#that gesture about the thick memories just lives rent free in my mind

[mlobsters]

field of dreams (1989)

And they'll watch the game, and it'll be as if they'd dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick, they'll have to brush them away from their faces.

rip james earl jones (1931-2024)

[whatdyk]

Saviour (Pero Tovar x Fem!Reader) | Modern AU.

Part Three.

Warnings: None that I can think of? 

Word Count: 2.9k.

Chapter Three: 

Deep brown eyes and a strong, rugged voice. Accent thick with a low, serious tone. Brown hair with soft curls; an almost signature frown. The images that lace through your mind keep you accompanied almost every day. Whether you're working, sleeping, or cooking, it doesn't seem to matter. They're always there, curving between your conscious and subconscious mind.

It was even becoming frustrating for you now, how your mind just couldn't seem to escape the thought of Pero. You've even caught yourself wondering whether he feels the same way about you, but you know that that could never be true. Besides, that would be weird, he doesn't even know you.

So instead, you go about your days as if nothing's bothering you. Nothing at all.

With a yawn, you eventually sit up in bed and reach for your phone. It's finally the weekend, and so you decided to indulge yourself in a rare lie-in. Though, to your dismay, your new idea of a relaxing, lazy morning, seems to be waking up at 8 am. You have a few emails and messages from work waiting for you, but thankfully you're able to push them to the back of your mind until Monday. You place your phone back down and slump into the covers, closing your eyes for just five more minutes.

Roughly one hour later, you wake again feeling refreshed and well-rested. And, as soon as you're up and about, the morning before you goes quickly. You're able to eat, shower and dress in just 90 minutes, deciding to wear one of your favorite outfits. Covering yourself in soft knits and an over-sized coat, you're ready to battle against the chill of the oncoming winter. The cuts and scrapes on your face have also fully healed now, leaving you to feel confident in your own reflection once again.

Yesterday, you'd decided that you would go to the park for a walk, ensuring that you're able to make the most of the sunshine and mild weather before the evenings start to get cold and dark. You might even treat yourself to hot drink or a new book, though you'd definitely be sure to stop by the florists. It's a strange feeling to be so excited for such a seemingly mundane day, but you can't help the smile that's beginning to spread across your face.

Grabbing your gloves and bag, you take one final look around your apartment. For the first time in a long time, you're desperate to get out and explore.

Your quick trip had been going well so far, the weather may have been chillier that you had anticipated, but the final rays of the sun shone brightly throughout the city. So far, you'd been able to stop by your local book shop and purchase a few new novels, you'd even spotted a few classics to add to your collection. Luckily, you also know the owner of the store quite well, and she was more than happy to let you peruse the items not yet for sale.

After ringing up your purchases, you only have one more task to complete for the day, flowers. You'd only just thrown out the vase from before, and your apartment was desperate for some colour. You weren't really able to customize the walls of your rented home, so you attempted to brighten up the place in any other way you could imagine.

Deciding to cut across the park, you make your way to your favourite place-

"Oof!" You gasp out as something solid hits your shoulder, knocking you slightly off-balance.

Too lost in your own thoughts, you hadn't even noticed the man making his way towards you until it was too late.

"Shit," You mumble out, reaching down for the bag you'd just dropped, "I'm so sorry"

You hear a muted grumble in response, but it's not until you're stretching back up again that you realize just who you've bumped into. Your heart nearly falls through your stomach as your eyes meet, "...You" you whisper to yourself, meeting the frown that was becoming increasingly familiar.

"You should be more careful" he mutters under his breath, remembering your name and causing your pulse to sky-rocket. You can feel the heat begin to rise in your cheeks as you clear your throat, readjusting your bag on your shoulder. Has he always been this tall?

"I'm really sorry about that," You begin once you realise that you've been staring for way too long, "Honestly, my mind was somewhere else"

To nobodies surprise, the man just grunts in response. Yet, you're pleased to see the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips.

"Pero, right?" You question, not wanting to sound too eager as if his name hasn't been on the tip of your tongue since the moment he gave it to you.

"Sí" He responds, "I'm impressed that you remember."

"Of course!" You speak out a little too loud for your liking, "I still owe you for, well...everything" you mumble, moving your eyes to ground beneath you.

It's still a difficult memory for you to relive, but now, and especially in front of him, you can't help but think of when he turned down your first offer of re-paying him. You can feel the tips of your ears begin burn as you recall that moment, the look of pity in his brown eyes as he left you standing in the doorway to your apartment-

"I'm free now?" Pero's gruff voice knocks you out of your thoughts, "If you are too, that is"

Wait, what?

You must have looked up at him with a face of pure confusion as a small smile etches across his features, "If your offer still stands, I'd like to grab some lunch with you" he elaborates.

Your eyes go wide, but you can't help it as a broad smile breaks out, "Of course" you rush out, "I know the perfect place."

Unsurprisingly, the walk between you is quiet. It's not necessarily an uncomfortable silence, but there's certainly an air of tension between the two of you, and you can't seem to put your finger on why. Though thankfully, the place you had in mind isn't too far away.

"It's an Italian, I hope that's alright?" You say, struggling to walk in time with his long strides. He doesn't answer you verbally, but he nods his head as he places his hands into his jacket pockets.

Eventually entering the venue, you're instantly hit with the soothing warmth of the inside. There's a burning fire in the corner that's calling your name, and thankfully, you notice that the place quieter than usual. It may not be the fanciest restaurant in town, but it's rustic features and muted color palate hold a special place in your heart. Plus, their baked gnocchi is to die for.

Making your way to grab a table, you watch as Pero takes off his coat and rests it on the back of his chair. Taking the seat opposite you, he's quick to peruse the menu and you smile to yourself as his eyes widen. He notices that you haven't looked yourself but he chooses not to say anything, instead, allowing you to order and pick out some drinks for the both of them.

"You come here often, then?" He eventually asks, moving to sit back in the padded leather chair.

You smile and nod your head, relieved that you don't have to attempt to break the ice first, "It's my favourite," you explain, "I live nearby and it's the first place I came to when I moved, I'm a sucker for good pasta and wine"

He exhaled through his nose at that, and you guess that that's his version of a laugh. You can't help but smile, once again admiring his dark features.

"So, Pero" you start, "what is it that you do?"

At this question, you can see clearly as he begins to inch out of his shell. He gestures with his hands as he tells you about his role, that he's a security guard as the Museum of Natural History and is currently saving up money to start his own company. His expression seems to always be guarded, but you're careful to notice as snippets of excitement or happiness slip through his facade. You like it when he smiles you decide, watching the usual lines between his furrowed brows dissipate.  

"I've got to ask though," you begin as he takes a bite of his food, "what type of security guard carries a card?"

You think back to the intricate card he gave to you when you first met, his name and number spelled out in delicate printed writing. A stark contrast to the man who's sat in front of you now.

"I'm...well, I'm trying to get my name out there" he answers, "though, I don't usually give them to strangers, I'm hoping to start building my own clientele"

"I'll be sure to hang on to it then" you smile, "I seem to be getting myself into an awful lot of trouble recently." Your laugh is dry, but thankfully the raised eye-brow he offers you in response is enough to make you smile again.

As the afternoon wears on, you probe him with more questions and it appears that he's happy to answer them. From your initial meeting, you're surprised at how well the conversation flows now, it's almost as if you've known eachother for years, or if you're already good friends.

Eventually, the topic of conversation turns to you; you tell him all about your job and life in the city. It isn't a particularly long conversation considering it's just you living here, but you can't help but notice as he hangs on to your each and every word. The look burning behind his chocolate-colored eyes is almost intense as he listens, an emotion flitting behind his pupils that you can't quite decipher.

You take a small pause to sip at your drink as the conversation eventually comes to a lull, and you can't help but gasp when you see how dark it is outside. How long have you been here for?

"I can see why you like it here so much" He eventually says, picking up his own glass and returning your attention to him, "I've...I've had a nice evening."

"I told you, the best pasta in the city." You laugh.

"A very strong argument," he pauses to consider, "but, I can assure I know where you can get the best burger."

"Well then, you may just have to show me some time" you respond without thinking. Though with that, you can feel the tips of your ears begin warm, it's been far too long since you last attempted to flirt.

"I know this may sound a little strange," he says, causing your heart to drop. Not the answer that you were looking for.

"But, I can't help but feel like, I've met you before?" He questions, the hardened lines between his brows coming back. So, not a rejection?

You can't help but look at him as you wonder how to respond, considering his words carefully. But then, you begin to think about how this particular man has been the sole subject of your thoughts recently, the echo of his voice never far from your mind. Does this mean that he has felt the same about you?

"I don't think we've met before," you answer, choosing your words carefully, "but, sometimes...you have felt, familiar?" you finish your sentence with a small laugh, hoping to come off as cute rather than stalker-ish.

He hums in response when you finish, but the intensity in his eyes never leaves as your waiter comes provide the bill and clear the table. As you sit back, you're almost glad for the buffer between you as you take a quick glance at him, his hands forming into fists as he waits.

"Are you alright?" You decide to ask as you grab your bag, pulling out your purse to pay.

After a second, he seems to snap out of his reverie, shaking his head and tapping the pockets of his jeans for his wallet.

"Yes, yes...of course" he mutters out, his usual stoic disposition quickly returning, "please, let me"

You hold your hand out against him, stopping him from reaching for any cash and you place down your own notes, "Like I said, this is a small thank you," you say softly, "I'm just sorry that there isn't more that I can do."

He nods his head and concedes, but he's quick to quell your anxieties, "this is more than enough." a pause, "I never actually expected to see you again"

You hum to yourself this time, "me neither" you respond almost thoughfully, "but, I'm glad that you did."

At your words, you swear that you can see the hint of a blush travelling up his neck. But, he's quick to shake it off, instead offering you just a small smile and a nod as you both begin to stand. Gathering your things and putting your coat on, you take a moment to look outside of the window next to you. It's only early in the evening, but the darkness is fast approaching as you plan out the quickest route home in your head.

"I think I can remember the way back to your apartment" Pero's voice disrupts your spiralling thoughts and you turn to face him, "I'd prefer to walk you home if that's alright."

For once, without any argument you nod your head and begin to make your way to the exit, Pero following behind closely. As you leave, you can't help but wonder whether he saw you looking out of the window, guessing your own anxieties before you even had the chance to express them yourself. But either way, you're grateful to have him so close by.  

Once again, the walk between you is quiet. Yet this time, you notice that the silence is almost comforting as you make your way back home. You're even left surprised when he indulges you, waiting patiently as you buy fresh sunflowers on your way back. Though, you're left almost completely speechless as he takes the bunch from your hands, carrying them for the rest of the way as soon as you hand over the money to the florist.

You can't help the smile spreading across your face as you look at him, surrounded by yellow as you take out your keys to unlock the door to your apartment.

"Thanks for carrying those, by the way" you say, walking in and turning on the light, "you didn't have to"

He nods but follows you in silently, laying the bunch down carefully on the kitchen counter. You watch as he begins to move towards the door again, but you're quick to stop him for just a moment.

"Wait!" You say as you turn towards your bedroom,  "You can finally have your jacket back!"

You root around your room and return to him just moments later, his jacket in your hand whilst he waits in the frame of your door.

"Gracias," he responds quietly, taking the thick material from your hands, "I didn't think I'd ever see this again either."

You let out a small laugh and look up at him, allowing yourself to get lost in his eyes once more, "Thank you for humoring me today, I'm sure you had a different idea of how you wanted to spend your afternoon and evening"

The lines on he forehead shrink as he lets out a lazy smile, "You'd be surprised" he motions with a raised eyebrow, "the food was worth it though"

"I told you" you quickly retort, your own brow raised in retaliation, "and, I would like to taste the best burger in the city too, if you're still up for showing me" You can feel the heat in your cheeks as you speak, but fuck it. Time to shoot your shot.

"I'd like that." He eventually breathes out, taking a step back to exit your home, "You have my number, yes?"

You nod enthusiatically, but you're quick to stop him from moving any further by wrapping your arms around his torso.

"Thank you, again" You mumble out against his chest, your eyes closed as you breathe in his scent.

After a moment, you feel his arms begin to wrap around you too, his chin moving down to rest on your head. Minutes seem to pass as you enjoy the warmth of his embrace. However, you are surprised that he doesn't say anything more as your touch continues to linger. You'd thanked him enough today, you thought to yourself. Perhaps he's just finally tired of hearing it? So, after a few more seconds of selfish self-indulgence, you decide to unwravel yourself from around him before he becomes uncomfortable.

With a large sigh, you release your arms and take a step back. Smiling as you start to look back up to him.

Except, this time when you look up to him...you understand exactly why he hadn't said a word.

"Who the hell are you?!"

Tag List:

@computeringturtle @lackofhonor​

[enby-hawke]

Rating: Mature

Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence                     

Category:F/M

TW: Graphic depictions of violence, exploration of race and class dynamics, eventual smut

So here it is after 3 years of talking about it and then trying to turn it into a comic, I’m kicking it out because it doesn’t pay rent and I have other stories to tell. Here it is. Hope you enjoy. 

----

“I still do not understand what taste is,” the spirit somehow huffed. Malcolm knew it was a mistake to respond at all. The red specter hovered on the edge of Malcolm’s bed, it’s angry red glow a contrast to the murky green that the Fade was hazed in. It had somehow got in again, into the sanctum where he allowed his mind to rest as he guarded the dreamers of Kirkwall. Malcolm could have made his sanctum look like anything, but he didn’t bother giving himself the illusion he was anywhere else but his Circle cell. The thin sandpaper sheets did nothing to soften the metal bed underneath him. The cell had barely enough room for his dresser and desk that he used to do his studies, which he spent more time doodling on than learning. Even here he could still smell the faint aroma of the toilet that was next to his bed. Still, as unpleasant as his sanctum was, he needed a strong sensation to anchor his body, especially if he was going to battle a demon tonight.

Malcolm took in a stale breath, held it for 4 seconds, and gently let it go. It was important that no matter what happened, he remained calm.

The shimmering of the phantom became more urgent, more vibrant. Malcolm continued to ignore it, even turning his head and body away to make a point, but it didn’t seem to stop the creature from trying to dart into view, insistent on having his question answered. After the third turn of his head, the demon reached and gave one of Malcolm’s pointy ears a firm yank, screaming, “Can you hear me?”

On instinct, Malcolm swiped at the demon with a crackling fist, but the demon darted away. The sparks in Malcolm’s hand arced wildly as he leveled it at his target. “Fuck off, demon. I told you, one question.”

The wraith started to warp along with the Fade as anger emanated from Malcolm’s body. Claws started sprouting from it’s fingers and through it’s translucent skin, he could see it’s teeth starting to jut out at odd angles, but the demon made no move to fight him. “Were you listening? I am not a demon. I’m a scholar. And you are the first somniari I have come across in ages.”

The demon kept it’s distance but became more animated, gesturing with it’s gangly arms. “The last somniari only survived long enough to tell me about eating, but though I’ve tried it, the phenomenon remains perplexing.” Malcolm jumped as the demon inched closer. “Sometimes eating brings joy. Sometimes eating brings sorrow. Sometimes eating brings no emotion at all.” Quivering in curiosity, the demon then sprung forward so close to Malcolm could easily punch it. “Why somniari?”

The sparks in Malcolm’s hands died down as his eyes glazed over, caught in a memory. He saw his mother, with dark freckled brown skin, and beautiful curly hair that cascaded down her back, but her face was blurred as he failed to recall the details. Still, he remembered the smell of the plate of piping hot pancet that she placed in front of him, how the steam coming off of the unending noodles made his mouth water. She brushed his mop of curls from his eyes and kissed his forehead with a warm smile. “Happy birthday, Malcolm.”

The creature sniffed at his head as if he was about to take a huge bite. “Oh, what is that? That smells delicious!”

Malcolm swatted at the spirit as if it was an annoying fly. “Stay out of my head!”

But the spirit had already plucked the memory out of his head and dashed away a safe distance from the room. It wiggled in delight of it’s prize, and in it’s hands it materialized into a bowl of pancet. Malcolm felt a sick twist of envy as the spirit grabbed a handful of long fried noodles and shoved it into it’s mouthless face, slurping it down with wet smacking noises. “This,” sluuuurp, “memory tastes both,“ sluuuurp, “happy and sad, though the sadness is fresher.”

Malcolm, quaking in anger, rose to his feet, summoning threatening flames so high, they licked the ceiling. “Were you not warned of who I am?”

The spirit continued to eat in bliss, Malcolm’s threat no more than an annoyance. “The wisps call you,” sluurp, “Spirit Slayer.”

Malcolm raised a thick eyebrow, wondering why this spirit had no sense of self preservation. Or was this demon stronger than he thought? “So why do you risk pestering me?”

At this, the demon lowered the bowl, a mess of sauce dripping down it’s face. “Because only you can answer.”

The demon looked sadly at it’s last noodle and picked it up between it’s claws. “I, too, have lost much, somniari. I had a name once. I’ve given up trying to find it.”

“I’ve asked every stone, every wisp, but so much was lost after The Sundering. What I am, is what I have left.” The demon turned to Malcolm and though it had no eyes, he could feel it looking through him with earnest that he could feel thrumming in his heart. “So if this quest is my end, so be it.” Then it ate the noodle, looking oddly like a worm being sucked through a hole.

The flames died in Malcolm’s hands, his anger deflating with plumes of smoke. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt me to spare a moment.”

The words had barely left Malcolm’s mouth before his pocket started to buzz with a generic ringtone, that vibrated the air of the Fade like a tinging glass. The spirit cocked his head, confused as Malcolm dug through his pajama pockets and fished it out. “Sorry, demon, duty calls.”

“Scholar,” the spirit corrected, but Malcolm shushed him as he put it to his ear.

A terrified voice began sobbing through the speaker. “Help! Somebody help!”

Malcolm didn’t recognize the voice, so they weren’t one of the Circle mages being plagued for a meal. An apostate perhaps?

“Hello? It’s going to be alright,” Malcolm began like he always did. He raised his free hand to feel the cords of the Fade that were weaving together, trying to connect to the dreamer who rang his phone. The air around his hands shimmered like sparkling dust, faint harp-like threads connecting from the tips of his fingers.

“Hello?” the voice answered back, full of confusion. “Who is this?”

“That doesn’t matter. Can you tell me where you are?” He stepped off his bed and towards his bedroom door.

“Where I am?” the voice repeated, slick with tears. “I’m…I don’t know.”

He could feel that she was panicked, confused, disoriented, and that there was a dark aura surrounding her, stronger than he had felt in awhile. Malcolm had been sure that he had cleansed this area of the Fade of demons, but this just meant that more would come in to feed on the remnants. Malcolm closed his eyes, reaching through the phone to try to peek at her dream. “Yes, you do,” his soothing voice taking a commanding tone. “Just open your eyes and describe what you see.”

He heard her gasping for air as she struggled to breathe but eventually she sputtered out. “I’m in my bedroom. It’s filling up with water, fast. You have to hurry.”

He put his hand on the door. Through the darkness of his eyelids he began to see light, and the running rush of water filled his ears. “Describe your room to me.”

“What would it matter!?”

“It matters if I’m going to find you.”

A beat of silence registered on the phone, before she continued. “Well, it’s a room…with a closet and a bed.”

“Helpful,” Malcolm snorted before he could stop himself. Still, a misty silhouette of a closet, which was more like it’s own room, and a grand bed with a flowing cloth canopy started to form. There was a body tucked within it, nestled on a throne of pillows.

“Well I’m in a state of panic right now! Can you blame me? My clothes are getting ruined. It’ll cost a fortune to redo these carpets, not to mention-”

Malcolm sighed, trying to press on as she chattered. It never did any good to argue, but this monologue wasn’t helping. “What color are your blankets?”

“Cream…embroidered with gold thread.” The vision in his mind began to fill in with color.

“And the pattern of the embroidery?”

“Really?”

“Messere,” Malcolm gritted his teeth. “It’s important you stay calm. The more you panic the faster the water will flood.” It wasn’t a lie, but he also needed her to hurry.

She relented with a sigh, and said, “a gold-leaf rose spread.”

It took a little more coaxing, but eventually Malcolm got her to describe her wallpapers, floral and pink, and her carpet, which she insisted before the flood was a beautiful white color. She also described a bookcase, her lute, and a vanity mirror where she would get ready for the day each morning, a family heirloom, made from wood of the grove of the Emerald Graves, with brass knob handles and the symbol of her family’s crest that was carved into the wood, that showed either two ravens perched in angular stone columns, or a dragon head, depending on how you looked at it. Soon he could see the room, and could finally solidify the flimsy connection.

He pressed his forehead against the bedroom door, eyes still closed, the hard metal cold and unforgiving. “Now I need you to walk up to your door and let me in.”

