staring down at the Slytherin. “Why are you so cranky today?” He pondered before shaking his head. 

Y/N only gave him a grunt, hissing another “hurry up!” which made George grab the girl’s hand, placing a bag on top of it. 

Icestone’s icy orbs stared at the bag. “What’s this?”

“Chocolate chip cookies, your favorite. To cheer you up, somehow,” replied George with a small smile plastered on his face.

George knew why the girl was so out of mood today. It was because she was jealous after rumors about him and Alicia started to spread around the school! And he planned on making her feel better by doing some good deeds. What more deed could be better than gifting the Slytherin her favorite sweets? 

The Slytherin’s lips curled into a smirk. “You’re sure these aren’t raisins?” She teased.

“Hey! That was one time!”

Saving from turning the conversation into an awkward one, the girl muttered a quick “Thanks.” 

“Good thing your girlfriend doesn’t get mad jealous when you do this kind of stuff with other girls.” Y/N mindlessly added, internally slapping herself at the comment. 

She didn’t mean to let those sentences out, Y/N Icestone swears! It was at the tip of her tongue but she usually would’ve swallowed everything in. She didn’t know why words started to flow out of her mouth without any second thoughts. 

“Girlfriend?” The Gryffindor repeated, feeling ecstatic on the inside. 

George felt like he just won the lottery. Y/N’s statement just confirmed his theory of her being jealous. 

“Is she not? People were talking about it though?” The Slytherin quipped, raising a brow. 

George just gave a shrug for an answer. 

____________________

“You handed her cookies! What is she gonna think now, you stupid git!” Fred grunted, smacking his twin’s arm. 

“She thought Alicia was my girlfriend! How fun is that?” replied George. 

The older ginger shook his head in disbelief. “Sure, she thought that Alicia was your girlfriend but what kind of boyfriend will she think you’ll be? A boyfriend who goes out of their way to give gifts to their exes?!” 

“Oh, Godric! You’re right! That was a stupid move” George agonized, massaging his temples.  

Fred gave him a pat on the back, comforting him “It’s fine, Georgie. You’ll do better next time. ”

“If there is a next time.” 

“No-” 

The painting of the fat lady, which actually served as an entrance towards the Gryffindor common room, suddenly bursts open with an out-of-breath Ron Weasley who looked like he just came running away from a wild elephant together with his best friend, Harry Potter.

At their little brother’s disheveled appearance, the Weasley twins put their conversation to a halt as their attention was directed towards him. 

“You would not know what I just heard at Divination class earlier!” Ron gushed, calling over Hermione and Ginny to join in their little circle for him to deliver the information he knew. 

“What?” Hermione grunted, annoyed at the ginger for ruining her reading session as well as the thought of the stupid class.

“So you know how Gryffindor and Slytherin are always conveniently in the same class, right?” breathed Ron. 

“Of course...they pair us with those snakes as if we’re actually going to get along…” Fred commented, shaking his head.

The 4th year Weasley ignored his brother’s remark and continued on. “Well, when me and Harry entered the room, Malfoy and his lot were talking and it looked serious.” 

Ginny raised a brow towards his brother. “So, being the nosy boy you are, you eavesdropped?” She interrogated, displeased. 

“Ginny, it looked important. I had to know because what if one of us is involved? What if they’re planning another thing that could hurt George?” Ron reasoned before raising his right hand to swat the air. 

“But anyway, I heard Zabini scolding Malfoy. I know, hard to believe right? But he said something like the entirety of the Slytherin house finding out Malfoy’s most important secret.” 

All the people included in their little bubble gave a small nod, acknowledging the young Weasley, getting more and more curious. 

“And?” George pressed on, making Ron look directly into his eyes. 

“I heard what the secret was!” He rejoiced, being proud of himself. 

“They really should have kept their voices lower.” He added. 

“Just get to the point, Ronald!” Exclaimed Hermione, clearly getting annoyed by the lack of information.

“Y/N Icestone is betrothed to Draco Malfoy.” 

End of Chapter 9

____________________

Taglist:  @abrunettefangirlnerd @gloryekaterina​ @lilypad-55449​ @memekingofwwiii @leovaldez37 @bellaiscool​ @sukunas-cult-leader​ @fandom-garbage​ @youcantbesirius​ @rainmaybank​

[preciousthingsareprecious]

That Time Tim Totally Terminated Ra's Al Ghuls Entire Empire Part 1

So. I wrote something very silly. The title says it all, except it doesn't because this bad boy spiraled out to being over 10k and deserving of 2 chapters. Anyway, here is the first chapter featuring all the times Ra's kidnapped Tim because he wanted to recruit him.

Summary:

"Let us not beat around the bush,” Ra’s started, after taking a sip from his tea, “I have brought you here to make you an offer.” Tim nodded, that was obvious enough. Ra's had no reason to kidnap him this time beyond something like this.

“As you know, I’m always on the lookout for enterprising young individuals with both leadership and fighting experience to join the League of Assassins. Right now I’ve been on the hunt for the perfect person to fill a brand new executive role in a new chapter of my organization.”

AO3 Link

~

Tim wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up in this situation. No really. One moment he’d been in Gotham, crouched behind an old BMW that had been in the same spot for a month, waiting on Batman’s signal, the next he’d woken up in some lavishly decorated room. Was that silk? Or maybe velvet? He had no idea what was hanging around the bed he was laying in, but Tim really didn’t care.

What he was concerned about was his own personal state. He raised his arms --that alone was a good sign-- and confirmed that his mask was in place. He pushed himself up on the ridiculously plush bed, -which was unreasonably plush by the standards of a kid who'd grown up rich, and then gone to live with a guy who had both more money and even better beds.

The point was, the bed was so soft Tim actually had a bit of trouble sitting up.

When he did manage to right himself, he finished taking stock of his own situation and his surroundings. His Robin uniform was intact aside from his belt, but he saw that set on a trunk that looked at least as old as Bruce, a few feet away. The room was, as he already determined, lavishly decorated.

Tim pushed himself out of the bed and onto a carpet so thick he kind of wanted to pull off his shoes and curl his toes in it, but seeing as he still had no idea where he was, who took him, or why, he figured that was probably out of the question. He did make a mental note to ask Bruce for some better carpet when he got home. As a kind of gift for surviving a very weird kidnapping.

Instead, he moved to walk carefully around the room. He found no obvious traps, no cameras or speakers or microphones that were either hidden or out in the open, and both doors were unlocked.

The first he opened revealed a bathroom. The second he cracked open to peer out of. His eyes locked on that of an honest to goodness ninja standing guard outside the door. The man locked eyes with him and Tim snapped the door shut with a click.

Welp, that answered the who and maybe even the where of Tim’s abduction. Ra’s Al Ghul. He was pretty sure if he gave the ninja ten minutes to go find Mr. al Ghul himself, he’d have the why too.

While he waited, Tim snapped his belt back around his waist, comfortable to have its weight back, even if being in a League stronghold meant all the tricks in his pockets were basically useless on his own. Still, it was nice to feel fully like Robin again.

After that it was a matter of waiting.

Tim paced an actual trench into the thick carpet as he waited. Batman was of course looking for him. That was a given, he just had to wait for the man to find him. Or for Ra’s to send him home? He really wasn’t sure why the Eco-terrorist would have taken him in the first place beyond a really weird obsession with Batman's various sidekicks.

How come all of Bruce’s baddies seemed to have a strange fixation on Robins? It was weird how many went out of their way to kidnap and attempt to recruit him, Dick, and if the stories were to be believed, Jason too.

Just as Tim was starting to turn that particular thought over in his head, the door to his room opened and Ra’s himself strolled in.

“Timothy.” the man drawled.

“Ra’s.” Tim replied, suddenly totally and completely unsure what to do with his hands, voice, feet, and general self. This wasn’t a fight after all.

He settled for crossing his arms and being terribly glad his domino hid his eyes.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I brought you here.” Ra’s said.

Tim shrugged, “It doesn’t take the world’s greatest detective to guess that.”

The man frowned at him, and Tim started to wonder if maybe he should be watching his words a bit. He wasn’t in Gotham with Batman at his back after all. But then again, Ra’s must need something from him right? So a little sass was okay, what was Robin without a smart mouth after all?

“I mean--” Tim started, unable to stop himself now that he was thinking about it, “I can probably start to guess. You didn’t kill me and I’m not in a dungeon so you’ve got to want something from me right? I bet this is some blend of trying to win me over and also hold me above Batman because you--” he paused for a moment trying to remember if Bruce had been on Ra’s’ trail at all lately.

He dropped his arms and clapped, remembering, “You’ve been trying to break into energy and you want Wayne Enterprise to back you and legitimize your business. So you’re holding Tim over Bruce, but you probably want Robin because you and like half of Batman’s rogues have this weird obsession with teen heroes for some reason."

At some point he’d stopped looking at Ra’s and actually started pacing again. When he stopped talking his feet stilled and he looked back up at Ra's and grinned, ""So, am I hot or freezing cold?”

He expected Ra's to looked angry or irritated, instead he looked amused.

“You are quite warm. Though I would contend the assertion that I have a weird obsession with teen heroes. I am only interested in the exceptional, and you Timothy, are exceptional indeed.”

Tim gulped, “I mean--not really? But thanks.”

Ra’s waved him off, “We will speak more later. You are correct, I do intend to use you as a bargaining chip against your guardian--”

“Dad.” Tim interjected.

The man raised an eyebrow but continued, “However you are not a prisoner in the traditional sense. You may wander the compound with one of my men by your side to ensure you do not get into trouble. If all goes well you will be returned to Batman within a reasonable amount of time. Unless, of course, you do decide you would like to stay and learn from me.”

“I don’t really see that happening.” Tim said, “But I'll be sure and let you know if I make a sudden turn towards world domination.”

Again, Tim expected some kind of retaliation, but he was thankfully ignored. Ra’s left him with a warning not to cause undue trouble and soon Tim was alone in the room again.

He spent the next couple days wandering the compound somewhat aimlessly. He had a phone call with Bruce where he promised his dad that he was totally fine if a little bored, and spent the rest of his time trying to avoid Ra’s. The man was kind of relentless in his attempts at winning Tim over to his side and sought him out at meals, when Tim was trying to train a bit at one of the many gyms, and even once while Tim was wandering a rather fantastic garden. Each time, Tim did his best to wiggle out of the man's suggestions and just get back to wiling away the time between then and getting home.

Thankfully, it was all over in four days when Batman came crashing in with Nightwing and Batwoman to rescue him, and soon Tim was home and settling back into normal life.

He’d actually almost forgotten about the whole Ra’s kidnapping him until it happened again. Once had been a surprise, two times was starting to look deliberate.

This one lasted a week with Ra’s claiming it was because he still really wanted that energy deal and he just couldn’t understand why Bruce wasn’t willing to trade that for his ward (son Tim had ground out in irritation).

Tim almost believed him, until he woke one morning to find a pamphlet had been slipped under his door, it was literally a flyer promoting hiring in the League. Tim looked over it and had to laugh out loud. The text was done in a mix of papyrus and other fonts and whoever made it had used clip art. It looked like someone had typed it up in Microsoft word in like half an hour.

He spent the rest of his time there re-designing the flyer, with a ninja hanging over his shoulder as he used one of the League computers. The new one wasn’t the best flyer in the world, but Tim was pretty proud of it, and it was much better than the first draft.

When he was done, he pocketed the original, then pinned a note to the new one that said: Ha! Not until you get better designers.

Batman rescued him again, and Tim pushed the double kidnapping and Ra’s’ weird obsession to the back of his mind until the next time he was with Steph.

They were in the manor watching a Chopped marathon and Tim was telling her about both kidnappings.

“So he’s super into energy? How come he didn’t nab Dick? We all know he’s Bruce’s favorite.” Steph teased, popping a chip into her mouth.

“Setting aside that obvious lie, that’s the thing,” Tim continued, digging out the flyer he’d kept, “It has nothing to do with energy or Dick. I’m pretty sure Ra’s is trying to recruit me.”

He showed her the paper and Steph snorted, spraying chips out as she laughed, “No. Freaking. Way. I have to tell Cass. Let me show her this, please I’m begging you.”

Tim groaned, “Yeah, sure, but don’t you think it’s weird?”

She shrugged, taking the flyer to look it over, “Of course, but the B-man attracts weird like ice cream dropped on the ground attracts ants. Give him six months, and Ra’s will move onto a different way of trying to piss off Batman.”

“I hope so.” Tim said.

The third time Tim woke up in the elaborate room he was getting really sick of the decor and the headache that came with being knocked out and dragged halfway across the world.

“You know.” Tim started, the moment Ra's walked into his room (and it was actually Tim’s room he’d learned from one of the ninja guards), “You could have waited a month this time, to at least pretend this wasn’t all about your super weird plan to try and convince me into letting you adopt me.”

Ra’s opened his mouth to respond, but Tim wasn’t done.

“Which, by the way, I’m taken already. B did the whole adopting thing, so you missed that window. Though, I guess that probably doesn't really matter to you in the grand scheme of things since you keep kidnapping me. You are aware that kidnapping isn’t the best way to convince someone that your way is the right one, right?”

“Also, would it kill you to pick up some --I don’t know-- books on recruitment or something? I don’t understand how you’ve managed to get so many guys on your side it’s--” Tim started, but Ra’s had caught on to Tim’s mood at this point, conceded temporary defeat, and made a hasty retreat.

Tim didn't see him the whole rest of the day, and by the next morning Batman showed up, swinging in for another rescue and all was fine and good and normal for a while.

Until, of course, it wasn’t.

It was the fourth kidnapping that really set Tim off.

He woke up back in that stupid room with it’s stupid decor and those stupid posters ready to burn the place to the ground. But something stopped him, a premonition. Like if he was patient for just a little longer he’d find a good and proper form of revenge to take on Ra’s for his total inability to take a hint.

At some point two ninja came by to take Tim to meet with Ra’s. As they walked Tim couldn’t help but notice the posters literally lining the hallways they walked through.

They were of two wildly different styles, but both struck a thought of familiarity in his mind. One was obviously a play on the classic “I want you in the army” poster. The other ripped off old “pin up” recruitment posters. Both made him laugh, and Tim pulled a couple of each down to save to show the Titans. He had a feeling Bart and Kon would lose their minds over these.

He had just folded them up and shoved them in his back pocket when they reached an office. Inside, Ra’s sat in a chair and motioned Tim to sit in one across from him.

“Thank you for joining me, Timothy.”

Tim sat and shrugged, “Not like I had much of a choice.”

Ra’s waved him off. As he did, a different ninja from either of the ones who’d escorted Tim to the office came in with a tray of tea. He handed Ra’s a cup, then gave one to Tim, and left the set on a table between them.

The whole vibe was kind of awkward and strange. Tim felt very much like he had one time a year ago when he’d realized halfway through a date that things were not going to work out. He hadn’t been able to end the date then and there, and had spent another two hours awkwardly making small talk and trying to avoid promising a second date.

“Let us not beat around the bush,” Ra’s started, after taking a sip from his tea, “I have brought you here to make you an offer.”

Tim nodded, that was obvious enough. Ra's had no reason to kidnap him this time beyond something like this.

“As you know, I’m always on the lookout for enterprising young individuals with both leadership and fighting experience to join the League of Assassins. Right now I’ve been on the hunt for the perfect person to fill a brand new executive role in a new chapter of my organization.”

Tim took a sip of his tea in an attempt at avoiding having his mouth drop open in shock. Ra’s sounded like something out of a “Executive success seminar” that was just a veiled multilevel marketing scheme.

“To put it plainly, Timothy, I want you to become my apprentice. I know you and assume you might be hesitant to accept this lifestyle so I’ve prepared for you something of a presentation on what that might entail.”

Tim couldn’t stop a laugh from bursting out of him, but he did manage to turn it into a kind of cough.

“Wait--wait.” he said, almost choking on his tea, “Are you about to show me a powerpoint?”

Ra’s looked a bit put out at that suggestion, almost like he wanted to sigh, “Of course not, it’s more interactive than that.”

Tim held up his free hand, incredulous, “Is this--a job interview Ra’s? I thought you were pitching this to me.”

“No, no. It’s an interactive presentation designed to show you just what you have to gain from joining me.” Ra’s explained, as he did so Tim took another sip of his tea.

He lifted his cup and waved it lightly, “Oh yeah, so I’m just in one of those fairy tales then where you make me do three impossible tasks and at the end I get the happily ever after dip in the lazarus pit?”

“It’s only one trial--”

“So it is a task!” Tim declared, almost standing.

“Timothy.” Ra’s snapped, sounding a bit like Bruce whenever Tim and Steph’s antics pushed him a bit too far.

Tim crossed his legs and leaned back into the chair, “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Irritating the man was a bad idea, Tim knew that, but this was just ridiculous. He wasn’t going to be sent on a wild quest that might end up with him dunked in a Lazarus Pit or whatever else Ra’s had in mind that would supposedly prove how great it would be to work for him.

“If you are not going to take this seriously, then there are other ways of showing you why joining me is a good idea that are not nearly as pleasant.” Ra’s growled.

Tim held up his free hand, “I’d rather not find out, give me your pitch or send me off with your best ninja or whatever you were planning.”

He figured playing along would work for now. He could put off giving Ra’s an answer until Bruce came in for a third rescue. When he was home, they were going to have a serious conversation about ninja proofing the manor. Ra’s could not keep kidnapping him like this, they had to have some kind of security measures in place.

“Wonderful. I’m sure after your tour you’ll have a better understanding of what I have to offer you.”

Tim ended up following someone Ra’s called his “best general” around the compound for an hour. The guy showed Tim the training rooms, the medical suite, sparring rings, a variety of ninja’s actually practicing, and at one point they even ended up in the library. The general had been given instructions to pause anywhere Tim wanted him to, and so they lingered in the library for a bit.

He had to admit, Ra’s had a fantastic library.

The general didn’t seem worried about Tim getting lost, or escaping, and waited by the door while he wandered the massive room.

And boy was it huge. It was bigger than the main floor of the cave, with stacks and stacks of books on two floors. Some of the volumes looked ancient, and there were even scrolls shelved on the second floor.

He gingerly pulled one out to examine.

“That is worth more than you could ever imagine.” a sharp, young voice, declared, behind him.

Startled, Tim dropped it back onto the shelf and spun. Before him stood a kid, probably 8 years old, with tousled dark hair, dark skin, and a face that almost echoed some of Bruce’s school photos. It was startling.

“Hi.” Tim said, dumbly, “I know, it’s Ancient Sumarian right?”

“Tt.” the boy crossed his arms, “You are not an idiot then.”

Tim shook his head, “Nah, apparently I’m smart enough to be selected for recruitment.”

The kid nodded, “So you are Grandfather’s young detective. He speaks highly of you.”

Grandfather? Tim’s brain spun. This kid was Ra’s al Ghul’s grandkid? He ran the numbers, the kid’s mom was either Talia or Nyssa. If he had to put money on it, Tim figured the boy before him looked more like Talia than her sister. And his other features--like Bruce’s?

No.

No.

No. Freaking. Way.

“That is hardly language to use here.” The boy said, arching an eyebrow at him.

Tim hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud, but apparently his surprise had been so great he had. He cleared his throat, “Sorry, I just never expected Ra’s to have a grandkid.”

“It is not surprising to me, I am his heir. Born to inherit the League and rule the world one day.”

Okay, that was a lot to unpack. Just a totally wild amount, but Tim wasn’t super focused on the world domination thing just yet (maybe later when he had a chance to process all of--well, all of it), “Sorry to keep pressing but, doesn’t having an heir kind of--I don’t know, put his whole Eternal Ruler of the League thing in jeopardy?”

“Tt. It is not my place to question my Grandfather’s plans. I simply know what I have been told, that I will inherit the League one day in his stead.”

“Well,” Tim rocked back on his heels casually and grinned, “That might be a long loooong time.”

The kid’s brows furrowed as if he had not really considered that idea before. He opened his mouth to say something else, but seemed to decide against it, dropping his arms to his sides to shrug, “If that is his wish then so be it.”

“True.” Tim said, not really knowing what to say. Instead he settled on changing the subject, “You know, if your grandfather gets his way I’ll be spending more time here, so I guess introductions are in order. I’m Timothy Drake-Wayne, but most people just call me Tim.”

He held his hand out to the kid, smiling at him. If he really was Bruce’s then they’d be getting to know each other for sure. Just not here. Tim had zero intentions on letting Bruce’s child stay with the League. Did B he even know he had a kid? Tim thought he’d better figure that out first before kidnapping his little brother.

Little brother. Just that idea made something flutter in Tim’s chest. He’d always wanted a little brother.

The boy scowled at his hand, and did not take it, “You may be correct, even if I do not see what Grandfather seems to. I am Damian al Ghul, heir to the Demon’s Head.”

Tim bit back a grin at just how serious this kid was. He sounded like a little prince, all imperious and haughty. Damian, even his name fit him. He wondered how Damian would do around Dick? Or Stephanie. They’d figure out how to bring a smile out of him.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Damian.” Tim said, “I know we’ve really only just met, but I’m sure you’ll see what Ra’s does in time.”

Damian looked him over again, then gave a sharp nod, “I am interested in seeing what you have to offer.”

“Damian, I found it, where’d you go?” A voice sounded from deeper within the stacks.

Tim started at the sound of the voice. He knew it. Knew it from nights spent chasing shadows, from recording’s Bruce had watched a hundred times when he didn’t think Tim was watching. From Tim’s own desire to know and learn more about his predecessor. It was Jason Todd’s voice.

But that couldn’t be. Jason was dead.

“I am coming.” Damian returned, his tone more childlike than Tim had heard in their whole conversation. He turned back to Tim, “Do not ruin that scroll, I will see you later.”

Then he spun on his heel and walked away.

Tim stepped forward, reaching out for the kid, “Wai--”

“Master Tim, we really must be going.” Tim’s guide was back, stepping into his view as if from nowhere, and stopping Tim’s chase as short as it had been.

“Can we wait just one more second?” he asked, “I wanted to ask Damian something else.”

The man’s mouth turned down in a frown, “I do not have clearance to let you speak with Master Damian. Come, we have more to see.”

Frustration bubbled up in Tim, but unless he wanted to start a fight he wasn’t going to get a chance to talk to Damian right then. The kid had promised to see him later, so maybe he’d seek Tim out. If not, Tim would find a way.

As he followed the man out of the library, he kept searching the stacks of books for a sign of the others. It wasn’t until they’d left the room that Tim caught sight of Damian again, his small form waving animated at a taller, broader one. One that, while older, was unmistakably Jason.

Before Tim could say screw everything, the two turned around a corner, and someone else was clearing their throat. His guide seemed eager to move on, and so they did.

Tim tuned out most of the rest of the tour, and eventually found himself back in the office from before, once again seated across from Ra’s.

“Timothy, I hear you have met my grandson on your tour.” Ra’s started.

“I did.” Tim said, a bit hesitant to go into detail, his guide had seemed like talking to Damian was a pretty serious thing, and suddenly Tim was afraid he’d gotten the kid in trouble.

Ra’s smiled, “He is magnificent is he not? Already he is a skilled warrior, and well trained in his studies.”

“He said he was your heir?” Tim ventured.

The man waved a hand dismissively, “Of course he is, he is my grandson, but that does not mean he will inherit. The boy is valuable to me, for many reasons. He is an excellent tool to wield against my enemies already, and will only become more so as he grows.”

Anger bubbled up in Tim. There was something in Ra’s’ tone that made Tim sick, to call a kid a tool. To plan to just use him his whole life?

“And what, do you want to do that with me too? You said you wanted me to be your apprentice, but if your Heir is just a tool then--”

“No, as I said I want you to take over a branch of the League. You have talents and skills Damian will not. The boy is--” Ra’s shrugged, “Let us call him a vessel. A shell for me to wield in one way or another.”

Well, that just made Tim even more angry. Damian was his grandkid. What Tim wouldn't have given to still have his grandparents, and for Ra’s to just--If Tim wasn’t already dead set on getting Damian home, he would be after this conversation.

“You know what, Ra’s. Let me think on it a while. I’ll get back to you on my answer. I kind of want to see Damian in action a bit, learn what this training looks like in someone closer to my age.”

The man considered this for a moment before nodding, “I will let you watch his sparring session tomorrow. For now, I think we’re done. Have a good evening, Timothy.”

Tim nodded, and left. His mind was racing, he wanted another look at Jason. Wanted to tell Damian about his dad. Wanted to make sure both his brothers were okay.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts, he missed the black and blue clad arm that reached out from behind a curtain and yanked him back. Nightwing put a hand over Tim’s mouth to quiet him, and then pulled him out the window the curtain had been hiding. They dropped, into nothing--except it was solid?

