#this year i witnessed history being written by him

[onyxstyx]

ʜᴀɴɢɪɴɢ ʙʏ ᴀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴅ | emperor geta

pairing: emperor geta x fem!reader

summary: the fates spin the thread of destiny, and mortals have no choice but to follow its path. you have other plans.

➺‘the fates, who give men at their birth both evil and good to have, and they pursue the transgressions of men and gods… until they punish the sinner with a sore penalty’ - theogony, hesiod ➺‘whatever happens to you has been waiting to happen since the beginning of time’ - marcus aurelius

A/N: i watched gladiator ii, devoured all the geta fics i could find (ty writers for feeding me <3) and i’m still ravenous. the man is gnawing at me from my insides so i had no choice but to get typing. haven’t written for like a yr so bear with me. if this flops it never happened xx

warnings: mention of miscarriage (not reader's), period-typical misogyny, morally ambiguous reader bc she’s fighting for her life out here. she’s just a girl fr :( YOU try being a girlie in ancient rome :/ enjoy !!

w/c: 5.9k

latin translations: fatum - fate, carissima - dear, domina - my lady

As the moon ascends in wake of the sun’s descent, the gilded walls of the imperial palace glint softly in the moonlight. Glorious tapestries line these walls, each one telling the tale of hallowed heroes, of terrible tyrants and of revered rulers. The history of the Roman Empire.

Their patterns, depicting stories of both rise and ruin, are woven by none other than the three Fates. One Fate spins the thread, and an heir is born. Another Fate weaves it, and a battle is won. The last Fate cuts, and an emperor meets his end.

As three pairs of hands work nimbly in the heavens, another tapestry begets itself in the mortal realm, where our story takes place.

From a tender age, you had been taught to believe in fate.

Fatum.

You had first learnt the word as a little one.

You’d been a curious creature, like most children are. Sheltered from the terrors of the world, your appetite for life was insatiable. You’d wake up with a hunger for new knowledge about the world around you, and go to bed still hungry for more, no matter what had transpired during the day. Thus, you found it impossible to go to sleep of your own accord - you relied on your mother’s bedtime stories to satisfy your appetite, and lull you into slumber.

Perched by your bedside with a gentle hand stroking your hair, she regaled you with the tale of Rome’s beginnings. A tale of abandonment, wolf-mothers and fratricide. Enough thrill to tire you out, she hoped. To her chagrin, she looked down to find widened eyes, without a trace of sleep in them, staring up at her expectantly. Instead, your eyes shone bright with the excitement of unanswered questions.

She sighed fondly before prompting you to talk. “Yes, carissima?”

And so the floodgates opened. You fired her with questions with all the sternness of a Roman general, and she listened intently with all the patience of a loving mother.

Why did the king try to kill the babies? Why didn’t the wolf eat the babies?

And finally, taking great care to be gentle, you placed a tiny hand on her rounded belly and asked the most burning question. Why did Romulus kill his brother? Your innocent mind struggled to comprehend it. You hadn’t even met your little sibling yet, and you already couldn’t fathom the idea of bringing harm to him. Or her, you thought, but your father had insisted that all refer to the babe as the male heir he so desperately desired it to be.

“Fatum,” was the simple answer she supplied. “Without the king’s cruelty, without the wolf’s mercy, without Remus’ death, our great city would never have been built.”

Eyes shining with knowledge yet untold, her gaze held yours. “Whatever happens to you, has been waiting to happen since the beginning of time,” she quoted, a tone of finality in her voice.

As well-loved children do, you’d lapped up your mother’s answer as readily as the twin babes lapped the wolf’s milk.

You had first witnessed fatum some years later, at the age of twelve.

On the brink of adolescence, much about you had changed compared to the little girl having bedtime stories told to her. Much except one. Age hadn’t quelled your curiosity - if anything, it had grown.

You’d exhausted all the resources available to a girl of your standing. You’d read enough philosophical texts to debate with Aristotle himself, asked questions faster than your tutors could find answers and yet, you knew there was much more that the world had to offer. So, you decided to take matters into your own hands.

With age had also come a newfound deviance. Observant as you were, you’d learned that there was much to be gained with certain types of information - if you knew how to use it to your advantage.

As such, you’d taken to eavesdropping on your father’s meetings with his fellow senators from behind a pillar. For weeks on end, they had spoken of a play becoming popular amongst patricians and plebeians alike. Oedipus.

At the centre of their discussion was a ploy to ban the play from being performed. Abhorrent, they had called it. A threat to their authority, if the people are led to believe that even kings are subject to a thing as fickle as fate. At that statement, your eyes twinkled with mischief and a devious smile found its way to your face - you were determined to see this for yourself.

So, on the fateful night you caught your older cousin in the arms of a man bearing no resemblance to her betrothed, you knew you’d struck gold.

Desperate to protect her reputation and far too embarrassed to berate you for sleuthing around when you should have been asleep, she’d hastily agreed to the terms of your silence. She would sneak you into the city’s amphitheatre to watch the next production of Oedipus, if you swore to secrecy.

And so your plan commenced. Hidden under the large folds of her toga, you observed the story unfolding before you. The mighty king of Thebes brought to his knees by the tragic fate he’d tried to escape, to no avail.

A real spectacle, the performance elicited emotions from you that were both old and new. In a short two hours you’d been perplexed, horrified, scandalised. You’d learned quickly why you had to be sneaked in - fate wasn’t the only mature theme you were educated on that night.

But you only came to understand fatum when it took the person dearest to you, two summers ago.

Pregnant again, the fifth time that you could remember, your mother had taken ill. Perilously ill. After years of unsuccessful attempts to produce an heir - one daughter, two miscarriages and two stillbirths - she had breathed her last. In her womb? The son your father demanded of her. The son he had longed for. Prayed to the gods for. What else could bring forth such a tragic end, if not the hands of the Fates?

Now a grown woman, the beliefs your mother had impressed upon you would soon be tested. Left with no living sons to continue his legacy and no living wife to bring forth such living sons, your father’s lofty political aspirations could only be fulfilled through his daughter. You.

Your father wasted no time in advancing his plans.

After a long day spent praying at the temple of Pluto, you had been ready to wind down and relax. A good distance away from the centre of the city and situated atop a number of hills, a trip there takes up the whole day. You had set out at dawn, and as the sun set over the Tiber river to bring forth dusk, your shadow darkened the entrance of your family villa.

Exhausted both emotionally and physically, your body went through the motions of preparing yourself for supper, but your mind remained absent - occupied with thoughts of what could have been and what will never be.

After your bath you called for your maid and allowed her to dress you, head still in the clouds. It was only when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the bronze mirror atop your vanity that you noticed something was amiss.