“Are you crazy?” she shouted so loud that Malcolm had to take his ear away from the receiver. “It’s going to let all the water in!”

“No,” Malcolm said calmly. “Because I will be on the other side.”

“You know that makes no sense.”

“You’re talking to a strange voice in your head, your room is flooded, and from my estimate about the cost of that vanity mirror alone, you live somewhere in Hightown. Does any of this make sense?”

This time she whined, which sounded more cute than annoying. “But I’m going to get wet.”

Malcolm burst out in laughter. He had run into a lot of dreamers, but while most were suggestive, she seemed to easily resist the strings connecting them. He could see deep into the pit of her heart that she was as stubborn as he was, which was saying something. It was intriguing really, but before his curiosity could run away with it, his sensible self reminded him that she was in danger. And with how long it took for him to find the location of her dream, the demon had now sensed him coming.

“Look, the door is locked, and only you can open it.”

“Can’t you just break the lock open?”

“Sure,” Malcolm said, “but that door represents the connection of your body to your slumbering mind. If I break it open, it would hurt…a lot.”

Silence filled the air except for the splash of rising water and the slurping noise of Scholar licking the last remnants of sauce from their bowl.

“You promise you’ll be on the other side?”

“Promise.”

She heaved a huge sigh and after a few moments, he could hear the sloshing of water as she started to wade her way through her bedroom, but Malcolm could not only hear it from the speaker, but the other side of the door as well. Malcolm shoved his phone back into his pocket and placed his hand on the doorknob that would normally be electronically locked, but right now, it was just another illusion of the Fade. As the lock clicked open, Malcolm turned the doorknob, blissfully unaware of how his life would change until he met the girl’s black doe eyes.

Read more on A03

[mrsalwayswritex]

Hazy Blazy Days

A/N: Image is not mine, if its yours tell me and ill slap some credit but until then, thanks photo owner! I have been working on this baby for weeks guys. I hope you like it, its literally like The Dream for me, so dont judge me too harshly, I just wanna smoke with my boys! Anyways, Happy 420 to my fellow smokers, I wish you all a good day during this lockdown. Stay safe and I love you all!

Pairing: Ben Hardy x Reader

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: Swearing, Illegal activities [recreational marijuana use]

Songs used: Idolize Stay Afloat Free Your Mind All three of these songs are Immortal Paradox, linked to Spotify. These songs are explicit*

When she woke up she knew it was a hibernate day, shuffling to the kitchen quickly, filling her arms with the things she deemed important. Bottles of water, granola bars and a bag of chocolate chips, various snack cakes, and a large to-go mug of coffee all tucked in her arms as she tried to hurry back to her room.

“Y/n?” Joe called from their shared living room. “Where are you running off to?” She could hear his footsteps getting closer. Joe let out a loud laugh at the sight he was met with. 

Y/n stood with her hands full of her haul, smiling as best as she could with the bag of chocolate chips between her teeth. Joe leaned forward and grabbed the bag as she dropped it. “Thanks! It's a hibernating day, would you like to join me?” She chirped happily, smiling at him.

Joe’s face broke into a wide grin and he nodded his head quickly, “I will grab the blanket and be in momentarily!” He spun on his heels, taking off towards his own room. Y/n skipped back to her room, depositing the pile of snacks on her small wheeled coffee table. Quickly making her bed, minus her giant fleece comforter, moving things around when Joe slid into the room. “I even changed for maximum comfort!” He spun around quickly, flashing her a dramatic smile at the end.

“Impressive, Mazzello.” Y/n clapped her hands just as dramatically. “Pull that over and let's get this thing going!” She climbed onto the bed, pulling her blanket close around her. Following her orders, Joe pulled the small table over until it was against the bed, climbing on top and curling himself inside his own blanket beside her. “Alright, Mazzello, pick your fighter.” Y/n waved her hands around, wiggling her fingers as she reached to the floor pulling up a medium sized wooden box covered in stickers and marker drawings.

Joe smiled at the box, reaching over and pulling it closer to him. Opening it carefully, laughing loudly. “You know, this box reeks of pot.” He chuckled, Y/n stuck her tongue out at him. 

“You know, I think that may be a requirement for a pot box, Joseph.” She rolled her eyes at him playfully, reaching into the box and pulling out the bag of the sweet smelling greenery. “If you don't pick, I will.” Y/n warned him, Joe putting his hands up in defense before digging into the box’s contents. His choice was a small but thick bong, swirled with blues and yellows. Joe presented his choice to her proudly and she nodded her head. “Daisy,” She cooed, taking it from his hands, “Good choice!” 

Once it was packed, Y/n pointed at a bottle of water, Joe handing it to her blindly as he scrolled through Hulu on her TV. Pouring in some of the water, she handed it to Joe along with a lighter. Joe cleared his throat, straightening his back out causing Y/n to chuckle and he glared at her. Covering her mouth with her hands, she directed her attention to the TV, taking over for Joe as she heard the bubbling sound of Joe hitting the bong.

For as long as Y/n could remember, she and Joe had been close friends. Finding each other quickly on their first day of high school, being the first two to be busted smoking marijuana behind the building and making fast friends in detention. She fondly thought back to that day so many years ago.

-

“Mr. Mazzello and Miss Taylor.” The science teacher grunted out, shoving the slip onto the desk. “Smoking on school property.” He turned around and glared at the two, both of them stifled a laugh. The grumpy man shook his head as he walked out mumbling something about ‘these damn teenagers’.

“Caught smoking on the first day?” The detention teacher looked at them disapprovingly over her glasses. 

The two glanced at each other and both started laughing, Joe reaching his hand across the aisle. “Joe Mazzello.” He gave her a smile, she reached out taking his hand and shaking it with an awkward laugh, “Y/n Taylor.”

Once the final bell rang, Y/n stood up, stretching her legs, kicking Joes chair and making his jump awake quickly. “Sorry, Joey.” She yawned, stretching her arms high. “Time to get outta here,” She smiled at him, swinging her backpack over her shoulder. “Walk me home?” 

Joe smiled at the girl sleepily. “You got it, babe.” Joe winked at her and she barked out a laugh. 

“Save it, Romeo.” She winked back at him and Joe trailed out the door after her. 

Joe lived on the other side of town, but he knew in that moment, he would follow Y/n anywhere, as long as she would have him.

They spent most afternoons at a park by the school, waiting until dark before finally heading home, Joe always walking her home before going himself. 

One evening, senior year, the two laid in the grass in Joe’s backyard passing a joint back and forth and staring at the sky. “You gonna ditch me in college when you get a girlfriend, Joey?” Y/n asked, putting her arms behind her head.

“I promise to stick with you forever, y/n.” Joe passed the joint over to her, “The best buds stick together, remember?”

The two were absolutely inseparable through the years, even choosing the same college, which they rented an apartment together. 

-

Y/n smiled at him, here they were, almost 13 years later, still the best of friends. Joe was staring at her, she shook her head clear of the memory. “Y/n? You still there?” He waved the bong in front of her face and laughed. “Where did you go?” He chuckled, as she took the bong from his hand.

“High school, actually.” She nudged him with her shoulder, Joe bumping her right back. “Detention that first day. How you made me a promise senior year to always stick with me, and here we are, over ten years later. Still hibernating and watching tv for the day.” Y/n hit the bong, coughing lightly before waving a hand in front of her face.

“Calm down, I'm here cause you always have the best weed, alright? Don't get all mushy on me.” Joe snatched the piece away from her, “It's been ten years, I don't have time to find another weed connection.”

“You love me and you know it, Mazzello.” She stuck her tongue out at him, swatting his chest and making him cough loudly. 

“You wish, Taylor.” Joe made a kissy face at his best friend and she returned the gesture mockingly, both of them laughing deeply.

Three episodes of American Dad later, the pair of them sat atop Y/n’s bed laughing lazily, Joe munching away on a fudge round. Y/n flopped around, restlessly moving across the bed. Joe laughed at her, “Just open the window, it'll be alright.” He laughed louder as she scrambled off the bed and over to the window quickly, shooting him a bright smile.

Opening the window and taking a deep breath of the crisp air, sitting on the window seat and pulling her legs to her chest tightly. Y/n pulled out a pack of Newports and fished around the seat for a lighter, Joe tossing one to her from the bed and lighting the tip. She blew the smoke out the window but it just blew right back inside, looking back to Joe with a shrug. 

“I'm gonna pack this up again, ‘kay?” Joe pointed to the bong and Y/n nodded her head slowly, the smoke curling up around her trying to make a smoke ring. Joe chuckled as he watched her, knowing that after all these years, she was bound to get one eventually, though she had failed this far. As soon as Y/n threw the cigarette out the window and made her way back to the bed, Joe’s phone started ringing a familiar tone. Joe’s face lit up like a kid on christmas as recognition passed over his face. “Ben!” He shouted into the phone, a deep laugh coming through the other end.

“Hey buddy,” Ben's accent came loudly through the speaker. “What’s going on?”

“Having a hibernation day with y/n,” Joe replied, Y/n shouting a happy hello. “What are you doing?” He handed the bong to the girl and she took it happily.

“Are you really hitting a bong while on the phone?” Ben whispered, chuckling softly. “I've got nothing planned, you wanna get together?” Ben was obviously asking Joe, so Y/n stayed quiet, picking at her nails when Joe tapped her leg and gave her a questioning look. “Joe?” Ben asked again, Y/n nodded at Joe with an exaggerated sigh and a smile.

“Sorry, was just waiting for confirmation from the boss, do you want to come hibernate with us?” Joe asked hopefully, even though he had seen Ben since he was in town, Joe was always desperate to see his best friend.

“What does that entail, exactly?” Ben chuckled lightly, a car door could be heard closing and starting. 

“Well it starts by you stopping at the store and grabbing provisions, first of all.” Y/n piped up, Joe cracking a smile, before she continued, “Second, you must wear something of the cotton variety, there is no denim allowed in hibernation. Last but certainly not least, you must be prepared for copious amounts of marijuana consumption.” Y/n laughed out, counting on her fingers though only Joe could see. “That’s it, that’s all there is to it!”

“You in, buddy?” Joe asked tauntingly, staring at his phone intently like he could change Ben’s mind through the phone.

“Text me a list of things you need, and give me a half hour.” Even if neither of them could see his face, they could hear the smile in his voice. “Let you know when I'm on the way to you.” The line clicked off and Joe and Y/n smiled, rearranging the room once more to accommodate another.

Forty five minutes later, Ben texted back saying that he was leaving the store, headed to them, five minutes at most. “Stretch break until Ben gets here?” Y/n asked, already kicking her legs out from her blanket, stretching her arms over her head. Joe groaned as he stood, squatting over and over. As the both shuffled towards the door, they could hear a soft knock. “You get him, I'm gonna go find him a big blanket so he can probably hibernate.” She chuckled, tapping Joe on the back lightly as they seperated down opposite sides of the hallway.

Y/n could hear the two boys talking excitedly to each other as she poked her head out to the living room. “Got the last blanket from the closet, Joe you better check to make sure he's following the rules!” She hollered out as she walked back to her room. 

“Sweat pants, no denim!” Joe called back, grabbing a bag from Ben’s hands. “Come on back, man!” Joe ushered his grandly down the hall, his best friend following with a chuckle.

When Ben walked into Y/n’s room, he looked around, “I would expect nothing less from you, Y/n.” He chuckled, fingers playing with the strings of fairy lights on the wall. “Smells like pot in here.” Joe chuckled, picking the bong up from the side table and waving it around, Y/n gestured to it grandly.

“If it didn't, Joe and I shouldn't be allowed to smoke anymore, cause we are doing it wrong.” Y/n giggled, patting the bottom portion of her bed. “Pop a squat, Benjamin, we gonna get you stoned.” She grinned up at him, pulling the blanket closer around her shoulders, snuggling inside. “I even brought you a cuddle blanket!” Her voice was muffled from the fluff around her face but she kicked a leg out and pushed the blanket around.

Ben chuckled at her, kicking off his shoes and dove onto the bed, making Y/n squeal and Joe lift the bong high in the air. “I cannot believe that I am a 29 year old man,” He started, burying his face into the soft blanket, “that has a designated ‘cuddle blanket’.” Chuckling and reaching his hand under the pile to poke at her leg. 

“You simply cannot hibernate without a pile of blankets, man.” Joe added, leaning into the middle of them holding the bong out. “Who lives next door?” He asked, and when both of their hands shot up at the same time, he pointed to his ear.

“Neighbor!” They shouted in unison, causing Joe to laugh loudly and shove the piece into Ben’s hands. “Ha!” Ben stuck his tongue out at Y/n and she snatched the lighter out of Joe’s hand.

“Ha, that!” She wrapped her blanket over her face and squealed loudly when, after handing the bong back to Joe with an eyeroll, Ben jumped onto her pile, tickling and poking all over until an arm reached out of the top, waving a lighter in defeat. Ben snatched the lighter up and dug his hands into the pile once more, earning a giggle before he sat back on his knees and took the bong back from Joe.

“You two are nauseating, you know that?” Joe commented, and once Y/n emerged from her hiding spot, hair a mess, Joe grabbed at her and pulled her over until she was laying with her torso on his, and wrapped her in his large arms. Y/n flailed a little but ultimately accepted the affection, returning it as best as she could in her blanket prison. “Just remember Ben, she was mine first.” Joe kissed the top of her head.

“She’s still yours, mate.” Ben choked on the smoke, eyes wide.

Joe rolled his eyes at him, looking down at Y/n who had gone still against his chest. “You are both idiots if you think that I don't know.”  The two of them looked at each other, the blush apparent on both of their faces. “Oh so we are pretending this isn't happening?” Joe raised his hands in defense, snatching the bong from Ben’s hands. “Whatever you guys want to do.”

Hours later, after a decision to switch to horror movies, the three of them were piled on top of each other. Joe was resting against the headboard, Y/n laying her head on his chest and Ben with his head resting on Y/n thighs. As soon as the credits rolled on screen, Ben rolled himself over, completely trapping Y/n’s legs and groaned loudly.

“What’s up, Benny?” Y/n yawned, her hand finding his head and running her fingers through his blond curls, earning a grumble of satisfaction from the man.

He stretched his arms out, wrapping them around her legs tightly, leaning his head father back into her hand. “Well I was going to suggest going for a ride,” He mumbled into her thigh, “but I may not be able to function if you keep that up, love.” His eyes closed and Y/n switched to running her nails along his scalp, pulling another happy groan from him.

Joe looked down at the two of them, shaking his head lightly. Y/n saw the gesture and smacked her other hand down onto his chest, Joe making an oof sound and laughing when she pulled herself off of him. “A ride actually sounds fantastic, as long as I don't have to drive and” She raised her finger to both boys, “I ride shotgun.” As soon as the words left her lips, Joe and Ben both sat up, voices raised in argument but Y/n just covered her hands over her ears smiling wildly.

“You can have shotgun, only if you roll on demand!” Ben offered, sticking his hand out in her direction, Y/n cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes at him.

“You’ve got a deal, Jones.” She slapped her hand to his and they shook vigorously, both laughing. Joe picked that moment to stick a freshly packed bowl in between them. Y/n cooed happily, taking the offered piece from him. “Oh, Joseph, what would I do without you.” She leaned back and kissed his cheek.

“You would perish, surely.” Joe smiled down at the girl, booping his finger on the tip of her nose.

“My hero.” She swooned dramatically against her pillows.

“And you said we are nauseating.” Ben mocked them, rolling his eyes. He smacked his hand gently on Y/n’s calf and she yelped in surprise. “Hit that, get it rolling so we can get rolling.” Ben stood, stretching his arms high in the air, Y/n totally did not notice the way his shirt rode up just a bit with the action.

Passing the bowl back and forth, the three of them slowly gathered all of the items needed for the ride and by the time the bowl was empty. Y/n pushed them out of the room and changed into shorts and then they were ready to walk out the door. “I'll drive, if it can be Ben’s car.” Joe raised a hand in the air and Ben shot him a glare. “Hey man, I'm offering to drive.” Ben growled at him playfully, digging his keys from his pocket and tossing them to Joe. 

“I can't believe I’ve got to ride in the backseat of my own car.” Ben grumbled, reaching for the door handle. Y/n stuck her tongue out at him, sliding into the front seat. “Oh stop at the station on the way, we didn't bring our provisions with us.” He leaned forward between the front seats as Joe pulled out of the driveway, nodding his head in acknowledgement. Y/n pulled the aux cord to the back seat and offered it to Ben with a smile.

“You can at least have music choice, since you gotta ride bitch.” She winked and Ben rolled his eyes, plugging his phone in and hitting shuffle before tossing it up to her. “You better have good burn run music, Jones.” Y/n playfully warned him.

Joe pulled up to a gas pump, offering to fill Ben’s tank fully for this ride if he went in to pay. Ben agreed happily and Y/n offered to go with him, getting Joe’s order of gummy bears and a Pepsi as she skipped to catch up to him. “I've got tiny legs, Ben, move slower!” She shouted and he turned around with a laugh. He crouched down ever so slightly but Y/n understood.

“Hop up, small fry.” Ben chuckled, grunting softly when she launched herself at his back, wrapping his hands under her thighs and bouncing her up higher. She wrapped her arms around his neck loosely and planted a loud kiss to his temple. Ben shook his head with a smile. “You are spoiled, you know that right?” He glanced up at her and she grinned back down at him, nodding happily.

Ben and Y/n were in and out of the store quickly, Ben chasing a squealing Y/n as they crossed the parking lot. He collided with her when they reached the car, Ben trapping her squirming form by locking her in place with a hand on the car on either side of her, leaning his head down to her ear. “Got you.” He breathed and she shivered, but playfully pushed against his chest. Ben backed away with a smirk on his face.

“Get in the damn car, lovebirds.” Joe whined, leaning in the roof of the car. Y/n shot him the finger before turning her back to Ben to get into the car. “Seriously are you guys just fucking with me or are you both seriously that niave?” Joe chuckled dryly, leaning down to get into the driver's seat. Once all three of them were inside, Joe grinned wickedly and looked to Y/n. “Get ready to roll, babe, we taking the scenic route.” He winked and patted her thigh.

Y/n kicked off her shoes and pulled her legs onto the seat under her, smacking a hand on her legs. “I'm ready, boss.” She smiled back at him, holding a hand out expectedly. “You know the drill, gimme the bag for the ride.” She turned her head back to Ben. “If you got any, give it to me, Benny.” Ben barked out a laugh and shook his head, Y/n looking at him strangely. He winked at her and Joe shook his head with a sigh. “You wish.” She rolled her eyes.

“We want some rap or some rock?” Ben asked, changing the subject quickly and plugging his phone back into the aux cord. “I found this new rapper that I’ve been really enjoying lately.” Y/n nodded her head enthusiastically as he pressed play. “His name is Immortal Paradox, he's pretty good!” He grinned from the backseat as the rapper started talking softly over the speaker.

 “You kids gotta find somebody better to Idolize..”

“Did he just say Drug Abuse?” Joe cocked his head to the side with a chuckle.

“It's a key element of the song, Joe.” Ben smiled back at his friend. He leaned his head back and sang along to the song with a grin. “Please oh please don't Idolize me, I'm a egoistic narcissist who lacks empathy, a judgemental bastard with insecurities, imma free spirit who's never been free. Long days longer nights in a mental cage, and I bottle massive amounts of rage, never meant to be a leader on the stage cause my lyrics seem lethal when they hit the page.” 

“Wow Ben, this song really speaks to you doesn't it?” Y/n stuck her tongue out at him but bobbed her head along to the beat. “It's pretty good, you pass this test.” She winked and turned herself back around and pulled out Joe’s bag and began breaking it up and sprinkling it into the folded paper. Ben scooted himself over in the back seat so he could watch her fingers work over the green bud, rolling it into the paper gently. He leaned forward, sticking his head between the front seats. Y/n caught the movement and smiled softly before licking the edge of the paper.

“Anyone ever tell you that you look absolutely lovely rolling a joint, Y/n dear.” Ben sighed dreamily, eyes not leaving hers. Before she could respond, Joe’s arm was flying towards her and the car was being tanked back into the other lane. Y/n and Ben both gasped slightly, Y/n gripping tightly onto the still open bag in her lap, 

“Joe!” She screeched as her drink rolled onto the floor.

“I'm sorry! We’re good!” Joe gave her a weak smile, straightening out the car easily. “I just got a little distracted is all.” He reached over and laid his hand on her leg, squeezing comfortingly. 

“Don't wreck my car, mate.” Ben grumbled from the backseat. Joe raised his hand from Y/n’s leg in defense before dropping it back to her leg. Ben watched the movement carefully, seeing the two best friends share a smile and Joe squeezing her leg again before they both changed their attention, Joe’s on driving and Y/n’s on the almost finished joint. Ben leaned back in the seat and smiled at the scene. He really lucked out in the friend department when he met Joe, and with Joe came Y/n and he couldn’t have asked for better people.