Tim found himself inside the invisible jet. Inside, and flying away from his newly discovered siblings before he could even argue they needed to be rescued too.

One flight with Wonder Woman and Nightwing later, and Tim was home again, being told in stern tones by both Batman and Nightwing that he really needed to stop allowing himself to be kidnapped by ninjas (like he didn’t know that).

Then he was in his room, in bed, staring up at the ceiling, his mind whirring. He had learned two things on this trip. Two impossible things. Two things he was going to leverage as soon as he could.

It was late, and he should be sleeping, but instead he texted Steph and Cass in their little group chat.

Tim: Want to cause some chaos?

Immediately he received a response:

Steph: Always

Cass: Who are we going after?

Tim smiled, his fingers dancing over his phone:

Tim: Ra’s.

Cass: Time to teach him a lesson?

Steph: I've been waiting for this, I’ll get the kerosene

Tim: There’s more.

Cass: Tell.

The light flashed on out in the hallway, Tim could see it flicker to life under his door.

Tim: Tomorrow, lunch at that place with the sweet potato fries. Come ready to plan a kidnapping or two.

The next day Tim found both Steph and Cass waiting eagerly for him at the restaurant, a heaping plate of sweet potato fries between them.

“Spill, Bird Brain.” Stephanie said, as he sat down, pushing some fries towards him, “I want to hear everything about this crusade against Ra’s.”

Tim rolled his eyes, and snagged a fry, dipping it in one of the sauces they’d gotten to accompany it.

“As you’ve probably already guessed, I had another visit to the League compound yesterday.” Tim started, “It was more of a day trip this time, but Ra’s did his very best to sell me on signing up.”

“More posters?” Cass guessed, then shook her head seeing Tim’s expression, “What did he do?”

Tim snagged another fry, “Yes more posters, but more than that he gave me a speech right out of a How to Recruit for Dummies book, then sent me on a tour of the building.”

Steph snorted, “Please tell me you recorded it.”

“I did not, but you will never believe what I found on my tour, or to be precise who.”

Both girls paused their snacking, waiting on him to continue.

Tim dropped the first bomb, “Jason Todd, alive and breathing.”

“What, no way.” Steph said, “How’d he even get there? I thought He was buried here?”

He shrugged, “I don’t have any of the details, but they’ve got a Lazarus pit, and Ra’s is weirdly obsessed with recruiting Robin’s, so I’d say his resurrection tracks.”

“Who else was there?” Cass asked, brow furrowed.

Now this he knew neither of them would be expecting. Tim hadn’t expected it. He still couldn’t believe it.

“Ra’s al Ghul’s grandson, Damian.” Tim said, watched both girls look even more confused, then added, “The son of Bruce and Talia. At least, I’m pretty sure he’s their kid.”

The fry Stephanie was holding dropped out of her hand.

Tim watched Cass processing the information, saw her realization that there was another child being raised in the League, then saw the determination cross her face at her own personal decision.

“We are taking them both, correct?” Cass asked.

“We’re taking them both, and burning the place down.” Tim confirmed, “That should properly pay him back for all the time’s he’s kidnapped me this year.”

Steph’s lips turned up into a sharp grin, “The law of equivalent exchange.”

Tim laughed, “You’ve been watching too much tv.”

“It’s prepped me for this very moment.” she shot back, voice falsely grave.

“Batman prepared you for this very moment.” Cass elbowed her.

“No.” Tim said, “I’m going to prep you. And then we’re going to put everything in action.”

They talked, and planned, and debated the pros and cons of letting Tim get nabbed again over just going himself, and eventually after many many sweet potato fries and sodas they were ready.

It was to be infiltration first, fire and kerosene second. Obviously the place was going to go up, but only after they set the stage for rebellion and convinced Damian and Jason to go home with them. Tim didn’t think it’d be a hard sell for Jason, but the kid was another matter altogether. If Tim couldn’t convince him to come along, they may actually end up having to kidnap Damian.

A key to the plan was that only Tim, Steph, and Cass were in on it. There was no way Bruce was giving the green light for such a thing. Besides, Tim wanted to see his face when they presented him with not one, but two, rescued sons from the League.

Over the next week Tim made himself the most kidnappable he’d ever been. He wandered outside, kept to himself, and tried to look as wide eyed as possible. He lingered in parking lots, and took shortcuts down empty alleyways. Basically, he did everything he could to signal he was alone and vulnerable besides hanging a sign around his neck that said “Take me to your (ninja) leader”.

At one point he even stopped, dead center in the middle of an alley and declared, “Wow this sure is a dangerous place to be! I hope I don’t get attacked and kidnapped by ninjas!”

The only response he got that time was from an older woman who stopped at the edge of the alley and very seriously called out, “Careful, young man. Don’t you know there are killer clowns out? You best be on your way before you get hurt.”

Then, at long last, Tim caught sight of one of the League members ducking behind a shadow. He paused his walk, and leaned over as if fascinated by something on the sidewalk in front of him. By the time he’d stood, the ninja was in front of him.

Tim held up his hands in surrender, doing his best not to actually look excited. Then, he was successfully kidnapped for the fifth --and if Tim’s plan worked successfully-- final time.

[cheri-translates]

[Analysis] S2 Gavin’s theme song

The music used in MLQC is incredibly evocative and carefully constructed, so I spent some time analysing S2 Gavin’s theme song because I find that it sums up the relationship he has with MC very nicely!

Music is highly subjective, so don’t worry if you have a different view from me :>

🍒 Warning: Contains tons of S2 Gavin spoilers! I’ve tried to make things really clear in this post so you wouldn’t have to read through the entire swamp of S2 Gavin translations to understand what’s going on, but I’ll still include links to the references made! 🍒

INTRODUCTION  [ 0:00 - 0:12 ] - Reuniting as adults

I received a jump scare the first time I played the theme song LOL

It starts off abruptly in two ways - (1) the sound effect resembling a puff of air, and (2) the fact that it mirrors the 0:38 mark of S1 Gavin’s theme.

The sound effect resembling a puff of air essentially captures how S2 Gavin and MC reunite as adults -

Before I take a step forward, there’s a sudden tightening on my wrist.

My hands are firmly clasped behind me. Before I can get a proper look at the person’s face, my whole body is pressed against the glass behind me.

??: What are you doing here?

A familiar voice enters my ears, reminiscent of wind from the past awakening my memories.

The fact that S2 Gavin’s theme starts around the halfway point of S1 Gavin’s theme is pretty significant.

On a superficial level, this could reflect how there’s both a sense of familiarity yet foreignness to their dynamics. But this isn’t limited to S2 Gavin x MC, because the dynamics between the other love interests and MC do see a slight change as well.

But what’s perhaps more unique to their situation is that back in S1, Gavin and MC didn't get to know each other properly until they became adults. In contrast, when S2 Gavin and MC reunite as adults, they already have a shared past in Loveland High.

While we don’t know how their lives in Loveland High played out in detail, it’s inferred that they had meals together frequently:

Boss: Then, do you remember that lady who often came here with you back then? She still visits, and also likes to have her beef noodles with extra chilli.

Also, Mr Keller knows that the two of them are somewhat close and are still in contact, since he gets MC’s help in passing Gavin some old photographs, and invited the both of them to visit Loveland High for an activity. In contrast, back in S1, MC didn’t even know that Mr Keller knew who Gavin was until Campus Date.

Just as we’re thrown into the halfway point of what resembles the S1 soundtrack, we’re thrown into an iffy, halfway point of their relationship. In Chapter 1 of the main storyline, we can tell that they know each other well enough, but they aren’t as close as we’d expect ex-schoolmates to be.

Their meeting comes across slightly antagonistic on Gavin’s part, and he even straight out lies to her that officers are approaching, in order to force an answer out of her. Similarly, in Stray Date, Gavin uses his Evol to send her hovering over the ocean, once again trying to force an answer out of her.

Thankfully, this antagonism fizzles out very quickly as we learn that this is just Gavin’s tactic to squeeze the truth out of MC for her own good. And that he still cares about her deeply (evident in Dangerous Night Date).

Aside from the abrupt start, there are three other things to note:

The S2 soundtrack is much slower, and the notes are drawn out as compared to the S1 soundtrack. I’m inclined to viewing this as a representation of Gavin’s self-assuredness and pure confidence as the Commander of the STF and leader of the Special Operations Team

The piano chords. It’s probably just me, but I feel that they resemble the chime of a school bell. This point becomes significant in the analysis of the bridge, which we’ll get to later

There’s a somewhat grating, scratchy sound which I see as a representation of the tension between S2 Gavin and MC. There are only three places in the song where this scratchy sound isn’t present - the first verse, the bridge, and the outro

-

FIRST VERSE [ 0:12 - 0:38 ] - Gavin the student

This part likely represents the time Gavin was still in Loveland High, because the grating, scratchy sounds mentioned earlier (which I associate with the tension between Commander Gavin and MC), aren’t present.

At 0:24, individual piano notes come in. Even though they sound careful, they aren’t played in synchrony with the firm and resolute guitar notes. Sometimes, the piano notes are played alongside the guitar notes. Sometimes, they don’t.

I’d say that this represents missed opportunities. Despite S2 Gavin and MC meeting earlier in S2, MC ended up re-living one of her main regrets - not getting to read Gavin’s letter:

MC: They said Minor left a bloodstained letter on my desk and thought it was a threatening letter, so no one dared to go near it. But by the time I returned to the classroom, the letter was gone. I searched for such a long time… but couldn’t find it… I thought I accidentally threw it into the dustbin, so I looked through it for a long time. But… I couldn’t find that letter anywhere.

My voice grows even softer at the end, and I don’t dare to lift my head to look at him.

Even if this world were to be reset, unexpected events still present such regrets.

Like a merciless joke, an antithesis to my unwillingness to be powerless.

Even if she had read the letter and gone to the meeting spot, it turns out S2 Gavin didn’t even stay long enough to meet her at the arranged time:

Gavin: That’s not important anymore. Back then, I had already left before the arranged time. So it’s all right.

-

SECOND VERSE [ 0:38 - 1:04 ] - Gavin the Commander

The grating, scratchy sounds come in, injecting a metallic feeling which is in line with how S2 Gavin is often described as a “sharp blade” numerous times. As mentioned earlier, these sounds could also be a depiction of the layers of friction between MC and S2 Gavin.

MC is on her guard around S2 Gavin at the start, such as in R&S [Reunited Yesterday] where she thinks of leaving Lynn’s Kitchen the moment she sees that Gavin’s there too, and how she was genuinely fearful and trembling when he used his Evol to send her hovering her over the ocean in Stray Date.

If you listen carefully, you can hear that the individual piano notes are somewhat copying the upward climb of the guitar we’re used to hearing in the S1 bgm.

This could represent MC holding on to her memories of S1 Gavin as she navigates the new dynamics she has with S2 Gavin, which gives her the courage not to get intimidated by his cold exterior, and to trust him completely.

Gavin: I haven’t even rescued you out yet.

MC: With you around, there won’t be a problem.

-

FIRST CHORUS [ 1:04 - 1:28 ]

From 1:19 to the end of the chorus, the piano keys go off on their own, and they come across much more confident and complement the guitar notes much more than in the first verse.

I see all the choruses as instances where S2 Gavin and MC are given opportunities to work together, and we witness how well they gel as a pair. The best examples so far would be Stray Date and The Guardian Project.

I’m no longer that person who only knows how to let you stand in front of me. This time, I’ll stand beside you, and will not back down.

-

THIRD VERSE [ 1:28 - 1:56 ]

Nothing to say here, similar analysis to the second verse!

-

SECOND CHORUS [ 1:56 - 2:22 ]

Same analysis as the previous chorus.

-

BRIDGE [ 2:22 - 2:47 ] - Reminiscence

This part is breathtakingly beautiful. It’s obviously in stark contrast to the rest of the song as the piano takes the stage here. Even though you can still hear the electronic guitar in the background, it’s incredibly muted and mirroring the melody of the piano.

The instrument complementing the piano (it sounds like a harpsichord?) sounds like a middleground between the sharpness of the electronic guitar and the gentleness of the piano.

And here’s where the piano chords I mentioned at the start are significant. This is the only part in the entire song where the piano chords aren’t played. Rather, the chords are broken up and played as individual notes.

This part gives me the mental image of S2 Gavin and MC on the rooftop of Loveland High, reminiscing on their school days when things were simpler. It’s a moment where they peel away their roles as STF’s Commander and Black Swan’s Nox, and are simply Gavin and MC, old friends from school.

It basically represents the rare, precious moments of reprieve S2 Gavin and MC get in the ever-looming danger of S2.

Yet, even outside this safe bubble, the chords continue to be played consistently. They may be subdued in certain parts of the song, and louder in others, but the chords are always there. Their shared past in Loveland High isn’t something S2 Gavin can just ignore. On the contrary, it’s something that likely supported him through his time in the Police Academy:

Gavin is standing underneath a tree, holding a photograph in his hand.

Gavin doesn’t notice Tang Chao. All of his focus is channelled onto that photograph. In this moment, he seems to have unloaded all his defences, becoming a Gavin different from his usual self. Those perpetually stern eyes have grown dim, bringing with them a twinge of fatigue.

Tang Chao holds his breath, subconsciously squinting his eyes to identify the photograph. On it seems to be… a female? Could she be Instructor Gavin’s…

-

THIRD CHORUS [ 2:47 - 3:13 ] - The power couple

The chorus returns with incredible force, and it’s slightly different from the first two choruses. In the first chorus, the piano is subdued. In the second chorus, you can hear the piano, but it melds into the melody.

In this chorus, the piano is clearly audible, but it doesn’t disappear into the melody like in the second chorus. It goes off on its own, yet blends with the music at the same time.

I’m given the image of a power couple who complement and fight alongside each other. We see this very clearly in The Guardian Project), where S2 Gavin sees MC as an equal to the point where he readily agrees to go along with her plan without having to hear it first.

MC: I have a plan. It could lure the suspect out without requiring more manpower. Would you like to try?

Gavin turns his head to look at me steadily.

Gavin: What do you need me to do?

MC: You’re agreeing just like that?

-

OUTRO [ 3:13 - end ] - The future

As mentioned at the beginning, the introduction mirrors the middle portion of S1 Gavin’s theme. Here, the outro mirrors the first few notes of S1 Gavin’s theme...

We see S1 Gavin in S2 Gavin. His clumsy way of showing concern, his protectiveness over MC, his jealous tendencies, his handsome face, etc.

Gavin: But protecting you - this won’t change.

His expression is very cold, and a certain emotion seems to be restrained in his voice.

What he says is reminiscent to words being tossed out in a fit of anger. At the same time, it’s also reminiscent of a vow he has always been fulfilling.

Gavin: Regardless of position, I’ll never let you get caught up in danger.

The tune draws to a close with a crescendo which ends abruptly yet on a hopeful, anticipatory note. Their story is far from over, and I can’t wait to see what this undefeatable tag team will accomplish together.

-

Final thoughts:

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this even though S2 is still very far away LOL And special thanks to @ginkgomoon​ who has been waiting patiently for this analysis T^T♡ If you enjoy reading Gavin-related analysis, do check out her blog!!

I wish I were a better writer so I can fully convey why the S2 Gavin x MC dynamic is so incredible, and quell the worry most Gavin stans have about S2.

Relying on my translations is a completely different experience compared to hearing the emotions in the voiced lines and seeing the sprites, so I can understand why it might be difficult to feel as much for them as I do T-T

The thing I love most about the S2 dynamic is that the relationship between them is much more natural. Instead of S1 Gavin falling head over heels for MC the moment he saw her in the rain and started following her around, S2 Gavin and MC already established a friendship in Loveland High in S2. And they tease each other so much more HNNGHGH SLOW BURNS HURT SO GOOD

[sope-and-shine]

The Right of a King: Pt. 1

-> SFW // Soulmate!AU // fluff, angst // mummy!Namjoon -> Pairing: Namjoon x Reader -> Word Count: 15.1k  -> Summary: Life as the night guard for your local high-end museum was supposed to be simple and easy. The most dangerous part of your job was only supposed to be the middle-aged patrons who insisted they get a discount for a line being too long. Nowhere in your contract did it say you’d be taking care of a 1,000 year old king that had been mummified. Thankfully, for you he’s harmless, but the storm that comes with him is not as welcoming. -> Warning(s): mild language, brief crude humor, Namjoon is kind of a jerk but he gets better...kinda, also a bit of a misogynist, technology abuse RIP the museum equipment, Jimin IS that salesman that uses his charm to steal your money - but will anyone complain? no.  

A/N: This whole fic is a BEAST i sWEAR! I am however really excited to share this fic with everyone! This was originally for a collab that never got to happen -RIP - but I liked the idea too much to just throw her away!

I do want to give a huge shout out to @sakuraguks-main​ for beta reading this as well as my squad for their constant encouragement throughout the writing process.

Now if you excuse me, I need to get back to writing part 2 

Masterlist

* * *

“Just the lunch box and the banana milk this time?” 

“Uh…” You look up from your wallet to view your items on the counter. It was just one prepackaged lunch and a few banana milks, much less than you usually buy on your routine dinner stop. You don’t want to buy too much, but you’d need something for later in the morning too. 

You settle for grabbing a few bags of chips off the rack next to you and set them on the counter, “I’ll take those too.”  

He nods and rings them up, bagging them while you pay with your card. He grabs your receipt and tucks it in the bag, handing them to you as you slide your wallet back into your bag, “Have a good evening, (Y/n)!”

You nod, “Thank you! See you tomorrow, Gyu!” You wave to him as you exit the convenience store and step back into the bustling city.  

Stopping for food is always a must for you before every shift with it being smack in the middle of your route. If you were to spend 10:00p.m. to 8a.m. by yourself with no food, you would probably go insane. It wasn’t like you couldn’t bring them from home, but it was much more convenient to stop on your way there. Occasionally, you’ll attempt to pull back on your snack intake, but Gyu never makes it easy on you when you do. He just makes it another typical day for you.

Wake up at 2:30, take a shower, do your school work, get ready for work, leave the house, stop to buy food from Gyu, and then arrive at the grand entrance to the Seoul Museum of History and Art.

The building itself is 4 stories high - not including the lower level storage it sits on top of - and 1 city block in length and width. It’s exterior is grand and extravagant with 3 large pillars that encase the 4 doorways that lead into the lobby. A large staircase greets you at the sidewalk, flower beds decorating the front along the brick railing on either side of the stairs. You never take the stairs on your way in, choosing to take the ramp hidden in the flowers up to the entrance instead. You’d have enough problems walking around the entire museum, adding more stairs to the mix would only ruin your mood.

Thankfully, Jin is always there to greet you on your way in. He never fails to brighten your day when you see him. Dressed sharp in a white button down tucked into fitted black dress pants with a grey suit jacket on top, he stands with his hands together in front of him and a large welcoming smile. His hair is parted just off center, not losing shape even as he nods to the patron in front of him.

You wait for him to finish his conversation before you greet him, “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Worldwide Handsome himself.”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” Jin chuckles. He lets his shoulders relax, moving his neck from side to side before looking at his watch. He looks impressed, “Wow, you’re earlier than usual.”

You shrug, “Yeah, Hoseok said he needed to talk to me about the exhibit pieces that are coming in.” 

“Say no more,” Jin raises his hands in front of him and shakes his head, “I’ve heard all I need to.”

“Yeah, I know how you feel,” You laugh. You shake your head and sigh, “I should get going so I can get ready to clear the last minute rush.”

“Don’t work too hard, night guard.” He gives you a mock salute and you turn away, waving goodbye to him as you continue down the corridor into a sea of people.

Most people would think a museum wouldn’t be so popular, but your crowds never seemed to dwindle. You suppose you’d have Yoongi to thank for that. He ran the museum so smoothly it was almost like clockwork. Doors opened at 9 and they closed at 9, new exhibits rotate in and out every 7 ½ months to the day, and employees were put through severe background checks and training just to make sure they’d be competent enough to work in his museum. Everyone that works in the museum was handpicked by Yoongi himself, and everyone chosen contributes everything they have to be here.

You pass by the gift shop, spying Jimin at the counter helping a few kids pick out candies. He notices you passing and smiles, giving you a quick wave that you return before he gives his attention to the children in front of him.

You continue on down the hall, passing the cafe and the restrooms. The walls begin to lose their decor the farther you go, becoming planer and planer until you reach the break room doors. 

“He was like, ‘do you think toys for cavemen were any different from present day? Like that shit must be wild bro’ and then they all started laughing at me when I said they didn’t have a Toys R Us, so yeah, they were different from now.” Jeongguk says as you enter the room. His impeccable timing for ‘strange conversation’ never ceases to amaze you every time you walk through the door.

Jeongguk’s a great guy, always very respectful and eager to learn more, but he’s been working as a tour guide in the museum for about a year now and he still hasn’t seemed to pick up on anything. You’re pretty sure Yoongi only hired him to keep the single ladies coming back. It was hard to correct someone with such a cute, bunny smile and such remarkable enthusiasm in the work place.

“Do you think it was an inside joke?” He proceeds to ask, his attention trained on Johnny who stands at the locker to the right of yours.

The man in question can’t stop himself from giving the younger a disappointed frown, “Dude...you’re the joke…”

Jeongguk tilts his head in confusion and you jump into the conversation, “I’m sure they’re just being teenagers, Guk. I wouldn’t worry too much about it.” You turn to briefly glare at your locker mate as you open it, turning your frown into a smile when you face Jeongguk again, “Tomorrow is another day!”

“You’re right!” He closes his locker and throws his bag over his shoulder, his confidence already returning, “I’ll learn everything I can about cavemen toys and come back tomorrow prepared to tell all of my tours about them!”

He leaves before you can say anything back, off to do whatever it is he usually does after work. You don’t mind though, it’s a little hard to understand the college sophomore anyways. At least with him leaving you can relax before your shift starts.

Johnny sighs next to you, “You mother him too much.”

“I don’t mother him. I just don’t want to explain to him what they’re actually talking about.” You argue, placing your bags on the hooks in your locker. You take off your overcoat and replace it with your black security jacket, fixing the collar, “Besides, he’ll figure it out by this weekend and then he won’t make eye contact with either one of us for the next week.”

“Whatever you say.” He pulls out a lint roller and hands it to you before closing his locker, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Waving behind you with the roller in hand, you say, “Have a good night!” You hear the door open and close behind you, leaving you alone in the room to sort yourself out. 

You make quick work to de-lint your black work pants, setting the roller at the top of your locker. Then you take the bags you set down and pull them over to the table at the center of the room, leaving your locker open while you take out your food to be refrigerated. When you have everything you need, you place the leftover snacks back on the hook and shut the door. 

The door opens on your way to the fridge, Hoseok walking in with a folder in his hands. He looks up from whatever he’s reading and his eyes widen in surprise, “You’re here!”

You open the fridge, “Yeah, you told me to come in a little early.” You set your bag on the top shelf, close the door, and turn to him, “You wanted to talk to me about tomorrow?”

“Right.” He approaches the table and sets his stuff down, sorting through a few papers before he pulls one from his stack. He extends it to you,  “This is all the information about who we’ll be meeting with tomorrow. It has times, names, and a manifest.”

“Everything is the same from the texts you sent me, right?” You ask, eyes skimming over the sheet for anything new.

“Yes! Each artifact was individually packed, so we should only have 12 new pieces coming in tomorrow.” 

“Okay, so we just need to keep an eye on what they bring in.” You say, more to yourself than to him. You take a moment to let the information sink in, nodding in understanding when you’re sure you have it all down. You look back up to Hoseok who’s already discarding his security jacket, “Did you have any luck on new night guard help?”

“Ah-...no,” Hoseok sets his jacket over the back of the chair in front of him. He’d been searching for new help ever since Chanyeol left, leaving you to run the night shift alone. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t ideal for a museum in the middle of the city. You knew that and so did Hoseok. “I’ve been working on it, but it’s been hard with the new arrivals. Besides, you know how Yoongi is when he’s hiring new employees.”

You nod, knowing exactly how anal the museum director could truly be, “Yeah, I know. Just keep me updated though?” 

You don’t really mind working by yourself, but you could only go so many days without a single day off. Thankfully, Hoseok was understanding of this, “I will! I’ll work something out, I promise!”

“Thank you,” You smile. You grab your bag off the table and hoist it over your shoulder, “I’m gonna go clock in and see about ushering the night crowd out.” 