Your eyes squinted as you inspected the image reflected on the polished surface.

“Why have you dressed me in these garments? I wish to wear my usual attire.”

You wore a tunic, the draped garment secured by an ornate brooch resembling an owl, with eyes made of precious gems. Nothing out of the ordinary.

What was out of the ordinary, was the saffron yellow hue of the tunic — since your mother’s passing you had been in mourning and thus only wore dark colours. A fact well-known by your maid, who dressed you day and night.

The hands fastening the brooch faltered as she gathered a response.

“My apologies, Domina.” She stepped back, head bowed in deference. “I assumed you would revert to your previous wardrobe, seeing as yesterday marked the end of…” She trailed off meekly, allowing you to fill in the blanks.

The previous day had marked a year since your mother’s passing, and thus the end of the customary mourning period. As such, it would be socially acceptable for you to appear happy and content again, reflected in the abandonment of deep plums and drab greys for sunny yellows and bold blues. You supposed it was not odd for her to assume you desire to don brighter colours.

But upon closer inspection, your suspicion rose again. Detailed with beautiful patterns and made of the smoothest damask money could buy, the tunic was much too elaborate for a simple family dinner in the villa. The last time you wore it was to a relative’s wedding, where your father made a point of telling anyone who would listen just how much it had cost to import the material from China.

You poised yourself to question her further, but the words died on the tip of your tongue when you saw the pleading look she gave you.

“Please, Domina.”

She offered you no further explanation, but the fear in her eyes was explanation enough. She was not doing this of her own accord, but under instruction. And if you knew your father well, under strict instruction.

Whatever plans he had for you, you knew you would have little to no choice in the matter.

Wordlessly, you acquiesced and allowed her to continue. You did not protest when she brushed, braided and pinned your hair into an elaborate updo. You were compliant when she lined your eyes with kohl and blotted your lips with mulberry juice.

Primped and primed like a prized show horse, you dismissed your maid, sat by the window and awaited your fate.

Not long passed before the sound of a male timbre filled the room.

“It appears your outfit is missing something.”

You turned to the direction of the voice to see your father standing in the doorway. Instinctively, you stood to your feet - less as a show of respect and more because you were used to being on guard in his presence.

In his hands he held a translucent, gauzy material, sheer in nature and vibrant in colour, that was all too familiar to you.

Your mother’s favourite veil.

Usually fixed firmly atop her head during special occasions - festivals, birthdays, weddings and the like - you could recognise it from a mile away. Growing up, you had associated this veil with womanhood itself. You would traipse around the corridors of the villa with it wrapped around your head haphazardly, the excess fabric trailing behind you as you ran as fast as your little legs could carry you.

What a foreign sight it was to see it in the hands of your father. And what a foreign sight it was to see him in your chambers.

Following your mother’s passing, the two of you had not conversed beyond what was formally required of you, your already fragile relationship fracturing completely. Yet here he was, extending a peace offering. An olive branch.

Pleased as you were to receive it, you were not foolish enough to believe this to be a genuinely affectionate gesture. A politician through and through, your father was no stranger to symbolic gestures, and he had made no attempts to mend your relationship prior to this moment. This sudden generosity, paired with your extravagant dressing, could only mean one thing.

He wanted something from you.

Now, you had two options. Comply with his request, or comply with his request begrudgingly. You chose the latter, of course. Even if obedience was your only option, you weren’t going to make this easy for him.

You casted him a quick look of derision. “If you wish to barter for my forgiveness with a piece of cloth, I am afraid your efforts have been wasted.”

Unphased, he stepped further into the room.  “Now, now, peace, dear daughter. Let us be civil.” The faux humility in his tone was almost comical.

“Perhaps you feel…wronged by me for holding your mother to a certain standard. But, you must understand that I was simply fulfilling my duties, by encouraging her to fulfil her own. I have particular responsibilities to this family. As do you, now.”

You levelled him with an icy glare, wise enough not to express your discontent verbally, but too headstrong not to express it somehow.

“And even if I have, in some unfathomable way, wronged you; to err is human, to forgive, divine.” 

After knowing him for as long as you did, you knew this was the closest thing to an apology you would get. You also knew your father was a talented orator - it’s how he gained a large enough political following to join the Senate, after all. And so you prepared yourself to be subjected to one of his moving speeches.

“It is common knowledge that women are the weaker sex,” What a great way to start, you snarked to yourself. “Yet, I have always seen a unique strength in you. Not physical strength, of course, but a mental fortitude. Since you were a young girl you have been willful, stubborn,” he took a step closer to you with each word, purple-lined toga brushing the floor as he advanced. 

As he said the last word, he gave you a knowing look. “Nosy.”

You failed to hide your shock. “Oh yes, I saw you slinking around behind the pillars.” He waved a hand dismissively. “It matters not, now. In fact, whatever dregs of information you picked up from eavesdropping on my discussions may soon prove useful.”

His face was a picture of smugness, with an eyebrow cocked and the corners of his mouth upturned as if he knew something you didn’t. With just a few sentences he had complimented you (even if it was backhanded), revealed that he knew your secret, and teased you with a nugget of information. The perfect combination to make you anticipate his next words.

Silence filled the room as he kept you in suspense, mind whirring as you mulled over his cryptic words. 

One hand held your mother’s veil in front of him, while the other caressed its folds delicately. His eyes had a faraway look in them that suggested his mind had travelled to another time.

“Your mother was a strong woman. Not strong enough in the end, regrettably, but strong nonthele-”

“Don’t.” You interjected. “You will not sully her memory with your caustic words.”

His lips spread into a diplomatic smile, but the twitch of his eye betrayed the irritation he felt. Belligerent as he was, he ignored your outburst and continued. 

“Unlike her, you have the makings of a lady of great influence. Much like me, you have the mind for politics. That potential lies latent within you.”

With a gentleness you wished was also reflected in his words, he draped the veil over your head. “I advise you not to waste it, dear daughter, and suffer the fate of lesser women.”

You scoffed at his words, readjusting the veil so it rested perfectly atop your head and shoulders. “And how do you suggest I fulfil this…potential? The Senate is not exactly welcoming of women.”

Well-pleased that your interest had been piqued, he finally reveals his true intentions.

“Accompany me to the imperial banquet tonight. We will celebrate the successful conquest of Britannia.”

“I do not care for banquets, nor do I spare a thought for conquests.”

“You may not care for military conquests, but this banquet itself is a conquest of the political sort. In my experience, much more is won with words, than with swords. And tonight’s event presents an opportunity for much gain.”

Again with the cryptic words.