“Fire in the hole!” Y/n shouted happily and both boys joined in on her cheering. She put the joint up to her lips and fished a lighter out of her pocket, lighting the tip and inhaling softly as she spun the joint around gently. Once she was satisfied it was burning evenly, she passed it back to Ben who took it with an approving nod. Y/n watched him close his eyes and took turns hitting the joint and mouthing along to the lyrics.

“How ‘bout you, what’s your vice? Let me know, do you have any advice? Drink and Smoke help me stay afloat. Not a single fuckin thing gonna sink by boat.” Ben sang as he leaned forward and passed the joint to Joe over his shoulder, continuing the song as he nodded his head along to the beat and shooting Y/n a smirk when he caught her eye.

It was about forty-five minutes later when Joe swerved back into the left lane again, Y/n shot him a glare. “Joseph, if you kill me right now I will be so mad at you.” She raised a finger and poked him in the shoulder. “Maybe it’s time for Ben to drive.”

Ben nodded his head happily, tapping Joe on the shoulder quickly. “Yes, let’s do that. You’ve probably raised my insurance in the last hour.” Joe gave another squeeze to Y/n’s leg before pulling into the first parking lot he came across. “Let’s get some fresh air and stretch a little before we head back out yeah?” All agreeing, Joe went to turn the car off when Ben stopped him. “Leave it, we will just turn up the music, it's not like anyone is around here to complain.” He gestured around the empty church parking lot, not seeing another building in the area.

The three of them found themselves all laying on the trunk of Ben’s car, Y/n sandwiched between the two of them. “Why aren’t we smoking right now?” Joe piped up on Y/n’s left and both she and Ben turned their heads towards him. “Like here we are, just laying here and staring at the dark sky. We should be smoking.” He spoke with one hand behind his head and the other wildly gesturing around. Sitting up quickly and sliding off the car easily. “I shall return.” He bowed deeply, pulling laughs from the other two who settled back into staring up when he sat in the passenger seat, pulling the bag and papers from the center console.

“Turn it up!” Ben shouted as he heard the song change. When the music got louder, Ben started singing along, y/n turning her head to look at him. His eyes were closed, lips moving quickly to keep up with the lyrics. “If you flirt with me I'll be nervous but never hesitate, I'm so in love with you and life and that is always relevant.” His eyes stayed closed, but y/n watched his eyes crinkle up in a smile, turning his head towards her as he kept going, “hypothetically if we both got amnesia, I’d ask you for those digits when our spirits meet up.” When he finished, he opened his eyes and his cheeks heated when he saw that Y/n was staring at him with a soft admiring smile on her face.

“Thanks for inviting me today, love.” Ben used the hand that wasn't under his head to reach down and pat her knee that she had pulled up on the trunk. “I would have just ended up smoking by myself and probably falling asleep on the couch watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine.” He laughed and she turned her head to face him, looking at him seriously.

“You are welcome any time to join us, Ben, you know that.” She gave him a genuine smile and he grinned back. “I'm serious, you're at our place almost as much as we are, plus you make a perfect third for Joe and I.” Y/n patted his chest a few times before settling back into her position.

“That sounds..” Ben laughed deeply and shook his head, “..very raunchy.” 

“In a perfect world, maybe.” She winked at his shocked face, “But alas, you both suck too much.” 

“Who is sucking what?” Joe popped up beside the trunk with an eyebrow raised, presenting the fat rolled joint to Y/n.

“You, if you ask nicely.” Ben blew a kiss to his friend and Joe winked back. Y/n snorted loudly, reaching a hand out to Joe, who helped pull her into a sitting position. Ben looked at the window where Y/n was sitting. “Hell of a time for me to decide to get out of the back seat.” He waggled his eyebrows at Joe who laughed and pointed at Ben with a nod. 

“You are both gross.” She lit the joint and crossed her arms, letting the joint hang from her lips. “I hope I leave an ass print on the window and then you can't see out of it.” Y/n ended the sentence with both her middle fingers up, causing both men to chuckle. 

“I will happily give up my line of sight for your ass print to be on my window, love.” Ben elbowed her in the side and dropped his head onto her shoulder. “You should know that would be my choice.”

“He’s right, you should know that he would choose your ass over just about anything by this point, right buddy?” Joe extended his fist towards Ben who responded by bumping his own fist against it and nodding his blond head quickly. 

“You are correct, good sir.”

“I hate you both.” Y/n grumbled, rolling her eyes and blowing the smoke out harshly, handing the joint to Joe. “Honest.”

Ben and Joe stared at each other for a second before they turned to her, both leaning towards her in sync. “No you don’t.” Ben whispered close to her face and Joe was close behind him, inching towards her face. 

“You love us.” Joe laughed and the two of them alternated tickling and peppering little kisses all over her cheeks. Y/n squealed and wiggled, but neither man let up.

“Honestly, I cannot stand either of you.” She squirmed, flailing her arms and legs as much as she could without actually injuring them. “You are both awful humans.” Y/n finally huffed out, pushing them away and crossed her arms again, blowing a few stray strands of hair on her face from the struggle.

“Yes,” Joe agreed, “But we are awful and you love us anyways.” He reached forward and ruffled her already messy hair.

“Can we just get back on the road? You are both awful company.” She huffed out, shooting Ben a small smile when she noticed him staring at her.

“Yes, your highness,” Ben sighed dramatically and looked at her expectantly. Joe barked out a loud laugh and Y/n dropped her head to her chest. 

“That was awful.” Joe shook his head and swatted at Ben.

“Truly awful.” Y/n agreed, using Joe’s outstretched hand to pull herself off the trunk. “I'm thinking I'll roll one more and we take the super long way home.” She grabbed the joint back from Ben and placed it between her lips as she adjusted her shorts and pulled her hair tie out, flipping her long hair over and pulling it back up quickly. When she stood up, both boys were looking at her with lazy smiles. “What are you looking at?”

“Just you, babe.” Joe reached for her, wrapped her in his arms as she accepted the hug right away. “I'm glad you're my best friend.” He smiled at her as she wrapped her arms around his torso.

“Oi, what about me?” Ben put his hand to his chest in mock offense. “Am I chopped liver now?”

Joe threw one hand out and grabbed Ben’s sweatshirt and pulled him into the embrace. Y/n yelped as she was once again sandwiched between them. “Both of you. I'm glad you're both my best friend.” Joe mumbled into the pile. Y/n pushed her hands against Joe’s chest and her back against Ben’s chest to break up the weird hug.

“Great, now we are all nauseating.” Y/n playfully jabbed at the two of them before she raised her hand in the air, circling it around. “Let’s wrap this up, I'm getting cold and my blanket is calling me.” She pumped her fist in the air and stomped over to the passenger side door.

“You heard the boss.” Joe clapped his hand on Ben’s shoulder as he rounded the back of the car. Ben smiled at them both before opening the driver door and slid inside, adjusting the seat with a glare at Joe. “Not my fault you're shorter than me.” He shrugged and Ben flipped him off.

Once they were back on the road, the joint burnt down to a stub, Y/n threw it out the window and pulled her legs up to begin rolling the last one. “Left, Right, or Straight.” Ben would ask randomly, turning in whichever direction was chosen. Y/n and Joe took turns answering him until they were happily lost. Ben kept fidgeting with his right hand, moving it back and forth between the shifter and his lap before Y/n grabbed his hand and set it on her leg. He smiled at the girl and she grinned back at him.

“It helps Joe drive calmer,” She shrugged and turned up the music, closing her eyes and leaning her head against the seat. Ben caught Joe’s smile in the rearview and looked away quickly. Ben relaxed in the seat a little more, holding the steering wheel loosely in one hand and the other hand tracing small circles where his hand touched Y/n.

Another 20 minutes of driving and Ben smacked his hand on the steering wheel happily, “I know where we are, maybe 35 minutes out.” He tapped Y/n’s leg lightly and she lifted her head sleepily. “Are you ready to smoke one more before you get to go to bed, lovey?” 

“I'm ready.” She yawned and Ben smiled fondly at her. Pulling the joint from behind her ear, and lit the tip. Sighing contentedly as she let the smoke curl out of her mouth. “I am also ready for bed.” She stifled another yawn, and hit the joint once more before handing it back to Joe. Weaving her arm under Ben’s, she rested her hand on his leg too. “This ok?” 

Ben looked at her hand and back at her face quickly, “It’s perfect.” He smiled at her and the way she smiled back, Ben could have died happily right then and there. She bobbed her head to the music and the rest of the joint was passed between them without words. Ben tapped his elbow on the center console, “Smokes in there, could you light me one?” Y/n nodded, tossing the roach out of the window and grabbing the pack. Soon they were back in Joe and Y/n’s neighborhood.

“You should probably just crash at our place, buddy. Better than you falling asleep on the ride home.” Joe offered, covering his own yawn. “My couch is your couch.” Y/n nodded her head in agreement, gathering the supplies and shoving them in her pockets. “‘Cause I know I'm beat.” 

“I will take you up on that offer, I think.” Joe chuckled as Ben fought his own yawn back.

All three of them slid out of the car and shuffled back to the apartment. Y/n went straight to the kitchen, putting on a kettle for tea before going back to her room and changing back into her leggings. Walking over to the window seat again, she pulled a cigarette out from her pack, a soft knock on her door pulling her attention back to earth. “Can I grab my cuddle blanket real quick?” Ben’s soft voice floated through the barely opened door. 

“Yeah, come on in. Hey I'm making tea, if your british self would like some before bed.” Y/n grinned at him, and he smiled brightly back at her with a nod. “I'm glad you are our third.” she added after a minute. Spending a lazy day with Ben, she realized, was one of her best days in a while.

“Yeah, I am too.” Ben grabbed his blanket up and wrapped it around his shoulders. Instead of leaving like she expected him to, he sat across from her and snatched the cigarette out of her hand. His leg bounced lightly and he looked anywhere but at her. “Was Joe right earlier?” He breathed out with a cloud of smoke.

“What do you mean?”

“Are we just being naive?” Hitting the cigarette again and handing it back, blowing the smoke out in a huff and looking back at her. “Are we not seeing what's going on here?” 

“What’s exactly is going on here, Ben?” Y/n tilted her head to the side with a small smirk. Could he be serious? Y/n hoped that Ben wouldn't be able to hear her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She kept his gaze as she brought the cigarette to her lips, tilting it to the other side when Ben smiled and looked away and back quickly.

“Well I don't know about you,” He started, grabbing the cigarette from her again. Blowing out the smoke slowly, like he was trying to calm his own heartbeat. “But I spend a lot of time thinking about kissing you.” His eyes flicked to hers and he sucked in a deep breath and held it as he studied her face.

Y/n’s cheeks flushed and she chuckled. “Is that so?” Nodding her head softly. “Now what would you say if I told you, that I spend a lot of time thinking about kissing you as well?”

Ben’s smile was so wide that Y/n couldn't hold back a soft giggle. Hitting the cigarette once more, Ben crushed it out in the ashtray and within seconds he had one hand cupping her chin, brushing his lips over hers gently. Y/n responded instantly, bringing a hand up to the back of Ben’s neck and sinking her fingers into the soft curls, both of them letting out happy sounds at the contact. 

“I would say that this is going to happen a lot more often now.” He brushed his thumb over her cheek and she leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering closed. “But right now, your couch calls my name.” He kissed her forehead quickly before standing up and pulling his blanket closer. “And the water is calling yours. Let’s go have some tea before bed.” He held his hand out to her and when she took it, he interlaced their fingers and traced circles with his thumb.

While y/n busied herself in the kitchen, the boys settled into the living room, and when she walked back into the room she noticed her favorite spot open, the center of the couch, right between her two favorite humans. Three cups of tea and one final bowl packed and passed between them as they relaxed on the couch. Y/n smiled at the two boys, her two best friends. “Alright boys, I think that this is it for me.” Draining her tea cup and standing with a groan, Y/n walked behind Joe and grabbed his face with both hands, planting a kiss to his forehead while Joe wrapped an arm around her tightly. When she walked over to Ben, she repeated the gesture of grabbing his face with both hands but she pressed a kiss on his lips instead. “I'm off to bed, love you guys.” She yawned once more and gave a small wave as she disappeared for the hallway. Both boys muttering their goodnights before Joe swatted Ben’s arm playfully.

“It’s about damn time.” Joe threw his hands in the air happily.

“You may have been right.” Ben huffed out a laugh but smiled anyways. “But I’ll never tell you that.”

x

[thebiasrekkers]

Edge of Forever [BTS Space!AU]

BTS Space!AU [ ♧ ✪ ✿ ☆ ❂ ☾✘ ] “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages.” The stage is set and the stars are the guide for the lost souls that have congregated to one point. A fixed constant in the universe for others to discover and fulfill their wishes but will it come to ruin for others?

Pairings: BTS X OC (s) Genre: BTS Space!AU Warnings: Graphic Violence, Heavy Language

AO3

AN: I’m so glad you all like this series! Graphics and all! There’s more to come so please be patient! Please give all of the works here love and feel free to message us!

Chapter 16- Absolute Zero

"You're looking at an absolute zero I'm not the devil but I won't be your hero"

“Miss? Miss, please wake up!”

The man shook Nyala’s shoulder for another time, hoping against everything that she could hear him. He had happened to walk by her when they attacked, coming at her from all sides. She had a split second to defend herself but she was outnumbered and while he came to her assistance, it wasn’t long before she had passed out from the injuries. He was only a doctor, not a warrior and all he had on him was his jacket as well as his other tools. He didn’t come to Izanami to fight, only making a house call to a certain patient.

He didn’t even want to be there in the first place, preferring his life of solitude and little kids that always asked him for candy. Now he was faced with pirate scum as they closed in on the both of them. However, there were two people that came to their rescue and judging by the looks on their faces--they knew the person that was now lying on the cold hard ground. He crouched even closer to her when the fighting began and the others started to close in on them. All he heard was the crackle of electricity and the sound of heavy objects hitting the ground. He shifted his body from shielding her to trying to actively treat her, her head that had the thick liquid oozing out.

He knew he had a few supplies in his bag but nothing substantial unless they were to get to his temporary home.

The man looked up quickly, alarmed that there was a pirate right on him. He tried to jerk himself away from the grasping hands but he heard a sizzling sound, one that sounded like it was being shot off. He turned around, sensing someone behind him and saw that there was one of the two males behind him with a tiny gun in one of his hands. Legs braced and arm still extended with the gun still smoking, the man’s eyes went wide as he looked at the other before shaking himself to get back to what he was doing.

Yoongi wasn’t sure if he had enough guns for that particular fight and Jimin was doing more than he thought he could. He already knew that Jimin had been enhanced but he never realized to what extent. Even with the both of them, however, there was the worry that he wouldn’t be able to hold out against them. He kicked one in the face before pressing the derringer to the forehead of the offender and shot him point-blank. He had to take drastic measures, ones that he hadn’t used in a very long time.

Placing the guns back into his jacket, Yoongi opened his mind to the ones that were there. Jimin was in a rage that Nyala had been hurt, blaming himself for it happening. The man was worried that he wouldn’t be able to stop the bleeding and the pirates were after the bounty that Nyala posed. How they even found out was to be something he dug into later but for the moment, Yoongi saw red--the color of the pirates’ minds and he held onto them. Using his psionic abilities, he reached into each of the enemy’s skulls to take control. One by one he felt them fall under his grip, all 9 of them thinking that they had accomplished what they came there to do. That the alleyway was empty and they could stay still, talking to each other about their success. He impaired their minds and quite suddenly they all became very still, confusing Jimin. He was about to attack another one when they all fell down at the same time. Yoongi grunted, his eyes had turned all the way black and not just the irises either. He stood as still as they did as he held them there, imposing his will upon them. The younger man jogged up to Yoongi and was about to question him when Jimin noticed his eyes.

He turned away from the elder and started to talk to Kibeth in his earpiece. Finding out that the other group was at least 10 minutes away, he had to take a breath as not to lose his temper again. The other man was still attending to Nyala when Jimin trotted over to figure out what happened. He couldn’t stop his hands from shaking as he reached out to her, placing a hand on her hip and shaking her.

“I need to get her back to my home. I have everything there that I can treat her with but I can’t do it here. They came out of nowhere and I happened to be passing by when it occurred ...” The man gritted his teeth, the muscles in his jaw working as he bit back the frustrations, “I couldn’t even help either.”

Jimin placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled, grateful that he was even there. He relayed the location of the man’s home, on the left side of the city. It was nearer to the ruins and they wouldn’t be bothered there, they hoped. Or even, if they could even get out there in the first place. Yoongi was starting to sweat with the effort of keeping the others on the ground, muscles tensed from the effort. They had at least three more minutes and several of the guys were twitching, a signal that he was slowly losing control over them.

Yoongi thought about outright killing them but that would cause even more problems for them if there were more bodies there than what they’ve already done. On the other side, there would be less people chasing after them and give them more time to do what they needed to do. He fought with that thought, the merciful side of him coming out. He even thought about erasing their memories or giving them some sort of amnesia to give them another life. But when the rest of them pulled up in a car they had rented and ready to fight, he realized that these people couldn’t live. Jungkook gently placed a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder, his thoughts suddenly invading his concentration.

Several of the men started to get up, groggy from what happened but Yoongi knew what it was that Jungkook was saying. Once he lifted his hand, Jungkook gestured to the man and Nyala so while the rest of them got the pair into the car--he reasserted himself into their minds again. All of the men raised their guns to their heads and pulled the trigger, killing all of them instantly.

With the connection severed, Yoongi fell to the ground as exhaustion hit him harder than any of them ever did. He didn’t realize that Vairuit stayed out of the car, her hands helping him up. He felt something wet at his nose and after wiping it, discovered that it was his blue blood as it turned darker as it was exposed to the oxygen. The car roared off with everyone but Jungkook, Vairuit and Yoongi towards the temporary home of the doctor. Vairuit attended to Yoongi while Jungkook looked around for another form of transportation. He couldn’t quite keep up with Vairuit but he could at least carry Yoongi with him on another vehicle. As he went off to find one, she kept her arms around him as she supported him and walked him away from the scene. She craned her head to look at the scene behind them but he grunted, making her turn her attention to him.

“No. Don’t look.”

It was a simple request but he didn’t want anyone to see what it was that he could do. Not even the ones that were used to fighting and possibly killing, Yoongi didn’t want them to see him as one of them. As one of them , a killer with no sense of mercy or humanity like the pirates. He wouldn’t become one of them, even if he had his own fair share of blood on his hands. Indirectly or directly, even he wasn’t exempt from the ravages of space and wars. Sure, he funded and exploited such times but even he wasn’t without some sort of compassion. He wouldn’t become his family or akin to something like the pirates.

He would even the playing field for them all and protect them.

Jungkook came back with a motorcycle, something that he could find in that short amount of time. Vairuit helped him onto the vehicle, her hands lingering on his back and on Jungkook’s arm. She was beside herself that she couldn’t help when she was needed, frustrated that things were going that way. Yoongi could barely keep his head up, leaning on Jungkook who looked back at her. He had a sympathetic look on his face, knowing full well what it was that he was going through. After all, his past spoke volumes about how unbothered he was about the scene. His eyes lingered on Variuit before starting up the engine. He drove off, speeding to catch up with the other vehicle.

She gave one last look at the scene before sprinting off after them. Being one of her kind, she could endure long runs, sprints and other things that normal beings couldn’t. Her race was designed to be warriors with as little weaknesses as possible. However, that didn’t stop them from happening--just like with the others. Yoongi wasn’t a killer and she knew it but circumstances warranted it. As hard and commandeering as she could be, her heart hurt for him now as she understood him a little more. The pirates were all to blame for everyone’s misery and it was high time that they got their just desserts.

When she ran off, she didn’t notice someone standing on one of the rooftops. A man stared down at them, frowning. He took out a device and started to punch things in, fingers going as fast as lightning. Several drones appeared and started to follow them in the direction they went, towards the ruins of the city. He watched them on his device before making his move, his earrings tinkling in the wind as he moved. He would catch up to them soon enough.

[lycorogue]

Latest Story: “I Don’t Care”

I had posted this via an AO3 share on Friday, but it hasn’t had any notes, and I usually get at least one like on my ML stuff. Maybe it’s because it’s a Gabriel and Emilie Agreste love story instead of following one of the teens. Or, maybe because people can’t find the AO3 shares? I thought they were specifically designed to hit the Tumblr algorithm, but maybe I got that backwards?

So, in case it’s because I used the AO3 share button, instead of sharing as I normally would, I’m trying again my traditional way.

Summary: Gabriel Agreste's life was safe, stable, predictable, and boring. That is, until he literally ran into a strange woman at a club; a club he didn't even want to go to. He felt instantly that this Emiile woman would forever change his life. He didn't realize how true that feeling was.