“Hyuk should be starting on level 1.” He informs you. 

“I’ll take level 4 then.” You bid Hoseok goodbye and head across the hall to the security room, setting your stuff down in your chair and clocking in at the main computer. You take a moment to check the camera’s, looking for the most populated areas to look out for and which exhibits you could close as you go through.

This was something you did everyday. You’d find the unpopulated areas first so you could sweep the rooms and lock the exhibits behind you. One by one, you make sure to clear the floor before you move to the next level.

The third level is much busier than the other levels, having had the most change to it’s layout since the new exhibit was brought in 2 weeks prior. Families make their way to the stairs while couples try to catch one last look at exhibits they missed in favor for another.

Walking into the Ancient Dynasties Exhibit, you nod to the partons that you pass on their way out, stopping by the occasional straggler to let them know it’s time to go. You rarely ever have problems with getting someone to leave - maybe once or twice you’ve had to get physical with someone or call the police to escort them out of the museum - but the number of times is so small you could count them on one hand. There’s only one person you have to repeatedly kick out of the exhibit, and he’s worse than any patron you’ve ever dealt with.

“Taehyung, I need you to leave.” You tell him, approaching him from behind. His green, 3 piece suit is only slightly wrinkled from his work throughout the day, his jacket discarded and set off to his side.

The bubbly curator turns his head over his shoulder, dirty blonde locks still kept in a perfect side-sweep thanks to his “very essential” hair gel. His smile is almost a tease as he says, “Just a few more minutes.”

You cross your arms and sigh, “I’m counting.”

The saying “Just a few more minutes” has lost all meaning with Taehyung. You haven’t believed him since your third day of working together. He’s never been good at leaving his exhibits, wanting to take pride in his work. Despite having the ability to take pictures of the area as it’s curator, he insists on committing them all to memory. In hindsight, it’s very endearing. However, his wants tend to put you behind your own schedule.

He turns back around and you take a seat next to him on the bench. You take an obligatory look around the section he sits in, glancing over each artifact that decorates the walls. From tapestries or writing displays that hang on the walls, to small podiums with items far more fragile encased in glass. In front of you - roped off and on a placed on a small stage - is a large sarcophagus covered in gold with two lit candle placed beside it. Behind it is a wall of flowers, all apparently favorites from when the King was alive. 

“Have I told you about Namjoon hyung?” He asks, referencing the mummy in front of you.

King Kim Namjoon of the Kim Dynasty. The only king of Korea to be mummified. Of all the exhibits you’ve been through with Taehyung, this one was his favorite. You could really say he’s obsessed with the dead King! Even with 6 more exhibits to his name. Taehyung spent almost all of his time in this section.

“I think I could talk about this guy in my sleep!” You laugh, nudging his side playfully, “And should you really be calling him ‘hyung’? If anything, he’s an ‘ahjussi’ to you.”

“Yes, but I know so much about him that he feels like a hyung to me!” He argues with a certain admiration in his eyes, “I’ve spent years waiting for this moment to have him in one of my exhibits, and now he’s right at my fingertips!”

He really isn’t exaggerating either. Before the king arrived, Taehyung would show you continuous updates about his uncovering and the updates on how his body was kept. The day his exhibit was approved, you thought he was going to explode. Of all the curators and all of the possible museums, he got King Namjoon. Anyone who didn’t know would’ve thought he won the lottery. In a way, he did.

“His exhibit here is a permanent one, Tae. He’s not going anywhere, so you don’t have to worry about him leaving anytime soon.” You assure him, placing a hand on his arm. Your smile turns into a grin, “What I am worried about is you leaving soon. Get out of my museum before I go find Yoongi.”

“I’m not afraid of Yoongi.” You raise an eyebrow at him and his shoulders drop, “Okay, so maybe I’m terrified of Yoongi, but that’s not important right now!”

You give his shoulder a light nudge, “Go home, Taehyung. The rest of your hyung will be here tomorrow.” You tease.

He sighs and leans his head back, “You say that like he didn’t arrive all put together. He’s a mummy, not Frankenstein.”

You hit his arm, “Get out of here.”

“Okay!” He stands up and turns to you with a boxy grin, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t work too hard.”

“I never do.” You wave him off, watching him saunter out of the exhibit with a little jump in his step. Even after 14 hours on the clock of rounding the museum to look at his works, he’s still running like he just woke up. Some days you wish you could be as happy with your job as Taehyung is, but how many people truly loved working the night shift in a dark, quiet museum?

* * *

“Alright, let’s make this fast and efficient everyone!” Yoongi barks, walking up to the loading dock where you and Hoseok stand on opposite sides of the doors. He eyes the unloading crew unlocking the truck and sends them a warning glare, “It’s a full moon tonight, and I will not be out at 3am like last time.”

“You need to relax, Yoongi,” Hoseok warns him, still standing across from you, “It’s just a few small pieces and then we’ll be out of here before your ‘witching hour’ is here.”

Hoseok wiggles his fingers for a “spooky emphasis” and you stifle a chuckle. Yoongi is not as amused, “Laugh all you want, but at least I won’t be dead.”

“Is that a threat? Can I file an HR complaint?” Hoseok asks.

Yoongi sighs, “Just do your job while they unload so we can leave.”

You offer a teasing grin and a nod, “Yes sir~”

Yoongi walks away and Taehyung replaces him, standing next to you instead of in the way of the workers. He rolls back and forth on his feet, watching happily as if he were a child at Christmas.

“Did I tell you what’s coming today?” He asks.

You roll your eyes, “I’m sure you may have mentioned it here or there.”

Of course, you know what was coming in. Your job is to protect it with your life. Hoseok gave you the run down via text on your last 5 shifts and again today as soon as you walked through the doors. More paintings, a chair, a dusty old book, and the shining jewel of the King’s tomb.

“His lover’s necklace!” Taehyung beams, “According to what we know, this necklace was used by the King to find his soulmate. We believe that because he didn’t take a queen, he never found his other half.”

You shrug, “Maybe he wasn’t really looking.”

“Maybe...maybe not. Most historians believe he mummified himself so when fate brings his soulmate to him, he’d wake again and they’d spend eternity together.” He turns to you and flicks your forehead, “You would know if you actually paid attention to me.”

You push him back, “Well, excuse me if I can’t listen to you talk about his majesty for more than 10 minutes a week.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes and turns back to the movers. His annoyance quickly turns to excitement as he catches sight on the last box being carried in, “Is that the necklace?”

“Uh…” The man carrying the box looks at the label on the side, nodding to Taehyung in confirmation, “Yes sir.”

“Oh! Follow me!” Taehyung grabs your arm and pulls you after him. You turn your head back to Hoseok for help but he’s already waving you off while he closes the loading doors. You both follow the crew member to the table where a few other small items are being opened already, waiting long enough for the man to open the box for you. You can’t see the inside of the crate with Taehyung in your way, but he gets the first look at whatever dingy piece of jewelry is inside. He flails in excitement, “Look at this!”

Taehyung rushes forward, pushing the man helping him out of the way to reach into the box. When he turns around, he holds a smaller box in his hand, “It’s right here!”

“That’s another box…” You point out, eyes narrowed in irritation.

“It’s not just another box!” He argues. He undoes the latch and pulls the lid back towards him, revealing the most beautiful necklace you’ve ever seen. A delicate string of silver stones bedazzled with small fuschia gems all laced together with a golden band weaving under and over. It glistens in the shine of the storage room work lights, drawing you in with every hypnotizing twinkle. 

Taehyung smiles knowingly, enjoying your sudden engrossment in the artifact, “Isn’t it gorgeous?”

You nod, wanting nothing more than to reach out and touch the delicate jewel. It takes a surprising amount of restraint from you just to pull away, “It’s definitely pretty.”

Yoongi claps his hands from the table beside you, “Let’s get these up to the Ancient Dynasties exhibit and in their places so we can get out of here.”

Everyone takes a box and begins to move upstairs, you and Hoseok helping the men with the old chair to ensure it doesn’t get stuck on anything. With the few items left to be brought into the exhibit, it didn’t take long at all for everything to be settled into their rightful places. 

“Perfect! It’s all perfect!” Taehyung cheers, clapping his hands and squeezing them together. His excitement for this event was unmatched, and you know that in the morning when you see him next, he’ll be bouncing up and down just as he is now.

Hoseok nods to you, “Let’s lock them up.”

“Right.” You pull out your keyring and begin the process of going case to case while Hoseok sets their alarms after you. You make it all the way around the room until you stand in front of the necklace again. It’s beauty draws you in, having never seen something like this before. Many would think it too bulky and busy for someone to wear everyday, but a part of you could see it’s appeal.

A part of you wouldn’t mind wearing it at all. 

Taehyung walks over to where you stand locking the cases and audibly gasps behind you, “Fix it!”

You jump, “Fix what?”

“The necklace! It’s not straight!” He points at the case and you turn your attention back to the object beneath the glass. Staring at with a clearer mind, it is indeed tilted just slightly to the left. If you were to just glance at it, you probably would have never noticed. But nothing could get past a perfectionist like Taehyung, “We have to fix it now!”

“Okay!” To appease the overly attentive curator, you unlock the case and adjust the necklace yourself. You pull the delicate string of stone and gem into place, locking it back up when you’re done. It glimmers in the corner of your eye as you turn back to Taehyung, “Better?”

He grins, knowing fully well that you’re more than annoyed with him, “Perfect.”

“Alright, now that we’re all done, everyone needs to leave so I can go home.” Yoongi announces.

Hoseok chuckles, “You really don’t want to be up past midnight do you?”

“I don’t care about being up past midnight. I don’t want to be out past midnight.” The older man grumbles, most likely cursing the other in the back of his mind, “There’s a difference.”

“Sure there is.” Hoseok teases, making Yoongi glare at him even harder than before. He turns to the movers and waves for them to follow him, “Gentlemen, let me show you back to your truck. We wouldn’t want the grump over here to bite your head off.”

The group follows after Hoseok and so does Yoongi, “You’re so lucky you’re my friend, Hoseok, or I would fire you so fast.”

Hoseok only laughs at his loose threat, “Well, if you’d like to take the bus then be my guest.”

They all leave the exhibit and you turn to Taehyung who still stands in front of the case admiring the necklace inside, “So, I’ll see you early tomorrow, Tae?”

He turns back to you and gives you a large, reassuring smile, “Bright and early.” 

“Go and get some rest for your big day then.” You say, placing a hand on his back and nudging him towards the door.

You watch him leave the exhibit, laughing at the way he dances to the music playing in his head. You take the responsibility of closing the gate, glancing over the exhibits contents between the bars before following Taehyung yourself. You say goodbye to Yoongi and Hoseok at the front door, ensuring the door gets locked behind them before getting to your own duties that were halted because of the shipment.

---

It’s later in the evening when you finally get to make your rounds through the empty halls of the museum. You’d checked every camera in the building twice, filling out your night paperwork as well as the visitor log for Hoseok to look over in the morning as you went. All you really had to do was roam the halls every now and then, keeping an eye on the monitors for anything suspicious.

The night shift was never quite as tiring as the day shift. Your interaction with patrons or real people was always far below what Hoseok and the dayshift would have to deal with - that was part of the reason you chose to take over the night shift. It was a bit more time consuming with just you, but hopefully Hoseok will find someone to replace Chanyeol before the New Year.

You hear a faint bang down the corridor and you pause. You’ve heard bumps like this before, mostly when it would rain and the tree by the ramp outside would hit the window. Rain wasn’t on the forecast for the evening, but that had never stopped it before. Not so easily scared, you continue on down the hall, stopping at the end of the hall when you hear it again.

“What the fuck…?” You say to yourself, a slight shake in your voice. The bang sounds again and you reach for your flashlight, it being the only protection against intruders. 

In the three years you’ve worked as a security guard, you’ve never had a break in. Even before you, there had never once been an attempt by anyone to steal anything. In reality, the alarms should’ve gone off by now if someone had made their way into the museum. That meant that someone was smart enough to get past the security system, or you were going crazy.

You really hope you’re going crazy.

You make your way down the hallway, following the bumps and bangs into the Ancient Dynasties exhibit. The gate is locked - it hasn’t been unlocked since you left the room at midnight - but the noise isn’t one easily mistaken. 

Against your better judgement you unlock the gate, stepping in and leaving the gate cracked behind you. If you needed a quick escape, then you wanted to be able to yank it closed as well. The noises cease as soon as you’re completely past the gate, sending an ominous chill up your spine. At a glance, nothing in the room seems out of place. Nothing looks to have been moved or damaged, but that does little to settle your unease.

“This is normal...everything is normal.” You say to yourself, trying to trick yourself into having the courage to move forward.

You spot the necklace in it’s spot close to the sarcophagus. It’s glass remains intact, just like every other item within the exhibit’s walls. It would make sense for someone to come after it considering it’s value, yet there it remains untouched.

“So where did the banging come fr-Agh!” You scream as the sarcophagus lid bursts open, falling to the floor in front of it and ripping the ropes connected to the wall right out.  

Inside the now open casket, the ancient king covered in tattered, dusty cloth rolls his head. You can see his mouth move from underneath the dirt as he yawns. His arms raise to stretch in front of him, the mummy taking one step out of his box.

You can only stand in shock as you watch what happens in front of you. You had to be dreaming. There was no way you were actually awake witnessing a dead king coming to life in front of you. This had to be some sort of sick joke from Yoongi for calling him short. Maybe Johnny for calling him out in front of that group of fourth graders. Someone has to be messing with you. 

The mummy turns his head to you and your breath hitches. You’ve never wanted to have seen The Mummy so much in one moment than this one, wishing you knew what exactly to do in this situation. You wish your feet would move, but they’re planted so firmly to the ground that they feel more like cement than limbs.

The monster before you takes a step in your direction, and you scream. You will yourself to move back, but you can’t stop yourself from stumbling over your own feet. You trip and land on your bottom, your body not even registering the pain as you attempt to scoot back away from the danger that continues to follow after you.

Every step he takes is another scream that releases from your lungs, your fear getting the best of you. It isn’t until your back hits the large display case that helps to divide the room that you realize you have nowhere else to go. You turn your head away, preparing yourself for whatever is about to come.

But nothing does.

You take a peek at the tall being before you and notice that he’s stopped moving, towering over your cowering form with his head tilted. His mouth opens and sounds come out, but his speech is muffled by the bandages. He seems to realize this though as his bandaged hands fly to his face.

You watch him pat around his face and neck until he finds a loose cloth, pulling it out and beginning the process of unwrapping his face. You watch in horror, unsure if the image before you will haunt you forever or not. To see what’s left of a 1,000 year old decomposed body that’s been “preserved” was something you never thought you would ever have to bear witness to. Hopefully, your therapist for this experience will understand.

If you get that far.

However, you weren’t expecting to see a full head of healthy brown hair appear as he went, nor did you expect to see healthy, tanned skin be freed from the confines as well. Brown eyes meet yours and a smile is uncovered, “Hello.” 

“Hi...” You blink rapidly, hoping if you do it enough times your vision will clear, but the man in front of you still half-covered in gauze doesn’t disappear. You shake your head, “Am I awake?”

“You are as awake as I am.” He says with a pleasant smile.

“That’s not a very reassuring answer...” You can’t help but stare at him in awe and wonder just how this was happening. Of course, Taehyung had told you countless times about this supposed curse or whatever it was, but you thought it was all just a hoax your ancestors believed in. There is no possible way that you are actually awake and experiencing reincarnation or rebirth or whatever this is firsthand.

“Ow!” You feel a pinch on your calf, pulling you from your thoughts and back to the matter at hand. Or more specifically, the person before you. 

“Well, did you feel that?” He asks. In your dazed state, you hadn’t noticed the man bend to your level and reach out to pinch you with rag covered fingers. The dust and mold leave a stain on your work pants and you can’t help but frown in disgust, “Yeah. Yeah, unfortunately I did.”

“You must be frightened and confused. Allow me to introduce myself-” He bows his head to you from where he kneels on the floor, “-I am King Kim Namjoon of Korea.” He looks back up and smiles bright, showcasing his dimples, “It is my pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.” 

You tilt your head in confusion at his choice of words, “I’m sorry, you’ve been waiting for me? I don’t understand.”

“Are you not aware of our bond?” He asks, tilting his own head to the side.

Of course you know about his bond, it’s all that Taehyung has ever told you about! His necklace was gifted by the moon goddess so that when his soulmate touches it, he’ll wake up and they’l-

It takes you a moment to realize that he believes you to be his long lost soulmate, and you’re ready to spiral into another frenzy when you do, “No…” 

Soulmates aren’t real. Nobody just walks around and bumps into their soulmate on the street. They don’t hear their voice in the back of their heads. They don’t wait over 1,000 years to be matched with a fucking dead guy.

“No.” You repeat, more confident in yourself. 

“I understand you may be confused as to what this all must mean, but I’ll explain it to you-” Namjoon tries to reach out to you again, but you’re quick to push him away this time.

You stand from the floor in a rush and take two steps towards the center of the room where the two display cases separate and show a clear path to the exhibit’s only exit, “No, you won’t. Please return to your box.” 

He stands up after you but stops when he sees you step back again, “But we’re destined to be together!”

“Destiny isn’t real! This-” You gesture with both hands from you to him, “-isn’t real!”

“Our bond is as real as you and I!” He argues. You can feel the want and passion dripping from his voice. It isn’t hard to tell how much he truly believes you’re his soulmate, but he’s dead wrong - no pun intended. “I’ve spent so long waiting for you.”

“Nope.” It didn’t matter how many times he flashes you that lovestruck look. Soulmates weren’t real, and whatever is going on in front of you isn’t real either, “This isn’t happening.” You turn away from him, resorting to pacing out your frustrations instead of voicing them. 

Namjoon watches you with a disappointed frown and slumped shoulders, “Well, this isn’t how this was supposed to happen.” He mumbles.

You attempt to calm your breathing, pleading with your rationale to find some way - any way - to explain what’s happening. The whole interaction felt like a crazy fever dream that manifested on the worst day of a cold. They’re always weird, but they’re never this realistic. 

You turn back around to address the not-so-dead king and yelp when you see him pulling at his wrap, “What are you doing?!” You ask as he tugs and pulls at the rotten fabric.

Namjoon looks up, pausing his ministrations to give you an answer, “I’m removing these incessant wrappings.”

He returns to his unwrapping, leaving you to watch him as he goes. He wasn’t naked - thankfully - but you weren’t prepared for him to immediately unwrap himself. In all honesty, you wanted him to wrap himself back up and return to his box. Fortunately for you, under his wrappings he wears a loose white shirt and loose tan pants, his shoes long forgotten. 

When he finally frees himself, he takes a moment to look around the room. His gaze trails over the walls, “What is this place? Why are we not in my tomb?”

“You’re in a museum.” You explain, watching closely to gauge his reaction. In a way, he wasn’t really that old in retrospect, but you doubt he’d seen a museum before.

He turns to look at you, just as confused as you expected him to be, “What is that?”

You shrug, “It’s a place where people go to see old things and art.”

Namjoon breaks into a smile, a red tint coloring his cheeks, “I wouldn’t say I’m art.”

“I didn’t.” You say, causing Namjoon’s face to drop just the slightest.

He’s quick to mask his disappointment with a polite smile. Turning to the side of the case he stands on, he looks back to the exhibit around him. He looks up and his eyes trail over the lights above him, “What dynasty is this?” He asks. 

“Uh...the capitalist dynasty?” You reply, unsure of what you would call this era of time. Namjoon looks confused and you sigh, “You’re in the 21st century.”

“Fascinating…” He takes a long look over the glass case a few feet in front of him - the one that holds the crown made for his queen - before he moves forward, reaches out, and swipes a hand over top of it, collecting a thin sheen of dust on his fingertips.

“Don’t do that!” You rush forward and grab his wrist, pulling it away in fear of the alarm going off. Anybody who even got too close to it should set it off, yet no siren wails at his touch. The alarms had been set by Hoseok himself, so they have to be broken if neither of you were setting it off, “What…?”

“Can I have my arm back, or is this a new rude custom I’m unaware of?” Namjoon asks, staring at the place on his wrist your hand holds hostage. 

“No, just-...” You release his arm and take a breath as a poor attempt to remain calm, “-just don’t touch anything.”

“We’ll need to touch the case to get your necklace so we can return to my home together.” He says as if what he suggested was completely normal for him.

You’re once again taken aback by his words, unsure if you heard him correctly or not, “I’m sorry?” You ask.

“We’re soulmates,” He explains, “It’s only natural for you to come live with me, so we can spend our days together.”

“We will not be going anywhere together!” You tell him. You step forward and grab him by the shoulders, turning him around so he faces his sarcophagus. You attempt to push him, “You will be staying here in your box, and you’re going to go back to sleep.”

Namjoon fights against your attempts, digging his feet into the hardwood floor beneath him. He scowls at the realization of what you’re trying to do, “Did you not hear what I said earlier? You are my destined lover. That’s how this is supposed to work!”

“And I told you that destiny isn’t real!” You argue, now using your shoulder to push all of your weight against him.

Namjoon turns to face you, causing you to lose your balance and fall forward. Namjoon grabs your arms before you can fall to the floor, using this opportunity to hold you close, “Is my life not enough proof for you?”

Dark brown eyes bore into your own, his sincerity written all over his features. You can tell he’s hurt, but you can’t help but continue to fight against him, “I don’t know! I’m still trying to process everything that’s happening right now!” 

“As soon as we leave, I will explain everything to you in much greater detail.” He says, now offering a smile. However, leaving with him is the last thing you wish to do.

You push away from him and take a few steps back towards the exhibit's entrance, “We are not leaving.”

“I am a king, I have wealth beyond your wildest dreams! I can take care of you and it is my job to do so.” He reaches out and takes you by your wrist, “We’re going!”

“I don’t even know you!” You yell, pulling your arm away from him once more and stepping closer towards the exit behind you.

Namjoon looks annoyed, but he takes a deep breath before he continues to try and pursued you, “Why don’t you allow us to get to know each other then? At least tell me your name.”

“Just-” You pause, unsure of what you should even do. You take a few more steps back and he follows, “Stay there!” You demand, raising a finger to him. He does as told - whether he wishes to or not - and allows you to take a few more steps back until you catch sight of the gate in your peripherals. As long as he stays where he is, you could slip out without him, “Good.”

Namjoon, however, takes offense to you keeping your distance from him. This was no way to treat a king, especially ‘your’ king nonetheless, “Do not speak to me as if I am a child! I am a king, may I remind you.”

“You may. But may I also remind you that your rule ended over 1,000 years ago and you no longer hold any power.” You say, watching the frown on his features deepen into a scowl. With every minute that passes, his calm exterior continues to break, showing you his true nature. You take this moment of weakness against him and reach for his exhibit key on your belt, “I, however, am in charge of this museum after hours, so you have to listen to me.”

“I am a man-” He tries to argue, but you’re quick to shut his misogyny down.

“-And I am a woman,” You retort, thumbing through the labeled keys. Hoseok always made fun of you for trying to organize them, but it looks like the jokes on him. Not that he would really believe you if you told him. 

“Your man card doesn’t work in this age, so try something else, your highness~” You tease.

Namjoon crosses his arms over his chest and glares, “You have quite the tongue when you’re not screaming.”

“Thank you, I get it from my grandmother. Now-” You slip through the crack you left in the gate and pull it close, pulling his key from it’s retractable clip and locking him in, “-go back to sleep.”

He blinks a few times before he moves towards you. He places his hands on the bars and pulls at them, but they don’t budge under him. His eyes widen in shock and he turns to you, “Did you just lock me in here?”

“I did.” You nod, smug smile and all.

“Unlock it. Now.” He demands, tightening his hold on the bars.

“Hm…” You pretend to contemplate his request, tapping a finger against your chin before you come to a fake decision, “No.” 

“You insolent girl!” Namjoon yells, banging his fists against the gate that holds him.

You step back with wide eyes, stunned by his sudden outburst. You knew you were making him angry, but not this angry, “Wow, that’s one way to talk to your apparent soulmate.”

“I’ve been pleasant long enough! It’s time for you to accept the truth and let. Me. Out!” He demands.

You shake your head, “I don’t think I will.”

“You’re being unreasonable.” He huffs. 

Staring at him through the bars, you take in his features. He’s angry, that much is clear. But there’s something else about him that just seems more hurt than anything. You don’t want to feel bad for him, but you have to give him credit where it’s due.

You release an exasperated sigh, “Look, I’m sorry, okay? This is probably hard for you and...a fever dream for me-” Fever dream is perhaps the most lax way to describe this experience, “-but I think your necklace chose the wrong person.”