“Allow me to present you to the Emperors. Your face is comely enough to garner their attention, and for some reason unbeknownst to me, some men find opinionated girls like you to be charming.” 

Is he insinuating what you think he is?, you thought incredulously. Surely not.

“The Senate may not be the place for women, but the Senate is not the only facilitator of politics. Why not practice your politics from Palatine Hill?”

There was no mistaking it. He intended to make an Empress of you. Equally as curious as you were sceptical, you decided to test his logic.

“Beauty is fleeting. Charm wanes with time. How would I maintain their favour?”

“That, dear daughter, is up to you. I am certain you will find a way, formidable as you are.”

While it pained you to admit it, he was right. You and your father were more alike than different, what with your scheming and blackmailing. Besides, you were formidable. You were cunning. You were capable.

There may be greater things in store for you yet.

And those greater things began with this banquet.

Upon arrival, you were met with the most magnificent sight you had ever seen. Sat proudly upon Palatine Hill, the palace looked like the image your mind conjured when picturing Olympus. After ascending the intimidating number of steps that led to the entrance, you truly felt like you’d ascended to the land of the gods. Wherever you looked there was amazing artwork that instilled equal parts awe and fear in you. 

Look up, and there were grand arches to behold. Look to the side, and the spectacular frescoes offered a feast for the eyes. Look down, and there were beautifully designed floor mosaics you almost felt bad for stepping on.

As you passed through into the atrium, it was much the same. Ostentatiously decorated, it boasted gilded walls and glorious tapestries, each feature a testament to the Emperors’ opulence, and Rome’s riches.

But it was impossible to focus fully on the artwork with the room heaving as it was. Eyes darting from one person to another with every passing second,  you were captivated by the spectacle the hoard of partygoers presented. Something seemed to be happening in every square foot of the room, each guest having their fill of whatever their vice of choice was for the night. Wine was in abundance, giving way to loose lips, and scantily-clad whores prowled about in the shadows, giving way to loose purse strings.

You had been to your fair share of lavish affairs, but this was a whole new world of revelry.

Between the loud percussion of the musicians’ instruments, the aroma of the heavily seasoned foods and the leering gazes of overexcited men, you began to feel overstimulated. You stuck close to your father as he led you into the heart of the throng, finding comfort in the familiar when surrounded by the foreign. Better the devil you know.

Oblivious to your discomfort, he reprimands you under his breath. “Stop clinging to me like a child, lest our venture fail before it has even begun.”

You’d been so taken by your surroundings that you hadn’t registered where your father was leading you to. Now you stood in front of the two men at the centre of this affair, who were seated majestically upon a golden threaded couch. You prayed you didn’t look like the bewildered little girl you certainly felt like. 

With a grand, sweeping gesture of his hand, your father bowed. 

“Imperators, what an honour it is to partake in these…wondrous celebrations with your Majesties.”

“Senator,” one of them said, voice smooth like honey but with an edge that demanded caution. His face bore a smile, but his tone was calm and measured. “What a pleasure it is to see you.” The twitch of his eyebrow suggested otherwise. “In a more agreeable mood, might I add.” The man beside him sniggers.

More agreeable? Whatever could that mean? For the second time in one night you found yourself deciphering cryptic words. Father must have angered the Emperors, somehow. 

“And you’ve brought…” He trailed off, looking at your father expectantly.

“Yes, Emperor Geta, Emperor Caracalla,” with a single clap and an officious clearing of his throat he stepped to the side, no longer obscuring their vision of you. “May I present my daughter…”

You managed to regain your composure, exhibiting a grace only a lady of the upper echelons of society could possess when you sunk into a deep curtsy. Lifting your gaze, you were met with the hair-raising sensation of being observed. Not just observed – scrutinised.  

A pair of eyes, deep brown like rich soil, trailed over your form. The man that addressed your father with contempt - Geta. His brows furrowed as he took the sight of you in. Lined with kohl much like yours, his eyes were smouldering in their examination.

Another pair, red-rimmed and cloudy with the haze of inebriation, were the perfect contrast. The man that sniggered - Caracalla. With irises of a cold blue hue, they would have been intimidating if they belonged to a face other than his, what with his rosy rounded cheeks and seemingly perpetual impish grin. 

Despite their differences, the relation between the men was clear as day. Flaming locks of hair and the gold laurels that circled their heads confirmed their identities. These were the infamous twin tyrants.

But it wasn’t just the weight of their eyes that you felt. Lounging around the couch in various positions and in varying states of undress, was an entourage of courtesans. You did your best to avert your gaze, as theirs bore into you. 

And what a pleasant sight you were. Adorned with ornate jewellery and clad in the finest of silks, you were easily one of the best dressed at the banquet. Before a word had been uttered, your appearance relayed a message – you were a lady of fine stature, more than accustomed to luxury and thus, would be well-suited to palace life.

Well-suited to be Empress.

Not taking any chances, your father decided not to leave anything up for interpretation.

He began listing your virtues as if reading from a handbook - 100 Things to Look For in a Roman Wife. He spoke of your piety, your beauty, your fertility. With every trait of yours that was mentioned, you grew increasingly more irate and keeping the docile smile on your face became increasingly more difficult. 

“...and lest I forget, she is most gifted with the lyre-”

“How quaint.” Caracalla interrupted, a peal of childish laughter bubbling from his lips. “He presents his daughter’s hand as if he is lobbying for a law to be passed!”

Geta scoffed, “Or a conquest to be forfeited.”

At this, Caracalla doubled over in laughter, the overfilled cup of wine in his hand threatening to spill over the rim with every jostle of his frame. Clearly there’s a joke you’re missing here.

There’s a wicked glint in Geta’s eyes that tells you this joke has guile. 

“Three sennights have lapsed since you last stood before us, spewing nonsense about abandoning our pursuit of Britannica.” The vitriol that coated his voice strung a discordant note in the mellifluous tune of his brother’s continuous laughter. “Yet here you stand in your Emperors’ palace,” he gestured at the ongoing frivolities. “Drinking and making merry with spoils from the very war you so vehemently opposed.” 

Ah. It finally clicked. From what you had picked up from your father and his associates’ discussions, you knew that this conquest had long since been under contention among the Senators. The campaign was taking longer than anticipated, and required more reinforcements than expected. The Roman force was fatigued. At home, the starving plebeians of Rome were one famine away from revolting, and without the full support of the army, politicians relied on empty promises to appease their constituents and maintain order. Yet, the Emperors were adamant on expanding Rome’s borders.