Word Count: 5406; In-Progress

Chapters: 2 out of ?

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences  (mostly because I don’t know where I’ll be going with this.)

Ship: Emilie and Gabriel Agreste

Characters: Gabriel Agreste, Emilie Agreste (before she was an Agreste), and a bunch of OCs. Perhaps Nathalie and/or The Gorilla will make appearances at some point.

You can find the story at my normal 3 spots: on AO3, on FFN, and on DA

In this story, Gabriel is probably about 21 or 22, and Emilie is roughly 20 or 21. Also, since Adrien is 14 in the late 2010s, then he must have been born around the turn of the century. Assuming Emilie and Gabe were together for a little bit before having him, this story is taking place mid- to late-1990s. I’m picturing some time between 1997 and 99.

**Disclaimer: I never intended this story to be more than a one-shot, so I have no clue how frequently I’ll work on it; nor do I know how long it will be once done. This will be a nice palate cleansing side-project whenever I’m stuck in my main writing. So, enjoy this casual ride through Gabriel and Emilie’s romance, and see how Gabriel once was: an actually loving man.

This story actually originated as my Tumblr Exclusive one-off: Stranger in a White Dress. However, I was inspired by Ed Sheeran’s acoustic of “I Don’t Care” and decided to come back to this universe.

For those who wish to read the full story here on Tumblr

Again, “chapter 1″ can be found here

Chapter 2: Alone at a Party

Of course she wasn't there. Why would she be?

Gabriel nodded his thanks to the rented bartender, and walked his glass of whiskey to the far side of the apartment great room. The party was in full swing. A party for someone Gabriel didn't even know. He hated that he let his flatmate Sylvain talk him into coming along. He didn't belong there. He belonged at home.

Or, perhaps with her.

The memory of a slinky white dress and golden Hollywood loose curls flashed in his mind. His phone number on a bare arm. The mysterious fleeing of an astonishing woman. She was his Cinderella, but she hadn't bothered to leave him a glass slipper.

Gabriel settled onto one of the few collapsible chairs scattered about the perimeter of the room. Around him, people were dancing, and laughing, and joking with each other, and catching up on wild tales, and even making out. He didn't want any part of it. In a room stuffed with people, he was alone.

The majority of the party loomed before him. The small rented bar and accompanying bartender were in the opposite corner, past the picture windows and French doors to the balcony. Off to Gabriel's right was the main entrance, constantly flowing with party-goers. There was a chance he'd be able to sneak out unnoticed via the crowd, but if he got bogged down at all Sylvain could spot him and wrangle him back into the party. The hallway behind his left shoulder lead to the bathroom and bedrooms. Gabriel could sneak back to one of them. There had to be an emergency exit; a fire escape or something. He could use that.

Except it was probably off one of the bedrooms, which were all most likely preoccupied already by some promiscuous twenty-somethings enjoying their youth. Something Sylvain swore Gabriel should also be doing.

Gabriel took a sip of his drink. It wasn't top-shelf whiskey, but it was at least smooth with a nice flavor to it. Also, it was free; thank god for hosts who had the decency to set up open bars. Eyeing up the crowd once more, Gabriel plotted his excuse for Sylvain. Would he even notice Gabriel's retreat? He'd most likely go home with at least one person at the party, and wouldn't be bothered to check for when Gabriel made it to the flat. He could just tell Sylvain that he made it home around two. That seemed customary for one to enjoy a "night out."

Maybe he'd go to that club again instead of going home. Could he meet her there a second time? What would the odds be of that? What if she were a university student? Should he walk the campus and hope she's on one of the great lawns? Would he seem like a creep if he did?

First, he had to get out of this blasted apartment.

"Don't have much diversity in your wardrobe, huh?"

Gabriel startled. Something about the voice rang familiar; a tone that he couldn't quite shake out of his head for the past week. He turned, and standing by his right shoulder was the blonde woman he met at the club; the woman he was just thinking of, the woman he couldn't stop thinking about: Emilie.

She had her hair in a ponytail this time, and she wore a simple, Merlot-colored, off-shoulder, long-sleeve t-shirt covered by a deep-dyed, fitted jean vest. Her matching skinny jeans were tucked into black knee-high stiletto boots. A thick, black choker with a silver heart charm dangling from it wrapped around her neck. She looked casual and dressed up at the same time, the gorgeousness of someone who just "threw something on."

She held her warm smile for a few more seconds, but when Gabriel didn't respond, her face fell.

"Oh. Right. The whiskey. You probably don't remem-"

"I definitely remember you." With Gabriel's hand on his lap, he was actually about even with Emilie's hand, which was dangling temptingly by her side. His hand inched across his thigh as he debated wrapping his pinkie around her index finger. Would it be too forward for him to reach out and take her hand? She did kiss him within five minutes of them meeting. Gabriel had no clue what the protocol was for their relationship, if one could even call it that.

Emilie's smile returned, and she sat in the chair to Gabriel's left, forcing him to pivot again to keep eye contact.

"You look like you're having a good time," she teased.

Gabriel huffed. "Flatmate's idea. He's under some impression that he's in charge of my social life, and that I don't have enough of one."

"I have no clue where he could get that idea when you clearly give off such party-animal vibes." Emilie gestured at Gabriel's khakis and rust-colored cable-knit sweater over a white button-down.

"That's true." A smile started tugging at the corners of Gabriel's mouth. "Did you know, a sweater fairly similar to this very one got me ambushed by a complete stranger last Saturday?"

Emilie laughed as a pleasant blush pinked her cheeks. "What can I say? Thick sweaters are like catnip to me."

They shared a short laugh. Emilie inched closer, and crossed her left leg over her right knee. As she settled, her left toes brushed against Gabriel's shin.

"So, tell me about this flatmate of yours. He just kick you out the door like at cat at night?"

"No. He's here. Dragged me with him to this party."

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" Emilie popped upright, planting both feet to the floor. Gabriel instantly missed the feel of her boot against his leg. "I didn't realize he could go invisible!" She leaned around Gabriel, to where she was standing when she greeted him. "How do you do, Mr. Flatmate." She smiled at the air.

"What on earth are you doing?" Gabriel glanced past his shoulder – half expecting to actually see his flatmate standing there – before staring back at Emilie. "Of course he's not invisible, what kind of nonsense is that?"

"Well." Emilie squared her shoulders and puffed out her chest. "I thought to myself 'Gabe's flatmate brought him here, and yet I don't see him. So either he abandoned his flatmate while at this party, or he's invisible and I was rude to have ignored him this long.' I simply went with the more pleasant answer." The right side of her mouth curled up in a playful smile.

Gabriel laughed and shook his head. He took another sip of his drink before using the rocks glass to gesture towards the cleared out living room floor. A small mob of party goers were dancing, but they were too tightly packed for Gabriel to find Sylvain within the pack.

"He's in there. Somewhere."

"Did he even last ten minutes before lassoing some cutie to grind against?"

Gabriel choked on his sip of whiskey, coughing it back into his glass. He let out a few more chuckles.

"It's fine," Gabriel told her lightly. "It just means I can sneak away without him realizing I cut out early."

"Oh? You're leaving so soon? But I just re-found you."

"Well, I-"

"We can't have that." Emilie stood up and grabbed Gabriel's drink from his hand. "Whiskey again?"

Gaping, Gabriel slowly nodded. Emilie shrugged, and then downed the rest of his drink.

"What are you-?"

Emilie placed Gabriel's now-empty glass down, grabbed his hand, and tugged him out to the dance floor.

"Come on, you have to at least have some fun before you run away."

"Who said I wasn't having some fun just now?" Just like the first night they met, Emilie easily flowed through the crowd, whereas Gabriel, dragged behind her, bounced off nearly every person they passed.

"We didn't dance at the club. We should dance here." She halted to the right of the crowd. Her chest rose and fell like she was panting, even though they didn't do anything terribly strenuous.

"First of all, we didn't dance because you mysteriously disappeared back onto the dance floor without me, and without so much as a proper goodbye. Secondly, I don't dance."

"Alright. I accept your first point, but I refuse to believe the second one. Everyone dances, even if it's goofily while alone in their bedrooms."

"I do structured dances; ballroom dances."

"Ballroom?" Emilie nearly screamed with surprise. "Alright, that I definitely have to see. I doubt they'll let us put on Chopin, however. Either way, it still means that you do indeed have a sense of rhythm. So, come on, don't be shy."

She started bobbing her head and shuffling her shoulders to the synth beat of the club music playing. Adding in some snaps on the downbeats, she wiggled her hips. Raising her hands over her head, Emilie slinked around Gabriel as she danced. As her hip passed his, she bumped them. With a quick spin behind his back, she bumped his other hip with hers, then continued to dance in front of him.

Gabriel was thrown off balance with each hip bump, and not just literally. The contact from her short-circuited him each time. All he could manage was dumbly watching her dance before him. Suddenly, he once more wondered what he was doing at that party; with her. At the same time though, he didn't wish to be anywhere else.

"Well?" Emilie giggled, "Are you joining in?"

Gabriel bashfully shook his head. "I told you, I don't dance."

"Actually, quite the contrary. You just told me that you do dance. So let's see it." She then smirked and grabbed each of Gabriel's hands. "Here, I'll even help you get started." She altered pumping each of their arms over their heads, then she leaned away from him so she could wiggle their arms as if they were swinging double-dutch rope.

"What are you doing?" Gabriel laughed.

"Helping you dance to prove that you can do it. Your shoulders are still a bit stiff though." She dropped his hands and instead grabbed his shoulders to shake them to the rhythm.

He laughed harder and grabbed her hips to try to stop her. Instead, she smirked and rocked her hips more enthusiastically. Her own hands shifted from his shoulders to the sides of his chest in an attempt to get that to move as well.

"We look ridiculous." Gabriel shook his head, and stubbornly didn't move his feet.

"Exactly! That's how you know we're having fun."

"Okay, enough 'fun' though." Gabriel chuckled and pulled her against him so she had no room to keep moving. It kept him a second too long to realize what he had just done.

They stilled as they stared at each other, their arms wrapped around each other's backs. Somehow, Emilie's jade eyes seemed a richer green than Gabriel remembered. The scent of lavender enveloped him. His body burned, and their chests rose and fell in sync.

A smooth jazz song with an electronic bass started up, causing the crowd to slow down and pinch close to each other.

Very much like how Gabriel and Emilie already were.

The song was in three-quarter measure, and had a sultry flow to the notes. Gabriel eased at the familiarity of the rhythm. He pulled Emilie's left hand off his back, and placed it on his right shoulder. He then tugged gently on her right elbow to coax that hand off his back as well. Sliding his fingers down her right forearm, he took her hand in his.

"Gabe?"

He smiled and gave her a quick wink. Mentally counting the start of the next measure, he began twirling her around their little circle of the floor. He smoothly lead her in a simple waltz. There was more space between them then there was a moment before, but somehow it felt more intimate; dancing with her like that. Her eyes enlarged and sparkled as a grin grew wider and wider across her face.

"Does this mean I know how to dance the waltz as well?" Emilie teased.

"It means you have a good partner."

She bit her lip as her smile kept crawling up her face. "I do, do I?"

Gabriel blushed and averted his gaze. Emilie quickly cupped his chin in her left hand, and redirected it back towards her. Running her fingers along his jawline, she then brought her hand back to his shoulder so they could continue dancing.

"Tell me about this mysterious flatmate of yours. Why does he feel like he's your keeper, and why the need to force socialization onto you?"

"He's one of those exhausting people-persons who needs stimulation every waking moment, and he's quite confused as to how I can enjoy our little flat, and be content with just my drafting table. So he shoves me out into the world and demands I take part in it."

"Drafting table? Are you some sort of architect then?"

"Fashion designer. Aspiring, at least."

Emilie leaned further away from him, eyed up his outfit, and giggled.

"Please tell me this isn't one of your designs."

"What's wrong with it?"

Emilie grew red, and pulled against Gabriel's hold, trying to shrink away from him. "Oh my goodness! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to insult you, I just figured the outfit was sort of plain, especially for a party like this. But I'm wearing a t-shirt, so I shouldn't judge what's fashionable. It was so insensitive of me, I just-"

Gabriel burst into a laugh. "I was just joking." Emilie backhanded his shoulder, and Gabriel reflexively muttered 'ow.' He laughed a bit more at her surly pout, but quickly settled. "I focus mostly on women's clothing designs, although you are probably right that I should start dressing the part a bit more myself. I might have to branch out into men's clothes as well."

Emilie's head slowly rocked side-to-side as she studied him. "You know, your blue eyes are almost a silver color."

"They are?"

"Yep. You would look really sharp in an ivory, or maybe a nice royal purple. It would really make your eyes pop."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really."

Gabriel pressed gently on Emilie's back, directing her into a spin under his arm. He held her at arm's length, and she leaned away from him, waiting to be pulled back in.

"Why did you let him bring you here? Your flatmate. If you weren't going to enjoy yourself at this party, then why come? Why not stay at your drafting table designing the next great fashion trend?"

Gabriel tugged gently to again spin Emilie under his arm, and caught her back in the standard waltzing pose.

"He was persistent. Also, perhaps a part of me hoped I would stumble into you again."

"You didn't even know I'd be here. I bet you can't tell me who invited me to this party."

"That's true, but it had been a week, and clearly you didn't need more cheering up. So, I decided to leave our meeting up to Fate, and Fate seems to have delivered."

"So you're saying it pays to leave the flat every now and again."

"In this one instance, yes, but don't let my flatmate know, otherwise I'll never get any rest."

"I'll be sure to avoid the topic, however I still don't know who your flatmate even is."

"Good. We should keep it at that."

"Afraid he'll whisk me away?"

"More that he'd scare you away. He's a bit... intense."

"Damn extroverts."

"Precisely."

Emilie giggled as the song ended. Tucking a non-existent stray strand of hair behind her ear, she tugged on Gabriel's hand. Silently, he allowed her to lead him out onto the balcony.

"You have a thing with balconies, don't you?" Gabriel hung back by the door as Emilie continued towards the railing.

"I enjoy taking in Paris. Your flatmate is right; you need to be out in this glorious city, not trapped inside with a drafting table. How could you not be inspired by all of this?" She swung her arms wide as they overlooked a sea of dazzling lights.

"It's not much different than the view I have by my drafting table. I did make sure to place it by a window."

"But it's not just the view! It's the people! The experience that is Paris!"

"The experience? You sound like a tourist."

"That's the point!" Emilie grabbed his hands and pulled him to the railing. She then gestured out towards the grand view, pointing to a large spire poking out in the distance on their left. "The majesty of the Eiffel Tower." She then pivoted Gabriel to face to their right. "The romance of the Love Locks on Pont des Arts." She stretched in front of him, pointing to the large tower looming just past their peripheral on their right. "The breathtaking views of Paris seen from atop Montparnasse." Gesturing to her left again, she pointed in a vague direction. "The history of the Place de la Concorde."

"You don't know where the Place is, do you?"

"Eh, it's over there somewhere." She wiggled her fingers roughly straight ahead. "I'm not the best with cardinal directions. I do know it's to the east of the Eiffel Tower."

Gabriel smiled, keeping his eyes on Emilie instead of the view she was trying to show off.

"But it truly is the people of Paris that makes this city special. You have to walk among them; greet them; rub elbows with them-"

"Kiss them?"

Emilie blushed. "Uh, about that. I didn't mean-" She turned towards Gabriel, and found him pressed against her side. "-to, uh, offend." Gabriel leaned in, and her blush deepened. "I'm sorry I never called you."

"Did you not want to?"

"No. I did. I wanted to so badly."

"You don't seem the type to hold back when you want something."

"You had been drinking. I didn't know if you'd want to hear from me again. Didn't know if you would even remember me."

"I don't think I could ever forget you." He ran his hand across the railing, and rested it on top of hers.

Emilie's eyes darted to his hand, then back up to meet his intense gaze. Her hand grew hot under his. Her lips parted slightly; welcomingly. Gabriel ran his index finger across the edge of Emilie's swooped bangs, following their line to her ear. He then brushed his thumb down the side of her face, their eyes never breaking contact. His thumb continued across her chin, and stopped just below her lips. He could feel the gloss of her lipstick, and wondered if it tasted of anything. Maybe the remnants of his whiskey that she had downed before they danced.

Emilie closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and reached out to kiss the tip of Gabriel's lingering thumb. It made his own breath catch.

"We both had some whiskey this time," Gabriel whispered.

Emilie hummed in response.

"I don't think that's why I feel drunk though," he continued.

Emilie's breath was sharp and loud. Her eyes darted open, and her hand wrapped around the nape of Gabriel's neck, pulling him hungrily down to her. Gabriel's hand quickly shifted to Emilie's back so his thumb wouldn't be in the way.

She seemed so tiny in his hands, and yet she was so fierce. He still barely knew her, but he wanted to more than anything else in the world. Every second he was with her, he craved more. He hated the world, hated being in it, but he'd gladly stand in the middle of a crowded Tokyo if it was to be with her.

He didn't understand what his appeal was to her, but he'd figure that out as well. He'd learn everything about her. He'd spend the rest of his life as her student; mastering every nuance, every scent, every movement, every tone, every kindness, every flaw; everything that made up Emilie.

They pulled apart after Gabriel had no clue how long, but he knew it was too soon. He rested his forehead against hers, his thumb running across the hand still tucked under his.

"I think you should give me your number this time, since clearly you can't be trusted to pick up a phone."

"Does that mean you'll leave your Fortress of Solitude again; join society?"

"As long as it means spending time with you."

She smiled and pulled away from him. She slinked her hand free of his, and held it palm up to him.

"In that case, I hope you have a pen on you."

[minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong]

Dissonance Chapter Three

Description: After spending a year studying abroad in America, Y/N returns to Seoul hoping to greet the familiar city as a new girl. But what will she do when she’s met with old friends she’d rather forget? It seems the strings of fate are determined to test her resolve…and her willpower.

Genre: Fluff and Angst

Pairing: Taehyung x (f) Reader

Word Count: 8.6k

Tags: Badboy!Taehyung, Non-Idol!Au, Rockband BTS!Au, Bassist Taehyung!Au

Warnings: Swearing and mentions of alcohol, although infrequently

A/N: Hello my loves! Here is the third chapter. I hope you guys enjoy it! I had a good time writing it. As always, please don’t hesitate to send me an ask if you want to chat! Talking to you guys brings me a lot of joy, so don’t be shy. I’ll answer all asks within a day of receiving them. And please send me feedback, critique, questions, comments, or really anything! Thank you guys for the support and I hope you all are having a peaceful weekend!

- Mercury

Previous Chapter – Next Chapter

Masterlist

“Emergency house meeting!” shrieked Yuna after a few moments more of gawking.

I stiffened in front of Taehyung and shoved him by the chest back into my bedroom, shutting the door quickly before he could resist me. Haewon set a dining chair in front of the sofa and the two sat down across from it, Yuna resting her chin atop her folded fingers as Haewon sat cross-legged beside her.

“I know you’re expecting me to say this, but I swear on my life it’s not what it looks like,” I said after a long moment as I settled into the dining chair.

Haewon suppressed a laugh and cleared her throat, adjusting the ponytail atop her head. “Um,” she began, eyeing me. “You said you didn’t know V.”

I shook my head. “I don’t.”

“Then who was that?”

“That was Taehyung,” I said, pointing towards my shut door.

Yuna rubbed her temples. “Y/N, I know you just got home and you’re having some weird quarter-life crisis or something, but you can’t bring handsome men to the apartment and undress them without at least giving us a heads-up,” she said with shut eyes.

I shook my head, vehemently waving my arms. “No! No, God. You’re-,” I began, then settled myself with a sigh. “You’re totally misunderstanding.”

“The only thing I don’t understand is why you’re out here with us when you’ve got a guy like that naked in your room-,” Haewon started to said through laughter.

“Enough of that!” called Yuna. “Y/N, explain.”

I nodded. Yuna never said my name more than once like that. “You know he’s an old friend. Kind of. We talked about this at work,” I said, pleading to Yuna’s memory to save me.

“Yes, but why is he wet and shirtless?”

“I told him to give me clothes he needed dried. I figured, like…a jacket. Or his socks. Not his whole…outfit,” I said, scratching my neck. I was beginning to feel like a criminal in an interview with the police. 

Haewon cocked a brow. “How domestic,” she said with a smirk.

I gave her shin a sharp kick and she winced before crossing her arms. “Anyway, I’ll have him out as soon as I can. He just…I don’t know, he seemed like he needed someone.”

Yuna looked at me now with concern rather than contempt, and that made my heart ache tenfold. She sighed. “And where was he when you needed someone last year?”

I struggled with the memory that her words conjured, and chose instead to shrug. “One person being cruel doesn’t mean I have to be cruel too,” I said. “How he acts is independent from how I act, Yuna.”