Namjoon stiffens and he almost looks offended at your assumption, “The moon goddess is never wrong.”

“Well, this time she is,” You insist.

“So what do you expect me to do?” He asks.

You shrug, “I’d prefer it if you went back into your box.”

“You want me to live my life in a box? After I’ve already spent so much time in it?!” He asks.

“Yes! No...I-” You’re unsure of what to say. On one hand, you feel a bit guilty asking him to return to a box he’s spent 1,000 years in. He died once, believing that when he woke he’d be greeted by his one true love. Instead he woke up to you screaming at him. 

But on the other hand, he was supposed to be dead. 

You sigh, “I don’t know what I want, but I can’t deal with-...” You raise your hands, grasping at the air before gesturing to him, “-this.”

The king looks offended, but he holds his tongue. Instead he crosses his arms and straightens his posture, “Well, I will not be going back in that box.”

“Wha-?” You cut yourself off, in disbelief of this man’s stubbornness. You huff, “Then go find your palace or wherever you lived before!”

He shakes his head, “I won’t leave if you refuse to leave with me.”

“Then you better get used to your view, because this is all you’ll be seeing!” You state, finally having enough of him. You turn on your heel and begin to walk away, something you should have done when you first came up to the exhibit.

“You’ll come to realize that our intertwined fates will not go away just because you wish them to!” He calls after you, his voice echoing off the walls around you, “And then you’ll be crawling back to me!”

When you continue walking and refuse to answer him, he yells again, “At least let me explore!”

“Not happening!” You call over your shoulder.

“This is humiliating! You can’t do this!” You hear him rattling the gate again, but you pay him no mind. “Come back here, you insolent child!”

You bypass every other exhibit that you were supposed to check, instead rushing back to the safety of your office. Once you’re in you bolt the door behind you, just in case anything else in the building decided it needed to come to life as well. You drop yourself in your office chair and take a moment to yourself, giving yourself time to take in all of the events that just transpired.

The mummy from the new exhibit just came to life, you were somehow able to talk to him without passing out, he thinks you’re his soulmate, and now he’s upset with you because you locked him in his exhibit that he shouldn’t be freely roaming in. 

You turn to your monitor and switch through feeds until you find Namjoon’s exhibit. He’s still standing by the closed gate, his hands slipped through the bars to try and fiddle with the lock. His posture that he once held with you is lacking, not as pristine as it was before. You can’t help but watch him with pity as his attempts to get out continue to fail.

But you can’t bring yourself to go back before the night ends.

30 minutes before the morning shift was due to come in, you use the intercom to tell Namjoon he’d have to return to his sarcophagus for the day. You couldn’t hear him, but you didn’t need a microphone to know he was not only confused but also very unhappy about that. You managed to convince him by informing him they would take him away to rot in a cell without you if he didn’t, and that seemed to kick him into gear. 

Thankfully, he didn’t need your help making it back to his bed or putting the cover on top. You were not about to go down to his exhibit. Especially when the room itself looked completely untouched on the camera. The ropes that had been torn from the wall were back in their place as if nothing had ever happened, and the wrappings the King decided to discard were nowhere to be seen.

After that, you sat and waited for the morning shift to come and take over for you. You said good morning to all of your coworkers, and then you left. You went home and you went to bed, but waking again didn’t feel like a new experience. The looming feeling of knowing what awaits when you get to work again haunts you until your once again clearing the exhibits for the night. 

You make it to the exhibit that has weighed you down for the past 12 hours and you hesitate to step inside. Clearing the room and locking it up will start the night, and then you’re left with the chances of seeing him again. Seeing him again means that everything you saw last night wasn’t a joke, and that you really have a living mummy in your museum.

What’s worse is he thinks you're his true love. 

You come across Taehyung, once again sitting on the bench in front of the king’s sarcophagus. He wears a loose white button down and a pair of black dress pants, balancing a sketch pad on his thigh. He attempts to draw the exhibits main attraction with the altar that took weeks to create. If only he knew the object of his affections was alive and well only 15 feet away from him.

“Having fun there?” You ask, sitting next to the fashionable curator.

He takes a moment to answer, defining a line on his paper before he acknowledges you, “I always do when I’m here with Namjoon-hyung.” You roll your eyes at his use of ‘hyung’ and he chuckles. He turns his attention back to his paper, “Did you have a good rest of your night?”

You feel every bone in your body tense at the mention of the previous night. Last night was almost an out of body experience for you, and there was no real way to describe what you went through.

You shrug, “It was okay, same old same old.”

“That’s good! I’m glad you’re doing well here on your own at night.” He looks up from his shading and sets his pencil down, his expression becoming somber, “It must be hard without Chanyeol.”

“Yeah, it can be...” Working without Chanyeol really wasn’t any worse than working together. The only thing is now your new coworker is a 1,000 year old un-dead guy, but that’s a little much to explain, “But it’s fine! It really isn’t that strenuous on me at all.”

He smiles at your response and turns to look at his drawing, “I guess I’m holding you up aren’t I?” 

You want to tell him more than anything that today you want him to stay just a little longer. Today is the day you want to hear all about every exhibit in the museum. More than anything, you just don’t want to face Namjoon alone, but no one would believe you if you told them the truth. So instead, you hum in agreement.

“Alright, I’ll get out of here. I’ll see you tomorrow!” Once again, you watch him pack up and dance his way out of the exhibit. Only today you follow close behind, locking the king’s exhibit and rushing to the next - much more normal - exhibit.

 ---

It’s surreal to watch Namjoon through a screen. Sure, seeing him the other night was an experience, but to see that your eyes aren’t playing tricks on you is another trip entirely! With Namjoon truly existing, that leads you to really question his claims. You did touch the necklace, but so had plenty of others. Not to mention, it took him almost 3 hours after you’d touched it to wake up, so who’s to say that Taehyung isn’t his true soulmate? Even Yoongi could be!

Anyone but you.

He’s much more different now that he’s ‘chilled out’ from last night’s events. He’s no longer pacing back and forth or banging on his exhibit’s gate - though he has tried to pull it open once or twice. Now, he just sits on the bench where you had sat with Taehyung, only he sits facing away from his final resting place. 

He looks to be in deep thought, as if he’s contemplating something as he stares ahead of him. You like him better this way, calm and quiet instead of trying too hard to convince you to run away with him. This king you could babysit until he fell back asleep as he should’ve been in the first place.

With him seemingly content, you allow yourself to work on other things you’d normally do throughout the night. You mainly focus on the online coursework you didn’t get done due to the distraction on the screen in front of you, organizing your office in between assignments. You don’t really pay any mind to your cameras until you catch movement coming from Namjoon’s.

On the screen, he appears to be waving his arms and yelling, resembling those people you see on TV when someone gets injured. You can’t help but sigh. You’ve been putting off your rounds just so you wouldn’t have to go by his exhibit for him to accost you, now you didn’t have a choice but to go see what was troubling him before he broke something.

You grab your flashlight and tuck it into its place on your belt clip, leaving the safety of your office to see what his majesty so desperately needs from you. It must be desperate if he’s yelling for the entire city to hear. You quicken your pace to get there faster, hopefully before anybody besides you has the chance to hear his cries.

“Soulmate!” He yells, his voice clear as day as you reach level 3, “Come here! I demand your presence!” 

“If you don’t stop yelling for everyone to hear you, then I’m going to turn around and leave you alone!” You yell back, assuming he hears you when the yelling doesn’t continue. You make it to the gate of his exhibit and find him waiting for you with his arms crossed, no longer as relaxed as he was when the night began. 

“What?” You ask, stopping in front of him.

He doesn’t give you the pleasure of knowing right away. Instead, he looks you up and down with a hard glare, “You didn’t bring me food.”

“That’s what you’re yelling about?” You ask in disbelief.

Namjoon takes offense to your indifference, “Yes! For your information, I am very hungry for someone who hasn’t eaten in over 1,000 years.”

In hindsight, you’d most likely be a little angry too if you hadn’t eaten in so long as well - though it’s not really an excuse for his behavior last night. But explaining why an unconscious guy was chilling on the floor of a locked exhibit with security footage showing him coming out of the sarcophagus would not be fun for anyone involved. 

“I’ll be right back.” You leave him to run back to the break room, grabbing the prepackaged lunch you had bought for yourself, a pair of disposable chopsticks, and a banana milk that you kept stashed behind Hoseok’s forgotten lunchbox before heading back up. 

Namjoon gives you a strange look when you come back, his eyes trained on the box in your hand, “What is that?”

“It was my lunch, but you probably need this more than me.” You look for the key to his exhibit on your belt, sifting through until you find the right label and pull it up to unlock the gate. You pause before turning the lock, “Move back to the case.”

“Really?” Namjoon asks, his eyes narrowed in a glare. You return your own glare until he finally gives in and takes the steps back to the case as you asked him to, “Happy?”

You nod and turn the lock over, opening the gate and slipping inside with the food you brought for him. You hand him the lunchbox and the milk before you reach into your back pocket for the chopsticks, “Sorry if it’s not what you’re used to, but this is all I’ve got-”

“-There’s no need.” He raises a hand to stop you - an action that irks you to no end - and sits on the floor with the food you’ve given him. You watch as he struggles with the tape that holds it together, holding back your laughter when he manages to get it off the box and stuck to his fingers instead. He seems to relax when he rubs it off on the floor, but his next challenge comes when he opens the packet of chopsticks and there’s only one inside, “What this?!”

“I’m going to assume you’ve never seen this before.” You bend down to his level to take the chopsticks from him, holding each one and pulling them apart to create two, perfectly good chopsticks. You bite back a laugh when you see the amazement written across Namjoon’s face, “Pretty cool, yeah?”

“Very…” He says. You hand him the chopsticks, watching with amusement as he tries to fit them back together. One drops and he fumbles to catch it before he realizes you’re still watching him, quickly using the utensils to shove food in his mouth as a distraction. 

“Here.” Not wanting him to embarrass himself further, you take his banana milk and open it for him, setting it beside him while he eats. He takes a moment to take a sip and his eyes widen in surprise.

“What is this?” He asks, holding the bottle close to his face to inspect the label.

You shrug, “It’s just banana milk.” 

“Well, it tastes fantastic!” He tilts his head back and chugs the rest of it, wiping his mouth before turning back to you with the same expression of a puppy ready to play, “Is there more?”

“Uh…” You hesitate to answer, afraid he’ll try to boss you around again, “Yeah, we do.”

“Bring me-!” He stops when he sees your expression sour. Instead, he clears his throat and bows his head, “If you wouldn’t mind, could I please have another?”

“Sure thing.” You smile, and he smiles back. It wasn’t much, but it felt like an understanding after the fiasco that happened the night before. 

So, you rush back while he continues eating, grabbing two more banana milks and a bag of chips for you to munch on yourself. When you come back, you’re not surprised to see that he’s finished his food and left the box laying on the floor with the empty milk container. You want to be upset with him for just leaving his trash lying around, but it’s hard to be mad at him when he’s trying so hard to work the kiosk.

“This infernal contraption doesn’t work!” He yells, hitting the top of it as if that would somehow make it work. Of course, he’s not the only person to try this - you’ve seen many middle aged men try to do the same thing when you close - but it would only prove to break if he didn’t dial it back.

“Don’t do that!” You rush to his side and push his hands away, blocking him from touching the kiosk any more. “You can’t just hit things and expect them to work. That’s not how people solve their problems.”

“Well, it doesn’t have a mouth, so how am I supposed to talk to it?” He questions.

“Okay…” You heave a sigh and grab the headphones that rest on the kiosk’s base, a pair for you and a pair for Namjoon. You place yours on your head and then move to place Namjoon’s over his ears. He flinches away from your touch and you pull back a bit, “It’s okay, I’m just going to show you how this works.”

He relaxes, bowing his head so you can place the headphones over his ears. Once they’re well adjusted, you tap the screen of the kiosk to bring it to life. You read through the options designed for the exhibit, choosing to let it read through information about Namjoon himself.

“The Kim Dynasty-” The woman’s voice fills both of your ears, scaring Namjoon so much that he jumps back and his headphones clang to the floor.

His scared expression is priceless, eyes wide and hands raised to defend himself. You laugh, picking up his headphones and extending them to him, “That’s supposed to happen.”

“How is it doing that? Is there a woman trapped in each of these?” He asks, eyeing the other kiosks that line the wall beside the one you share.

You shake your head, “It’s called a recording. They made a copy of her voice and put it in here so the people that come here can learn more about you.”

“Oh…” He accepts your answer and the headphones in your hand, “I see the moon goddess has been very busy.”

“Here.” You grab his hand and fix it so his pointer finger sticks out, guiding his hand so it presses lightly against the glass to select a different option. A new section of Namjoon’s life begins to play and Namjoon seems impressed by the ‘power’ he holds in one appendage. “This is called a touch-screen. You just have to tap the buttons on the screen and it’ll change.”

He nods, staring intently at the screen before him. He tilts his head and taps the little home button at the top left, surprised when the screen changes from a video to the screen it started on. He smiles, his dimples popping out as he chooses another option, “This is amazing!”

His smile is infectious, as well as his eagerness to learn more about the technology in front of him, “I’ll just leave you to play with that for a bit, I have a job to do.”

“Yes! Okay.” He waves you off, paying more attention to the kiosk than to you. 

You lock the gate behind you when you leave, though it doesn’t seem like Namjoon even took notice of either action. Even after you rush through your duties to come back to him sooner, he’s still playing with the same kiosk with a child’s enthusiasm.

“You’re really enjoying yourself.” You muse, standing off to the side behind him.

Namjoon nods, his fingers still dancing across the screen, “This technology is amazing! If only we had this in my dynasty. I can only imagine the advantages we would have had.”

You nod in agreement, “Yeah, it definitely comes in handy. Though, a lot of people believe it’s made us weaker as a society.”

“I can see why. Everything I could ever want to know about myself is right here at my fingertips,” He says, scrolling through the different options he could look through. He comes across a picture of himself and grimaces, “I wish they would have used a different portrait.”

You chuckle in amusement, “Well, if you’re not having my trouble, then I‘m going to get back to my office.” You go to leave the room again when Namjoon grabs you by the arm.

“Wait!” He yells, pulling you back to him. It takes him a second to realize what he did before he let’s go, “Sorry!” 

“It’s fine.” You mumble. 

“I just-...” The king pauses, taking a moment to collect himself, “I wanted to know if I could look at more exhibits tomorrow?”

His eyes look down into yours, so hopeful for a good answer. You’re unsure, “I don’t know…” You want to say yes to him, but there’s so much at stake if you were to let him walk around on his own. Granted, he couldn’t trip the alarms, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t break anything. 

“I won’t touch anything, I swear!” He promises, both of his hands reaching out to take your own. He holds them to his chest, lightly cradling against the fabric of his shirt as he begs you, “I just don’t want to spend the rest of my time sitting in this room when there’s so much more around me.”

That gets you.

If there was one thing you could understand, it was being somewhere new with so much knowledge that you just had to know more. For someone like Namjoon, this was more than that. He had a whole world to try to come to terms with, and he was standing in the best place to do so. If you denied him that, then would you be able to deal with it?

“Tomorrow.” You say, “I’ll let you explore the museum tomorrow.”

Namjoon’s eyes light up and it looks like a weight is lifted right off of his shoulders. He doesn’t hesitate to bow to you, “Thank you, soulmate.”

“It’s not the whole museum!” You add quickly, “And my name is (Y/n).” He seems unhappy at first, but he does eventually nod to give his thanks where it was due. You give a polite bow back, “You’re welcome.”

The next night comes all too quickly for you. Leaving him alone to explore was more than nerve wracking. You were probably out of your mind for even considering letting him out on his own, let alone trusting him in the first place. Sitting in your office you’d check the camera’s every few minutes just to be sure he was still in the hall, or you’d pinpoint his last location and make your final round of the museum according to how he’d walk through the halls.

That first night, Namjoon only went through his exhibit and the rest of level 3. Occasionally you’d catch him playing with a water fountain on the camera’s in front of the bathroom. Another time you caught him turning towards a planter and you quickly changed screens, reminding yourself to open a bathroom for him for the next night. 

As two more nights pass, you notice his want to get closer to the exhibits than to just sit on the outside. More often than not, you caught him with his face pressed against the metal bars trying to get a closer look at everything. It wasn’t hard to tell that he wanted to be in the room with the art itself, but a part of you is still worried to let him have that extra inch.

It’s only on the 5th night when Taehyung takes notice of your woes that you change your mind.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, leaning over himself on the bench to look at you. You sit with your hands in your lap just staring at Namjoon in front of you, wondering if you can really trust him to continue keeping his word. You don’t notice Taehyung, nor do you hear his question. He rolls his eyes and taps your knee twice, “Hey!”

“Huh?” You blink away your thoughts and turn your attention to him. Unaware of what he asked, you tilt your head in confusion, “What?”

Taehyung hums to himself and nods, “I’m right, something is wrong with you.”

“What do you mean something’s wrong with me?” You ask defensively.

Taehyung sighs and shows you his watch, showing you that it’s 5 minutes past weekday closing time, “This is the longest you’ve let me sit here rambling to myself. 10 minutes past our normal time!”

You shake your head, content to push him away, “I’m just a bit distracted, that’s all.”

“By what? Is it a work problem? Family troubles? You can tell me, I’ll listen!” He assures you. 

You have no doubt in your mind that he will listen to you, but how do you explain your situation is the real problem at hand. There were only so many excuses in the world, and if you weren’t careful you might get yourself fired just for using a bad analogy.

You weigh your options and sigh, “My niece - she’s really little and way too rambunctious to come here - really wants to come and see the art on display. I want her to come see where I work because I know she likes the art, but I know my sister is worried about her breaking something or causing a scene.”

“Hmm...I see.” Taehyung hums, not showing any sign of suspicion against you. He really thinks about your ‘concern’ before he comes to a conclusion. “I think she should come and see.”

“Really?” You ask.

He nods, “Yeah! It’s best to let children experience art and it’s creativity for themselves! Even young children have an eye for art, and those who truly appreciate it only want to see it up close to see every detail.”

“I guess that does make sense…” Thinking about it, he does have a point. Namjoon may be from a different moment in time, but he’s still a grown adult. 

Taehyung seems to sense your uncertainty and places a calming hand on your knee, “Art isn’t meant to be viewed from afar. It’s made to make us feel emotion.” He explains, “Even the most unlikely of patrons can find something that makes them appreciate art.” 

Even after your talk is finished and you’ve left Namjoon’s exhibit unlocked for him to let himself out, you’re still debating your next course of action. There’s a big risk in letting him roam through the exhibits, but you can’t in good conscience let him sit around doing nothing forever.

You find Namjoon on level 4, his face pressed against the bars of the Apparel Through the Ages exhibit. You sneak up behind him and clear your throat, “Good evening, your highness.”

Namjoon stumbles back, not expecting you to be there. It’s amusing to watch him scramble into a more respectable position with his hands behind his back. He glances your way, “Have you come around already?”

“No, I haven’t,” You say. You pull at the keys on your belt and jingle them, “I’ve come to open an exhibit for you.”

“What?” He’s surprised, “Will you really?” 

“Someone told me that those who appreciate art want to take in all the details they can.” It didn’t take a genius to see that Namjoon wants to see more than he can see at the exhibit’s gates. An old soul like his could probably use some new perspective, “You choose the exhibit and I’ll unlock it.”

“Any of them?” He asks.

You nod, “Just lead the way.”

The light in his eyes that you saw the night before comes back and it relaxes you for some reason. Even as he takes your wrist to lead you down the hall to the exhibit he wants to see, it’s as if he’s two different people. It’s almost confusing how quickly his demeanor changes with you. When he doesn’t get what he wants, he becomes a child. Yet the moment you offer something new - something for him to learn about - it’s as if he’s just a child at heart. 

When you open the Animal Kingdom exhibit on level 2 for him you’re thrown for another loop. He only gives you a simple thanks and walks away, leaving you to question if he’s just inherently an asshole or if he’s just petty. Even as you come back around from your rounds to close up for the night, he still seems to flip back and forth with his own personality and his thanks.

You go home that morning confused and on a mission. You throw the notion of sleep out the window and settle onto your couch with a cup of coffee and your laptop, determined to know more about this so-called King that intends to ruin your life little by little. 

A simple Google search brings you many results, ranging in portraits and newspaper articles to biographies written by renowned historians. You click on the first link available, taking you to a page drowning in photos and art. It would seem that even in life, Namjoon enjoyed surrounding himself with art. 

His portraits were absolutely breathtaking - you could understand his disappointment now that you’ve seen more than just the one - and the pictures they showcase of his palace are surrounded in flowers and gorgeous statement pieces littered across the grounds. It’s surprising to read that they’ve remained there for so long without any disturbances. You would have thought they’d taken one or two lawn pieces like they had taken Namjoon, yet they remain in their home without any signs of distress to them. 

You take another long sip of coffee and move onto another page, checking out a more informative website. This one goes into detail about his life as a prince and as a king. You discover that he became king at the young age of 17 when his parents sadly passed away during an ambush to the throne. Apparently, he changed over half of the Kingdom’s laws the very next day and saw to every change in policy himself. It only took him 3 months to get the people of his kingdom to trust in him and his guidance, which - according to the article - was a big feat for his time.

You’re surprised to read about his contributions to his people. He strongly encouraged his people to progress forward and bring him their concerns, he housed over 30 children in his home at one time because they had no homes to go to and he even had a sort of sanctuary for animals to be cared for under his watch. He oversaw their historians writing, ensuring that they put every detail on paper. Even his failures were written down under his careful eye, despite his power to erase them from future generations

This Namjoon was so kind and caring. He was so well educated and well-spoken, and he was loved by all of his people for his generosity and understanding nature. How is it that a man who was known for being so kind, could be the same man who bossed you around and demanded that you spend the rest of your life with him?

How is it that a guy who sounds so sweet on paper can be a total dick in real life?

* * *

After hours of research with no sleep and a cold shower to wake you up, you find yourself standing in front of Namjoon with a copy of The Little Prince tucked on top of the food you’ve brought him for the night.

Namjoon accepts the food, taking the boxed lunch with one hand so he can pick up the book with the other. He inspects it carefully, flipping it over a few times to look it over, “What’s this?”

“I did a little research on you, your highness. According to historians and the internet, you were quite the avid reader.” You’d read a lot about Namjoon, and every website you visited gave you list upon list of books read by him when he was still alive and well. They all spoke of his fascination for fantasy novels and those with deeper meanings behind them. The Little Prince seemed like a no brainer to you when it came to more relevant novels to fit his tastes. “I figured you might get bored sooner or later, so I brought you something to pass the time until you fall asleep again.”

“You know that’s not how the enchantment works, yes?” He asks.

You think about it for a moment before you reply, “No, I don’t know that. Do you?”

“I-” Namjoon is at a loss for your teasing words. Instead he frowns and turns his nose,“It doesn’t matter if I’ve seen it happen! I trust the moon goddess!”

“Mhmm, whatever you say~” You laugh, much to his annoyance. Namjoon sits down to eat his food and you take that as a sign for you to continue doing your job, “Enjoy your book and your food.”

You go to leave, but the king calls after you, “Can’t you stay here? Keep me company?”

You pause. His company wasn’t terrible, but you don’t want to stay and risk giving him a sense of false hope. He was still over 1,000 years old, and you were still a broke college student trying to pay her way through life. You’ve never been the type to play with someone’s emotions, and you weren’t going to start now. 

“That’s not in my job description.” You say. You almost regret your choice when you see his sad expression, but you steel yourself, “Have a good night.”

You leave him, not coming back until you’re making a lap on your rounds. And there - sitting against one of the large display cases - sits Namjoon with the book held loosely in his hands, his face holding a look of pure concentration and a ghost of a smile. He looks so peaceful and content sitting cross-legged on the hard wood of his exhibit, you almost feel bad for asking him to return to his sarcophagus. But that night he goes willingly.

And you can’t help but notice the glow of the necklace on your way out.

---

“Hey-!” You turn your head away from the water fountain, hearing Jimin’s voice call down the already noisy hall. You spy him at the entrance of the gift shop, but his attention is on a girl passing by who’s turned to look at him as well. He holds a box in his hand, but you can’t see what’s inside from where you stand. “Have you seen our new merchandise that just came in?”

“Uh...no, I haven’t.” The girl seems slightly uncomfortable. Either from his approach from the gift shop for her to buy something, or just from a guy who looks like Jimin approaching her - you don’t know which. 