For whatever reason, at the last Senate meeting three weeks ago your father had been the unfortunate soul to suggest that the troops should draw back. And now he stood before them at the celebration of the successful conquest, presenting you as a bargaining chip to secure his pardon. Opposing the Emperors was costly, and he decided you were going to pay that price on his behalf.

Geta leaned his head on his hands as he asked, “Tell me, Senator, what makes you think you will triumph this time?”

You watched your father’s reaction with bitter disbelief. For the first time in your life, your silver-tongued father, the man that had landed you this fate, floundered for words.

Fine. If this was the hand dealt to you, so be it. But you were going to do this your way.

“Your Majesties,” At the sound of your sweet voice, Geta’s gaze affixed itself to your face. Instantly, he was beguiled. “If I may…” 

With the slow incline of his head, you were permitted to speak. 

“I know little of war,” you feigned ignorance. “But I do know that defying the odds to bring glory to Rome is no small feat.” Preening at your praise, Geta leaned forward in his seat, a silent encouragement for you to continue. “Rome and her citizens are fortunate to be led by you, Imperators, and I am grateful to be in the presence of such wise rulers.”

His mouth spread into a self-satisfied smirk. “I bask in your praises, my lady. It pleases me to see that someone in your family has a semblance of loyalty to the powers above them” A pointed look was shot at your father. “You see, all those that oppose their Emperors,” His venomous gaze roved over the group of Senators shifting uneasily as they watched this ordeal. “Will soon learn that there is only one way for a man to wield power.” He held up his index finger for emphasis and paused for suspense. “War.”

With all the self-assurance of a man that has never truly been challenged, he stalked towards you.

“What other power can bring a man to his knees and cause him to surrender?”

“I can think of nothing greater than war!” Caracalla piped up from behind him.

“Yes, brother.” Geta held his cup of wine up in agreement. “By no other means can a man wield such power. I am sure my lady agrees?” He offered his right hand, each finger as bejewelled as the next.

The ultimatum he presented you with was clear. Kiss the ring, let all be forgiven and allow this encounter to end pleasantly. Refuse the ring, and…well, don’t refuse the ring.

But compliance was predictable, and would only get you so far. Your beauty and charm had ignited a spark of interest in him, but that wasn’t enough. You needed that spark to burst into a flame.

With swan-like grace you knelt before him and took his hand, smiling inwardly when his eyes followed your descent with rapture. You didn’t miss his quick intake of breath when you halted your movements to look up and meet his eye, lips an inch away from the stunning signet ring.

“Upon second thought,” You tilted your head as if considering his words. “There exists another power great enough to make a man kneel in surrender.” At your bold words, the hand you held tightened around your fingers until he had a firm grip of your hand. “A power so great, even Emperors are not immune.”

Gasps of shock came from the onlookers sober enough to process what they had heard.

“Impertinence!” Caracalla’s cry of protest tore you from the captivity of his brother’s gaze. 

“Forgive my daughter, she oversteps her bounds.” Your father spat the words out and fixed you with a look of warning, a late and unappreciated attempt to de-escalate the night’s proceedings.

With a wave of Geta’s hand, his words were dismissed. For the sake of keeping your resolve, you pretended not to see the Praetorians return their drawn swords to their scabbards.

You returned to the intense stare of brown eyes narrowed in… intrigue? Suspicion? You weren’t sure, but you had his attention. 

“And what power would that be?”

Your gentle smile had him entranced. “The strike of a drum, the strum of a lyre’s strings. Music, my Imperator, holds much power.”

See, while your father was busy waxing lyrical about you, you had been studying Geta closely. As he listened to others speak, his fingers unconsciously tapped the thigh of the courtesan perched on the arm of the couch. But they were not tapping any old rhythm – they tapped to the beat of the percussion in the background.

The ring your lips had puckered up to kiss was not embossed with an imprint of Mars, the god of war, but Apollo, god of music. Geta the Emperor championed conflict and violence, but Geta the man held music dear.

Rich eyes twinkled as his laugh rang in your ears. “Ah, yes. Your father mentioned your skill with the lyre. He failed to mention your humour.” He didn’t believe you.

“I assure you, Imperator, my lyre-playing is unparalleled.” You indulged him with a coy smile.

“You believe you would best our most talented musician? That your playing would put your Emperors’ finest to shame?” He challenged your claim.

“Given the chance, I would outplay each of the Nine Muses,” you asserted boldly. You rose to his challenge.

His eyes gleamed with ardour as he regarded your statement with a raised brow. “I await the day I hear you play with baited breath, my lady.”

“It would be my pleasure, my liege.”

Not risking any more excitement, you curtsied and took your father’s arm as he guided you towards the outskirts of the atrium, and away from watching eyes. He wasted no time expressing his displeasure.

“Have you lost your senses, girl? Has some strange plague come over your mind?!” He released an exasperated sigh. “You should have held that tongue of yours.”

 “Oh, and left you there, stammering like a bumbling fool? Father,” you uttered the paternal term without an ounce of familial affection. “You entrusted this ploy into my hands, so leave it there.”

Anger flashed across his face like a clap of thunder. Before he could berate you for your indolence, however, a piercing shriek stole the moment.

You pushed through the crowd to see the commotion, weaving past bodies stilled with shock at whatever it is they were witnessing. When you got to the centre, you were met with a most harrowing display of fraternal discord.

Geta lay sprawled out on the marble floor, the corded muscle of his limbs tensing as he strained to hold back the man towering over him, wielding a dagger above his head. Caracalla. 

At first glance one may have supposed this fray was borne of anger, but with the spittle flying out of gritted teeth that gnashed and snarled like those of some inhuman beast, the incoherent stream of words and the crazed look in his eyes, it was clear that he did not have full agency of his person.

The rumours were true. He was having one of his infamous episodes.

Your eyes darted from Praetorian to Praetorian, waiting for one of them, any of them to take action. Their hands rested on the hilt of their swords, hesitation rooting them to their spots. To raise a hand against Caracalla would be treason, punishable by death. To ignore the distress of Geta would be treason, also punishable by death. They were at an impasse.

The chatter of mingling guests and the ambience of the musicians’ instruments had long since stopped, leaving the grunts of the brothers to take their place. All watched on in stunned silence, revelers turned horrified spectators.

Their scrambling continued. Geta managed to hook a leg around Caracalla’s ankle, toppling him over to join him on the cold marble. Wine cups clanged as they were knocked to the ground, collateral. The cacophony of sound nearly masked the sound of Geta’s desperate plea.

“Break the spell! Break the spell!”

Moved by an impetus you couldn’t explain, you barreled further through the crowd until you reached the musicians’ corner. You grabbed the lyre from the hands of the bard (who was too focused on the ongoing tumult to protest), and started strumming the tune of a nursery rhyme favoured by Roman children both rich and poor. 