She furrowed her brow and sighed. “As long as you don’t get hurt.”

I chuckled. “I’ve been hurt enough,” I said, and the statement hung between us like an ominous shroud of fog, hovering around at eye level as I excused myself to tend to my not-friend Taehyung.

After having his things dried, Taehyung was quick to exit the apartment. I supposed I hadn’t mentioned that my roommates were both girls, and pretty ones at that, so being exposed to them seemed to have spooked the guy enough not to cause problems. And after that foreboding conversation with Yuna, I was more than ready to wipe my hands of Kim Taehyung and whatever he brought with him. I was content to simply coexist peacefully with him as his sort-of-manager, and to never cross the line of history ever again.

Yuna was right.

And, anyway, I was right too.

I’d been hurt enough.

We parted ways, awkwardly and somewhat cordially, at the front door. I didn’t offer to walk him out, and as the sun slipped below the horizon, christening the advent of twilight, I let him leave with a wave and little else. He seemed frazzled, perhaps caught off guard, and as he left I could see the cogs in his mind turning quickly. I didn’t wonder what he was thinking about. I walked back into the apartment and, seeing the living room clear of all roommates, wandered towards my room, flicked off the light so my bed was bathed in amber and lilac, and fell into the plush comforter face first. I groaned into the pillows, a wordless lament for my own stupidity. Why had I brought him here in the first place? What had possessed me to presume any sort of relationship between us anymore? And why had I opened the door for him to enter my life again?

I rolled onto my side and glanced towards the wall. I registered the vague white outline of my door, the crevices catching grey long shadows as the day slowly, painfully, ended. The door in front of which Taehyung had approached me, that odd contemplation in his dark eyes. I couldn’t put my finger on just what he’d been doing, and when I’d returned to the room I hadn’t bothered to ask. I was rattled from the sincerity in Yuna’s concern, and if it were coming from anyone else I could have easily written it off as nothing. But Yuna…she’d seen a side of me that would scare most anyone.

My gaze drifted sideways until I hit the painting. I raised my brows. Was that it after all? I’d almost forgotten it, propped on the wall with a tack I wasn’t supposed to be using in a rented apartment. The only decoration that I always, no matter what, hung up with care. 

Van Gogh’s A Pair of Shoes.

Or rather, a copy of the painting, printed on paper from my dad’s home office and set in a brown wood frame that matched the color of the worn leather shoes in the center. The painting featured a pair of worn leather working boots, and brought with it a sense of somberness in deep, cool browns and melancholy yellows. When I’d gone to America, I’d made it a point to visit the Met Museum in New York, intending to see the painting in person. I’d arrived there in December during the snowy season, utilizing my Christmas break not to return home but to go in search of the original piece. To my dismay, the painting they had wasn’t A Pair of Shoes, but rather just Shoes. A pretty piece, showcasing a pretty — but different — pair of shoes, this painting of Van Gogh’s didn’t inspire the same feeling as my printed copy did with its bleeding ink and uneven white borders.

I sighed, staring at the thing. Of course, that was what Taehyung had noticed after all. It wasn’t me. It had never been me to begin with.

“Y’know what Heidegger says about this painting?” 

Taehyung tilted his head to the side, observing the print with great thought. “No.”

“He says it is an example of sublimity. That the painting means more than what it looks like,” I said.

He turned to me with a smirk. “That’s a little far for a pair of shoes.”

I shrugged. “He says that the shoes tell the story of the person who wore them, that they reveal something very deep about humanity. The toils and the struggles, the uncertainty of the working class. He says it’s an important piece.”

We stood in the dusty back corner of the art supply store at which he spent most of his free time working. They’d recently purchased a print of the painting and had mounted it in a frame, intending to sell it. But instead of being sold, the painting became fodder for two pretentious teenagers with a penchant for art. Perhaps not the intended use, but during that cloudy November day I was happy to be standing with my best friend, pontificating on the thing.

“I kind of get it,” said Taehyung. He was the real artist between us. He knew a lot about a lot of pieces, and he was a fan of Van Gogh in particular. “Like…after a long day working, this person kicked off their shoes without even propping them against the wall. They’re probably a very diligent person.”

“Let’s be like that.”

He raised his thick brows at me, his dark bangs tickling his eyelids. “What do you mean?”

“Let’s work hard for our goals. Like…let’s put our whole effort into it, so that at the end of the day when we kick off our shoes we can say that we did our best,” I said, contemplating as I stared up at the print, the dim lighting doing it no justice as it sat coldly behind the gauche paints.

He thought a moment before smiling slightly. “A bit idealistic…”

“There’s nothing you can’t do if you work hard,” I said.

He laughed and ruffled my hair, causing me to cringe and slap his hand away with a scowl. The frown slipped from my face, however, when I saw the bright smile on his face, the way his eyes squinted and his cheeks bloomed. I softened. “Alright. Let’s work hard together then, okay?”

I nodded, grabbing his hand and giving it a very firm shake. He laughed as he returned the gesture, big fingers wrapping around mine and holding them tightly for just a moment too long.

He was right though.

It was too idealistic after all.

“Bad night’s sleep?” asked Mijin the next day, looking at me with a sad smile as we sat beside the backstage vanity. 

I nodded. “That obvious?” I asked, examining the long bags beneath my eyes in the vanity mirror, the ones my concealer did little to cover. She opened her mouth to reply, but I beat her to it with a sigh. “No, don’t answer that.”

She laughed and gave my shoulders a gentle squeeze, standing behind me as I sat, taking a short break from running around the venue cleaning and setting up equipment. “You look fine,” she said, then gave a wink. “Fine fine, you know?”

I rolled my eyes and stood, but couldn’t help the smile that touched my lips. I had put in a little more effort than usual. I was hoping that, with the help of his endorphins onstage, Hoseok might take notice of me, might see me in a different light or something like that. I’d dressed nicely, raiding my unpacked luggage and Haewon’s closet for something fun, flirty, and a little but edgy. It was a hard sell, but I felt like with the right attitude I could pass for a cool rock band’s manager.

“The guys won’t be here for another thirty. Wanna grab a snack or something?” she asked.

I raised my brows. “Is an hour enough time for a soundcheck and styling?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Not really, but they make it work.”

I furrowed my brow and rubbed my forehead. Another issue I’d have to take up with Sunny. “Alright. Um…and no. I’m okay. You go on ahead,” I said with a smile her way. Tonight, she sported bright blue contacts, dark eyes, and a blood red lipstick. I wondered how she managed to keep it off her teeth.

She nodded. “I’ll see you in a few then.”

“Will do,” I said, stretching and meandering out onto the stage where Sunny was fretting over where to place the boys’ water bottles so they wouldn’t stand out or trip anybody. 

She backed away from a mic stand, still crouched as she adjusted the water bottle, and her bottom, clad with a white pleated skirt, bumped into Jimin’s guitar stand on which, of course, Jimin’s guitar rested. I was quick to act, sprinting towards the falling instrument with my hands extended. I landed in a heap, fingers splayed out on the concrete stage, guitar settling with a painful clatter into my arms. For a brief moment, all was still and silent. And then I exhaled, bowing my head down between my arms as I laid like a seal on my stomach. 

“Oh!” exclaimed Sunny, turning to face me with wide, horrified eyes.

I glanced up at her and gave her a grin, shaking my head. “Don’t worry. I got it.”

She fell to her knees beside me and guided the guitar back onto its stand, leaving me to pick myself back up and sit in front of her. “Jesus! I’m so sorry. I was too focused-,”

“It’s fine. No harm done,” I said, laughing. “Kinda funny though. Not the sort of slide one normally does onstage.”

She smiled. “Well I’m glad you did it. You saved my skin.”

I laughed. “One of us in debt to Bangtan is bad enough. We don’t need another indentured servant.”

“Sunny!” screamed a voice from below, offstage. 

We both turned to face the source of the call and found Mijin standing in front of the tall stage, thrumming her fingers on her thigh with a smile. “Snack run?”

Sunny raised her brows and shook her head. “Oh, no. I’m way too busy-,”

“Sunny it’s fine. I’ll set up the water bottles,” I said, shooing her with my hands.

She glanced at me. “Are you sure?”

“What are assistant managers for?”

She pouted slightly and nodded before sliding to the edge of the stage and hopping down to meet Mijin. I tried not to jump as her feet hit the ground solidly, and tried not to imagine the way her nerves might have traced a string of pain up each calf upon impact. The two girls gave me pleasant waves over their shoulders as I continued to sit in front of Jimin’s guitar. I returned them and, as soon as I was certain they were outside the dim building, I winced and gripped my left hand. It seemed that as I was falling, that particular palm had taken the weight of the landing. Some of the skin had peeled back, revealing pinkish flesh and dots of blood. I shook my head. What would the owner of A Pair of Shoes do? Would she lament her skinned hand and cry about it or would she get back to work?

I stood to my feet and positioned Jimin’s water bottle back a ways so it wouldn’t be in the way. I moved around the stage, settling things so they sat just so, placing bottled water here and there, making sure each member could grab for one when needed. It wasn’t a particularly riveting job, but it was a necessary one. The last thing we needed was Kim Seokjin toppling over from dehydration during the middle of a set.

It took me several moments of working around the stage, passing around in circles, to notice that after having moved certain things — a water bottle here, a drumstick there — some choice items were not as I left them. I furrowed my brow and looked down at Jimin’s water bottle, the one I’d placed meticulously just beside where his foot would be. It was now conspicuously askew, sitting nearly in front of his mic stand. I stared at it, trying to riddle out just how it had become this way. 

“Poltergeist,” I whispered to myself with a nod.

“Not that I know of,” said a voice from behind me.

I shouted and turned around, hands raised to attack my aggressor. “Ah,” I breathed, lowering my hands as a smile took me over from the inside. “Hoseok.”

He stood before me dressed in a leather jacket, a long plaid scarf dangling around his shoulders and grazing his hips, a pair of black Doc Martens on his feet and a black cap atop his fluffy brown hair. “Hey there, Miss Manager,” he said with a bright smile.

I laughed and shook my head. “Assistant manager,” I said, then pursed my lips. “Co-manager if you’re generous.”

He laughed at this and took a deep inhale, grinning. “You were working so hard I had to tease you.”

“You followed me around the stage?”

“I was seeing how long it would take for you to notice,” he said.

I smirked. “And how long did it take?”

“Two minutes and,” he consulted a watch on his wrist. “Thirty-seven seconds.”

I raised my brows. “Dang. Am I really that unobservant? I’m ripe for the murdering,” I said as I crossed my arms in thought.

Hoseok shook his head, adopting a stern expression. “Hey! Nobody’s murdering you if I’m around.”

My stomach fluttered with butterflies and I grinned. “Why are you here by the way? You don’t need to be here for another twenty minutes.”

His smile turned bashful and he led the way to the edge of the stage where he sat, swinging his long legs out over the side so they dangled. I joined him, falling beside him and letting my heels hit the front of the stage every now and then. “Well…I feel like I haven’t been able to really talk to you much since you started working with us,” he said, turning to face me with a sly wink. “I wanted to make sure you felt welcome!”

I laughed and averted my eyes to my lap, face warming at his words. “Well thank you. I feel very welcome now.” I wrung my hands as they rested atop my thighs, but winced at the tender skin on my left palm rubbed against my right.

“Oh!” said Hoseok, quick to grab for my hand. “Are you hurt?”

I flushed and looked towards him with rounded eyes. “Um…,” I began, unable to form a proper sentence with his dark brown eyes on my hand, his warm skin on mine, his soft brow furrowed. “N-Not really.”

His eyes flashed up to meet mine and he shook his head in disapproval. “You are,” he asserted with a scowl. “God, Y/N, how did this happen?” he asked, running a thumb gently over the raised skin.

I cringed a little in pain and shook my head. “It’s nothing. Just…fell.”

He sighed and, using one hand to keep my palm elevated, rifled through his front pocket with the other. Quickly, he produced a bandaid from the depths of his light jeans and turned back to me with a determination in his jaw. “Here,” he said, blowing on my skin and causing it to ache. “There’s dust in it,” he scolded, giving my wrist a light chastising tap.

I couldn’t help but find him adorable as he pored over my injury with all the seriousness of a surgeon. “You just happened to have a bandaid for me?”

He nodded, still too focused on cleaning out my wound to look at me. “Always do.”

I raised my brow. Something so simple revealed an awful lot about a person. Was he someone who was that caring and thoughtful towards others? I began to wonder with insatiable curiosity with what colors he saw the world. “Thank you,” I murmured as he finally smoothed the bandaid over my skin, his long fingers grazing over the rest of my palm before letting it drop to my lap.

He met my eyes and gave a bright smile. “Don’t mention it,” he said, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t want our manager getting hurt.”

“I’m not your manager and I was already hurt to begin with,” I said, laughing.

He gave my forehead a light flick. “You’re awfully sassy!”

I shrugged. Had it always been so easy to talk to Hoseok? The other day it had been downright awkward. But now, somehow, it felt natural. Was it the lighting? Perhaps I really had done a good job choosing my outfit? “And you’re awfully thoughtful.”

His smile faltered and, for the briefest second, I saw a flash of something I couldn’t identify. “I’m not really,” he said with a shy laugh, looking down towards his feet below, dangling above the ground. “The other guys are much more thoughtful than me.”

I raised my brows. “Oh, I promise you they’re not,” I said, laughing. “I know most of them pretty well and I can guarantee you the only thought in Jeon Jungkook’s mind is how many days in a row he can wear the same white shirt.”

Hoseok laughed, a guffaw really which echoed with great force around the room. “How did you know that? Do you have a camera in our apartment?” he asked with an accusing finger poking my cheek.

I laughed with him. “Damn! I’ve been caught!” I said, scooting away from him slightly to get some distance.

Except when I backed away he advanced closer. I kept pushing myself further and further until there was no more further at all, my right side hitting the wall adjacent to the stage, Hoseok’s body pressed close to mine, thighs touching, arms squished close together. I felt myself becoming hotter beside him, a blush warming my entire skin. I turned to look at him slowly, as if any sudden movement may ruin the moment, may awaken me from the daydream. Only when I did look at him, I found him already looking at me with a smile. He’d trapped me against the wall, leaving me with only one option of escape: jumping off the stage like Sunny had. 

He leaned closer to me, our faces nearer than they’d ever been before. “No spies,” he said lowly with a smile.

I blinked rapidly, lids fluttering as I struggled to maintain such intense and playful eye contact. He had a sort of energy that was difficult to match, and while I liked to play around a fair bit myself, I was much too serious to keep up with him. Even inches away from me, I felt nothing but an innocent mischief from him, no longing, no lust, no…anything. But my own heart began to race at our proximity, and that heart — dangerous, treacherous thing — conjured an image of Taehyung in my mind, standing even closer than Hoseok sat now, his eyes distant, his body emanating a heat I hadn’t felt in years. I shook my head, wishing I could just give myself a firm slap and banish all thoughts of Taehyung from my head altogether. Especially when I had a guy like Hoseok sitting in front of me, looking me right in the eye with a smile I’d never seen so close-up before.

“Whoa!” shouted a voice I recognized immediately. 

Thank God for Park Jimin. Both Hoseok and I turned to face Jimin as he stood below the stage, gawking at us as he laughed and clapped Jungkook’s shoulder. I flushed as I noticed that not only had Jungkook and Jimin been present to witness Hoseok and I together, but Taehyung was standing beside them as well, arms crossed and brow set straight, jaw taut against his neck. What sort of expression was that? 

“Children!” shouted Hoseok, quick to hop off the stage like Sunny had, landing squarely on his feet and rushing towards Jimin before throwing his arms around the younger boy’s shoulders. 

I could see Jimin’s face contort with feigned discomfort as Hoseok clung to him, and his eyes beseeched me from below. I could do nothing but smile and laugh, following the pace that Hoseok set as he played with the others. Perhaps I’d been too serious after all. He seemed just as touchy with Jimin as he had been with me. Perhaps I was reading too much into it, just like I’d done with Taehyung. 

The very same Taehyung who looked up at me now with a frown.

I met his eyes with an indignant stubbornness, raising my brows and crossing my arms as if to ask what his problem was. As I did, Jimin began to moan about Hoseok being too close, pushing the boy away by the chest as Hoseok, persistent, continued to grapple with Jimin’s limbs to find purchase somewhere.

“Hoseok likes me too much!” he shouted, eliciting a laugh from me.

“You’re a likable guy,” I said, making my way to the stairs on the side of the stage so I could join the guys.

Jimin was still caught in an uncomfortable tango with Hoseok who, having found a victim, was unwilling to relent. “Hoseok,” whined Jimin.

Jungkook chuckled and took up my left flank. “Panicked gay,” he commented in my ear.

I thought I’d been the only one to hear it, but Jimin turned to us with a gape. “Excuse me! If I’m panicked gay then what are you?”

Jungkook’s teasing smile turned to a proud smirk as his spine straightened and he crossed his arms. “Confident het.”

A long moment of silence passed between all of us, Jimin’s gaze switching from Jungkook to me and then to Hoseok who by then had stopped squirming, his arms hooked around Jimin’s neck. Even Taehyung, standing at the edge of the group, had widened his eyes to stare at Jungkook. The quiet was incredulous from all angles.

Until one of us, I can’t say who for sure, began to laugh. At first, it was breathy, cough-like laughter that they tried to disguise, but before long all of of us were laughing like a pack of wily hyenas. Hoseok even released Jimin to grip his side with the force of his laughter. I glanced towards Taehyung in the fray and saw that even he had a smile on his face, one that seemed almost painful on his face as if he were trying to push it back down.

“Confident het,” repeated Hoseok, wiping beneath his eyes to keep from crying.

Jungkook, visibly affected and visibly offended, turned his scowl towards me. “It’s true!” he defended, his words elongating at the end as he complained. “I took a quiz online!”

This only caused our laughter to grow in volume and intensity. Wordlessly, we’d completely dismantled Jungkook, and we couldn’t help but laugh more at his reactions. Of course, predictably, he was rushing to each of us, pushing our arms with knitted brows and insisting that, yes, Buzzfeed was a legitimate method of classification.

We continued to laugh, none of us able to sate the amusement, until the front door of the venue opened, letting twilight pour into the room. Mijin stood beside Sunny, two plastic bags of snacks in their hands, and pointed laboredly towards the boys. 

“You’re here! Good! Get to the back and I’ll start on your makeup,” she commanded with a smile. 

The guys shuffled past me towards the stage. All of them but one. Taehyung hung back, hovering beside Sunny as she spilled the contents of her plastic bag onto the ground, sorting through it as she crouched. 

“Oh! We got you a drink, Y/N,” said Sunny from the floor. 

I approached, gingerly at first so as to avoid Taehyung’s eyes, and crouched beside her. “You didn’t have to do that,” I said, laughing.

She shook her head and extended a carton of banana milk towards me. “Nonsense. You’ve been really helpful,” she said.

I grabbed it and tried not to let it show how pleased I was. It was odd, but receiving recognition for my efforts made my heart feel warm and tingly. It always had. “Thank you.”

“Can I talk to you?” 

I glanced up to see Taehyung still standing nearby, staring down at me with seriousness in his dark eyes. I sighed. “You need to get your makeup done-,”

“Mijin can’t do four people’s makeup at once. Let’s go.”

“And what if I say no?”

He sighed and set his jaw, staring down at me with a loaded gaze. “Come on,” he said simply. Two words and I was disarmed. He knew I wouldn’t say no.

I swallowed, staring at the banana milk in my hands, begging to be drank. I glanced at Sunny too who was still too occupied with sorting her snacks to pay me much mind. I wanted nothing more than to sit beside her on the cool concrete floor, chat about nothing, drink my milk and thank her properly for taking the time to buy it for me.

I stood, setting the milk on a chair near the stage. “Fine,” I mumbled, following him with crossed arms towards the back of the venue, concealed in shadow and lacking in foot traffic.

It was in the dark, quiet corner that Taehyung finally showed me something I recognized. Unfortunately, it was an expression that I wished could have been replaced with something else. His jaw was set, his mouth screwed to the side, his eyes focused on something distant behind my head. It was the look he had when he was about to tell me something hurtful.

“Stop hanging out with Hoseok,” he said.

I scoffed. “Don’t be a cliche, Taehyung.”

He shook his head, catching my eyes briefly before he looked down. “I’m not. I’m saying this for him, alright? Not for me.”

“What…why would me avoiding him be a good thing for him?” I asked. “You’re not making sense.”

He huffed and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “If you’re just spending time with him to get to me you’re being stupid and it’s not gonna work,” he said.

I exhaled and let a sad smile part my lips. “Ah,” I said. “Finally, it comes out.”

He shook his head. “Nothing came out, it’s just the truth. We both know you have complicated feelings for me. Using Hoseok to rile me up is childish and it won’t work.”