You walk closer to the gift shop, curious yourself about the mystery box in Jimin’s hands.

“This - my lovely lady - is our newest piece of jewelry.” He opens the box and you catch a glimmer of silver and fuschia, “The necklace of King Kim Namjoon’s lost lover.”

Her face lights up initially when she sees it, but then her face drops and she shakes her head, “Oh, no, thank you.”

“You don’t want to buy it?” He asks. Jimin pouts and you can feel the immediate distress coming off the poor girl he’s talking to. 

“It’s pretty, but it’s a little expensive…” She tries to explain her situation - whether it’s true or not - but Jimin is relentless.

He looks around the hall to make sure no one is too close to listen - all but you anyways - and gets closer to her, “But don’t you know the legend behind the necklace?”

“Of course I do! King Kim Namjoon’s soulmate is supposed to wear this necklace.” She says.

“Yes, but that’s not all!” Jimin makes a point of string into her eyes, unwilling to break their eye contact, “Legend says he prayed to the moon goddess herself to find his true love and she gifted him with her own special moonstone to guide his other half to him!”

He moves closer, so that the two are almost shoulder to shoulder just so he can give her a closer view of the product, “These pink stones are pieces of the King’s soulmate's heart, and they’ll glow brightest when his lover wears his necklace by his side!” 

“Wow...that’s so romantic.” You can see her resolve breaking, and you almost feel bad for her that Jimin is the clerk on duty today.

“Do you want to know the best part?” He asks, his smile reaching his cheeks and his eyes full of mischief that resemble love almost too closely. She nods enthusiastically and Jimin brings the box closer so she can see, “This gold string that holds it altogether represents their connection to each other. It’s a bond that can’t be broken by anything in the universe.” 

He carelessly throws an arm over her shoulder, just light enough to be seen as friendly. Though, it would seem the small trick is already working it’s magic on the poor thing. He squeezes her shoulder, “A lot of people believe that wearing this necklace will bring you closer to finding your own true love, so they package them with their own prayers to the moon goddess in hopes she’ll grant them eternal love as well.”

“Really?!” She asks. She looks to him as if he holds the whole universe in his hands, having been swayed by the blonde’s charm.

“Yeah!”

Just like that, you watch him lead her back to the counter and then wave her and her new treasure goodbye, holding a sticky note close to his heart. 

“Should you really be lying like that?”You ask from the store’s entrance. You’re more than disappointed to see yet another girl fall for the man’s charms

Jimin shrugs, “I didn’t lie. I just stretched the truth.” 

You walk up to the counter and snatch the note out of his hand, “Stretching the truth sounds a lot like lying.” 

“Don’t you have a monitor to watch somewhere?” He teases. You hand him the paper back and he sticks it in his pocket, bending below the counter to grab another.

You can’t help but think about what he said, and the legend behind the real necklace. You’ve heard a lot about the real thing, but all of it usually went in one ear and out the other as myth for you. Now that you know it’s real and far from a hoax, you have so much more that you need to know.  

Jimin pops back up with a stack of necklaces in his arms and sets them on the counter in front of you, pulling out a sheet of tags that go with them. You take the sheet from his hand and peel one off, handing it to him, “Can I ask you a question? About the necklace?”

“Sure, but Taehyung is the expert around here.” He says, accepting your sticker to place on the box in front of him.

“You think I don’t know that?” You laugh. You look down and peel off another one, “Is all of what you said about the necklace itself true? About the real necklace?”

“According to Taehyung it is!” He nods, not even sparing you a glance, “The moon goddess gave the King a necklace so powerful that only he and his lover could tear the bond if they chose to, but they never got the chance to meet.”

You hand him another sticker, but you stare into space as you do, “That’s...really sad.” You can’t help but think of the pain Namjoon had to go through knowing his soulmate would be by his side, but not knowing it wouldn’t be in his first lifetime. Not only that, but to wake up and then be met with someone who doesn’t even want to be his soulmate? You can’t help but think about how you’d act towards him if the roles were reversed and he were in your shoes.

You’d be devastated.

“It is.” He takes the sticker from you with one hand and flicks your forehead with the other. You flinch and pull back with your hand rubbing the spot he hit while he just smirks at you, “You would know if you ever listened to Taehyung.”

“Yeah.” You don’t even register your response before handing the sticker sheet back to Jimin and pushing off the counter, “Thanks Jimin! Have a good night, okay? Don’t call me at 2am like last week.”

“No promises~” He sings, going back to his work in front of him.

Later that night when you’re handing Namjoon his dinner, you sit with him to eat yours as well. The look Namjoon gives you as you calmly open your dinner across from him is almost too good to ignore.

“What are you doing?” He asks, slowly unboxing his own lunch.

You pay him no mind as you break apart your chopsticks to start eating, “You wanted me to keep you company, remember? Or is my presence no longer appreciated?” You pick up a clump of rice and turn your attention to him, eyebrow raised.

Namjoon is quick to shake his head and get started on his own food, “Of course it is!” 

You both eat in awkward silence, neither of you quite sure how to start a normal conversation. You’ve only ever made polite talk with him, and he only ever seemed to anger you no matter what he said. The only time you were ever civil was when you would show him something new.

Namjoon swallows his food and clears his throat, “Where would you like me to escort you tonight, my lady?”

You shake your head, “First of all, don’t call me ‘your lady’ or anything else other than my name.” You warn him, pointing at the tag on your jacket. He nods and you continue with your rant, “Second, I have some rounds to do, so you can join me tonight as long as you don’t bother me too much. Understood?”

“Yes, my la-” You narrow your eyes at him and he corrects himself, “(Y/n).”

The two of you finish your food quickly with some small talk made here and there. When you’ve cleaned up, you allow Namjoon to lead you to another exhibit he’s yet to see. All the way on level 1, he wants to see art he’s more familiar with.

“So, you said you asked the moon goddess for a chance to meet your soulmate?” You ask one you’re inside the museum.

“Indeed,” Namjoon nods, listening to you as he takes in the art around him, “I prayed to her one night on a full moon and I begged her to send me a lover. Someone I could confide in and care for, and would do the same for me.”

You tilt your head in confusion, “And instead she gave you the necklace?”

“No, she gave you a way to find me.” He says, a genuine look of happiness on his face. 

“Still-“ You feel a heat rising in your face and you can’t help but turn away from him out of embarrassment. Your eyes land on a painting of a couple and you feel the knife dig just a little deeper, “-you asked her for someone to rule by your side as your equal and she let fate tear you apart.”

He shrugs, “Maybe we weren’t meant to meet before now.”

His calm exterior bothers you. If you had asked for what he had, you’d be livid! He made a promise and that promise was misguided! 

“How can you be so calm?” You ask, allowing your thoughts to be heard.

Namjoon stops to look at a picture of a cherry blossom in the winter, it’s petals covered in frost. He smiles, “You said you read about me from one of your current books. The internet? What do they tell you of me?”

You chuckle at his misunderstanding of what the internet truly is, “Well, the internet told me that you were a very generous and beloved king. They said you were intelligent and caring.”

He chuckles, “I’m flattered.” He looks to you with an amused smile and you elbow his side carefully, causing him to laugh, “I’m only joking!”

You roll your eyes, “Oh, sure.”

Moving on to the next painting, he follows after you, “What else did your book tell you?”

“Well, it told me about your love for the arts.” You remember the extensive biography you’d found during your research. You didn’t read it in its entirety, but you did skim through it, “I read that you would host a festival every year?”

“Yes! Just something special during the summer seasons to enlighten everyone.” He has a far away look in his eye as he recalls the fond memories of his past life, and you can only begin to wonder what a day in his life would have been like, “I’d import goods from everywhere just to have the best for my people.”

“It would seem you’re truly generous, your majesty~” You tease.

“Namjoon.” He corrects you. You give him a quizzical stare and he only smiles in return, “If I’m to call you by your more common title, then you should feel free to use mine. I am attempting to woo you after all.”

“Right.” You smile awkwardly, remembering that you were actually trying to give him a chance. You’d actually been comfortable for once, that you hadn’t even noticed just how easy it had become to talk to him.

“And to really answer your question of why I am as calm as I am,” He pauses in front of a portrait of a town under the night sky, his attention trained on the light orb in the background of the painting. “The moon goddess is lonely herself by nature, so separated from our world. Just like this portrait, we see her, but we pay her no mind.” 

You stand beside him and take your own, clear look at the picture. If you would have looked at it on your own, your main focus would have been on the town and the people in the foreground. You would have glanced at the moon, but the orb and her stars were painted so faint compared to the rest of the picture.

“She came to me - and perhaps it was out of boredom for her own happiness - but she made me a promise. Promises are something I don’t take lightly.” He says. His words are spoken like a true king, but you can’t help but wonder if he himself truly means what he says. 

Namjoon turns to you with a peaceful smile, “Fate works in mysterious ways, and sometimes it’s best for us to wait and see what it brings.”

He’s ready to move on and you both bask in a new found silence as you continue to walk through the exhibit, stopping occasionally at a portrait here and there. Though at every painting you stop, you can’t help but look at the man next to you.

This was the man described in everything you read. This was King Kim Namjoon at his finest, and you were privileged enough to be there.

“Did you really house orphaned children?” You ask out of the blue.

He blinks at first, registering your sudden outburst. Though, when he does realize what you’ve asked, he smiles fondly, “I did. Of all the people we should take care of, our children and our elderly are most important!” 

His words are filled with passion, and you can tell he really cares about the people he’s talking about, “Our elders have shaped our generation, and we shape the generations after us. It’s only fair that we see they’re well taken care of.”

There’s a part of you that truly wishes to see what he was like as a ruler for yourself. You smile, “Well, I guess the internet doesn’t lie.”

“I suppose it doesn’t, though I’m probably not the correct person to ask.” He sheepishly admits, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

You nod in understanding. He really didn’t know much about this era or it’s advancements besides the kiosks in his exhibit. It takes you a moment, but you think of the perfect exhibit to introduce him to the 21st century. 

You take his hand in yours - effectively catching him off guard - and you pull him in the direction of the exit, “Well, allow me to educate you about the world I live in.”

Namjoon doesn’t even attempt to hide his blush this time around. He only nods and allows himself to follow you, “Please.”

You lead him out of the more classic featured art section and into the Modern Art Exhibit. This exhibit starts very tame, sticking to photography and modern painting styles before it morphs into free form art sculptures in the connecting rooms.

One sculpture is made of metal and it’s shape reminds you of a round mushroom. It's definitely interesting, but you don’t necessarily understand it’s appeal. It would seem Namjoon is confused as well.

“This is art?” He asks, his head tilted to the side as he follows his distorted reflection.

“It is.” You assure him. You had a feeling he wouldn’t get it either, you just wanted to show him what he was missing. You sigh, “I don’t really understand it either so don’t fe-”

“It’s so intriguing.” Namjoon says, cutting you off. 

“I’m sorry?” You ask, slightly confused.

“The structure and the colors, they’re so complimentary to the other! I don’t want to look away.” His entire being is completely enraptured with the piece in front of him. It’s so simple, yet his eye contact doesn’t break from his reflection. “I feel as though I am in a trance.”

You squeeze his hand - not even caring that your hands are still connected, “Well, there’s much more of this to see.”

A look of pure joy and elation blossoms on Namjoon’s face and you feel a faint flutter in your heart. You’d never noticed how bright his eyes shine until now, nor did you notice just how cute his dimples really were.

Are you really falling for him?

~ Read: Part 2 ~

[imnotoverlyobsessive]

Aight my dudes here’s chapter four of Oopsie Daisies have fun. Thanks again to @edward-or-ford for editing!

Looks Like Someone Picked a Whole Bushel of Oopsie Daisies Chapter Four: Shadows

You’re all I want and I don’t know why. This new addiction is all I know, and it’s safe to say that I’ve lost control. - 2 in the Chest, 1 in the Head, New Years Day

Mabel knew a great many things. She knew how to fix rips in tights and leggings without making it noticeable (and if it was noticeable, it was fucking fabulous, okay?). She knew how to straighten and re-curl her hair in just the right way. She knew how to contour her makeup to change the way her facial structure appeared, and how to paint a mug while keeping it dishwasher safe.

Mabel was, of course, interested enough in those things to learn about them. What she was not interested in is how things work. It was far more important that they do work rather than how, as far as she was concerned. So whenever her Grunkles, dad, and Dipper got together to watch a marathon of How It’s Made on the Shack’s frankly ancient TV, both Mabel and her mom were bored out of their minds.

She was forced to learn plenty in school, thank you very much. It was winter break. She didn’t wanna learn on winter break. Gross. That’s the exact opposite of what winter break is for, and Mabel was of the opinion that doing otherwise is positively blasphemous, but under the careful tutelage of her mother, she’d long since stopped trying to understand the males of the species. Or rather, the males of her family specifically (she’d managed to obtain a vague grasp on the male minds outside of her family, or at least some of them, she thought. Perhaps the boys at her school were just easy to read, or maybe it was teenage boys in general. Not that they were strictly logical in her mind, of course; she just understood how their brains worked to some degree).

And so, an hour after they return to the Shack from the hike, Mabel found herself standing at the kitchen counter, carefully stacking the fifty-seventh (she hadn’t counted, of course, but it was indeed the fifty-seventh) mini marshmallow on top of its companions in her mug of hot chocolate while the beginnings of their silly show blared in the background.

She was humming an old BABBA song as she plucked another marshmallow from the bag, swaying her hips back and forth to the beat in her mind. She stopped when she heard the sound of footsteps, looking over her shoulder to see Dipper shuffling into the room on socked feet.

He was looking everywhere but her. Mabel found this unusual, but what was infinitely more odd was the way he walked over to her quietly, dropped a folded piece of paper at her feet, and then promptly moved to open the fridge as if nothing at all had occurred.

Dropping the marshmallow into her mug, she reached down to retrieve the paper.

“Uh… Dip, you dro-“

“What do you think I should have to drink?” Dipper cut in quickly, the words sloppy and thrown together without proper enunciation.

Mabel blinked. He didn’t want her to ask about it, that much was evident. A note for her, then, perhaps? A secret note?

“Well… I’m having hot chocolate, myself,” she suggested.

“With an obscene number of marshmallows, I see.”

Mabel gasped and put a hand to her chest. “Me? My dear brother, I am positively offended that you would even suggest such a thing!”

He grinned. “Maybe I’ll have some more cider.” He poured himself a glass and left the room before Mabel could think to ask about the paper again.

Glancing around to make sure nobody was coming, she turned back towards her mug, just so, if needed, she could shove the paper into her sweater pocket unnoticed and pretend she was still preparing her hot chocolate. She unfolded it carefully. Dipper didn’t write her handwritten notes. She was a bit excited (more than a bit, but she would never admit to such a thing). Sue her. His handwriting was messy, and she had some minor difficulties reading it, but she did manage to decipher it after a brief moment of staring at the page.

I need to talk to you in private. Once everyone’s gone to bed here, I’ll pick you up from Candy’s. I’ll text you if anything goes wrong.

In private? Mabel’s heart might very well have stopped. She’d never been alone with Dipper. This afternoon had been the closest she’d ever come to it. Even then, though, they hadn’t been actually, truly, genuinely, legitimately alone. Their parents had been right there. And then they’d been interrupted. Their parents were always there.

She was so nervous, so focused on the way her heart was pounding in her ears, that she completely forgot to put the marshmallows away.

—————

If Mabel could see how nervous Dipper was as he pulled on his jeans and shoes, she wouldn’t have believed it was in any way related to her. If it was somehow proven to her that it was related to her, however, she would have been thrilled beyond all measure.

But Mabel couldn’t see Dipper, as he was on the other end of a text message that read leaving now, and so she remained wholly unaware of the absolute terror he wasn’t bothering to keep from his facial expression, as there was none of the usual audience present.

With no one around to request an explanation, Dipper felt no need to keep his anxiety in check as he placed his shaking foot on the last stair of the Shack.

He was about to walk over to the coat rack by the front door when-

“Dipper,” rang out his father’s voice, the low tone sounding like a roar in the quiet of the house.

Dipper whirled around to face his dad, who was seated in an armchair hidden in the shadows of the living room. It was no wonder Dipper hadn’t noticed him before he spoke; he could’ve been a shadow himself.

Dipper was relieved it was too dark for Mr. Pines to see his expression clearly, the man’s face obscured by darkness. He instead concerned himself with his body language and voice. He hunched himself over as if he were barely awake and faked a yawn.

“Dad, you scared me.”

“What are you doing up this late?” Mr. Pines asked.

“Getting a glass of water. Woke up thirsty,” Dipper explained, careful to keep his voice tired-sounding.

“Mmm,” Mr. Pines nodded. “Kitchen’s that way,” he pointed in the opposite direction Dipper had been walking in, as if Dipper didn’t live there and was not fully aware of the Shack’s layout (note: Dipper was indeed fully aware of the Shack’s layout and could certainly navigate it half asleep).

“Huh?” Dipper said with false bleariness. “Oh, right.”

Shuffling into the kitchen, Dipper poured himself a glass of water and moved sluggishly back to the living room with it in hand.

“Goodnight, son.”

“Night, dad,” Dipper mumbled with more fake sleepiness.

If Mabel had seen it, she wouldn’t know what to feel. But she hadn’t seen it, because Dipper was on the other end of a dad’s awake, we’ll have to tomorrow text.

She also couldn’t see the expression he made when she replied, asking why he couldn’t just text it to her, and not to keep her in suspense, nor could Dipper see her inflamed face (and neck and ears, if we’re honest, but don’t share such observances with Mabel) or the way she was biting her lip nervously, perhaps he might not have been as nervous. Perhaps he might have even been hopeful.

But alas, neither twin had the other in their sight, and were therefore doomed to be eaten alive by their anxiety and respective insecurities.

If one knows anything about teenage girls (and perhaps even a fair percentage of women as well), one is fully cognizant of the rather unfortunate tendency many of them have to analyze, reanalyze, and overanalyze each individual word, action, and tone of voice that emerges from the object of their affection.

In Mabel’s case, she was seated on the cold tiles of Candy’s bathroom, back leaning against the locked door. It was late enough that Grenda and Candy were asleep, thankfully. Recently, Mabel had been taking forever to fall asleep. Which was strange, because she had never had any issues that could be anywhere near insomnia before. Thus, everyone else fell asleep before she did.

It wasn’t her fault. Honestly, it wasn’t! It was just that Dipper was so damn attractive and sweet and funny, and how could she sleep when she could only fight her thoughts of him while conscious? He plagued her dreams, so she couldn’t even escape him in sleep the way she used to be able to do. He had invaded her every thought, every moment, every breath. He was in her bloodstream. In her veins. She could not escape her yearning for him.

And so, as she sat on the bathroom floor staring at her phone, at Dipper’s last text of I need to tell you in person, she typed out a slow, resigned okay and leaned her head back against the door.

What was going on with him? He’d told her so many things over text before and it had never been an issue. Why was this different? Maybe he was only insisting on telling her in person because they were so close distance-wise, which wasn’t a regular occurance, of course, but maybe he’d have been perfectly fine with telling her whatever it was over text if she hadn’t been visiting Gravity Falls? Or maybe he’d want to FaceTime or Skype instead? Or maybe it was so very important he tell her in person that he’d actually been waiting since the last time they had seen each other?

But what could be so important? How was it so important he needed to tell her in person? Was it truly so different than every other thing he’d ever told her? Countless stories and anecdotes and complaints and late-night phone calls and existential discussions; how was this different?

No matter how much she thought and analyzed it (which, rest assured, was a great deal indeed), she kept coming back to one thing, one unthinkable, horrifying, terrifying, heart-wrenching, devastating scenario:

What if he’d found his soulmate?

What else would have been so important, made it so essential he told her in person? The more she thought about it, the more it made sense.

Dipper had never mentioned how he felt about the prospect of having a soulmate. He knew how she felt about hers, and having a soulmark, but he’d never shared his own feelings with her in return.

Which was fair, honestly, because soulmates and soulmarks were intensely personal things. She might as well have asked him to strip down and do some nude modeling for her (which, side note, that sounded positively heavenly. She never drew him or painted him where anybody could see; only in the secret sketchbook she kept in a locked drawer in her bedroom, and those drawings were primarily focused on his jawline and facial structure, although she had drawn his butt on more than a few occasions. And his arms. And his torso. What could she say? She looked at him a lot, studied the way he moved, and he inspired her to create. In any case, she’d absolutely love to see him naked, obviously, because who wouldn’t, but to draw him… get it together Mabel, you’re getting all worked up!), which… was not going to happen, tragically.

He’d never shared anything regarding his soulmate with her. That meant, of course, that he hadn’t found his yet, nor was he in the unusual soulmarked-but-not-knowing-with-whom situation that Mabel herself was in. As indicated by his insistence on telling her in person (which he had, of course, never insisted upon before, or even expressed a passing desire to tell her something in person rather than digitally), whatever it was must have been more important than anything he’d ever told her.

What was more important than him finding his soulmate? She couldn’t think of another possibility. Couldn’t even fathom it, no matter how hard she tried. Unfortunately, she couldn’t really fathom the possibility that he might’ve found his soulmate, either, but that was primarily because she didn’t want to.

What would that be like, to watch him with his soulmate? Knowing Mabel’s luck, she’d never find out who hers was (she’d clearly been around him her whole life and had yet to find him, so what were the odds she’d figure it out later? Once she left school, she’d probably start experiencing withdrawal symptoms, which would be horrible, but she had long since accepted the likelihood of that), and since she saw Dipper regularly and talked to him all the time, it wasn’t likely she’d get over him.

Family gatherings could be a real bitch.

Which meant, of course, that Mabel was doomed to suffer withdrawal symptoms for the rest of her life while watching the man she loved, who just so happened to be her twin brother, find his soulmate, fall in love, get married, and have children. It was when she considered things like that that the idea of regularly consuming Smile Dip sounded fan-freaking-tastic. At least then she’d be too out of it to suffer.

Mabel wasn’t one for wallowing in self-pity and misery. She was a fairly positive person. Whenever she found herself moping or depressed, she could usually pull herself out of it. In that respect, she was tremendously lucky, as not everyone was capable of that.

But with this, loving Dipper (or rather, being in love with Dipper, which she very much was)... there was this sadness deep inside of her that she just couldn’t seem to shake. She could tuck it away in the back of her mind, pretend it wasn’t there. At least for awhile, anyway. But it never left. Not really. It was always there, in the box she’d locked it away in. Sometimes, though, the box broke open, and it would consume her, like shadows consuming light.

When she thought of Dipper with his soulmate, smiling at a nameless, faceless stranger, beaming at his wedding (knowing Dipper, he’d insist she be a bridesmaid. What agony that would be), holding a child that wasn’t Mabel’s, could never, ever be Mabel’s (Mabel would probably be the godmother, too), the shadows never failed to consume her.

She pulled her legs to her chest, resting her forehead on her knees, and let the tears fall.

[twinkleallnight]

I am sorry for the long break and thank you if you are still there looking for the update.

Marshmallow

Story till now: Drake has build up his individual life as a veterinary and is working at the royal palace. His childhood friends Liam( having a social season), Max ( sponsoring Riley) and Olivia ( a mystery, may be they had a past) are moving on in their lives. Drake has met Hana and is attracted to her but is confused. At the Beaumont bash he is seated with Hana and Olivia for dinner. God help him.!

For previous chapters: Catch up here

The Debate

Book: The Royal Romance AU

Pairing: Drake x Hana.

Word count: 1,681

Disclaimer: All characters belong to pixelberry.

Rating: Mature

Thank you @yourmajesty09 for beta reading!

“Hell, this is going to be one crazy night!” I shuffle in my chair with discomfort.

“Why now, Mr Walker? You seem to have forgotten too soon all the fun we had. Together.” Livy raises her left brow, an indication of an impending doom she is about to cast.

Hana clears her throat, making Livy shift her gaze and she aims at Hana now. “A very good evening to you too, Lady Hana! Your presence has not gone unnoticed. I wonder what your parents have to say for your blooming relationship with a commoner.” I wince at that but I think its better to ignore.

“He has shown more integrity than any of the nobles here. I am sure they will be pleased to meet him, not that it is any of your business.” Hana retorts.

Hana 1, Olivia 0.

I make a mental note and quietly sip the hot and sour soup in front of me.

The next moment Hana’s eyes are warm as she smiles at me. Her hand rests on my thigh. “He is a thorough gentleman. I have known him for six months now.”

“And I know him since I was six years old.” Livy says in a cold voice.