Dulcet tones and sweet symphonies echoed through the chamber as you sang of Rome’s rolling hills, of fair maidens awaiting the return of brave soldiers, of the Tiber River’s ebb and flow.

Those around you listened intently, enraptured. They stepped aside, clearing a path for you towards the quarreling brothers. You walked forward as you sang, and as you reached the last verse you stood a few feet away from where they squirmed, limbs akimbo. 

From your position you saw the exact moment the muscles in Caracalla’s face relaxed, and his body went limp. He released a weak whimper better-suited to an injured animal than the tyrannical emperor he was rumoured to be.

Eyes fixed on you over his brother’s shoulder, he dropped the dagger as if compelled. Tears began to run down his face as he wailed, balling himself up into a foetal position. When they noticed his change in disposition, his entourage took the chance to spirit him away from the room. 

The final note of your song rang out. A beat passed as everyone came to, as if they too were held captive in a trance. Then, a slow, steady clap from one became a roaring applause, your fellow guests lauding your performance as if it had been planned. 

Chest heaving from exertion, Geta used a three-legged (formerly four-legged) stool to pull himself from the floor and adjusted his toga. At the raise of his hand, the clapping stopped. Flopping back to sit on the couch, he gestured for you to come forward. His expression was inscrutable. 

Before you could scrape together an apology, or some sort of explanation, you were utterly disarmed by the grin that spread across his face. 

“My lady,” He huffed between words, still catching his breath. “I stand corrected. It appears your flair with the lyre is equally as bewitching as your looks.”  

Your cheeks heated up at his confession of attraction towards you. “It pleases me that you think of me so, my Emperor.”

“Mmm.” He hummed, dark eyes taking their time to appraise you. “The power to bring a man to his knees can be very dangerous, you know. I believe it would be in the best interest of Rome and her citizens if such power was… managed by the capable hands of their Emperor.”

The chill of deja vu ran down your spine when he extended his hand in your direction. A second invitation to kiss the ring. Most people only get one.

“Wouldn’t you agree?”

As your lips made contact with the cold metal of Apollo’s face and you sealed your fate, you closed your eyes and said a silent prayer. When you opened them again, you found eyes the colour of rich soil searching yours. 

He turned the hand that gripped his and pressed a surprisingly sweet kiss to the back of it. His kisses travelled up your arm, growing more and more fervent, the plush of his lips leaving warmth on every spot they pressed against. He used his hold on you to pull you towards him until you were close enough to smell the heady scent of patchouli mixed with the subtle musk of perspiration, and count the freckles on his speckled cheeks, peeking through the layer of makeup. 

His palm ran up and down your arm repeatedly, inching further up each time.

“You will make a home for yourself here, in these palace walls.” Brown eyes gazed into yours, full of a veneration you couldn’t fathom. “And you shall be my little Muse.” 

As if the troubles of your life thus far had not been a sufficient allotment of suffering, the Fates had now tasked you with weathering the twin tempers of the Emperors Geta and Caracalla. And surviving.

Gods help you.

A/N: thank you ever so much for reading ! i'm working on part two so let me know if you want me to post it when it's done <3

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated x

© onyxstyx tumblr 2025

[certifiedcodbabygirl]

Simon Riley crying and praying for the first time in years bc you're hospitalized

(self indulgent as fuck, based off of personal medical history bc it'll be more accurate)

You hadn't ate or drank for 5 days, unable to keep anything down. You thought it was the flu at first. Fevers, puking, extreme fatigue. It didn't seem like anything out of the norm. Except for when your fevers started casing full body convulsions that made you look possessed. Chills and cold sweat turned to groaning and crying, muscles all over cramping and clenching, breathing becoming difficult. You figured it was because you hadn't had the flu in years. How wrong you had been.

Once your puke turned green, which was later found out to be bile from your kidneys, Simon rushed you to the hospital. Unable to stand, he pulled a wheelchair from the entrance and pushed you everywhere. Within 2 hours, the nurses had you admitted and on IV meds. Pain meds, IV Tylenol, and bags of fluid were hooked up to you, rehydrating you being high priority. Your body is in shock, resting heartrate being 140. He sat by your side the entire time, holding your puke bag in one hand, and your hair back in the other. The doctors drew blood, running blood cultures, searching for a more accurate answer.

The night you were admitted, they informed you that your kidneys were so infected that one got injured. The bile that was thrown up was caused but how hard you were puking, pulling it up from your kidneys.

He stayed the night, sleeping in the rocking chair, right next to your bed. He woke up when your fevers came back, holding your hand and telling you how good you're doing, calling in a nurse. The morning that followed, he had to go back to the house to make a bag of your immediate needs, clothes, deodorant, hairbrush, and anything else he could think of. When he came back, a doctor and a couple med students came in with important news.

"We ran blood cultures to see if there was possible an infection in your blood due to your symptoms leaning towards that. They came back positive. We are going to give you antibiotics and run cultures every 12 hours to track if the antibiotics are working" The doctor says as gently as possible.

The room begins to feel like it's spinning. Sepsis has a 68% mortality rate, and knowing how deadly it is, it feels like you're already being buried. Simon looks to you with a confused look, not knowing exactly what that it, but knowing it isn't good.

"I have sepsis?" You ask in a quiet voice, throat constricting.

"Yes" The doctor says softly.

"Oh fuck I'm gonna die" you whisper under your breath, tears forming.

Simon looks to you, eyes widening. 'Not again'

"Wait, the hell is Sepsis?" He demands, but not sounding confident, more scared than anything.

The doctor explains it to him, how it when your blood is infected, how the infection can latch onto your other organs and slowly kill you from the inside out. Once it reaches your brain, it's too late. His grip on your hand tightens. The doctor tries to give hope, but she can only do so much without lying. She leaves to give you privacy.

It's silent, neither of you speaking out of shock. The only noise in the room is the quiet hum of the IV machine and Simon's shaky breathing. Your thumb softly glides back and forth over the back of his hands, trying to ground him.

"Si" you softly call.

It takes hour to get him to loosen up a little. It's only when you manage to keep down a popsicle that he feels like he can breath a little easier. Like maybe you'll be part of the 32% that pull through.

That sliver of hope is crushed that night, being woken up by his arm being slapped repeated by you in a panic. His eyes meet yours, concern instantly written on his face. Your hand is on your chest as short, sharp breaths are the only thing you can manage.

"I,, can't,, breath,," you whisper between breaths, unable to say a sentence in one go.

"Baby it's alright, jus' try to breath wit' me, hm?" he tries to demonstrate slow breathing, mistaking it for a panic attack.