I rolled my eyes. “Did it ever occur to you, like ever, that not everything in the world is about you?” I asked quietly, trying to keep my tone from rising.

“You’re being defensive.”

“I wouldn’t have to be if you weren’t attacking me,” I said. “Things change, Taehyung. Whatever feelings I had for you have become much less complicated since I’ve been away.”

He raised his brows. “Then why are you always looking at me?”

“Because you’re always looking at me!” I shouted, throwing my hands in the air. Before I could become too upset, I took a steadying breath and gripped the bridge of my nose. “Alright, listen,” I began again. “I have every right to be friends with Hoseok or not be. That’s my choice. And to be frank, I’m pretty offended that you take me for someone who would use another person like that. After everything we’ve been through together, I figured you’d at least have…some loyalty towards me. I figured you knew me at least a little bit.”

At this, Taehyung paused and his body went still. His eyes shifted towards me, softer this time, and his arms fell to his sides. “So…you just like him? It’s not some…weird revenge?”

I nodded. “I think he’s a nice person. And what I think of him beyond that is not your business,” I said, surprising myself with the sternness in my voice. “I don’t have time to waste being petty and trying to get back at you for something you did a long time ago. As far as I’m concerned, we’re nothing to each other. So I’d appreciate it if you just…leave me alone.”

He sighed. “Wait, Y/N-,”

“No,” I said. I laughed to myself, not because anything was that funny but precisely because it wasn’t funny. Not at all. “You don’t get to come at me and accuse me of something awful and then pull that innocent face like you did nothing wrong.”

His face, although innocent in the roundness of his eyes, the knitting of his brows, revealed something else. Perhaps a somberness? Melancholy? “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so quick to assume. But you have to understand, Hoseok’s circumstances aren’t something you want to play with if you’re not serious.”

I tossed a look towards him, searching for any insincerity in his expression, and found nothing but a dimly lit boy who looked like he had a lot to say. “You’re…this scared for him? You’re scared he’ll get hurt?” I asked.

He nodded. “He’s my friend,” he said. “Of course I am.”

I felt a pang in my stomach, a painful one, and nodded my head. Many things were becoming clearer the more time I spent with the new Kim Taehyung. “I see,” I said. If this was how he treated his friends, then…

Maybe we’d never been friends after all.

Yuna and Haewon met up with me after the concert, having ordained that tonight was the night we’d finally go out together and get some food together, maybe have a few drinks, catch up properly. I stood in the venue’s back parking lot, swaying side to side as I awaited my friends and felt an arm drape around my shoulders before I could register who’d done it. I turned to see Jimin smiling beside me, or at least I thought he was smiling. He sported a black face mask which concealed what I assumed was his smile and was peering down at me through squinted eyes. 

“Hey,” I said.

He tossed his head back toward the venue. “The guys are coming. You eating with us tonight?”

I shook my head and sighed. “No,” I said. The thought of sharing a table with Taehyung had me nauseous. “I’m meeting Haewon and Yuna.”

He pursed his lips. “Aw,” he pulled his face mask down to reveal a pout. “But we’ve been wanting to eat with you. To celebrate.”

“I don’t know if it would be much of a celebration with me there,” I said, letting my smile falter.

He squeezed my shoulders and shook me a little. “Hey! You’ve been gloomy since before the concert even started. And we performed really well too! What’s wrong?”

I briefly considered telling him everything, all the details I’d spared him from over the years for fear of influencing his friendship with Taehyung, but held back as the back door swung open and Hoseok walked out, arm hooked around Namjoon’s neck. Perhaps it was a deus ex machina, and I didn’t realize it. Sharing the story with Jimin might have done him more harm than it did me good.

“Oh! Y/N!” exclaimed Hoseok, brimming with post-concert energy. He approached me with a bright grin. “Are you coming out with us?”

Once again I shook my head. “No. I’m meeting with my friends.”

His brows raised and he tilted his head to the side. From above, the streetlight cast a yellow glow upon his skin and, even though the color was harsh, the way the nighttime reflected in his eyes and the light caught the browns in his hair made my heart flutter just a little. He looked at me like he was looking at a peculiar painting, one that caused the wheel in his mind to turn. I’d never been looked at that way before: like I was interesting.

“Well, they can come too!” exclaimed Hoseok.

“No, no. We’re okay on our own-,”

“Come on! It’ll be fun! And I wanted to chat with you a bit more,” he said with a wide smile.

Namjoon shrugged his friend’s arm off of him and gave me a smile too. “I should buy you a drink or two to apologize for roping you into all of this,” he said, his tone insisting.

I glanced between Hoseok and Namjoon, then looked back at Jimin whose face was squished into a pleading pout. “I…,” I began, taking a look back at Hoseok who by then was nodding his head to encourage me to speak. The door swung open once again and out walked Jungkook, Jin, and Yoongi followed by, of course, Kim Taehyung. He looked like a dream, wearing a big sweatshirt and ripped jeans, eyes still dark around the corners from stage makeup. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“What’s not a good idea?” 

I turned towards the parking lot to see Yuna standing in front of a distracted Haewon, both of them dressed for a night out. I shook my head. “Nothing. Let’s go, hm?” 

“Come out for drinks and bar food with us!” whined Jimin in my ear, sending the plea towards my roommates.

Their will was weaker than mine. “Oh! Can we?” asked Yuna, looking at me. Her expression was so gentle, so innocent. She looked like wanted nothing more.

And I was an obstinate old stick in the mud. “Yuna…,” I started.

Haewon saddled up beside me, taking up my left shoulder and placing her chin atop it. “Come on! We can’t say no to drinks with seven handsome guys,” she said, casting a look somewhere in the distance.

I rolled my eyes. “Can’t we just-,”

“So it’s settled!” called Jimin, releasing me so he could clap his hands a few times. “To the bar!” He began tromping through the parking lot like a captain leading his crew through difficult waters.

The group followed easily, keeping pace with the small Jimin. I was left standing beside the door alone under a lonely streetlight. Even Mijin and Sunny emerged from inside and took up the back of the large group. Large…

Perhaps it was large enough now to avoid Taehyung.

I sighed and slung my satchel across my chest, jogging to catch up with the others and easing into conversation with Sunny and Mijin about which of the Big Three K-pop companies was the least evil.

“I think YG is pretty good.”

“But remember when TOP had that weed scandal?”

“Weed scandals aren’t the same as all of SM’s lawsuits,” defended Mijin.

Sunny scoffed. “Explain NCT then, hm? Handsome, talented, nice-,”

“Y/N, what do you think?” asked Mijin, not even entertaining Sunny’s talk. Sunny gaped before quickly focusing on me. “YG right?” she said.

“I like DEAN,” I said quietly, my mind elsewhere.

“No! Y/N, DEAN’s an artist and we’re talking about companies-,” started Sunny, launching into a lengthy explanation of the Big Three which, of course, I was already aware of. I was content, however, to let the two of them talk so long as I could settle into thought, taking up the back of the group and staying far, far away from Taehyung.

“No!” yelled an inebriated Kim Seokjin, holding the cap of our soju bottle close to his chest, clutching at the white fabric of his shirt.

We’d spent the better part of a half hour playing flick the cap, a Korean drinking game I’d learned through Jimin in high school. We’d worked through several bottles of soju this way already. The objective was to not be the one who flicked the extra plastic bit off a soju cap, because if you were the unlucky one with a strong finger, you’d be forced to drink a shot you might not be ready for. Such was the preferred method of getting drunk amongst Jimin, Jungkook, Yoongi, Taehyung, and me. Jin was already five shots deep and slurring his words. The drunker part of me with a bleeding heart wanted to offer to be his Black Knight, taking the drink off his hands. But the sober me reminded the drunk me that I’d have to take more drinks for him if I took on the role, since Jin had an alarming propensity for losing games.

“Here, here,” I said, reaching for the bottle before he could get his hands on it. We sat cuddled together in a narrow, long, stout table at a bar I’d never been to, sharing several plates of food and several drinks. “I want a shot first,” I said as I eyed Jin, hoping that by stalling I could give him an out.

“No! He lost the game!” shouted Jimin from my right side, shaking his head vehemently. “It’s rules!”

“Ancient rules!” added Jungkook, sitting beside Hoseok and Jin on the other side of the table.

“Soju caps haven’t even been around that long,” murmured Yoongi. Of all of us, he was holding his liquor the most gracefully.

I shrugged and poured myself a shot, conveniently emptying the soju bottle entirely. “Ah,” I said, swirling the clear liquid around my shot glass. “Looks like we gotta order another!”

Dissent rose among the crowd, and Haewon even suggested I give Jin my shot instead of taking it myself. I slammed my hand down on the table, causing a few glasses of beer to tip bits of their contents onto the table. “No! I grabbed it first!”

“She grabbed it first!” said Jin with a dopey smile.

Before anyone could take it from me, I pressed the glass to my lips and tilted it back, letting the soju blaze a burning trail down my throat. I didn’t like drinking in excess like this, but better me slightly too drunk than Jin incapacitated, right? A few around the table offered claps of encouragement towards me as I finished the shot quickly, and before long conversation picked up again and, such was the nature of insobriety, everyone seemed to quickly forget Jin’s shot. He met my eyes across the table and tilted his head down in a thankful nod. I returned it, but I felt my head go unsteady, light. I’d had too much. That shot had pushed me over.

Music blared from fuzzy speakers, booming through the lively bar as people shared overpriced food and overshared stories. At our table, Yuna was striking up an arm wrestling match with Jungkook, Sunny and Mijin were still discussing the Big Three, although decidedly more drunkenly, Jin was staring at the ceiling and munching on a perilla leaf while Namjoon, at his side, rubbed his friend’s shoulders. Across the table beside Namjoon sat Taehyung who was whispering something in Haewon’s ear. Haewon laughed, but I had a feeling whatever he said wasn’t really all that funny. Jimin sat beside me talking animatedly about the show and how he’d been more nervous than usual, saying even his fingertips were sweating as he tried to hold the strings down. And on my other side leaned Hoseok who was, with an arm slung over the back of my wobbly wooden chair, staring down at me with a lazy smile.

“Hey,” he said, his breath carrying with it the sharp scent of alcohol.

I blinked a few times, heavily, then turned to him with a smile. “Hi.”

He leaned in closer to talk over the music. “You’re a really good manager,” he murmured, his gaze falling to the table. He was drunker than I was.

I shook my head and patted the top of his. “No,” I said. “Ah, you did well tonight. You looked like Jim Morrison.”

He laughed, that loud, booming laugh that made everyone notice him. “Jim Morrison was the lead singer!”

I nodded, my eyes shut now since it was too much work to keep them open. “Charisma,” I said, drawing the word long. “J-Hope has charisma.”

I heard that melodic laugh again and, vaguely, felt the press of fingers against my neck. Slowly, I opened my eyes to find Hoseok supporting my head as it had begun to slump towards the table. I quickly righted myself and gave him a smile. “Tell me a story about America,” said Hoseok.

I thought. What stories did I have to tell? A thought came to me as I searched my mental banks for a memory. “Ah,” I drawled, and I noticed Taehyung’s eyes had shifted towards me. “Well I had one of the worst nights of my life in America.”

Hoseok laughed. “Yeah? What happened?”

I straightened up and took a sip of water, a bite of rice cake. I then turned back to Hoseok and smiled. “December thirtieth.”

“Okay,” he said, still laughing. “What happened?” he repeated.

“I was in New York. I went to the Met Museum. I wanted to see a certain painting, but they didn’t have it,” I said, pouting to myself as I remembered how rudely the docent had responded when I’d inquired about A Pair of Shoes.

“Why didn’t you check if they had it first?” asked Hoseok, thoroughly amused judging by the way he beamed at me.

I nodded. “I did. But I misunderstood,” I said, then sighed. “So I was in New York staying at a hotel I couldn’t afford,” I said.

He nodded. “Okay?”

“And I decided that I wanted to do something special anyway, since the painting was supposed to be the special thing and I couldn’t see it,” I said, clearing my throat. “I went out during the night to try and find something special to do. I was staying by Central Park so I went there.”

His smile was an urge to continue, but I had been overcome with the reverie. “What happened?”

I nodded my head and refocused. “I forgot that the last time I went to a park it was nighttime too. And that had been the worst night of my life. Not just one of them. It was the worst.”

He seemed to have noticed the somber shift in my voice and leaned closer to hear me. I was talking loud enough, but I thought perhaps he just wanted to show me that I had his full attention. He was thoughtful after all. “I’m sorry.”

I shook my head. “I’m waiting for an apology, but not one from you,” I said, smiling his way. “Anyway, I went to Central Park and I sat down on a bench all alone and it was cold and I could see my breath.”

“New York in the wintertime,” said Hoseok with a well-meaning laugh.

I nodded. “Yeah. And I looked up and saw one of those pretty, detailed streetlights. You know? The rounded ones? The ones you see on Gossip Girl?” 

At this, Hoseok gave a long, loud laugh. “Yes.”

“Well I saw one and…Hoseok…it was too bright. It was so bright,” I said. “It was bad for my eyes to look at it, but I looked at if for so long.” I felt tears pricking my eyes and I fought them back. Even drunk, I didn’t want to cry. Not here. “It was so bright that I couldn’t look away.”

Hoseok digested this, gauging my reaction as he furrowed his brow at me. “Why was that the worst night of your life?”

I sniffled and shook my head. To explain it would be to validate it. And I wanted to leave those painful thoughts in the past, give them back to the girl I used to be before I left for America. I didn’t want to carry them with me. They were heavy, sorrowful, pitiable. I didn’t want to tell him why the bright light meant so much to me, and on that day. I couldn’t tell him why it was so important that I went to the Met Museum on that day, to see that painting. I couldn’t tell him anything about it.

“There’s policemen on horses in New York and I stepped in horse poop on the way home,” I said, shaking my head. It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t the reason I regarded the night with so much sadness, but it hadn’t been pleasant either. Hoseok erupted in laughter, boisterous as he clapped his hand against his knee.

“That’s all?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yup.”

I caught movement out the corner of my eye and managed to catch a glimpse of Taehyung standing from his seat, wandering back towards the bathrooms. Perhaps he had to relieve himself. But as he walked away, he cast a look over his shoulder, meeting my eyes only briefly before turning once again to walk through a dark, smokey hallway.

I rubbed my eyes and turned to face Hoseok. “Thank you for listening to me.”

He raised his dark brows and shook his head, smiling in such a way that gave him dimples. I wanted to run my finger over them. “I’ll listen to you any time.”

I nodded. “And I’ll listen to you too,” I said with a smile. I caught myself imagining how it would feel to give him a long hug, to hold him close. But as the thought came to me, so did a memory. Taehyung had said not to get too close if I wasn’t serious… “I think I’ve gotta go to the bathroom.”

He chuckled and scooted away slightly so I’d have room to leave my seat. I gave him a thankful grin and walked, stumbling slightly on the first step but steady on all the subsequent ones, towards the hallway where Taehyung had disappeared. I had no intentions of finding him. In fact, I was hoping I could sneak into the bathroom and sneak out again unnoticed by him. I just wanted to buy myself some time, just like I’d bought Jin time. I needed to think a little. The hallway was cramped, with overflowing bulletin boards on either side and a scent that was simultaneously nondescript and distinguishable. I came upon the bathroom doors: two twins situated beside each other. They were single-toilet bathrooms, so when the first door was locked I huffed and resolved to try the second. If nothing else, I could splash some water on my face like they did in the movies and get my head on straight. 

I pulled the metal handle and it gave way under my touch. I thought myself lucky as I pulled the door towards myself, eyes half-shut as I braced myself against the bathroom’s harsh white light. But as I adjusted to the brightness, I came upon a scene I wished I could burn from my mind altogether.

Sitting atop the sink with her hair an unruly mess and her eyes pinched shut was Haewon. And standing with Haewon’s long legs wrapped around his waist and her arms grasping at his sweatshirt was Kim Taehyung. My cheeks flushed at the sight, and all at once I was horrified and disappointed. Taehyung’s broad back was turned to me as he worked his lips against Haewon’s neck, her head tossed back against the mirror in which I could see my own face reflected, shocked with lips parted in a gape.

“Huh?” murmured Haewon, eyes opening quickly as she felt my presence. She met my gaze and scrambled to clamp her legs together, shoving Taehyung away so she could see me properly. “Y/N!”

Taehyung turned around quickly with eyes blown wide and face flushed from exertion. His hair was fussed into clumps around his head and I could already see dark bruises forming along the skin of his neck. I’d never seen him in such a state. Haewon either. The two of them looked at me as if I was their hunter and they my captive prey. Only it felt like the roles were completely reversed. None of us said anything, none of us moved. The only sounds in the white-tiled bathroom were that of Taehyung’s labored heavy breathing and Haewon’s quiet utterances, possible starts to sentences which she never finished.

And then, in a split second, I felt a hand clamp over my eyes and my body was yanked back into the hallway by a force I couldn’t see. Had I been slightly less drunk and slightly less shell-shocked, I’d have screamed. But my back collided with someone’s chest and somehow I knew who it was.

“Let’s leave them alone,” said Hoseok in my ear.

I blinked against his fingers and attempted to turn around to face him. “Wh-what are you doing?”

He hummed beside me, but I could feel in the way he held me against him that he was serious. “You don’t need to see that.”

I wanted to fight him, to turn around and tell him I could make my own choices and if I wanted to be a horrible cockblocker then I reserved the right to do so.

But he was right.

I really didn’t need to see that.

[thestraggletag]

Ties of Blood, aka the Rumbelle cursed!faux!incest fic, Part One

Summary: There’s nothing more tragic that rip two lovers apart, except piecing the broken pieces together wrong. Never say the Evil Queen doesn’t know about revenge.

Rating: NC-17

AN: This is NOT an incest fic. It is, however, a “lovers are cursed to think they’re brother and sister” fic so it IS kinda an incest thing, in a way. Let us all remember fanfiction is full of things we would rather NOT see happen in real life, just so the hate is kept to a minimum. If it’s not your think then please, don’t read. There are hundreds of other amazing Rumbelle stories out there waiting for you.

Happy Rumbellesary, guys!!!! Hope it doesn’t take me forever to put up part two.

Rent day was never easy. The people of Storybrooke were under the mistaken impression the landlord lived for those days, for the threatening and the squeezing people dry, but it was a common misconception, one he was careful to never act against. It served his purpose to have people think it gave him a thrill to go around one by one collecting the money he was rightfully owed. It tended to dissuade people from trying to slip by him or make excuses as to why they didn't have the money and how they just needed a bit more time. For the more problematic tenants he had Dove, the gentle giant who couldn't hurt a fly but looked like he was one nasty look away from snapping and going on a killing spree with his bare hands.

As always, he finished his rounds with Granny's, after which he limped back home, feeling the stress of the day melt away with each step he took. Even so he all but collapsed on his favourite Chesterfield club chair, feeling the butter-soft leather as his hands gripped the armrests. Its low back didn't quite allow him to lean back comfortably, but it was precisely that feature he loved the most. The reason why made her appearance a few seconds later, wrapping her arms around him from behind and resting her forehead against his lower jaw, allowing him to press his face against her hair. The shampoo she used smelled faintly citrusy and distinctively like home.

"How's your ankle?"

He felt the words against the side of his neck, the beautiful accent wrapping around each one, as thick as his own. Belle planted a kiss on his cheek before rising to pour them both a cup of tea. She'd made a batch of shortbread in preparation for rent day, to help cajole a smile or two out of him, and the buttery taste was enough to get rid of most of the tension settled on his shoulders. He was the one that did the cooking on a regular basis, a secret hobby of his. But Belle loved baking, and it showed.

"A bit swollen, it's been a long day. Chased three tenants up and down town, almost had to run Mr Clark over before he stopped trying to squirm away. Would've made a mess of the Caddy."

Belle's laugh washed over him, one of his favourite sounds. It was genuine and free, embodying her to a T. She didn't laugh easily though, and had an endearing predilection for his brand of dark humour, the kind that made most people shudder. That little quirk of hers unsettled everyone else, he knew, but it warmed him right up.

"Did you wear that shirt for me? I know you hate it."

She gestured to her checkered skirt which, indeed, matched his shirt almost perfectly. He liked to do that, to incorporate a particular colour, texture or pattern she wore into his own outfit so they seemed like a matching pair. Silly, of course, but he couldn't help it. He wanted everyone, at all times, to be reminded of who Belle was connected to, who she belonged to in the most basic way.

"Nonsense, it's just a happy coincidence."

Belle made a noncommittal sound, clearly not buying it.

"Any other surprises? No fights with Moe French, I hope."

She had a soft spot for the hapless florist, for some reason. Moe French was a useless waste of space, with no head for business and a perpetual sheen of perspiration, no matter the time of the day or the temperature. He could be counted on for two things: being late on the rent and always stocking hydrangeas, which happened to be Belle's favourite flower. It was likely the reason why he hadn't evicted the lowlife yet.