Olivia 1

“I am not counting quantity. It’s the quality time that matters. And I am blessed to have it all.” Hana keeps looking into my eyes, totally ignoring the fiery duchess. I try giving her the pleading look, in an effort to tell her about the unconquerable Nevrakis. In vain!

Hana 2 Olivia 1. I quietly stick to counting.

Hana seems to be unstoppable today as she continues, “We can talk anything on earth with each other.”

Livy cuts through, “We never felt the need to talk, it was understood.”

I groan but the girls are not even noticing me anymore. Livy continues her attack, “You sound like that stupid girl Anna hardly knowing her fake Prince Hans.” My eyes go wide, it’s unlike Livy to be quoting a fairy-tale. But she is not giving me any heed, and rather fans her hand casually at me with her sharp words. “Just because he moves around with a prince doesn’t make him a prince material”.

Hana “Why does only a prince complete a fairy tale? I am proud to have the one you call a commoner, to sum up my tale. And it’s not just about knowing him. It’s the comfort he gives me.

This is really hot and sour; I don’t know if I am relishing the sour taste of the soup or the heated talk between the ladies. Wait, how is this happening? Since when did I become so much important between ladies? Wasn’t this Liam’s routine?

I lose the count of the score of the debate.

----------

As the dinner wraps up, we are still at the end of the hall, standing near our table. Bertrand is bidding farewell to the king and queen as the formal party comes to an end. Liam is standing next to him with Riley on his side. They share a joke and smile at each other, lost in their own world.

Hana winds her hands around my arm and is unable to contain herself. “Aww they are so sweet together!”

Livy standing on my other side, still in bad mood says, “What’s sweet about it? Giggling like fools all the time.”

“That’s what love does. Makes you happy.” I finally speak. Livy's eyes narrow down on me and she storms away to stand with Madeleine ahead.

“So much for a peaceful dinner!” I sigh. “What’s gotten into you?” I chuckle at Hana.

She sniggers, “I wish she accepts herself. I don’t know what she is trying to hide behind her fierce look. She is sweet inside, isn’t she?”

My gaze settles at Livy's tall figure standing at a distance. Many fond memories of the soft- and warm-hearted girl I knew once, flood my mind. “ Yes, she has been the most caring and loving girl I have known as I grew up.” I place my free hand on Hana’s hands that are still clinging on to my arm.

We all move to the Grand hall for the after dinner festivities. It is more of chaos with everyone engaging in the revelry.

As Hana is pulled into a zig with Max and Riley, I excuse myself to the bar. Liam joins me in some time. “Enjoyed your dinner?” he smirks.

“Seems the king takes pleasure in pain of his subjects.”

He gives out a hearty laugh. “Your expressions were quite comprehensive. You should be glad you were left in one piece after that interaction with the Nevrakis Duchess.”

“I don’t know what I have done, to be her target all the time!”

“She is going through something, I guess. She should be back soon. Don’t worry.” Liam reassures.

“I wish I could help her.” I sigh. “But right now, I need to concentrate on something else.”

“Something or someone?” Liam asks.

“Yes, someone I mean.”

“And does this someone happens to be Lady Hana?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes boss! Hana it is. Since her last conversation with her parents, she seems to be more bold, more rebellious and aggressive.”

“And what are you scared of? Commitment?”

“I don’t know exactly. She is here on her parent’s behest who are looking for some prince or Duke or a lord as a match for her.”

“Well even my parents expected that. Marrying into a noble house. Yet, here I am…” he says fondly looking at Riley.

“Hana belongs to a very different part of the world, Liam, where it’s union of families and not just two people. The equations, the restrictions, the complications are all whirling up and my own feelings feel like being curbed under all those expectations.”

“Why don’t you take one step at a time? Start by speaking out your feelings first to the lady. You can deal with other matters later.”

“Hmm.”

“I think time to stop pondering and take some action.” He looks across my shoulder. I turn around to find Hana walking towards me. “All the best.” Liam whispers in my ear and walks away.

Hana sways smiling at me. “Hana, how much did u drink?”

“ Enough to forget the worries and enjoy the moments.”

I look around and find that most of the guests are falling off one by one. I sit with Hana at the bar as she continues saying silly things in her tipsy mood. After few more shots, she manages a sprig of mint from the bartender and starts plucking out the leaves. “He loves me, he loves me nottt, he loves me, he loves me….”

“Hana, what are you trying?” I interrupt by holding her fingers plucking at the leaves.”

“Shhh! I am trying to find out if Drake loves me.” She whispers a note higher.

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“He won’ttt tell me.” She says with extra emphasis on the T.

“How do you know that if you never asked him?”

“His horse told me. You know his favourittte one. Amber. She told me aaaall.” Hana dragged her last word.

“And just how did this Amber tell u all?”

“As a matter of facttt, she neighed.” Hana explained in worldly wise manner. How can she be so cute and stupid at the same time, I thought? Drunk Hana is cute!

“She said that he won’t tell?” I am finding this charming.

“Yessss.”

“Well, I think you should try asking him once. I am sure he won’t hide.”

“He won’tttt.”

“Nope.”

She suddenly straightens up, “Drake Walker, do you…”

“Not here, Hana. Not now.” I literally snub her. I am rather taken aback by her action. I am scared. I need to accept.

She pouts her lips and slumps back on her stool. I cover her tiny hands with mine and look into her honey orbs.

“Talk to him when you are sober and I promise he will open up to you.”

“Promisss?” Her eyes sparkle.

“Promise!”

Soon it’s just the hosts, Liam and Hana left around me.

Hana takes another shot that Max offers. “Hana, I think you have had enough.” I try to warn her but she is distracted by Max as he starts bragging about his peacocks that he has as pets.

“Aww, that must be so cute.” Hana squeals like a child. “Wǒ ài xióngmāo. Tāmen zuì kě'ài”

“Hana, English please. None of us understands Chinese.”

“Panda, I would love to have pandas as pets. They are cute."

Riley hugs or I may say literally hangs with her arms around Liam’s neck as she purrs, “No one is as cute as my blue -eyed beauty.” She pinches Liam’s cheeks.

Amused, Liam looks at me, “Guess we are the only two sober here.”

“I am awake and in senses too.” Max

Hana swings on my arm. “Would you like to have pandas?” She bats her eyes innocently at me.

“Sure, we can talk about it later. We need to get you back to the palace now. It’s late.” I push towards the exit.

Riley is ecstatic as she stands with Max to see us off while we get into the limo.

Hana cuddles up to me and Liam sits across grinning at me.

Hana’s eyes are almost drooping as she lifts her head and nails it, “Drake, I wanna be your duck!”

I slap my forehead and instantly plead, "Hana, you are better talking Chinese please.”

Liam has covered his mouth and is unsuccessfully trying to control his laughter. Max is doubled over, laughing out while Riley tries to decipher what just happened. I wish everyone was as drunk as Hana at that moment. She tilts her head on my shoulder and shuts her eyes blissfully. Thankfully the vehicle moves and I am relieved.

By the time we reach the palace Hana has passed out. Liam helps me by directing us through the backdoor entry so that no one notices as I carry Hana in my arms to her room.

I tuck her in her bed and quickly retrieve to my room.

My phone buzzes with a message alert.

I keep my phone aside and crash down in the bed. I groan and speak to the walls, 'Good night Livy. Dont have the energy right now for the debate.'

ToTags: @ao719 @aloneautumn @bebepac @charlotteg234 @choicesficwriterscreations @choiceskatie @cordonia-gothqueen @cordonianroyalty @drakewalker04 @gkittylove99 @glaimtruelovealways @kat-tia801 @hopefulmoonobject @hopelessromanticmonie @iam-the-kind-and-thoughtful @idontknowwhysblog @islandcrow @jovialyouthmusic @jaxsmutsuo @kingliam2019 @lovablegranny @mrswalkers-blog @mom2000aggie @no-one-u-know @ntoraplayschoices @princessleac1 @ritachacha @speedyoperarascalparty @shanzay44 @texaskitten30 @queenrileyrose @sanchita012 @sfb123 @theroyalheirshadowhunter @xpandabeardontcarex @yourmajesty09

[corymulpepper]

Cory Mulpepper Intro

☆ CORY MULPEPPER —

BASICS

★ BIRTH DATE / 13 August, 1960  ★ BLOOD STATUS / Half-blood ★ PRONOUNS & IDENTITY / she/her; cis female ★ FACECLAIM / Sophie Simnett

ACADEMICS & ROOMING

★ PRIMARY SCHOOL / Cork Wizarding School, class of 1978 ★ ACADEMIC PURSUITS / Natural sciences degree, Potions cohort ★ HOUSE & YEAR / Hufflepuff, second year

POINTS OF INTEREST

★ It had been established in 1106 and not much had changed in ways of Mr Mulpepper’s Apothecary except for its staff throughout the years. It stayed within the family and eventually reached the hands of Nikolas Mulpepper, an English botanist and potioneer, in the year of 1949. Outraged by the fellow apothecaries that littered the wizarding world, Nikolas condemned them all for their greed and their use of harmful practices. Since then, Mr Mulpepper’s Apothecary has been the most affordable apothecary to shop, with constant deals on cleaning solutions and performative draughts. And it’s no secret Nikolas is one to barter if a patron cannot afford the remedies they so dearly need. The shop has almost gone bankrupt multiple times and while Nikolas may pay the ultimate price by having to shut down his family’s century old shop, he would never go back on his ways. He’s always been loyal to the customer and have taught his two daughters the very same. It should come as no surprise that they’ve made a formal announcement -- that they do not approve of Selwyn’s squib vaccine.

★ Lydia, Nikolas’ wife, was born a squib. It positively broke his heart when the love of his life was unable to see her twin daughters start showing signs of magic themselves. But as Lydia had had a difficult upbringing because of her status in the wizarding world, Nikolas was just happy she’d finally found her peace. He told nothing but wonderful tales of his beautiful wife as bedtime stories to their daughters, who looked more and more like Lydia as the days passed by.

★ Born only minutes apart, it was safe to say the girls were inseparable from day one. This never, not once, got in the way of their individuality. Where one was brushing their teeth, the other one was using her toothbrush on the family dog’s teeth. Where one was doing arts and crafts, the other was using their scissors to give herself a new haircut. Two different sides of the same coin, essentially. They really became individuals upon attending Cork Wizardy College. They still shared a room, which wasn’t so different, until they began meeting friends of their own and attending different social gatherings. One would go to group palm readings, while the other went for live music shows. Even as time passed and distance began leaving its toll, the girls would still get together once a week with their favorite sweets and catch up on what boys or girls they were kissing.

★ Cory, the loud mouth she could be, was not placed into Gryffindor upon arriving at Hogwarts. But her quieter sister, Colleen, was, while she was sorted into Hufflepuff. Cory carried a chip on her shoulder about that one for a long time coming, wanting to be sorted where their father had gone. Where she’d idolized half her life. But no, Colleen got in where Cory hadn’t. Their weekly meetings were soon diminished, Cory saying she was too busy with the workload to catch up on any gossip. The most they spoke now were holidays back at home, where they put on a show for their father. To be perfectly clear, this wasn’t something Colleen had ever wanted, but for most of her life just like in birth, she followed Cory, Cory’s wants, Cory’s needs. They came first.

★ Cory usually spends her time half-assing a dozen things; painting, riding her skateboard, her school work in potions. But when it came to quidditch, she put in 110%. But as much as she put into the game, Cory rarely saw positive results coming back. In Primary, she’d gotten ejected from two games in row, which ultimately got her kicked off the team. She’d been too aggressive (and broken more bones than anyone) and needed to turn a new leaf, but when she had, upon joining Hufflepuff’s team, her efforts once again went unnoticed. This time she was denied from a summer quidditch camp. It seemed no matter what route she rode, she never chose the right one at the right time. It didn’t help that she was playing with and against peers that simply outshined her on the field. Dawn Withey was going to be the talk of Hogwarts when she landed herself on a fancy, popular, professional quidditch team, while Cory just barely scratched the surface. Her cynicism didn’t stop her from trying, though. With her third year coming up and a possible captainship, more is on the line than ever.

★ Thankfully, growing up, the girls never had to rely on looking for summer jobs. Their pops let them open and close the store on weekends for extra money. Cory was sure she could’ve gotten extra school credit towards her potions work for working in an apothecary. She’d have to pull that card if her grades ever dropped, she decided. One afternoon, the shop was buzzing with Christmas crowds, and the next second everybody was fleeing the scene. The Menagerie next door had apparently caught fire, smoke now billowing over into Mr Mulpepper’s Apothecary. Now, Cory couldn’t see much of what was happening once smoke grew thicker, but she knew a man had entered the shop. The man turned his wand on Cory, throwing Cory aside and knocking her right out until black was all she saw. When she awoke, alone in the shop, she knew that he had escaped with something in the commotion of it all. Cory had planned on going through inventory herself, but an item as rare as this, Mr. Mulpepper knew it was gone the second he returned to his shop. He immediately owled the DMLE. Cory’s yet to come forward with her statement of that afternoon, hardly believing anything truly happened as it all happened so quickly. The nightmares about it haven’t stopped.

TRAITS

✓ challenging; individualistic; responsive  ✗ critical; self-conscious; reactive

extra shit

cory is on hufflepuff’s quidditch team, as a seeker! this is the one thing she never slacks off with and is always on time for. and im sure gives people a hard time if they’re not picking up the slack dlsfjasjf and it’s like SHUT UP CORY, YOU’RE NOT THE CAPTAIN. so any hufflepuff team connects hmu.

has a twiiin name colleen. cory is the “older” one. colleen’s gonna be an open bio if anyone has an itch 2 get silly wit me 

is Dramatic af

is not totally full of hufflepuff pride and maybe gets points taken away every so often? oops. 19 years old and still actin’ up.

her about page is here 

listens to a LOT of music. a lot of underground bands that people havent heard of allll the waaay to the huge names like rolling stones and the who. she’s never been to an actual, huge concert venue with a big band headlining. she’s only seen smaller shows here and there. despite that, doesnt own a whole lot of vinyl. cuz she really prefers the live experience better.

she would love a skateboard riding buddy for when the weather’s nicer!! and she paints only landscapes and oceans cuz she sucks at pretty much everything besides that. and always knows where the best party is happening. probably cant wait to have a low street house next year to throw her own parties.

opinionated for the fact that she just loves to hear herself talking

hmu for any relationships!! friendships, she is prone to enemies with her big mouth, she is bisexual AF so anything there, just anythaaaang <3

hmu for threads! it’s kinda a busy time so i get that <3 if not let’s plan stuff for when they get back to school :’ ) ty xoxo

[toast-connoisseur]

ALL of the Ask Me Stuff questions

* 1: Full name: For safety purposes I’ll shorten it: Maria Barbara Gonzalez (yes, that’s the shortened version. I’m Mexican lol)

* 2: Age: 25

* 3: 3 Fears: Being buried alive, anything bad happening to a loved one, SPIDERS

* 4: 3 things I love: My family, my friends, movies

* 5: 4 turn ons: soft touches, kissing, making me food, a confident personality

* 6: 4 turn offs: Overly cocky people, racists, chewing with your mouth open

* 7: My best friend: I’m lucky to have several and I love them all with the individual pieces of my heart they each own

* 8: Sexual orientation: Queer/Gay

* 9: My best first date: I don’t think I’ve ever really gone on one tbh lol

* 10: How tall am I: 5’1 (barely make it to the 1)

* 11: What do I miss: Bars/clubs and Disneyland. Hugging people. Not losing so many people on a daily basis...

* 12: What time was I born: 3:38AM

* 13: Favourite color: Blood red (NOT maroon)

* 14: Do I have a crush: I always crush on random girls

* 15: Favourite quote: “Seduce my mind and you can have my body. Find my soul and I’m yours forever.”

* 16: Favourite place: It was once Disneyland now, I don’t really have a place lol

* 17: Favourite food: All of it. Of course Mexican food takes the top of the list though

* 18: Do I use sarcasm: Noooo, you think?!

* 19: What am I listening to right now: I’m watching Buffy

* 20: First thing I notice in new person: What vibes you’re giving off

* 21: Shoe size: 7 for the most part but sometimes I can fit into size 4 kid shoes

* 22: Eye color: Dark brown

* 23: Hair color: naturally: dark brown, right now: black

* 24: Favourite style of clothing: comfortable but more on the lines of retro/rockabilly

* 25: Ever done a prank call? Yes!

* 27: Meaning behind my URL: I love toast

* 28: Favourite movie: I have so many but one is Saved!

* 29: Favourite song: Lots, but Guilty Pleasure by Cobra Starship

* 30: Favourite band: Avenged Sevenfold

* 31: How I feel right now: Mellow

* 32: Someone I love: my nephew

* 33: My current relationship status: single

* 34: My relationship with my parents: could be better, but it’s there

* 35: Favourite holiday: Halloween

* 36: Tattoos and piercing i have: I have two piercings on each ear, my bellybutton pierced, and 6 tattoos (R foot, R ankle, L thigh, L wrist, L bicep, R bicep)

* 37: Tattoos and piercing i want: I want most of my body covered in tattoos so I have a long way to go. As for piercings, I want at least two more per ear.

* 38: The reason I joined Tumblr: my friends said it would be a good time

* 39: Do I and my last ex hate each other? I wouldn’t say hate, but we’re not friends anymore

* 40: Do I ever get “good morning” or “good night ” texts? Yes!

* 41: Have I ever kissed the last person you texted? No

* 42: When did I last hold hands? It’s been too long :(

* 43: How long does it take me to get ready in the morning? I work from home now so 0 minutes

* 44: Have You shaved your legs in the past three days? Yes

* 45: Where am I right now? In my bed

* 46: If I were drunk and can’t stand, who’s taking care of me? My best friends

* 47: Do I like my music loud or at a reasonable level? Reasonable usually. I have very sensitive hearing.

* 48: Do I live with my Mom and Dad? They actually live with me, but it’s temporary.

* 49: Am I excited for anything? My upcoming move

* 50: Do I have someone of the opposite sex I can tell everything to? Yes, two actually

* 51: How often do I wear a fake smile? -I work Monday-Friday

* 52: When was the last time I hugged someone? -OOF

* 53: What if the last person I kissed was kissing someone else right in front of me? Hot

* 54: Is there anyone I trust even though I should not? -Everyone has different trust levels tbh. My best friends hold top tier.

* 55: What is something I disliked about today? I had to work

* 56: If I could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be? Beyoncé!

* 57: What do I think about most? The future I want

* 58: What’s my strangest talent? I honestly don’t think I have one? I guess being able to mimic certain voices/accents sometimes but I wouldn’t say I’m pro

* 59: Do I have any strange phobias? I don’t think they’re strange, I just hate feet

* 60: Do I prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it? Behind

* 61: What was the last lie I told? “I’ll work on that”

* 62: Do I perfer talking on the phone or video chatting online? It depends who I’m talking to, but phone tbh

* 63: Do I believe in ghosts? How about aliens? Both are very real

* 64: Do I believe in magic? Yes

* 65: Do I believe in luck? To an extent

* 66: What’s the weather like right now? Nice and cold

* 67: What was the last book I’ve read? I strictly read fanfiction lately

* 68: Do I like the smell of gasoline? Don’t love it, don’t hate it

* 69: Do I have any nicknames? Barbie, Barbs, whore, homo... you know, cute stuff

* 70: What was the worst injury I’ve ever had? I split my eyebrow open and had to get stitches

* 71: Do I spend money or save it? Por que no los dos?!

* 72: Can I touch my nose with a tounge? No, but my best friend can and it’s so cool!

* 73: Is there anything pink in 10 feets from me? My sweats are pink

* 74: Favourite animal? I love animals but wolves are pretty top tier

* 75: What was I doing last night at 12 AM? Sleeping

* 76: What do I think is Satan’s last name is? Sexy. Mr. Sexy.

* 77: What’s a song that always makes me happy when I hear it? -I Wanna Get Better by the Bleachers

* 78: How can you win my heart? Be nice to me and have good conversations to me and occasionally buy me chocolate

* 79: What would I want to be written on my tombstone? The entire lyrics to Act Up by City Girls

* 80: What is my favorite word? Motherfucker

* 81: My top 5 blogs on tumblr: I honestly bounce to and from so many. There’s no way I can only pick 5. All the ones I reblog from are so great!

* 82: If the whole world were listening to me right now, what would I say? STOP GOING TO PARTIES

* 83: Do I have any relatives in jail? Not that I’m aware of

* 84: I accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow me with the super-power of my choice! What is that power? I can turn invisible

* 85: What would be a question I’d be afraid to tell the truth on? None really tbh

* 86: What is my current desktop picture? I made it into a winter wonderland for the holidays

* 87: Had sex? “It’s been 84 years...”

* 88: Bought condoms? I’m gay

* 89: Gotten pregnant? See above

* 90: Failed a class? I think in middle school maybe?

* 91: Kissed a boy? Yes

* 92: Kissed a girl? Yes

* 93: Have I ever kissed somebody in the rain? Sadly, no

* 94: Had a job? Sadly (but also thankfully since I need money)

* 95: Left the house without my wallet? No

* 96: Bullied someone on the internet? No

* 97: Had sex in public? Yes

* 98: Played on a sports team? Yes

* 99: Smoked weed? Yes

* 100: Did drugs? Yes

* 101: Smoked cigarettes? Yes

* 102: Drank alcohol? Yes

* 103: Am I a vegetarian/vegan? No

* 104: Been overweight? No

* 105: Been underweight? Yes

* 106: Been to a wedding? Yes

* 107: Been on the computer for 5 hours straight? Yes

* 108: Watched TV for 5 hours straight? Yes

* 109: Been outside my home country? Yes

* 110: Gotten my heart broken? Sorta but I bounced back pretty quick so idk if that counts

* 111: Been to a professional sports game? Long ago

* 112: Broken a bone? No

* 113: Cut myself? I’m very accident prone

* 114: Been to prom? Yes

* 115: Been in airplane? Yes

* 116: Fly by helicopter? No

* 117: What concerts have I been to? So so so many. I miss them.

* 118: Had a crush on someone of the same sex? I’m gaaaaaaaay

* 119: Learned another language? I’ve been bilingual since I was a child

* 120: Wore make up? Yes

* 121: Lost my virginity before I was 18? No

* 122: Had oral sex? Yes

* 123: Dyed my hair? Yes

* 124: Voted in a presidential election? Yes

* 125: Rode in an ambulance? I worked for an ambulance company so just for fun

* 126: Had a surgery? Besides oral?

* 127: Met someone famous? I live in LA, so yes lol

* 128: Stalked someone on a social network? No

* 129: Peed outside? Yes

* 130: Been fishing? No, I’d like to!

* 131: Helped with charity? Yes

* 132: Been rejected by a crush? Fifth grade was a tough year for my love life...

* 133: Broken a mirror? No

* 134: What do I want for birthday? To be able to see all my friends in a safe environment

* 135: How many kids do I want and what will be their names? I’d like as many as I can comfortably afford. I’d have to discuss with the (future) wife about names

* 136: Was I named after anyone? The Virgin Mary (la Virgen Maria) and some Spanish actress named Barbara something...

* 137: Do I like my handwriting? No

* 138: What was my favourite toy as a child? I loved dolls

* 139: Favourite Tv Show? Bewitched

* 140: Where do I want to live when older? California forever unless properly convinced otherwise

* 141: Play any musical instrument? Used to play trumpet and alto sax. Can’t play anymore lol

* 142: One of my scars, how did I get it? See Q70

* 143: Favourite pizza toping? Pepperoni. I love all sorts of toppings but that’s my fav

* 144: Am I afraid of the dark? No

* 145: Am I afraid of heights? Yes

* 146: Have I ever got caught sneaking out or doing anything bad? Yes

* 147: Have I ever tried my hardest and then gotten disappointed in the end? Daily

* 148: What I’m really bad at: Focusing. In my defense, I have ADHD

* 149: What my greatest achievments are: graduating college, getting promoted at work, buying my own car, purchasing a home

* 150: The meanest thing somebody has ever said to me: I once got told “good luck on the short bus” by a guy that was upset I make more money than he does

* 151: What I’d do if I won in a lottery: take care of all my bills, invest, and then try to help as many of my loved ones as I could with theirs

* 152: What do I like about myself: my resilience

* 153: My closest Tumblr friend: @itssofragile

* 154: Something I fantasise about: My future

* 155: Any question you’d like? Nah, I think we’re good!

[ravenclaw-craftsgirl]

Lilian - Year One

Part 1 Part 2 Rating: G Foreword: This story uses the fanmade idea of Rowan Khanna being the name of Two Twins (The Twin Khannas) Using their middle names to distinguish themselves. Research has been done ahead of time, with certain instances purposely being different. 