"not a,, panic,, attack,, please,, nurse,," you try to tell him.

He nods in a panic, running out to the nurse station and explaining. They rush in and take your pulse-ox just to see your oxygen percentage is at 86% when it should be above 95%. They try to do the deep breathing again before Simon interrupts them.

"It's not a bloody panic attack, she literally can't breath. Get her oxygen or somethin' before she fuckin' suffocates!"

They put you on oxygen until they can get you an X-ray. The nurses try to chalk it up to a panic attack until in the morning they see you still can't breath. They give you an X-ray and when the results come back, they send the doctor in. She informs you that the nurses gave you too much IV fluid and that caused your organs to swell so much that they pushed up on your lungs, collapsing them by 3/4ths. 1/4th of your lungs are still open and they're going to take you off fluid, start you on exercises to open them back up, and keep you on oxygen.

That's the last straw for Simon. Once you fall asleep for a nap, he heads outside to the bench area and punches a wall. His knuckles split but he barely feels it, ringing in his ears drowning out the surrounding noise. With no one around, he sits on a bend, elbows on knees and face in his hands. His breath picks up as his throat tightens and tears threaten to rip out of him.

"Why would ya let this happen to 'er? Aren't you supposed to be lovin'?" He whispers into the wind, looking up at the sky, "That girl in't like me. She's the fuckin' sunshine in human form and she's on death's bloody doorstep."

Tears cloud his vision, unable to keep it in any longer. He blinks them away, falling onto his clenched fists. Years of praying, to a god he later grew to resent, for him to fix his family. A child kneeling at his bed, begging him to get his family out of his father's grasp. Once he got to his teenage years, his desperation became resentment and anger. His jaw began to clench when his drunken father would spew bible verses at him to condemn him. He realized God wouldn't save him, nor would he when Simon's family was ripped from him.

Yet here he was, back to that same god, desperate that maybe, just maybe, he'd have mercy on him this time. He believed himself a rotten man, even if it was subconscious, unworthy of the angel sent to him. His light, reparations for the mistreatment The Father had destined for him.

"You sent 'er to me, it's gotta be for a reason. You've never listened to my prayers before but just this fuckin' once, please don't ignore me." His voice breaks, openly sobbing with no sound, "You sent 'er to me and now I can't live without 'er. She's fuckin' everythin' to me. Don't take back your gift, please" The end of his sentence slips into a whisper.

He wipes his tears on his sleeve and sniffles hard, trying to erase the evidence of his vulnerability. He stands and walks to the door, looking back at the bench before turning back to the door and walking in. 'Amen'

[kamisatomay018]

Thinking about Zayne

Something that always intrigues me about Zayne is the fact that so far, he is the only love interest who canonically has more than one variation of him existing at the same time.

Like maybe I’m over analysing but bear with me here-

- Xavier doesn’t have incarnations as such, he is over 200 years old himself so he has experienced everything we know about him so far in one single lifetime. He has been with multiple versions of MC, but he hasn’t forgotten anything, because he’s the ONLY version of himself we know of so far (Xavier girlies if I’m wrong feel free to correct me)

- Rafayel has had many reincarnations and lifetimes with several MCs, but he remembers every one of them. However, he has single-handedly been the god of sea, abysswalker, and the other lifetimes in his memories that we have had a glimpse at. What’s important to note is that he has died and been reincarnated. Two versions of him didn’t exist at the same time.

- Now we don’t really know much about Sylus, but from what we have gathered from his memories so far, he has definitely died in one lifetime or more, and MC has been there to witness it. He obviously knows way more about MC, because like every other love interest he too had a history with her. However, I doubt there have been any indications so far of there being another version of him out there somewhere.

However, Zayne is a special case.

First and foremost, Dawnbreaker’s existence in itself is the weirdest thing ever. How is it that he exists in an alternate universe, one which is set in the future technically speaking, but both Dawnbreaker and Zayne know about each other and Dawnbreaker once even managed to very briefly take over Doctor Zayne’s consciousness, leading MC to say the infamous line “You’re not Dr. Zayne. Who are you?”

They exist at the same time which is really very interesting to me because their worlds are so drastically different from each other’s.

Then we have Foreseer. As Astra’s tool, he cannot die. He is sealed, perhaps in some form of never ending sleep but he can be awoken. Which is what I think Zayne tries to research about on his trips to Mt. Eternal where foreseer’s tower could be. And let’s not forget that Foreseer knew about a Zayne, as it was written in his book about botany and caring for flowers. It is also believed that Foreseer or some future version of Zayne is actually helping him find a solution to breaking Astra’s curse; even if it means that his future self will cease to exist.

And then we have Master of Fate. Now listen- he was a literal GOD. And yes ik you could say that even Rafayel as a god did die but! There was literally no hint ever that master of fate died. In fact; MC even said that as long as there is the mountain and the tree, Zayne will always be there. So even master of fate could potentially be alive.

Imagine y’all like 4 fucking Zayne’s being alive and ALL of them fall for MC. Like.

But why and how are there so many variations of him alive at the same time? Dawnbreaker’s existence puzzles me the most because he doesn’t even have any direct relation to any of this, his world is totally different. And the amount of emphasis on him is also very sus.

I swear if even one of them dies I’m throwing hands at INFOLD!😭

Anyway I’d love to know your thoughts about this so feel free to lemme know in the comments, and please do fill me in if I’m missing something!🫶

[russellbby]

The Hamilton Legacy👑

parings: lewis hamilton x teen daughter!f1 driver!reader, f1 grid x hamilton daughter!reader

in which: one hamilton is trying to break the record of most every world championships won, while the other is trying to win her first..

a/n: hey guys, sorry I haven’t been very active! Hope you like this imagine I’ve been working on!

smau version here!

//

Lewis Hamilton, 7x world champion ~ trying to break the record to become an 8x world champion.

Luna Hamilton, first female f1 driver ~ trying to become the first ever female formula 1 world champion.

The father-daughter duo have equal points heading to the final race in Abu Dhabi..

Who will become the f1 world champion..?

//

When the father-daughter Hamilton duo walked into the paddock, it seemed like the whole paddock had their focus on them and had all their cameras pointed in their direction and started bombarding them with questions.

“Lewis how you feeling? You could be become a 8x world champion!”

“Luna, do you think you can beat your father?”

“Luna, you can become the youngest ever world champion today!”

“No matter who wins, another title will be added to the Hamilton name! How you feeling about that Lewis and Luna?”

“I told you we should have gone around the back,” Luna mumbled to her father, who had a protective arm around her shoulder so she wouldn’t get lost with all the cameramen crowding them.