"He forked over the money eventually, after swearing up and down he didn't have it, of course. Oh, and..." he paused, frowning, feeling a wave of something wash over him. The stranger at Granny's, he'd forgotten about her for a moment. Which was odd, because the moment he'd seen her, heard her name, it was as if his world had tilted, had shifted in some profound way. It had been deeply unpleasant, as used as he was to micromanaging every aspect of his existence, but coming home to Belle had for a moment made him forget. "There's someone new in town. An Emma Swan. Has the looks of a troublemaker."

"Well, that's unusual. Can't remember the last time anyone came from out of town."

For a moment that gave him pause. Wasn't it strange, after all? Storybrooke might be small and quaint, but it should still attract tourists and the occasional wanderer. And yet he couldn't recall the last time he'd seen a new face around town.

"You're in deep thought. Guess this Emma Swan's made a bit of an impression."

Belle's tone was mildly suggestive, only hinting at something. He pretended he didn't notice, humming in pleased surprise when Belle combed a hand through his shaggy hair, murmuring something about him needing a trim. He staid absolutely still as she petted him absentmindedly, something she did when she thought he needed some human contact. Sometimes he wondered if Belle was as physical as she was because he was so touch-starved, as if she'd learned to compensate.

"You're the only woman in my life, sweetheart, and I rather prefer to keep it that way."

He took her hand and kissed it, trying to push the memories of his time before her to the back of his mind. She smiled at him, and as if she knew of the unwelcome thoughts in his head, leaned over and kissed his forehead.

"You need to make room for more than just your little sister, Rabbie."

"Nonsense."

In spite of his put-on nonchalance Gold found that, indeed, Miss Swan had made an impression on him that first night because he found himself wondering about her almost relentlessly over the next few days. For some reason her name pressed into his mind, as if it was trying to jostle something inside. To try and get rid of the feeling he set out to learn as much as he could about the newcomer, and what he found out was extremely interesting, indeed. Emma Swan, biological mother to one Henry Mills, teenage delinquent turned bailsbonds person, who seemed to have no personal attachments whatsoever. A product of the American foster care system, apparently, discovered lying on the side of the road hours after being born... just outside Storybrooke.

What were the odds?

Miss Swan, contrary to what her commitment-phobic background would suggest, seemed to be leaning towards staying around for the time being, apparently at the behest of her son. She seemed to have more than a few misgivings about Madam Mayor's parental abilities, not that he could blame her. Other than Regina's patently-clear emotional issues it said a lot about her that her ten-year-old son had ended up alone in New York City. He bet the kid had snuck out while Regina enjoyed her bi-weekly... meeting with Sheriff Graham. Getting a nanny or someone to mind the child would have potentially exposed her trysts to the general public, so he figured she left him alone with a stern warning to stay put.

There was something to gain out of all of this, he considered. Emma Swan was an exciting new weapon against the mayor. Untried and untested, for sure, but with boundless potential. Already she seemed to be having a bit of an effect in town, if her newfound friendship with mousy Miss Blanchard was anything to go by. And then there was that strange episode with the comatose patient... Not that he could really blame it on Emma Swan, but it felt like too much of a coincidence, all the connections there.

Belle was uneasy about the newcomer.

"I just worry about how serious she is regarding Henry. The kid already adores her, I don't wanna know what will happen to him once Miss Swan decides she's had enough of Storybrooke."

Gold knew little Henry Mills was a regular at the library, and not just for the books. Belle often told him the boy sat down to do his homework or read his comic books. For him it was a safe place away from home. And his sister, bleeding heart that she was, had gotten attached. Henry Mills was a charming little boy, after all, he couldn't blame her.

"Oh, I wouldn't count on it. Miss Swan looks quite determined. Ready to take on the Mayor herself for the wee lad. It's quite commendable."

"She already gave him up once, remember?"

He didn't reply to that, knowing that parental love was a sore spot for Belle. Instead he gently squeezed her waist as she passed by, a silent reminder that she was loved.

He was looking to try and figure out a way to get a bit of power over the woman when Ashley Boyd gave him a golden opportunity. Stupid, feckless girl, with very little impulse control and no common sense, but her sudden attempt at skipping town without paying her dues ended up working in his favour. It was almost worth the concussion he'd given himself after being attacked by the pregnant little chit, and he had to admit that his puffy eyes and the gash on his forehead did make him look the right sort of pitiful for Miss Swan to brush aside the rumours of his reputation that she has, surely, heard already. Getting her to agree to locating Ashley was easier than even he anticipated, and Miss Swan's guilty body language hinting that she might have had an involvement in Miss Boyd's decision to quit town.

He had to force his feet not to carry him to the library the minute he was out of Miss Blanchard's apartment. His eyes stung and the cut on his forehead felt like it was on fire and he wanted nothing more than to go to Belle, to let himself be petted and tended to lovingly. He remembered skinning his knees as a child or cutting himself while out playing, remembered first the utter indifference of his parents and then the well-meaning but awkward touch of the "aunts" he'd been left with when his parents high-tailed it to Australia, running away from trouble and responsibility (him being the main responsibility). His aunts had loved him, but in a stilted, strangely devoid of touch way, the only way they knew how to love him. But then Belle had come into his life again and she had made him addicted to loving touches. Hugs, kisses, passing touches in the arm or the back and, of course, caring, loving touches when he was sick or injured. He used to hate it when she tried to approach him when he was weak, the product of his upbringing, but Belle had patiently wormed her way in so thoroughly that he now had to actively fight the instinct to get to her.

As a child she'd treated her role as his own personal nurse very seriously. She had put band-aids on every tiny little cut he'd ever gotten, had applied antiseptic with the precision of a surgeon, telling him sternly not to move. She'd always kissed his injuries after patching him up, what she called the "kiss cure". His cut was certainly in dire need of a kiss, but it was necessary to see things through first. Time was of the essence, as it turned out. Like he had predicted Miss Boyd did not manage to get too far from Storybrooke- not even past the town line. He hadn't counted on her going into labour, though he couldn't deny it helped his plans immensely, gave the situation an urgency that would play in his favour.

But news in Storybrooke travelled fast, and so he wasn't surprised when his sister walked into the hospital looking for him. Though he knew Miss Swan was watching and it didn't serve his purpose to let her see him so vulnerable he didn't try to stop Belle when she bent down to gently cup his face, cooing in that soft, sweet tone that could put him in a near-catatonic state. For someone so prickly it was stupidly easy how Belle managed to utterly disarm him.

"Oh, my sweet darling..."

She ran her hands through his hair before bending down further to place a feather-light kiss on the cut and two on his swollen eyelids. Though he knew he didn't have time for it, that his confrontation with Miss Swan was important, he wrapped his arms around his sister and rested his head against her lower stomach, breathing in her scent and basking in her warmth. Her hands carded through his hair and, Lord, it was heaven. Almost tempting enough to side-track him, to make him give up his machination. But after a while he straightened out, taking a deep breath to prepare himself. Gently but firmly he told his sister to go home, that he had a deal to close. Belle always respected that, strove to separate herself from his shadier practices, but he did catch the faintly hurt look in her face and the way her eyes darted towards Miss Swan, unsure. True to herself, however, she kissed his cheek and took off.

He was finally confronted by an enraged Emma Swan when he sauntered close for coffee. He'd banked everything on her fledging mothering instinct, in whatever was keeping her in Storybrooke in the first place. She was passionate, for sure, as she rounded in on him for dealing in children. Apparently, her disgust did not translate to Ashley, somehow managing to make this about him buying a child but not her selling one. People were very good in general about making their mistakes somehow into some nefarious plot of his own doing. The conversation, in the end, well exactly as he planned. She was all bluster and self-righteous anger, the right frame of mind to be to start making stupid, rash decisions. And he remained cool and almost playful, sipping from the awful cup of coffee from the hospital machine mainly because he knew it made him look all the more nonchalant. He did a marvellous job of hinting at all he had discovered about her, to throw her off balance, and of hitting all the sore spots in the process, from her voluntary surrender of her baby to the horrors of the system she had grown up in. And in the end, when she thought she had him beat, all cocky and self-assured, he had "conceded", as if this wasn't where he had wanted the conversation to go all along. And just like that he had gotten Miss Swan to owe him a favour. A small thing to others, perhaps, but a powerful tool in his hands.

Dinner that night was a quiet affair, Belle's distance and her silence putting a damper on the high he had gotten from deal-making. Familiar, cold fear crept up his spine, like it happened every time he let his dark side out too much. He was always afraid then that Belle would finally see the monster she called brother and leave him, move away and distance herself from him, leaving him alone. Losing his parents had been rough as a child. Losing Belle, though... he didn't think he could survive it.

"Do you ever wonder what it must feel like?"

Her voice was quiet, subdued, very unlike her. It made Gold uneasy.

"What what must feel like?"

"Being loved by a parent like that. Being wanted as a child. Going to meet the mother you never knew and have her fight so fiercely for you, for no reason other than she gave birth to you."

He knew where this was going and did not like it. Usually Belle was not one to go down memory lane. As much as she had suffered in the past she rarely alluded to any painful events or recollections, always seeming to choose to focus on the present. To a certain extent it was one of Belle's greatest strengths, her resilience and ability to move forward, to hold on to her sweetness and her positive outlook on life. It was also, to a minor extent, a blatant lie, a mask she donned so carefully, so craftily, that almost no one noticed it.

But he did.

"Sometimes... sometimes the past seems like a haze. And I wonder if it's because of... of what happened, or if it's something else."

There was a vaguely worried look about her face, and he felt raw, blind fear grip him. Whenever Belle even as much as alluded to her ordeal he dreaded what it might lead to. Nightmares, usually, and sometimes days on end of disconnection with the rest of the world. Sometimes Belle could burrow so deep inside he wasn't able to reach her. For some reason the sheriff seemed to be able to sniff out whenever Belle was suffering one of her spells and they'd do something, spend some time together. For some reason the sheriff seemed able to connect to Belle in a way he couldn't and, in spite of the lingering jealousy it gave him, he was glad of it.

"I've never wondered, myself. I know what it is to love unconditionally, and have that love be reciprocated." He looked at her intently, adamant about getting his meaning across. "I know what it is to have someone to belong to, to call home. I only regret the years of my childhood I spent waiting for it, waiting for you. Mama and papa might have been right bastards, but they did provide me with a family. They gave me you."

Belle reached out for his hand, and he noticed that hand-holding was something they did often, most of the time unawares.

"I never loved our parents, not in any deep way. I knew it wasn't safe. But you... I loved you the moment I saw you, the instant you were in my arms. You were mine and I was yours and I knew then what it felt to have a family."

She squeezed his fingers gently, her long nails scratching his skin pleasantly.

"I wish I could remember. But I know that, ever since I can remember, you've been the first person to catch my attention. My first memory. You and Peter Rabbit."

Change seemed to be everywhere, which was unusual in Storybrooke. Ashley Boyd's ordeal was big news for a while, along with her reconciliation with baby daddy Sean Hermann, against his father's express wishes. Everyone thought it incredibly romantic, though Gold thought it rather trite, not to mention fickle. Two teenagers raising a child, with one of then barely now acknowledging the child was actually his, was lunacy. Thankfully, at least, the boy hadn't gotten it into his head to cross him out of some misguided and rather late sense of chivalry. On the contrary both him and Miss Boyd avoided him as much as possible, even though they were forced to rent one of his smallest properties to live in. Miss Boyd, however, became a frequent presence at the library, to peruse material about child-rearing. And it later evolved into her dumping her little bundle of joy on Belle whenever she had to take the odd job and could not arrange for a friend or cheap baby-sitter. It seemed ridiculous for Ashley to trust the sister of the man she claimed had "tried to take her baby", but in the end everyone knew Mr Gold always kept his deals, and that meant like Alexandra was safe from him.

The child was well-behaved, thankfully, though no one would know that from hearing her mother talk. Having had little to no experience with babes he'd expected the new-born to be fussy and prone to crying, but she was a quiet, rather solemn child. Pretty, too, with wide eyes and pinkish skin, and dressed to the nines thanks to the efforts of Granny Lucas and a gaggle of people she had rather strong-armed into charitable donations. Gold knew that Belle had made her own anonymous contribution, which she had kept secret from him, as if he'd oppose. He rather approved of it. No matter the circumstances the child was not to blame for the way she'd been brought into the world or what her parents had done.

The baby also brought with her a strange freshness to Storybrooke, as if the time before had been stale and lifeless somewhat. She was a constant, unavoidable proof of the change he felt all around him, tugging on his senses, pressing on his brain. The nebulous feeling of forgetting something had turned into a pressing, anxious itch, and little Alexandra with her chubby hands and baby smell for some reason seemed to make it worse. Sometimes when he was in the library and the baby made a sound or fussed and, strangely, he knew exactly what it meant, how to differentiate a sound of hunger from one that meant uneasy digestion. Though he promised himself not to get close to the child, lest someone see him and send Miss Boyd into a panic Belle alone managed the entire library, so it was inevitable that, during a lull in the afternoon, when she was too busy reshelving to look after the baby, she'd ask him to do it. And, though he expected to fumble and fail spectacularly, the moment she'd been in his arms he'd known what to do, as if some sort of muscle memory was kicking in. He had Alexandra burped and soothed in no time at all, leaving his mind free to wander to strange places, images of rustic cottages and the strong smell of sheep plaguing him. It was all accompanied by a strange wave of almost crippling sadness, as if he had lost something, something vital to his very existence, only he couldn't recall what or when.

He was quick to give the child back once Belle came back, his hands twitching in that nervous way of his he always tried to hide. He took several steps back, relieved, trying to dispel the strange feeling having the babe close had caused. Belle held the baby with the certainty of someone who had gotten used to doing it and for a second all he could think about was that Ashely Boyd was taken advantage of his sister's kind and trusting nature to get a free babysitter. Belle already worked hard at the library, volunteered at the also-understaffed local animal shelter and even, on occasion, helped out at Granny's when they were swamped or Granny's arthritis acted up. Adding unpaid nanny to the list of chores seemed more than a bit extreme.

The babe fussed, prompting Belle to gently rock her and coo softly. She made such a pretty picture, clasping the child close as if she was her own, looking at her with such tenderness. And it dawned on him what a lovely mother his sister would make. She was affectionate by nature, though not prone to sharing her most intimate self with a lot of people. Naturally shy and wary she let her guard down only for those closest to her and those too innocent, mainly children and animals. But he'd never before stopped to consider her as a mother. She had never seemed eager to find a bloke, move out, and start a new family, but seeing her with the baby made it clear how right it was. If she wasn't interested in finding a man for that all the better, there was no one in Storybrooke or beyond good enough for her. He could give her a child, a child that would be lovingly raised in their home, lacking nothing in terms of material goods or affection. A child who would have her endless curiosity and, perhaps, his cunning.

He snapped himself out of his daydream as soon as he started imagining a child with his sister's cheekbones and his brown eyes. Adoption was the only way for what he'd been foolishly entertaining. It'd be incongruous for the child in his fantasy to resemble them in any way. And it was entirely possible, likely even, that it'd never come to pass. Belle would likely meet someone, some strapping, able-bodied young buck, and would get married and moved away. And she'd have handsome children who'd call him "Uncle Gold".

For some reason that made his stomach hurt.

It wasn't often that Gold caved in to his sister's request to eat at Granny's but he'd agreed to meet her at the diner that day, to try and cheer her up. The recent quake at the mines had the Mayor sniffing around the Library with veiled threats regarding its closure due to what she claimed was a "shaky foundation", though she had yet to provide any documentation to support her allegations. After some subtle threatening, and a well-placed please, Regina Mills had relented to only chaining up the doors of the ancient elevator, which hadn't been used in ages anyway as the library had ample storage space in the attic, where the old librarian's apartment had once been. Knowing a burger and some strawberry pie would cheer her up he'd proposed the outing himself, earning an extra-long hug and goodbye kiss that morning. His cell-phone rang just as he was getting ready to close the shop, forcing him to drop the keys to pick up.

"Sweetheart, I was just about to close and go- What's wrong?"

Over the years the Gold siblings had developed an almost uncanny ability to read each other, something that didn't even require them to be face to face. Belle hadn't said anything since he'd picked up the phone, but her breathing was off and he knew- he knew- something was wrong. Horribly wrong.

"Sweetheart, please answer. Where are you?"

"H-hos-hospital..."

His blood turned to ice and for a second he thought it impossible to breathe. He spared a second or two to pull himself together, to calm down. Belle needed him calm.

"Are you injured? Did something happen to you? Was it someone else?"

The silence that followed seemed to stretch on forever. Finally, after letting out a wet, pitiful little sigh his sister spoke.

"Graham's dead."

He'd never understood the connection between his sister and the sheriff. It had always seemed to be there, a sort of camaraderie, a companionship different from that she had with him. It wasn't romantic or sexual, at least it had never felt that way to him. The sheriff was an honest, caring man and he supposed a good potential love match for his sister if it had ever come to that, but he was relieved that it never showed signs of progressing in that way. The good sheriff's complicated, unsavoury relationship with the mayor made him dangerous dating material. Regina hated his and Belle's platonic friendship, anything else would have been too much of a provocation for her.

But for whatever reason Belle and Sheriff Graham shared a tight, close bond that had more than once pulled Belle back from some very dark places, from shadowy corners of her mind where even he could not venture. They'd go for walks in the forest mostly, after which they'd get ice-cream and Belle would come home later looking more like herself. Sometimes they went to a movie, the sort Belle knew her brother wouldn't enjoy, or for a bite at Granny's. He hated it, of course, hated how Graham was privy to a part of Belle he could barely scratch the surface of, but he was also deeply thankful. The sheriff could piece his sister back together when he failed, and that made him invaluable in his esteem.

Only now he was dead.

The Caddy took him to the hospital in a flash, and no one even tried to get in his way once inside. One of the older, less jittery nurses led him to the waiting area of the ER. He spotted Miss Swan first, hair in a dishevelled ponytail and face red from crying. She looked fragile for the first time since he'd met her, like she could barely keep herself together. He felt a stab of pity for her. It was unpleasant to see someone so strong, so guarded, be so publicly broken. She was still crying, only she was trying to make it look like she wasn't.

Belle was sitting to the side, looking at the floor. Her hair obscured her face but he knew immediately that her eyes were likely dull and vacant, as if she wasn't there at all. He stamped down the panic that threatened to engulf him and rushed to her side, sinking to his knees as soon as he was near.

"Belle, sweetheart, I'm here."

Gingerly, as if afraid to spook her, he rested a hand on her knee, noticing she didn't seem to register him at all. Too deep inside her own mind. He sat down next to her, kissing her forehead and stroking her hair, willing her to come back to him. She looked stupidly young at the moment, almost child-like.

"I'm here, sweetheart, I'm here. It'll be alright."

Dr Whale strolled by, having the decency to look somehow sympathetic when he passed them by. Everyone in town knew of his sister's friendship with the sheriff, though he gathered few understood the nature of it. Though the sheriff had been beloved he hadn't had many close friends, mostly beer-buddies and some friendly acquaintances. Belle had been the closest thing the man had had to a family, which he supposed meant that they ought to see about his funeral arrangements. Just as he began to make a mental checklist of all that would need taking care of Mayor Mills strolled into the waiting room, her high-heels clacking unpleasantly against the linoleum. She looked distressed, like he would have expected, but also strangely... cold. Detached.

"You fucking bitch!"

It came out of nowhere. One second Belle was unresponsive in his arms, looking dead to the world, and the next he was having to forcefully pull her back as she lounged at the mayor like a madwoman. Though Belle was small he struggled to hold her back, wincing at the strain he was putting his ankle under. It was a testament to how far gone his sister was that she didn't notice. She was usually uncannily attuned to his moods, and in particular to his pain.

"You killed him, you killed him!"

Her screaming attracted the attention of a couple of orderlies and three nurses, but none dared act against her in his presence. He chanced a glance at the mayor, surprised she seemed more rattled about his sister's outburst than was warranted. A second later her usual mask came down and she sneered.

"Control that crazy sister of yours, Mr Gold, before I have her committed in the name of public safety."

As much as he hated to admit it the threat hit home. She caught the gleam of fear in his eyes and smiled, once more the in-control, seductive viper she was.

"After all, she does have a history of... mental imbalance, doesn't she? Spent quite a few years in a padded cell, from what I remember. Perhaps they weren't enough."

Belle finally stopped struggling in his arms, sagging against him and almost sending them both toppling to the floor. He bared his teeth at the mayor, asking her to please leave. Though she seemed put off by it she stormed down in the direction of Dr Whale's office. He sat down heavily on one of the waiting room's uncomfortable plastic chairs, his sister cradled close and sobbing against his shoulder, whimpering over and over about how Regina had killed Graham. It made no sense, as far as he'd gathered Miss Swan was present when Graham had collapsed. Whatever seemed to have happened to the man looked to be a natural occurrence.