I will pre-translate all of Lilian’s french for Mobile users! 

Enjoy!  Here’s the original Google Doc Link for those who enjoy proper formatting

The morning was warm over London’s suburbs. The sun shone over the road as a young girl surrounded by several children in a house’s driveway. Each were chatting individually while two stood nearby with a timer as they watched. “Come on, Lil, ya got it!” 

“Ye can do it!” they cried as the young brunette quickly reassembled a bikes assembly from scratch after having just polished them. Within a minute, she was done. “Woah, that’s thirty seconds faster!” The boy holding the stopwatch exclaimed, while the girl watching merely shouted in celebratory victory for her friend. The two helped the other up as a group of girls walked past and started laughing. “Oh look, La Rude is in the dirt plating with the boys again. Guess she didn’t get the memo that Girls don’t do that.” The leader of the group shouted, as the others laughed and chided in their obnoxiously high voices. “<It is rather rude to deny my talents. Only an idiot would degrade someone for doing something she likes.>” Lilian Le’Reau replied with a smirk. Several of the girls simply looked among themselves, confused and worried at what Lilian had just said. The leader simply frowned and stuck her tongue out before snapping her fingers, signalling for the others to continue wherever they were trying to go. “I don’t know why you put up with her, Lilian. She’s always such a jerk.” Lilian simply shrugged, pulled the hair tie out from her ponytail and shook her head. She grinned as her hair fell past her shoulders “Because I know I can make fun of her in french without her tattling.” With that sentiment, the kids all boarded their bikes and rode down to the nearest Football field to play a game.

It wasn’t until much later that day when Lilian finally rode home. The sun was barely touching the horizon as Lilian was riding. Suddenly a flash of black as an Owl suddenly appeared on Lilian’s handlebars. “<WHAT THE HECK>!” Was all she could say before she jerked the front wheel to the side out of reaction, causing her to crash into her yard. Covered in sweat and dirt, Lilian sat up and groaned as she looked at the bent front axle of the bike she had bought. “Mama is going to kill me. And what was… that.” The owl simply turned to her and spun it’s head around, almost in a form of acknowledging the wreck that had just happened. Even more curious than the owl itself was the letter in its beak. Addressed to her home… with her name… Lilian carefully reached out to the owl to take the letter, careful to not potentially spook the creature. Thankfully she didn’t have a problem, with the owl only flying away once Lilian had the letter. “ ‘From the office of Hogwarts’ Huh? <What are you>?” She then stood up and hissed with pain as she saw her shin, scrapped and bloody from the crash. Thankfully she didn’t have to walk far as she took her bike into the garage before walking into the house.

Once inside, and after treating her injury, Lilian sat in the living room with her pet cat Eleanor as she opened the letter. The letter itself looked old, yet she opened it anyway and pulled out the letter inside. “ ‘Dear Mrs. Le’Reau, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry’? <What is that>?” 

Lilian continued reading through the letter, not noticing until she was nearly tackled by her cousin that the front door had opened. “Whatcha got there, Lil? Some love letter o’ some blighter lookin ta court ye?” Abbigail Mckinley said, big grin on her freckled face. Lilian smiled, rolling her eyes as the back of her hand smacked Abby on the arm. “<Stop that>, Abby. It’s some letter for some place called-” “Hogwarts school o’ Witchcraft an Wizardry. Glad ta see you finally got the letter. Was startin ta wonder if they sent it through the Post.” 

Lilian looked up to see her uncle Rorick standing with his hat and coat alongside her father, Daniel Le’Reau. “Well, It would seem you were right, Rorick. Glad I didn’t bet anything on that.” 

“Bah, I won in spirit, Danny. Ye just don wanna admit it.” Rorick said with a nudge of his elbow. “Wait, what is Hogwarts? Why did I get this letter?” Lilian asked, perplexed by her father’s casual acceptance of this… Wizard letter? 

“Ah ye see love… This is a letter for you to learn how ta be a witch like Abby here. Learn how to use your magical talent. Like yer normal school now, but with all the fairytale happenin’s ye’re so fond of.” Rorick said as he took a seat. Lilian simply stared at the letter, dumbfounded by this revelation and everything else that Rorick had to explain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lilian walked through the sliding brick wall, mesmerized and afraid at the same time. It was only a month ago in July that she had learned about Magic from her uncle and cousin, let alone seeing it in action. How else was she supposed to be taking this kind of information? Just accept that her favorite childhood stories could be real? That Eragon could possibly have existed in some way shape or form? That Lord of the Rings could have actually been a real battle covered up? 

“Lil? Oi, cous, ye’er me?” 

Lilian snapped back to reality, hearing her cousin’s voice. “<Excuse me>, it’s just...So much to deal with, Abby…” Abbigail simply grinned, pulling Lilian along. “Come on now, we’ve only jus started!” 

The two went about, purchasing whatever they needed for school with Rorick nearby. The Auror simply smiled, following behind the two as he put all of their supplies in his bag. Thankfully, and mercifully, it was enchanted with an undetectable extension charm. He simply smiled as they went around with some money, buying what all they needed while he went to buy the rest of their school supplies that they would need. 

Abby and Lilian continued walking around for a while, Abby finally letting go of her arm, when she bumped into someone causing them both to spill. “<I am really sorry! I should have watched where I was going!>” Lilian started speaking as she quickly scrambled to pick up the books and other supplies before they were ruined by the streets. Lilian had nearly picked up all of the books when she noticed the other girl simply staring, wide eyed with wonder at her. Lilian suddenly wished she didn’t have her hair in a ponytail, feeling very self conscious of herself until she heard the girl speak. “That… That was French! Oh my goodness you’re so fluent! I wish I'd be able to learn french! Oh uh, Sorry if I didn’t understand it though. I’m good with books, but not people. Sorry for bumping into you!” The odd girl with round glasses smiled as she stood up with Lilian and took back her books. “I’m Rowan Hubei Khanna! Pleasure to meet you…?”

“Aye, Tha’s me cousin Lilian, an I’m Abby McKinley!” Abby said with a big grin as Lilian stood by her side and nodded, smiling slightly to be polite. “<H-hello>…” Abby turned to Lilian confused and then realized. “Oh right, ya switch ta French when yer nervous. Sorry fer that, Rowan. Ya shoppin for Hogwarts too?” As if to answer Abby’s question, the three see a young man, his complexion and demeanor almost the same as Rowan’s. “Hubei, little help! I’m tipping I’m tipping!” He cried as he tripped on a loose stone, toppling his books and a couple of other boxes over the trio. The boy sat up and rubbed his head before readjusting his glasses. “Oh, are we making introductions? I’m Rowan Harrow Khanna! Just call me Harrow!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So ya two grew up on a tree farm? Seems a tad of a bore.” Abby said as the four children sat down at a nearby bench as they talked together.

“It’s really not that bad. Lots of reading and interesting stories!” Harrow said, followed by Hubei nodding enthusiastically. “It’s true! We get quite a lot of various people at the farm. Mom and Dad always say that we’re getting the entire world coming to buy their wand and broom wood.” 

Lilian smiled. “That seems interesting. I’ve never heard of a tree farm for brooms and wands specifically. It must be exciting.” 

The twins looked at each other and frowned. “Not really. More often than not, it’s kind of boring. Trees aren’t the fastest growing things.” “Yeah, for the most part we stayed inside to read and play wizard chess against each other. Harrow tried climbing a tree once. He was stung by so many Bowtruckles.” 

Harrow’s face turned bright red as he turned to Hubei. “Did not! That was just the branches not being trimmed in a while…” 

“Right, that’s why you screamed like a little girl. Haha dad had to levitate Harrow out of the tree!”

Lilian smiled at the two’s bickering when she noticed Abby looking down. She had forgotten how her cousin had lost her brother a while ago. She didn’t know how, but all she knew was that Abby’s big brother, Jacob McKinley, had run away and was never seen again. 

Lilian put a hand on Abby’s shoulder, silently nodded and smiled. “You’ll find him, Abby. I know it.” 

The two Khanna’s stopped their bickering and fell silent. Harrow was the first to speak “I’m sorry, we forgot about you being a McKinley…”

Abby shook her head. “Nah, ‘S fine. Jus comes with the territory. Come on, Lil. We should probably find Da an head home. Who knows what Hunin an Munin are doin right now.” Lilian nodded, bidding farewell to the Khanna siblings. As the two found Rorick, Lilian couldn’t help but hug them both. “<Thank you>, for everything you two are doing.” 

Rorick chuckled. “Lass, we’re a family. We stick together, through the thick of it. Now then, how about we spoil yer appetite a bit a’fore we head on home, Eh?” Lilian and Abby grinned to each other, following Rorick’s lead to a nearby candy shop.

[mhevarujta]

Pippa and Kitsey: Theo’s Estella

As far as shipping goes in the Goldfinch novels, Boris and Theo are the relationship that has gotten the most attention among the passionate fans of the Goldfinch. However, many casual readers, if Goodreads-discussions are anything to go by, would like for Theo to end up with Pippa.

The book having been thought of as ‘dickensian’ by several critics and taking into account  Theo’s obsession with Pippa, some readers have claimed that Pippa is the Estella to Theo’s Pip. 

I think that’s not only false, but it’s also oversimplifying what Donna Tartt has done here.

Let’s start with Estella from Great Expectations. Estella is a young woman who was orphaned and adopted by the wealthy miss Havisham. To put it simplistically, she is raised to be a lady, but she’s also raised to be cold, cruel; a punishmen to all men and consequently the one to keep breaking Pip’s heart. Despite her feelings for Pip, Estella does what she was raised to do; she breaks men’s hearts, but she also ends up in an abusive marriage that thankfully ends and she eventually has the chance at a better life with Pip.

With Pippa’s name sounding like the female version of ‘Pip’ the readers who have perceived this as a nod to Great Expectations they have assumed that Theo’s intense feelings for her, which span from childhood to adulthood, the fact that Walty could be seen as Theo’s ‘benefactor’ in the way Estella’s father was Pip’s benefactor in Dickens’novel, her being sent to a wealthy but cold aunt who then sent her away, and the eventual revelation that she had to fight her feelings for Theo too make her Estella.

That said, there’s also Kitsey. Kitsey fits Estella’s character and cold attitude much better. In this case Mrs. Barbour can be seen  as Miss Havisham: Cold and distanced in many ways, raising a daughter that would be as cold and who would eventually get into a questionable relationship with a man. Moreover, Kitsey is described as being emotionally distant and her father dies in the sea, as Estella’s father’s fate was cealed.

In either of these scenarios, Theo is Pip; with his dead guardian and with being raised for some time by an abusive family member; with his benefactor who sets him down the path he wants to follow; with his unlawful acts that do not aim at hurting or putting in turmoil other people’s lives; with his unrequited love.

But at the end of the day, who -between these two young women whose contrast is emphasized even with the way they dress and with th colouring that Donna Tartt picked for them- is Estella? Pippa, the little red bird with her soothing voice and all her warmth or the rational, cold and composed Kitsey with her rare showcases of genuine emotion and of her occational, sharp-as-a-blade honesty? In my opinion, the answer is... NEITHER.

Donna Tartt masterfully uses the readers’ expectations to make a point. Each woman represents a different way of living for Theo. Kitsey is the suppression of unwanted impulses in order to conform with the norm.

Is Kitsey right? If your deepest self is singing and coaxing you straight toward the bonfire, is it better to turn away? Stop your ears with wax? Ignore all the perverse glory your heart is screaming at you? Set yourself on the course that will lead you dutifully towards the norm, reasonable hours and regular medical check-ups, stable relationships and steady career advancement, the New York Times and brunch on Sunday, all with the promise of being somehow a better person?

On the other hand, for a long time Pippa was not a real person for Theo. 

And as much as I’d like to believe there’s a truth beyond illusion, I’ve come to believe that there’s no truth beyond illusion. Because, between ‘reality’ on the one hand, and the point where the mind strikes reality, there’s a middle zone, a rainbow edge where beauty comes into being, where two very different surfaces mingle and blur to provide what life does not: and this is the space where all art exists, and all magic. And—I would argue as well—all love. Or, perhaps more accurately, this middle zone illustrates the fundamental discrepancy of love. Viewed close: a freckled hand against a black coat, an origami frog tipped over on its side. Step away, and the illusion snaps in again: life-more-than-life, never dying. Pippa herself is the play between those things, both love and not-love, there and not-there.

And from this passage we can derrive that Theo’s love and even his view of Pippa is in many ways an illusion. They are identified. In fact, this affects the way I experience Pippa’s character while reading. Kitsey, whom Theo cares for but who isn’t loved by him in this idealized way feels like an individual; like a character that is more fleshed out. On the other hand, Pippa feels like an individual in 2 occasions throughout the book: during their discussion when her and Theo have dinner after going to the movies and when, through her letter, she tells him why she did not keep the necklace.

Theo is in love with the girl that held walty’s hand and with the girl that lost her father-figure; ith the girl that tasted of morphin lollypop and who was emotionally traumatized because of the explosion like he was. At the same time he has stripped her of her flaws in his head. Theo, the Pip of our story to whom every great expectation that men have of life remains unfulfilled, is in love with a female version of himself: of Pip(pa).

[...]it was much too much, she was sorry, and—maybe she was speaking out of turn, and if so she hoped I forgave her, but I shouldn’t think she didn’t love me back, because she did, she did. (You do? I thought, bewildered.) Only it was complicated, she wasn’t thinking only of herself but me too, since we’d both been through so many of the same things, she and I, and we were an awful lot alike—too much. And because we’d both been hurt so badly, so early on, in violent and irremediable ways that most people didn’t, and couldn’t, understand, wasn’t it a bit… precarious? A matter of self-preservation? Two rickety and deathdriven persons who would need to lean on each other quite so much? not to say she wasn’t doing well at the moment, because she was, but all that could change in a flash with either of us, couldn’t it? the reversal, the sharp downward slide, and wasn’t that the danger? since our flaws and weaknesses were so much the same, and one of us could bring the other down way too quick?

In fact, in some ways, Pippa is a stronger version of Kitsey. She follows the same way of living BUT she is strong enough to resist temptation alltogether, unlike Theo. 

But what does resisting temptation come down to? Kitsey KNOWS that Tom Cable is problematic. Pippa KNOWS that being with Theo may bring her down.

But what about Theo? Theo is content with Kitsey. He is in love with the idea of running towards an idealized version of Pippa that moves further away the more he approaches, and who ultimately remains out of reach. But, as an adult what is he running FROM? What may be his own undoing; he forbidden fruit he has to resist to move towards the norm?

What he’s afraid of is “like Boris—[...] to throw [him]self head first and laughing into the holy rage calling [his]name”, but that’s a theme that I’ll need to expand upon in another post.

[winryofresembool]

Love Can Melt the Ice, ch. 18

Summary: Figure skating time! Part 1.

A/N: Long time no see! Sorry about the long wait, but here it is, the first part of the “grande finale”. I can’t believe we are finally here :’) I’m so excited (and also terrified) to write... whatever it is that comes next. Some important figure skating info for those who are not that familiar with the sport: like I hopefully make clear enough in my fic, the competition consists of two parts, short skate and free skate, and this chapter has the short skate part.

This chapter is dedicated again to some of my very favorite people on this website, aka @criis55 and @automail-freak-and-alchemy-freak because you guys have blessed me with so many pics, and there aren’t enough words to describe how much it means to me. You are simply wonderful ♥

Please enjoy and REVIEW because that way we’ll finally get to the part you all have been waiting for ;) (Oops now I spoiled it)

Previous chapters:  1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 5.5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15 pt 1, pt 2, 16, 17

Next chapter: [x]

Companion pieces (note: these are all post Olympics happenings so reading the main fic first is recommended): 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Words: 2100+

Genre: general

Warnings: swearing, no news there :D

“Brother, you seem kinda anxious,” Al noted as the two of them were approaching the figure skating arena. It was finally the day of Winry’s individual short program, and like promised, Ed was taking Al to see the competition. Which of the brothers was more nervous (about two very different things), was up for debate.

“I do not! You’re the one who hasn’t shut up about Mei Chang the entire morning! I don’t think we should interrupt her today; this is her most important competition so far and I bet she is just as focused as Winry is.”

“Since when are you the voice of reason of the two of us?” Al frowned at his brother, looking genuinely surprised. “Are you really the same person who left home two weeks ago?”

“I… of course I am! Why wouldn’t I be?” Ed asked nearly aggressively, his stuttering and the red blotches on his cheeks betraying him.

“I don’t know, maybe because you’re in looooove,” Al stressed the last word as annoyingly as possible. “And you know what they say about love? They say it changes people.”

“I… just… Listen, can we just go inside now? It’s fucking cold out here.” The glare Ed shot at Al would have scared someone who wasn’t as familiar with him as Al was. He didn’t let the topic go that easily.

“We can, but you can’t deny what I just said.”

“You can’t deny a fist on your face soon. The automail one.” Ed lifted his right hand threateningly.

Al snorted. “You know, that sounds more like the Edward I know.”

Ed punched Al on the shoulder, although just lightly, but the younger brother didn’t even seem to notice. He stopped on his tracks, his gaze on a person who had just come out from the arena through the side door only the competitors and staff were allowed to use. She had dark, braided hair and a red (Xing’s national color) coat covering her short, pink dress in which she was supposed to perform. She seemed to be on her way for a quick warm-up jog, not noticing the two golden haired boys near her. When she started running, a small bow fell from her dress, and Al decided to yell after her.

“Ex-excuse me, miss, you just dropped something!”

She turned to look at the speaker and noticed the bow on the ground, picking it up before turning her attention fully to the two quite fascinating looking boys.

“Oh! Thank you so much!” She had an unreadable expression on her face for a moment, as she kept taking them in. “Do I… know you from somewhere?

“I don’t think so,” Al answered.

“Wait a second…” She finally recognized them, and Ed swore she had stars in her eyes when she asked Al: “Oh my god, are you Edward Elric? This is such an honor…”

Al just stood there awkwardly for a moment, not knowing what he should tell her. Finally, he decided to go for the truth: “Sorry, I believe you got us mixed… I’m Alphonse Elric, and this is my brother Edward.” He pointed at his shorter older brother. The girl eyed Ed suspiciously; admittedly, he didn’t look his best at that moment. Everything about him screamed he had just been in a fight; he had small bruises on his face, his leg was in a cast, his untied hair was sticking to various directions, and the worn leather jacket he had chosen to wear to avoid being associated with team Amestris was hazily thrown on his shoulders.

“Re-really?” she asked, “I… always had a different kind of picture of you in my head…”

Ed grumbled something incoherent under his breath, making Al laugh and say: “Don’t mind him. He’s always been like that. I… I’m gonna assume that you are Mei Chang, aren’t you?” he asked, suddenly more shyly.

“Yes, that’s me,” she admitted. “How did you know?”

“I may have watched your performances on TV…” Al answered, blushing just slightly.

“That’s funny because I’ve heard a whole lot about you! My brother’s the captain of team Xing so he talks about hockey and different hockey players a lot…” She shook her head and continued: “Honestly, I can’t believe I ran into the Elric brothers right before my competition! Are you going to watch it?”

“Yes, actually! Well, Ed here is going there to see his girlfriend” (Ed’s glare towards Al was nearly deathly this time) “but I am really looking forward to seeing your performance!” Al said smoothly.

“Oh, really? So, Mr. Alphonse.” Mei seemed to have lost the last of her interest in Ed with the g-word, but instead she casted Al a curious look when she asked: “Are you the older brother?”

Ed, who understood she was referring to his height, had almost reached his boiling point and asked angrily: “What makes you think that?” Al immediately stepped in: “I think my brother here is simply trying to tell that he’s the older one. But that doesn’t matter, I got the looks and the wits.”

Mei giggled at Al’s joke. “Alphonse, you’re too much.”

“Pffft.” Al waved it off.

May checked her watch and noted: “Hey, I should be going, but do you think we could continue this conversation maybe once my competition is over?”

“Su-sure!” Al replied, flustered and surprised by the fact that he had managed to attract this girl’s interest so quickly. “Where should we meet? Do you know any good cafes or restaurants here?”

“I know some! But I really need to go now so let’s text later, OK?” She slipped a piece of paper with her phone number into Al’s hand. “See you soon!”

“See you!”

“How… did you do that?” Ed asked when Mei was out of hearing distance, looking beyond shocked.

“Oh brother, some people just have the skill. And you know, politeness can take you far.”

Ed just rolled his eyes and started heading towards the front doors of the figure skating arena.

…

Winry was waiting for her turn in her dressing room. Even though she was nervous, a weird kind of confidence was surging through her, making her feel less awful. After all, this time she was only responsible for her own performance, and no matter what happened, at least it’d be over after this competition. Weirdly enough, one part of her was very eager to find out what would happen after that… And she realized she felt that way because she’d finally get to know what was going to happen to her and Ed.

Ed. She wasn’t 100% sure if she had done the right thing by asking for some space, because after the practices, when she was alone in her room, her thoughts started drifting towards unwanted direction. But she tried to reason that he needed that space just as much as she did, because admittedly things between them had progressed fast. Emotionally, at least. Physically... well, she supposed sharing a bed was already something. Either way, it would probably do good to him to have some thinking time.

She allowed her thoughts to drift for one more second, wishing she’d see the brothers in the audience, before someone announced that it would be her turn soon. She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, stretched her back and arms and started walking towards the rink. There was a mirror on her way, and this time, she could see the swan she was supposed to be for this performance more clearly. As she observed her reflection for a moment, she realized the white dress or the feathers in her hair didn’t do it, it was her facial expression.

The previous skater got her points, and Winry started gliding on the ice. There were so many people watching her that she couldn’t spot the two golden haired boys, but she trusted they were there. Now it wasn’t time to think about them, it was time to convince everyone who was watching her that she was worth an Olympic medal.

Thankfully, the routine was so familiar to her that even her nervousness couldn’t make her forget it. Her first element was the layback spin. Winry started pretty carefully, having just enough speed to keep the spin up long enough to not lose points. In the story she had built around this routine, it was supposed to represent all the confusion the swan felt when she realized she didn’t belong to the group she was in. After that she took her first steps in the outside world, shaky and insecure. The step sequence had always been her favorite part, because it allowed her to express the vulnerability she herself had felt after her parents’ death, a feeling that was difficult to express orally.

Next came the difficult triple lutz – triple loop combination, and she knew that if she nailed it, she’d be a strong medal contender. The landing wasn’t as perfect as she had hoped but at least she had done everything she was supposed to do and didn’t think she’d lose a lot of points for it. After that she was time for her axels. That was the part she was particularly nervous about because of the outcome last time. She knew a double axel was usually no problem for her, but… what if her foot started hurting again? She had another performance already the next day and she couldn’t afford to get injured…

She sighed of relief (hoping it wasn’t too obvious, though, because even her facial expressions mattered in a tough competition like this) when she managed to land safely, and the foot didn’t react to it in any way. Now she had gone through the hardships the swan of her story experienced, and the rest of her routine would be easier. The last jumps, another short step sequence, and two different spins (that she was notably more confident about than the first one) to finish the routine. Her smile was wide and genuine when she bowed and curtsied to the audience. Suddenly, she thought she saw a tiny bit of gold in the audience, not too far from her, her smile widening even more. She was out of breath and her ears were ringing a bit, but that didn’t matter at the moment.

She knew she had definitely done better than last time.

Would it be enough, though? That she couldn’t say yet, because some of her toughest competitors were yet to skate, and a lot would naturally depend on her free program as well.

Garfiel came to her when she left the rink and hugged her.

“You nailed it, girl! I’m sure you’ll win this!”

“Uh, thanks,” Winry said modestly, “but I wouldn’t cheer too much yet. We don’t even know my points!”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ve seen you perform thousands of times and I know that was one of your best ones yet. If the judges didn’t see that… they are blind.”

Winry just smiled as Garfiel guided her to the seats where they would listen to the point announcement.

…

“Aand Winry Rockbell’s points are… 81,95!”

“Is that good? Is that good? Al, is that good?” a very nervous young man in the audience asked his brother as the audience around them was roaring excitedly.

“Hell yes it is! There are only a couple of skaters in this group who can come anywhere near that amount of points,” Al answered, happy about Winry’s success.

“In that case…” Ed jumped from his seat and yelled: “FUCK YES! THAT’S MY GIRL!”