“You were right,” Lewis said as he guided them to exclusive area in the paddock just for the drivers. “You two know how to make an entrance” George joked as he spotted his former and current teammates.

“Blame dad, he didn’t listen to me when I said we should take the back away” Luna added. “I guess you should of listen to the kiddo, mate” Charles told his teammate as they joined the three of them.

“I’m always right!” Luna sassed as Lewis pushed her slightly, which made George and Charles laugh at the pair. “I don’t know where you got this attitude from” Lewis mumbled, which just led to Luna smiling innocently to him.

//

"This race will be written in the history books not matter what happens, it’s going to another title added to the Hamilton name, but which Hamilton will it be?”

"We are about to find that out, I wouldn't take your eyes of this race because it's going to be filled with everything"

"It's light out and away we go!"

//

"Well, what a season Lewis and Luna have given us, it’s been amazing and very entertaining to watch the father-daughter duo fighting it out and they both deserve the title, however it can only be won by one-

-we have watched her overcome every possible hurdle and challenge, since the moment she stepped into the paddock at the beginning of the season and Luna has faced it all, and today is the day she will never forgot-

-LUNA HAMILTON CROSSES THE LINE AND IS THE FORMULA 1 WORLD CHAMPION!”

"Luna Hamilton is the first ever female to win the World Championship and breaks the record for being the youngest ever champion at just 19 years old!-

-what an incredible moment we have all witnessed!"

//

Luna’s Radio

R: “You’ve done it Lu! You’ve done it! World Champion!! Congrats kiddo!!”

L: “AHHHH!!! WOOOHOOOO!!! We did it!! We did it!!! Oh woww thank you guys so so much I actually can’t believe it!! World champion babyyyyy!!!

R: “Congratulations Lu! What a beautiful drive today, what a season you’ve had! All I can say is welcome to the history books kid, youngest world champion! Drinks on you tonight!”

L: “Ahh thanks Toto, thank you for believe in me and giving me this opportunity I wouldn’t have been able to achieve any of this without you and the whole team!! Let the celebrations begin!!”

R: “Enjoy this moment Lu, we will all be waiting to kick start these celebrations with you!”

L: “We did it Bono! We actually did it!!”

R: “We sure did kiddo!!”

//

Luna felt so overwhelmed when she was on her cool down lap, she then saw a familiar number #44 Ferrari car drive by the side of her, she looked over to her father who was clapping his hands and Luna made a heart shape with her hands back to him. 

While Luna was still doing her cool down lap, she made a signal to him and he put his thumbs up having the same idea as her. The Mercedes and Ferrari faced opposite each other before doing donuts which made the fans cheer louder, if that was even possible.

After Luna finished putting that show on for the fans with her father, her and George also faced opposite each other and did donuts in front of the Mercedes fans.

Luna soon parked the car and stayed in her seat to try and process everything. She eventually got out the car and ran straight into the arms of her crew. Luna took her helmet and balaclava off before spotted Bono.

“We did it!!” Luna giggled as she felt him lifting her up in a tight hug. “Proud of you kid! You deserve this so much!” Bono told her as she soon spotted her boss.

Luna made her way over to Toto who, like Bono, lifted her in the air as they hugged tightly. Once Luna was back on the ground Susie hugged her tightly.

“Proud of you sweetheart!” Susie said. “Very proud, this will be going down in the history books!” Toto added as Luna wiped the tears away that has fallen down her face.

“Lu!!” She heard many different voices call her name before she was surrounded by them. “My lil sis is a world champion!!” George said. “Congrats muppet, you deserve this!” Lando added.

“Congrats kid!” Charles exclaimed. “Congratulations kiddo!” Max said as he squeezed her shoulders. “Thank you guys!!” Luna told them with a big smile on her face.

//

Luna still hadn’t been able to find her father yet, as she had been surrounded by all her crew and the rest of the drivers, she hadn’t been able to get a moment with just him..

Luna looked over to the Ferrari crew and see her father there with her grandparents. Luna ignored all the cameras and made her way over.

Lewis turned around at the right time to catch his daughter in his arms. The father-daughter duo could hear the sound of the fans cheering and cameras flashing, but they didn’t care.

“I’m so proud of you Lu, you did it! World Champion! You have proven so many people wrong today and welcome to the history books kiddo” Lewis said softly.

“I couldn’t have done this without you dad! And I’m sorry that I’ve ruined your chance of winning your 8th—

“—hey none of that! I would take you winning a championship over me any-day. I don’t want you to think about that, alright? This is your moment and I want you to enjoy it” Lewis told her which made her smile.

Lewis kissed her forehead softly and Luna just stayed in her father’s arms. She soon greeted her grandparents who hugged her tightly.

"What a moment there, between Lewis and Luna! The father and daughter duo! Just another championship added to the Hamilton name!"

//

Luna Hamilton lifted the World Champion trophy in the air, she heard the roars of cheers from the crowd and all the Mercedes crew when she did.

Before she could even do anything else, she was covered in champagne. Her father, George and Toto being on the podium with her, she knew that they would use every bit of that champagne to spray on her.

Luna just had to accept it and just had a big smile on her face, she knew she couldn't of achieved any of this without her family, her friends, her crew and all the fans.

and just like that..

The Hamilton Legacy was just beginning.

[bluemooniegif]

Soukoku's first meeting could not have been written more perfectly. Allow me to explain

A quick note on the manga panels: these are fan translations from BSD Bibliophile. At one stage they refer to Dazai as 'the youngest boss in Mafia history,' and the executive meeting as 'a meeting of five bosses.' This is just a stylistic choice! All of the panels shown here are from chapters 8 (volume 2), 10 & 11 (volume 3)

I love this scene more than life itself, because it is literally the PERFECT introduction to Chuuya, his character, and his relationship with Dazai. Let's talk about it!

First: some context. Dazai seems to be in a bit of a predicament- he's walked right into a trap set by the Port Mafia, an organisation that we don't know much about at this stage in the story. What we do know, and what we can observe, is this:

Dazai is a former executive, and appears to have walked into the trap on purpose

He is now being held in a room that Akutagawa describes very negatively- the fact of being here is dangerous

Dazai reveals that Akutagawa was once his subordinate, and that he thought very lowly of him at the time. He claims to still think of him this way. Akutagawa has a violent reaction to this.

This is a PERFECT example of 'showing, not telling' within a story. Rather than making a bunch of asides, describing what Dazai and Akutagawa are feeling and why, Asagiri & Harukawa have plopped us into the middle of a rather awkward reunion. I feel like I've walked into my friend's Christmas dinner and am now witnessing family politics unfold real time. It's like watching a car crash.