Even after it was ruled a heart attack Belle didn't seem convinced, though to his profound relief she didn't seem eager to go after the mayor again. Instead she threw herself on the funeral arrangements, viciously securing the spot on the local cemetery closest to the forest. Burying him in the actual woods was impossible, regulations and all, but his sister was adamant Graham's resting place would be as close to the wild as she could make it. She made sure the headstone was simple and was resolute about there being no flowers at the funeral, but rather people donate the money to the animal shelter.

The event itself was simple and classy, with Dr Hopper leading it and saying a few words. Belle herself didn't participate in any way other than attending, choosing to stay near the Lucases. She had dressed up for the occasion in a lace Zac Posen dress and a Burberry coat, her armour against Regina, a subtle power-play of sorts. She was beautiful in her grief, now that the sting of it had lost its freshness, pale and distant, like some sort of winter maiden. They'd barely spoken or interacted since leaving the hospital, the metaphorical distance between them making him feel uncomfortable in his own skin.

"It was nice of you to arrange this. I was dreading having to bear Regina organising Graham's funeral."

Emma Swan sidled up to him, wearing black skinny jeans and a blouse under a black coat, her red leather jacket forgotten for the occasion. Her posture was loose but her eyes tight, tension visible in them.

"I didn't do anything, this was all Belle. They were... The sheriff and she were close."

He saw her tense more out of the corner of his eye and smiled joylessly.

"Mind out of the gutter, Miss Swan. Belle and Graham were friends. Close friends, true, but nothing else."

"Yeah, how close?"

The tone was hard, brittle, but he knew better. Miss Swan, for all her hard-ass New York City bail-bonds person attitude had begun to have feelings for the deceased sheriff. And that necessitated a level of vulnerability that he knew was uncomfortable, not to mention hard to achieve. He knew what it was to feel like being alone was the safer, better option. And he knew the risks and the pain of letting someone in. It'd be unfair to let her memories of the sheriff be tainted by suspicions.

"Belle was born when I was a teenager and I loved her since the moment they placed her in my arms. Our parents... were no parents at all, lowlifes and conmen who had no business having children. I raised her, taught her her first words, saw her first steps, bought her clothes and made sure she ate. We... we were family, the two of us."

The pain that accompanied the recollection of his past was as vague as the memory itself, but it was real.

"But one day I was dumped with a couple of aunts while my parents took Belle for some scheme or the other. Wasn't that uncommon, I had been used in plenty of those as a tot. They never came back. Moved to fucking Australia, running away from a loan shark or ten, taking Belle with them because she was still useful. I was too old to elicit pity or play along without questioning. But I knew she'd at some point grow tired, or rebellious or simply too old like me and they'd dispose of her like they did me. So, I made it my mission to get her back. Earn enough money to support both of us, get a plane ticket and just... yank her out of there."

He could tell he had Miss Swan's undivided attention. She always seemed to be watching both of them, for some reason, always suspicious, but undeniably intrigued by their bond, by their nearness. Poor wretch didn't know what it was like to have a family, didn't know what it was to have someone be a part of you. She didn't understand, but she wanted to, on some level.

"Took years. Years to gain the means to support us and even more to find her. My parents never used their real names, and the ones they adopted didn't last long. It took them dying for me to find them, some car crash. When I went to Australia everyone I talked with claimed they'd never seen my sister. No one had ever seen her with them."

As he talked he looked at Belle, safe and sound a few feet away, talking to Hopper, Ruby like a sentinel by her side. A far cry from the little wisp of a thing he had found fading away in Brisbane.

"Turns out my wilful little Belle had outlived her usefulness a long time ago. Became a burden, so they had her committed to a mental fucking hospital. Passed the evidence of their abuse off as mental illness. She spent... years there. Locked up in some grungy little room, forgotten. When I managed to get her out she wouldn't talk, wouldn't eat, wouldn't leave her room. I feared she'd forgotten me, that they had stripped everything that was her away at the asylum."

"So, what happened? I mean, Belle is such a lively person, clearly she's recovered from... everything."

With anyone else he would have thought the need to pry too much, too gossipy. Miss Swan, however, was not the type. She was good, annoyingly so, and had a great capacity for care, almost against her will. He felt the need to give her something, to show her a glimpse of the man she'd begun to fall for. Graham's association with Regina, as unsavoury as it had been, must have tainted him to her somehow. It seemed inevitable. But Gold was sure he had been a victim in it, like most people that had any sort of link to Regina. And though he couldn't explain this to Emma, he could at least give her a glimpse of Graham's true personality: loyal, kind-hearted and compassionate.

"Belle's resilient. Tough as nails, even though it doesn't show. At first, I thought I could make her better all by myself, chase whatever monsters plagued her on my own. But it soon became clear that there was a part of Belle, some dark and hidden part, that I couldn't reach. She'd have these... spells. Get very quiet, sleep very little. Hated being inside, hated walls and confined spaces in general. Graham... sensed that, somehow. Began taking her on hikes in the woods, and later to the animal shelter to volunteer. It became a thing. Whenever Belle got into a mood there was the good sheriff, ready to take Belle fishing or bird-watching or whatever else he could come up with. He'd always make time, and it would always do Belle good. She returned more herself, pieced back together in a way that I could never... That I have never been able to accomplish."

The panic hit him all at once, like a sharp stab through the heart. He struggled to breathe, trying to imagine what he'd do the next time his little Belle went down a path he couldn't follow, couldn't pull her out of. Without Graham there to do something, he risked losing her.

"Hey, Gold, calm down, deep breaths."

He felt one of Miss Swan's hands on his back, doing something that was half-patting and half-rubbing, her body pressing up against his to make sure he stayed upright, as if unsure of his footing. He was glad they were far enough removed from everyone else that his little show of weakness went mostly unnoticed. He did feel, every now and then, Belle's attention on him, as familiar a feeling as the sun on his face.

"I'm fine, Miss Swan." He tried not to let her see how it bothered him to have her see him anything less than perfectly composed. He fiercely pushed aside the gnawing fear threatening to choke him and reminded himself why he was sharing this with Miss Swan. To repay, in some small way, a bit of the considerable debt he owed the late sheriff.

"I hope... I hope you won't judge the good sheriff harshly. I know there are... details about his personal life that were unsavoury, to say the least. But, if it's any consolation, I rather thought he was a man trapped by circumstance more than anything else."

"Thanks. Knowing the kind of person you are, opening up like this wasn't easy. I appreciate you doing it."

She glanced over at the freshly-filled grave, wistful tenderness blooming in her eyes. He imagined she was contemplating what could have been, what almost was. He thought about the sheriff's now empty apartment, about his things. Maybe he could offer Miss Swan a keepsake of sorts, something to hold onto. He put a call to Dove, who was in charge of packing up the sheriff's apartment- under strict orders of having everything put into storage as soon as possible, so Regina could lay claim to nothing- and arranged for a box of personal items to be delivered later to the pawnshop. The rest was to be sold and the proceeds donated to the animal shelter, as per Graham's instructions.

The drive home from the cemetery was a quiet one, but not the sort of silence that sat well between them. There was a coldness to his sister that he didn't like, a distance that didn't have anything to do with the melancholia that had set in since Graham had been pronounced dead. There was something faintly accusatory about her eyes, the way she pressed her lips together. After a quiet dinner she retired immediately to her bedroom, which she never did, and her made a conscious effort to let her. Seeking Belle out when she was closed-off never worked. She tended to shy away even more, retreat further into herself. Only Graham was able to reach out successfully but without him he'd have to trust that Belle would come to him when ready.

When she stopped by with his lunch- he had a bad habit of skipping meals if left to his own devices- he brought her the box with the sheriff's personal possessions, thinking that she bringing him food was a small way to try and re-establish the bond.

"What, Miss Swan didn't want any of this?"

Her voice was so brittle it was almost unrecognisable.

"What?"

"I know you were kind enough to offer her Graham's stuff. And she might be satisfied with the walkie-talkies for now, but what if she wants more later? I'd rather not pick something that Emma might later want to claim. Thanks for the afterthought, though."

Though he expected her to sit and have lunch with him, as she often did, she waltzed out of the shop before he could even process her last words.

She wanted to be happy for him. After all, she had liked Emma Swan well enough for Graham when it had become obvious the sheriff was getting attached. She'd even encouraged such an attachment, seeing how it was managing to draw Graham away from the mayor and her poisonous affection. Though she worried that the blonde might decide to leave Storybrooke as abruptly as she'd arrived, she had still nudged her friend in her direction, hoping for the best.

But it wasn't just Graham's attention Miss Swan had managed to catch. Henry seemed besotted with her, even though she'd already given him up once and was liable to do so again. Graham was an adult, he could cope with rejection and disappointment, but Henry was a kid already dealing with a difficult family situation. He was fragile, for all his boundless optimism and cheerfulness. Emma Swan could do a lot of damage there with minimum effort. And considering her own upbringing, and her own parents, it was easy to justify why she felt a bit of hostility with the newcomer whenever it came to Henry.

It was difficult, however, to justify similar thoughts when it came to her brother. She had noticed his blossoming interest in Emma Swan early on, but she had given it little thought, thinking it had more to do with one-upping the mayor than anything else. She'd often wondered about the source of such dislike, how it almost seemed like Regina Mills had done something personal to him, something other than squabbling for power. She'd wondered if perhaps the mayor hadn't unkindly rejected some romantic advance her brother had made in the past, though something about that theory seemed off. But Rabbie delighted in toying with the other woman a bit too much to let her rest easy. In that sense his newfound interest in Emma should've made her happy. She was miles more palatable than Miss Mills. But, far from it, it unsettled her. The way he said her name, Emma, made the skin on the back of her neck prickle uncomfortably, as if it held some sort of power.

Perhaps she'd been encouraging of Graham's suit because it allowed her to rest easy when it came to her brother's heart, and the thought, now that the sheriff was dead, made her sick. He'd been so good to her, so supportive, but she'd been willing to risk his heart to protect her brother's. And she hadn't even been able to give her friend her full attention at his own funeral, not with the way Rabbie and Miss Swan had spent most of it whispering to each other, heads close and body language intimate.

And now Emma Swan was acting sheriff, Graham's badge on her belt and one of his walkie-talking always nearby, the other in the hands of little Henry, looking like she might love to stay. And Belle hated herself for caring about that at a time when her friend's death should occupy her thoughts completely. Hated herself for the distance she was forcing between herself and Rabbie, who she knew was worried. Who thought her kind and good and had no idea she was petty and jealous and was worrying him just because she couldn't deal with the idea that he might not want to be just hers anymore. Rabbie had always been the one person whose love was constant and all-encompassing, who always had time for her, who was, in a way, hers alone. She had never before had to even contemplate the idea of sharing him with anyone, and hadn't realised it'd upset her so, that she would be so selfish as to want to keep him from making a meaningful connection with someone else.

She could see it, what could possibly draw them both together. Desperate souls, prickly and damaged, with a sort of sarcastic veneer and a standoffish nature. They could be good for each other, and she needed to make her peace with it. Needed to get her act together, needed to sleep and eat and function like a human being again before she worried her brother to death.

It wasn't until she knocked on his door and got no answer that she realised it was a little past three in the morning. Softly she opened the door, wishing to erase the distance she herself had created during the last few days. Rabbie seemed sound asleep, dark circles under his eyes indicating, however, that he wasn't doing much better than her. She brushed the hair out of his eyes before toeing off her slippers and tucking herself right next to him, like she'd done a million times in the past when a nightmare or something else unsettled her in the night. Instinctively he turned to the side, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"We're good?"

His voice was soft and uncertain, almost afraid. Belle snuggled closer to him, as if it was possible, trying to make up for the hurt she'd caused.

"We're good."

She closed her eyes, humming in contentment when he began to recite an old Scottish poem, his accent deepening until the world ceased to make sense and her eyes finally grew heavy with sleep. If and when the moment came, and if Emma Swan proved worthy, she'd be ready to let Rabbie go, ready to share him with someone else. But until then he was hers and she was his and all was right with the world.

[aeyemenethes-blog]

Lathbora viran Ch. 1

This is the first chapter in my Solas x Lavellan fanfic that is on AO3. Here's the link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10213937/chapters/22667927. I do have the chapter here is  well. It is in Solas 1st person POV.

Chapter One

Darkness swallowed up the world – cracking its structure into fragments – and the Fade cried out. The sundering shredded along my skin, blood and nerves, bringing a prickling of warm liquid to the corners of my eyes. In a snuff of a candle, lives beyond counting extinguished, reminding me of another day similar to this one in its passing.

The Veil stretched out before my eyes as a puckering scar still within the first hours of its making.

A sharp green glow stung my vision, drawing me toward the dead, and – on wobbly legs strained against a crudely shaped staff for support – I cut a path to the base of the mountain. Seeker Pentaghast would be waiting there with her soldiers just in case the Conclave went awry; though I doubted her forces could repair this. Echoes reached out first from the dead, and then the living, as I crossed the stone threshold into Haven.

“Follow.” The Seeker’s bark tore at my senses, and I caught her armored form tearing through onlookers in a mad dash. “Bring her.”

A small contingency of soldiers – no more than five – carried a lithe, limp body clad in ill-fitting clothing meant for comfort as much as camouflage. I stopped to watch them make their way to Haven’s Chantry and found myself rooted in two directions. Pressed one way toward the spirits drifting through the new vortex in the sky, and yet drawn to see who it was the Seeker and her men carried. A whimper tore at the back of my throat, more wolf than elf, but I forced my feet through the ankle deep snow. Numbness had replaced my uneasy relationship with the cold long ago until all I wore were the foot wraps, and not shoes, thankfully.

In the Chantry, people huddled – many in fervent prayers – both elven and human, while others wept openly and rent their clothing before the statues of a woman. I caught husky tones calling out her name as well as the name of their god – her lover – in supplication. Always the same no matter the era. In tragedy there was no division between race and class, just oneness in grief. Heavy smoke and incense from lit braziers of Andraste, and priestesses swinging pendulums belching fog permeated the room, deadening my senses further. In the haze, I could just barely make out the forms of the soldiers by the parting of the gathering crowd.

Seeker Pentaghast led her group down into the dungeons, and I slipped through the door behind them keeping to the shadows. Curiosity spurred my body despite still reeling from the sudden shock in the Fade. It happened while I visited the battle of the Hero of Ferelden against the former cultists who claimed Haven for a time. When the Fade buckled, I was shot out of the memory as if I became ice water thrown onto a blazing fire.

With the harsh reality of the living temporarily dampening my connection, I warred between terror and relief before resigning myself to present events. So many lives lost in a single second threatened to overwhelm me, and I touched my temple where I felt the tender blossoming of a headache beginning. It fluttered in tempo with my heartbeat – accelerated and shallow.

“Solas.”

Cassandra’s clipped tone as she spoke my name jarred me from thought, and I noticed her gaze hovering through the darkness in my direction. No reason existed adequate enough to excuse my hiding in the shadows like some Darkspawn Hurlok. Somehow I knew she was aware of that too. Curling my calloused palm tighter around the worn, leather binding of my staff, I took a tentative step into the torchlight. Cool eyes followed my movement, narrowing as I drew closer, but I dropped my gaze to regard the Seeker’s quarry.

A brow twitched and my jaw ticked as I saw a bloodless face, strained and slick with sweat. Gaunt from a lifetime of rationed meals and hard work. Refined, delicate features lay beneath a thick layer of blood and gore – most of which did not appear to belong to them – seized and jerked in pain and fevered dreaming. Curiosity gripped me again, and I knelt beside the prone figure careful not to touch them. Yet.

Precaution and, perhaps, warding were needed before I proceeded.

“What happened, Seeker?” I asked, wincing slightly at the hoarse whisper of my voice, though I doubted the human saw anything past a crease of my brow.

The question, however, sparked something in the woman’s eyes. Anger? Hatred? And she stabbed a finger upward – presumably at the sky beyond – her nostrils flaring. “Are you daft, elf? Did you not just see what happened to the sky… to all those…”

People. I finished silently but said aloud, “Even the blind can see the sky now, Seeker. I ask after the condition of this person.”

Pulling herself to her full height, Cassandra folded her arms just under the indent of the breastplate she wore. The way she puckered her lips into a frown tore at the scar down her cheek, as if opening the old wound, though only in illusion. “Many are dead or wounded so it shouldn’t surprise you that I bring one into the Chantry.”

I gave her a flat stare, letting her know I would neither back down from my inquiry nor fall for her baited trap. She couldn’t place the blame of whatever happened at the Conclave on my shoulders. I wasn’t even near the mountain top when that magic rent the sky asunder. Instead, I thumbed at my temple again, feeling the dull ache now throbbing. “Cassandra, I am only surprised you chose the cell of a dungeon as your base of operations when your patient requires healing.”

The ichor in her eyes simmered, and I felt the heat of her emotions fan over me. I braced for the inevitable boiling that usually accompanied her tirades, but her face softened to show a momentary lapse into sorrow. It hardened just as quickly.

“Save her, Solas.” Cassandra’s command was tinged with a warning. “She is the only one who survived the explosion at the Conclave. I want answers.”

Again my eyes slipped down to the unconscious woman, and feather light shivers ran down me as I saw the strange curls of greenish mana lacing her tattered body – congregating particularly around her left hand. It felt so familiar and nauseating. Wrong. Reaching forward – knowing what I would find, but needing confirmation all the same – I picked up the hand and turned it over, tracing a dispassionate gaze transversely on the glowing fissure carved into her palm. I forgot about the want for wards the instant the puzzle pieces fell into place.

Mine. There was no mistaking the Mark’s origins or how it came to be on this woman’s flesh. Now, however, was not the appropriate time to explain my knowledge of it. Not when admittance would beset the fangs of these rabid dogs down on me. I couldn’t fend off their onslaught in my current state. Soon, but…

Setting down the hand, I looked up to see the Seeker sneering, but with a questioning gleam in her eye. “You would do well to get a mage who excels at healing magic, perhaps Adan. My magic is better suited--”

“By the Maker!” Cassandra grasped her hand around my bicep and jerking me upward, the metal from her gauntlet biting through the cloth of my tunic to the skin underneath. Her face was mere inches from mine and – when she spoke – her breath clung to me hot, and damp. Uncomfortable. “This isn’t a request so you better succeed, Solas. Not just for her sake but yours.”

A growl pushed its way out of my nose, and I yanked my arm free, more annoyed that it would bruise, than angry about how she handled me. If our positions were reversed, I might’ve done the same thing were I a millennia or two younger. I didn’t blame her for her brusque manner. Fear laced behind those dark eyes not used to having the situation ripped from her control.

I pinched the bridge of my nose to ward off a crashing wave of dizziness from my newfound headache. Then gave a soft sigh. “I can promise nothing but to try.”

Gesturing to one of the soldiers with a slight nod of her head, the man slipped out a sword from the scabbard at his waist, and pointed it at me. Inches from my chest. A part of me laughed at the act. If I was a little stronger I would have actually laughed out loud, but I just rocked back on my heels, and returned my attention to my new charge.

“See that you do, apostate.” Cassandra seethed through clenched teeth then turned on her heels, and left me with her soldiers – swords trained on me – and the pitiful, collapsed creature on the flagstone.

A sick feeling washed over me. Underground, the voices of the dead and dying – of the torn Veil and Fade demons spewing from the green hole in the sky – all were muffled and niggled at the edges of my suddenly weary mind. Except one. I sidled the woman's limp body onto my lap for better access, and called forth what healing magic I possessed.

The mana itched to the surface of my skin through veins and nerve endings alight by the rush of raw energy. All at once sensations of dread and arousal blanketed me as it did every time I summoned up my magic. Maybe it was the Veil filtering and dampening my connection that brought about these unpleasant emotions because they were never present before the Veil’s creation. But now I found I couldn’t deny my body the urgent addiction the very act of magic brought. Pushing down the ill-conceived thoughts into the precipices of my mind to pick apart later, I concentrated on the matter at hand.

Grasping onto the mana with a sharp, calculated tug, I guided it into the unconscious woman, watching her body pull onto the streams of faint light like it was dying of thirst. Working through the intricate system of a living creature came with some resistance, but in such a weakened state, I batted it aside with little effort.

The Mark on her left hand flared to life, and I felt it reach out trying to choke me. I cast a barrier around myself, and continued grafting the healing magic onto the areas she hurt the most. Her body was scorched and dry in so many places, and the healing soaked her like a wet balm along her desert planes. I hummed gently under my breath as I worked to knit flesh and restore blood. And when the blood and gore receded from her face, I looked upon her as if truly seeing her for the first time, and I gasped.

Inside me, the Wolf stirred.