“Ed, you might want to calm down a bit,” Al reminded him. “Unless you want that reporter to find you again…”

“If she wins this entire thing, I don’t care to whom I’ll be telling how awesome my girlfriend is.”

“Ed. Girlfriend?”

Ed’s eyes widened when he realized what he had just said, but there was no point in denying it anymore.

“Um… I am… kinda… planning to ask her once this thing is over…”

“That’s awesome! I’m so happy you’ve finally come to your senses!” Al exclaimed, getting a sour look from Ed.

“I wish we could go to celebrate with her,” Ed said much more to himself than to Al, but Al tried to cool him down:

“This competition isn’t over yet. Mei’s pretty good, you know.”

…

Everyone’s points were announced, and it turned out Winry finished the short program in the second place. Lan Fan from Xing had bested her with 0,10 points, and Mei Chang was only 0,2 points behind her. Paninya was fourth with 78 points and Rose wasn’t far behind either. Overall, Winry was content because she knew she had done her best, and everything was still up in the air; 0,10 points was nothing in the free program event where more points were given. When she left the arena, she felt happier than she had in a while. But that was only until she saw a conflicting view in front of her.

Ed was talking with one of her rivals.

[brianmight]

SAIL ACROSS THE SEA. //   Maylor Titanic!AU (part 3/?)

[ ch. 1 / ch. 2 ] [ also posted on AO3! ]

Notes: apologies for the delay! I hope I can make it up to you guys by giving you this chapter of 3000+ words! <3

( @eternallystarlight @wirkmood )

- where to, mr? - to the stars.

10 april, 1912. Southampton. The ship of dreams is about to go on its long-awaited journey — the voyage of a lifetime, if the papers are not mistaken. The grandiose sight of the vessel in the harbour is plenty to instil awe in all who parade around the harbour, either as future passengers or people who are about to bid their loved ones farewell. Two separate worlds mingle upon the crowded docks — the one of automobiles and the one of wooden carts; the one of many suitcases and the one of few; the one of riches and the one of rags. One belongs to an affluent heir, the other to a wandering street musician. Their backgrounds couldn’t clash more, but that won’t refrain fate from unifying them on the unsinkable RMS Titanic.

The vessel was a drifting world of its own, a city that floated upon the waves with such ease that one would suspect it was physically attached to it. An embodiment of grandeur never before seen in such size, the Titanic remained near the coastline for another 24 hours, but when the ship fled the port of Queenstown the following day, it finally met with the open sea.

Brian’s very first night aboard had felt comfortable and refreshing, as if through sleep he had travelled into a vastly different universe where a new life awaited him. The journey was only the first leap and the ship a pole to help him safely across, albeit a rather luxurious pole that appeared to be an end in itself. Energetic and eager, the third-class passenger hurried away his breakfast (oatmeal porridge & milk) in the broad dining saloon. The clattering of knives and forks mingled with elated voices, which shared their expectations of the renown voyage and discussed future plans that were to be executed the moment they set foot on the other continent. Parents exchanged smiles with the knowledge that their children would have plenty to eat every day. Where some people once had to deal with uncertainty about whether they’d have a roof above their heads, was now only the reassuring fact that they had a bed all to themselves. Even those who suffered from seasickness were grinning, for the hopeful and ecstatic atmosphere was contagious for all those who entered the hall.

Brian himself was no exception, with the corners of his lips turned upwards at all times. He was sitting at the far end of a seemingly never-ending table, surrounded by his fellow cabin mates who were engaged in a lively discussion concerning the ship’s velocity. “I ‘ave ‘eard zhat zhis ship can go over 26 knots,” claimed a French shoemaker named Basile, his strong accent adding a somewhat musical tone to his voice. The man next to him - Floyd, he called himself - immediately shook his head in disagreement and raised a knowing finger. “No, no — the Times said it can only reach 23 knots.”

John took a final sip of his coffee and jumped in. “Do either of you even know how fast one knot is?” he questioned with a raised eyebrow, causing Brian to snicker as the comment left the debating two men utterly speechless. Clearly, they were so full of their own facts they’d hardly pondered about it and believed that merely presenting the statements sufficed for a strong claim upon the breakfast table. The topic instantly shifted to less technical ones: the weather, the food, the hollering of engines that could be heard throughout the F-deck.

Not many minutes afterwards, a guitarist could be spotted on a simple bench on the stern deck, accompanied by his voice, his tattered instrument, and a few sheets of paper. Slender fingers gently strummed in a seemingly improvising manner, but those who paid attention would notice that the man repeated the same patterns and occasionally paused to scribble something with a short pencil. Brian felt completely at ease on the deck, surrounded by tag-playing children and conversing adults, and inspiration invaded his mind in plenty — almost more than it had ever done before. The ocean dragged a distinct mystery along; inexplicable allure that continued to enthral humanity and lure individuals away from the safe shore. Anything was possible on the infinite waters, it seemed. Even the improbable.

After penning down another line, he noticed that John, who previously stood by the white railing, was now glancing along over his shoulder, a cigarette squeezed between two fingers. “‘Jump in joy, or sinking in sorrow’..” he read in a mumble. Brian, slightly surprised to discover someone was actually able to decipher his handwriting, turned his head and glanced at the other to discern any reaction on his visage. First, it appeared as though John had no intention of showing his opinion; his knitted brow remained frozen as if he was tasting the lyric and couldn’t figure out whether he enjoyed the flavour. All of a sudden, his facial muscles relaxed and a careful smile materialized. “Love the little alliteration there,” he complimented, settling on the unoccupied half of the bench. “Thank you. It adds extra flair to it, don’t you think? Simple yet melodious.” “Also makes it easier for folks to sing along,” John observed. “Hmm,” Brian hummed, shaking his head, “I’m not sure yet if this one will be for performance. The words are rather personal. Too precious to be just tossed on the street.” “You only sing in the streets?” A chuckle fled the writer’s lips and his hands released the instrument, forcing it to hang solely around his neck. His eyebrows raised as he nodded multiple times, indicating the entirety of the vessel beneath their feet. “And on ships, apparently. I doubt I could impress any wealthy benefactors here though.” The guitar was no instrument to be placed among the elite which was largely conservative in manner and taste. Violins, cellos and pianos were preferred. Besides, none of the garments in Brian’s travelling bag would be posh enough to blend in with a first-class audience. No matter how much he washed or ironed, scrubbed or stitched, he’d always portray the role of beggar next to spotless bow-ties. And that was fine — the guitarist preferred playing in desolate alleys over being mocked by hypocrite folks who raised their noses at each and every smudge.

Another few chords escaped from the strings into the Atlantic air. They pranced among the passengers without prejudice, not paying any attention to the sign that read “3rd CLASS PASSENGERS ARE NOT ALLOWED BEYOND THIS POINT”. They galloped between the four funnels of the ship as if they owned the entire vessel. Even musical notes could not enjoy full liberty, though, as they eventually were swallowed by the salty waves below.

Brian paused to enjoy the sight around him. A girl with a straw hat ran by, chasing a leather ball. A father lifted his giggling infant son upon his shoulders. A young couple shared a hurried kiss. How long could pure joy last? Paws trotted across the floorboards of the deck, occasionally halting by an iron post or mast. Brian’s face lit up at the sight of the dogs and he reached out his hand for a setter, whistling an affable greeting to the canine. All he received was an austere look from the crew member that was holding the dog’s line and quickly yanked the pet past the guitarist. “No wonder they call this the poop deck. We’re getting the first class dumps,” John commented, partly joking, partly serious in his annoyance. It was indeed humiliating; all they received from the aristocracy were their pets’ feces. Brian, gazing after the animals with a sigh, still couldn’t help but correct him. “Actually, “poop” refers to the Latin term for “stern” and—” An uninterested glare from John forced him to cease his speech.

—

Meanwhile, another young man was screaming without uttering a single sound, knowing very well that no one would come to his rescue even if they could hear the distress call. There were not enough decks to flee to, not enough private parlours to hide in. Stares would always be following him, watching his every action, recording any hearsay that did so much as mention his tiny toe. No gossip concerning Roger Meddows Taylor was permitted to reach their social circle, for the entire family’s sake rested upon the man’s shoulders and the merest scandalous rumour could be sufficient to ruin his reputation. It was a tough task, especially since the subject in question refused to be tamed. Hair reaching over the shoulders was one thing, sheer disobedience another.

Lunch, however, he dutifully attended — albeit with a tinge of protest, visible in the way his blonde locks hung freely without the usual constraint of a ribbon. Enough pride and civility remained for Roger to escort his fiancée towards the table in the Verandah Cafe. Arm in arm, the pair almost radiated an air of mutual respect, if not amity. Almost, for even a blind man could see how they avoided eye contact.

The act, thankfully, did not have to be maintained for the entirety of the meal, for there were several chairs between the two. Roger could only hope that would ensure minimal interaction, but it instantly proved to be a fruitless prayer: altogether, there were eight occupied seats surrounding the small tables, meaning he was bound to be involved in a conversation with someone. Let it not be Margaret, nor her parents. Let it not be his father. Clare would be preferable, but she was settled at the far end and thus an improbable collocutor. Two men remained, both of whom Roger had never met let alone spoken to. One of them had taken the chair on his left. A titleless chap about his age and height, though that was where the physical similarities ended— raven-black hair rested upon proud shoulders, and darker eyebrows wore a sharp contrast to kind, shimmering eyes. According to Mr Taylor, the eccentric fellow had inherited a large sum of money from a distant relative, labelling him as new money, which left behind a rather stigmatized trail amongst the aristocracy. Ironically, Roger instantly liked him. The man arrived shortly after the rest did, dressed in a scarlet waistcoat, and after reluctantly introducing himself with his full name, insisted that everyone would call him Freddie.

The second unfamiliar face at the table was pompous and graced with a thick imperial moustache — it belonged to none other than Bruce Ismay, director of the White Star Line. Naturally, he discussed the Titanic as if he designed and built the entire vessel with his bare hands, hubris dripping from every syllable he uttered. Roger didn’t mind him all that much. If he were standing in the man’s shoes, partly responsible for the creation of such a colossal ship, he’d undoubtedly brag about it too.

“Needless to say, I included several recreational areas to ensure maximum comfort,” Ismay assured with a smile, taking a quick sip from his lager. “The gymnasium, for example, is equipped with the latest athletic machinery.” Some were genuinely impressed and nodded, turning to the person next to them to exchange opinions. Unfortunately, Mr Taylor, who sat at the opposite side of the table, raised a glass at his son. “That sounds rather promising, Roger. You can finally grow muscles on yourself.” A witty reply would have fled Roger’s lips at that very moment if it hadn’t been for the fork with scrambled egg that had just entered his mouth. Instead, he faked a smirk while chewing, only mentally scolding his father. The words had not been intended to convey a mocking undertone, and yet they did. It was no secret within the family that the patriarch endeavoured to make an ideal gentleman out of his eldest, and he believed the first step was a change in appearance. Thew. Broad shoulders. A short, professional haircut. That Roger, particularly during his younger years, was often mistaken for a girl did not foster the realization of his father’s narrow idea of masculinity.

Trying to erase the remark from his head, Roger slightly leaned forward and adjusted the dark blue double-breasted waistcoat he was wearing with a quick tug. Before anyone could interfere, he tossed a quick question upon the table— oil to fuel the director’s vanity a bit more. “Who was it that thought of the name “Titanic”?” Ismay instantly took the bait. “Why, I did myself!” the man exclaimed as if that had been obvious. “I wanted to convey sheer size and size means stability, luxury, and above all, strength.”

Freddie, who’d remained rather quiet, suddenly spoke up. He swallowed and pointed his fork in the direction of Ismay, trying to capture his full attention. “Do you know of Dr Freud, Bruce? His ideas about the male preoccupation with size might be of particular interest to you.” Roger nearly choked on his drink. Laughter erupted from his lungs like a cloud of breath suppressed for too long. The sudden burst was only amplified by the complete silence among the other participants of the lunch. He didn’t notice their stares until after he’d properly wiped the drops of orange juice off his mouth with a napkin. Everyone but Ismay himself seemed to know what Freddie’s comment had meant, but none dared to discuss it aloud. Too vulgar for formal conversation. Roger, however, couldn’t let the brilliant remark be extinguished. “I think so too. God knows how much a legendary ship such as Titanic could compensate.” He exchanged a knowing look with his neighbour, who had trouble subduing a laugh himself. Clare giggled against her napkin. The other passengers did not share the amusement. Mr James and Mrs Ethel Astor pretended to be suddenly very interested in their leek soup. Margaret’s cheeks were flushed in embarrassment. Mr Taylor’s grip around his crystal glass was so tight one might expect the thing to burst into a thousand shards. Bruce Ismay was, comically enough, very confused. “I have not heard of him. Is this Freud person some sort of businessman?” he asked with a frown, but all he received was a quiet continuation of the meal.

The remainder of the day was no more liberating than the lunch had been. Roger tried to cling onto the solitude of his quarters, eternally grateful for the grand piano he’d requested. The music brought some solace and peace someone could see to the room as the ocean drifting past in the square windows. Fingers hovered from key to key, extemporising melancholy and dramatic pieces. The composer’s eyes were shut so no sight would distract him from the enchanting notes and the dawning of the ship below his stool. Away from the present, miles departed from reality — until the door would open, and someone would enter, and the music would prove to be only temporary morphine.

Later on, the ship glided into the evening like a beacon upon the waves, swallowed by the water that had turned black in the pale moonlight. The slightly ominous ocean air flew past the umpteen circular windows. Passengers behind the indestructible outer bulkheads were fully focused on dinner, imbibing bliss and ignorance of the disaster that would occur in mere days.

One first-class passenger was spared the bliss and had trouble subduing his ever-present discomfort. Compared to the brief luncheon, the ten-course supper was even more likely to become a hotbed for gossip. Roger loathed the pretentious nature of the conversations that were held and the judging stares that were exchanged. Money this, riches that. Whether he’d already enjoyed a dip in the swimming pool on the middle deck. We’re in a gigantic swimming pool already, he thought, only it is salt water we're floating in. Taking another sip of his third (fourth?) glass of cognac, Roger stared deeply into the alcoholic liquid, and a sudden urge to drown in it came along. If only it were deep enough, his intoxicated mind wandered.

The only person who managed to make the meal somewhat durable was Freddie, who now and then shared amusing anecdotes with the entire table. After a while, however, topics shifted, and other people participated, and Roger increasingly craved to be somewhere else. Somewhere enjoyable; somewhere unrestricted. No matter how pressuring his wishes, they wouldn't be heard. There would always be the shadow of his last name, he realized. Always the chain around his ankle, no matter how many expensive trousers covered it. Gloomy ideas filled his thoughts through the booze that entered his body, and by the time the dessert was placed before him, Roger had turned into a slave to the glass.

“Apparently, all passengers from third class have to share two bathtubs. How horrendous! But then again, I assume that is what they're used to.” Margaret's voice managed to puncture his numb ears, where a pounding beep originated. Had she really spoken? Or had it only been his imagination, aided by the alcohol? Either way, a reply lay on the tip of his sharp tongue. “ — and 'cos that's what they're used to they don't deserve any better?”

His fiancée was visibly surprised that he dared to share his thoughts and hesitatingly adjusted her pearl earring with a gloved hand. “They’re an entirely different brand of people, Roger. You cannot simply provide them with luxury. Give them a finger and they will take the entire hand!” Margaret reminded. Though his view be blurred, he noticed that a few people nodded in unison, and it made him sick to the stomach. Louder than intended, Roger disrupted the quiet atmosphere in the dining hall, even overshadowing “On the Beautiful Blue Danube”, which the band near the entrance was obediently performing. “At least they are not forced to listen to your gibberish all the time. I'd certainly consider that a luxury.” “Roger! Apologize at once!” Mr Taylor snapped back, lowering his cutlery on the table in pure shock. Margaret's father seemed equally perplexed and added more salt to the wound. “Has he always acted like such a child, Mr Taylor? I can hardly take the boy serious.” Roger's blood was boiling and his fists were clenched to the point where his skin around his knuckles turned white. “I'm sitting at the very same table as you, Mr Astor. I can hear every word you say, no matter how insulting.” “And yet you fail to realize how insulting and hurtful your own comment was toward my daughter!” “On the contrary!” It was almost a shout, albeit a slurred one. “I meant for it t’ be insulting.” The patriarch of the Taylor family made one final attempt to resolve the commotion without drawing too much attention to their table and whispered in a hiss: “Roger Meddows Taylor, start acting like the adult you are. Can't you see you're making a scene?” A chair was shoved backwards. Roger’s unstable legs rose, making him totter slightly. A dangerous combination of drunkenness and fury could be seen in his half-open eyes. When he spoke, the words of pardon were clearly directed at Freddie, and Freddie only. “Forgive me, I'm suffocating here,” he spat out, tossing his napkin in the untouched Waldorf pudding on his plate, and hurried out of the dining saloon in an as linear manner as his feet could manage. Shouts from behind him could not pierce through his dulled senses— they were but voices hollering in the distance, seeking to drag him right back to his chair. When Roger finally reached the exit - a beautifully decorated glass door of which the ornaments seemed to dance before his eyes - a waiter happened to pass by with a wine bottle atop his tray. Without hesitation, Roger grabbed the bottle by the neck and dragged it along as he made his way out; a winner’s trophy? Or a consolation prize?

[robertemeryofficial]

Preparing for a concert: A conductors point of view

Preparing for a concert is a bit like preparing for a job interview; with the exception that you face a panel of 80 or so players, staring and waiting to decide in the first five minutes of a rehearsal if you're the worst candidate in history or not. That first three-hundred seconds can make or break you, regardless if you have a baton in your hand or just a good old CV - and as anyone who has been successful in an interview knows, it's all in the preparation. So how does this conductor prepare for those three-hundred seconds?

First Steps

My first step is getting a job in the first place! There is a technique to this, and it's mostly called luck. After that, add in a peppering of contacts, mix in the ability to blackmail a concert promoter with the secret photos of them and the local sheep, and finally garnish with a bit more luck, and Bob's Your Uncle. Now I have the job, I need the music.

Well over half of the concerts I conduct I orchestrate. This means it's my responsibility to fill the orchestral blank pages with squashed flies and hope they sound harmonious. Orchestration is a complicated affair and one that I'll explore in another post. That leaves the other half of my concerts where the music is already written. It's the promoter or orchestras responsibility to post out the substantial, A3 sized scores to me; and when the postman rings the doorbell, I have a mixture of excitement and mild panic at the mountain I'm about to climb.

The Score

The conductor's score is a culmination of all the individual instrumental parts. It has every element that'll be performed on the page, so that means a lot of information crammed into a relatively small space; similar to a miniaturised version of the Bible without the whole parting of the seas thing.

Once I have my scores, I'll try to find existing recordings of the work. It's a lot easier studying the scores knowing how the piece actually sounds. If I am allowed to keep my scores, then I'll use brightly coloured pens to make notes. In a pressured environment such as a concert, the last thing I need is to look down at a faint pencil mark and wonder what on earth I've written. If however, I need to return the scores after the concert, then I have no choice but to use a pencil. But what do I doodle on my page?

Here is a perfect example. When I have a new orchestra with only a three-hour rehearsal and straight into a performance, one of my primary responsibilities is to give confidence to players by being clear with their entry. A player may sit for twenty bars or more without a single note, and instead of dreaming about their next holiday, they have to count the empty bars so they can enter successfully when they need to play next. If you have ever tried to do this, it's surprisingly easy for your mind to wonder, and before you know it, you have no idea how many bars are left before you need to play. This is where I can help, look at them and indicate that they need to play. As there are literally thousands of entries in a piece of music, I can't be there for everyone, so I need to choose the entries that will make a real difference if it's missing. This red marking is telling me 'make sure this player is going to play the part, and if needed, help them out'.

This is a score from a concert I'm about to conduct in Poland with Stewart Copeland. It's a European tour called 'Light Up The Orchestra' showcasing some of Stewart's film music. From looking at the scores, I could immediately see one of the main challenges will be rhythm. As Stewart is probably the world's most famous drummer, and their main occupation is hitting things as hard as possible to complicated rhythms, it's no wonder that his orchestral works need Einstein to figure out the rhythm.

Predicting Problems

To a non-musician, rhythm is a difficult concept to understand; 'how do you read those dots in real time and play your instrument, not only figuring out what note to play but in what rhythm?' But reading music is just the same as reading this article. Your brain learns patterns incredbly quickly, it summarises the word and makes an educated guess at what it says. If a word is spelt wrong, you can still read it successfully, and sometimes you'll not even notice. Did you realise I spelt the word 'incredibly' wrong in the penultimate sentence? Your brain uses the same technique with rhythm on a sheet of music. There are probably only 30-50 everyday rhythms, so once they are learnt, they seem natural. Unfortunately, Mr Copeland clearly thought this was boring, so he decided to use rhythmic structures that are challenging. And although they look complicated on the page, once you've figured them out, they 'feel' very natural and one just has to remember to 'feel' the rhythm when playing rather than analysing it. And the reason for telling you all this? I can safely predict which rhythms will be tricky for the orchestra, so I need to learn them in advance; or I'll be another puzzled musician with a metaphorical question mark above my head; which is no use to anyone.

Discovering The Unusual

After figuring out which entries I need to be aware of, and any challenging features of the music, I need to check for out-of-the-ordinary techniques. The beautiful thing about music is that the rules are flexible, and creativity is king. So if a composer instructs a player to pluck the strings inside a piano, or the percussionist to use a typewriter for a sound effect, I need to know this in advance. The strangest thing in Stewart Copeland's music is to play the guitar like 'Hank Marvin', the percussionist needs a 'Trash Can' to hit, and the pianist needs to play a cluster of notes with his elbow - so I think I'm safe!

After discovering all of those things, I just need to practice conducting any tricky parts and read the scores as much as possible to immerse myself in the music. If I do this well enough, I can stand in front of the orchestra and hopefully pass the test!

Checklist

Leading up to the big day, and for me that is flying to Poland at 5am on Saturday morning, I need to tick off my checklist:

And yes, this list is essential. I once conducted for Raymond Blanc at his world-famous restaurant Le Manoir aux Quat' Saisons in Oxfordshire, and I completely forgot to bring any concert clothes. Thankfully I realised just in time for my assistant to break into my house and drive up the motorway to meet me ten minutes before curtain up. I've also forgotten my baton many a time, have left all my music at home and had to reprint all 1,000 pages at the venue. Most hilariously, I forgot to bring shoes to a memorial concert (where I thought it was only proper to wear footwear!), so I sent my mother out to High-Quality-Footwear Street in Blackpool (sadly she couldn't find that specific street so ended up at Primark) to buy me a pair. I've even forgotten my belt, and as my trousers were on the large side, I thought the idea of accosting an audience member to borrow a bit of black leather was a more appropriate option than the audience watching my bottom wobble around.

Wish Me Luck

So as you can see, being a conductor is much more than turning up and waving a stick. It's turning up, waving a stick and pretending to know what you're doing with limited prep time. At the end of the night, if I'm not booed off stage by the orchestra, I know I've done well. With any luck, the next candidate isn't as well prepared as I am, or I may need to find a sheep photo for them too.

If you want to find out more about Stewart Copeland, his life and work, listen to my podcast interview with the legend here:

Books & Podcast recommendations discussing working in the music business and Stewart Copeland

The Bulletproof Musician - an excellent blog and resource useful for all musicians. Fantastic advise that will help any aspiring or professional muso to learn how performance psychology can help you play your best when it counts.

The Musician's Way: A Guide to Practice, Performance, and Wellness - Veteran performer and educator Gerald Klickstein combines the latest research with his 30 years of professional experience to provide aspiring musicians with a roadmap to artistic excellence.

The Alexander Technique for Musicians - This is a unique guide for all musicians, providing a practical, informative approach to being a successful and comfortable performer.

Strange Things Happen: A life with The Police, polo and pygmies - an autobiography from Stewart covering everything you need to know

Dare to Drum - a story of the rock star composer teaming up with the Dallas Symphony Orchestra

Ben Hur live by Stewart Copeland - a CD performed by the Slovak National Symphony Orchestra

Orchestralli (+ bonus) - a 2 disk set of Copeland performing in concert with a select group of classical musicians on tour in Italy

Gizmodrome - a record of Copeland’s latest band, featuring Mark King (Level 42), Adrian Belew (ex King Crimson, David Bowie, Frank Zappa, Talking Heads) and Vittorio Cosma (PFM and Elio e le Storie Tese).

The Police: Everyone Stares - The Police Inside Out - DVD filmed on Super-8 giving an insider’s view of the band’s rise to fame and eventual split.

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