Now, we move between settings a bit, jumping around to watch Yosano DESTROY Kajii, Atsushi rescue Kyouka, and subsequently be injured and kidnapped by Akutagawa. We watch the Agency fall into disarray when Fukuzawa demands that everyone go looking for Atsushi- interesting, considering that Dazai is IN THE BASEMENT OF THE PORT MAFIA RIGHT NOW.

I've had lots of discussions and arguments about the meaning and significance of this. I won't delve too deep into it for now, but the way I see it is this: something the ADA is really REALLY good at is splitting up Mystery-Inc. style and working to solve cases etc., together, but apart. Dazai is also something of a stray dog (... cat), regularly wandering off and reappearing of his own accord. He's been with the ADA for several years at this point, and they would understand the way he operates well. Even if there's no indication whether he explicitly told anyone what he's doing or where he's going (which honestly, does that matter, when Ranpo would know immediately anyway?), we can safely assume that this is more or less a regular thing for them.

Anyway, back to the point. the Agency is not fazed by Dazai's disappearance... and neither, for some reason, is Dazai. He stands chained to the wall in the PM's basement- the same one, we discover later, where he's brutally tortured countless victims and traitors, and he's humming a little tune to himself, smiling, totally relaxed. We as the audience know he's pretty unflappable, and Akutagawa's expression when he sees him confirms this, too.

But. BUT. This doesn't last.

With the ADA descending into chaos, we switch perspectives back to Dazai again. He's bored at this stage, and thinking to himself that they must be searching for Atsushi soon (an indication that he was riling Akutagawa up earlier, btw) when he hears it: A voice that makes his resolve crack. A look of panic on his face that, at this stage, we haven't seen yet.

He turns, and we see Chuuya for the first time! He's got this strange smug look on his face, something deeply vindictive. Here's a current mafia executive, and he's so happy to see Dazai chained to the wall of their Torture Basement that you can't help but wonder... is there something that Dazai did to him, personally, that makes him feel this way? Or is this guy just so deeply involved with the PM that the fact Dazai left is like a personal slight against him?

Now, we don't really have long enough to truly panic over this predicament, because almost immediately these two fall into their old habits. Dazai isn't PLEASED, but he isn't afraid. He goes right into bantering with Chuuya, who surprisingly meets him right in the middle. Their regular dynamic shines right through: it's quick-witted quips, inside jokes, and knowing looks. It's this odd relaxation in their posture. In all of this, we have an acknowledgement of what they were, and evidence to suggest that they still are... whatever that thing is. Whatever you wanna call it: partners, boyfriends, best friends, buddies. That much is up to interpretation; the only undeniable fact is that they once knew each other better than themselves, and still do.

Then, the fight. This, to me, comes across as more of a way to display how powerful they both are individually: Chuuya punches concrete so hard it shatters in several places, Dazai snaps his fingers and breaks out of handcuffs.

We have front-row seats to what is in my opinion one of the best action sequences in early BSD, not just for what physically transpires, but what it tells us: they deeply understand each other on multiple levels. They're constantly predicting each other's moves, and they know where each other's weak spots are.

But there's also been a lot of growth. Dazai surprises Chuuya a few times, and vice-versa. Despite their apparent closeness, it's still clear that they haven't been together like this for a long, long time.

Then, they reach checkmate. It appears as though Chuuya has won, and we're fed some more Dazai lore- he was the youngest executive the PM ever saw.

This is how Chuuya remembers Dazai. Again, I want to remind you that this is the first time so far we're seeing PM-zai, and he is worlds away from the Dazai we've grown to know so far.

Though Chuuya seems to have driven Dazai into a corner, the roles are quickly reversed when Dazai claims to know something about a meeting between all five of the Mafia's executives. Chuuya quickly realises this is one of his 'predictions,' further proving the depth of their mutual understanding.

With hindsight, we know just how big a deal a meeting of this scale is, and knowing a certain stormbro (who I won't reveal just in case of spoilers) will be there makes me lose my mind, personally. It clearly affects Chuuya, as well, which was undoubtedly Dazai's goal.

With the power balance disrupted again, they quickly fall back into that same bantering dynamic. The volatile nature of their relationship is so perfectly portrayed within this short scene that it actually makes me sick, I genuinely don't think it could have been more perfect

Anyway. Chuuya has realised, at this stage, that Dazai had multiple goals when he allowed himself to be kidnapped, and one of those was to piss Chuuya off (which is something I think he could've managed even if Chuuya wasn't physically there). This, in turn, pisses Chuuya off, especially when he realises the predicament Dazai has left him in- let him escape, or the Mafia suffers. A test of loyalty, Chuuya's greatest weakness. Do you understand why I am tearing my hair out and howling at the moon??? This is fucking insanity.

And then, the final moment! The part we all know and love! Not only does Chuuya choose to err on the side of caution, allowing Dazai to escape- he also leaves with the repetition of another inside joke. And Dazai laughs- he looks genuinely happy, too.

That is all. I'm gonna go cry now ಥ_ಥ

read this original thread on twitter

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

Well now I need a backstory on Vampire Lord Bill before I finish gnawing through the bars of my enclosure

Also, I’m obsessed with the idea that, if Ford is at all a reliable narrator, Bill was angry at Ford, somehow kidnapped Stan (did he know about Stan or think he was Ford at first then decided this would be hilarious?), turned him, and then left him as a present for Ford

Amazing.

So i don't have a hard back story for him, just a general idea that might flesh out as I write this.

SO. Bill is old, like, pre written history old. He was a messed up kid in his home, an ancient city of some kind, long lost to time. He was born with extra abilities (like his fire :)) and was an outcast, despite his mom trying her best to help him feel loved.

At some point, young and sixteenish, he either got turned by another vampire or became one by less traditional means, either making a deal with a demon, drinking his tormentors blood, something. However it happened, Bill entered his undead life already powerful and with a higher class of vampirsim that makes him stronger, faster, and with a wider set of powers than the norm (less so than he is currently, being so old, but still powerful for a newborn vamp). Then he went and ate everyone in his home, burning the place down in his blood fueled hunger, too out of it to really think about what he was doing or pay attention to who he was eating.

But it was all in good fun! He's powerful and he can do whatever he wants! Its their fault for messing with him in the first place! (He is Not Looking. He didn't do anything Wrong. He is sixteen(ish) forever and cannot hear his mothers screams)

Time goes on, and he gets a better handle of what he can do and why. Eventually starts building an undead army to overtake humanity and give him ultimate control of the human cattle, putting him on top. (He's sixteen(ish) forever and has delusions of grandeur and has become insane).

No one else is happy with this, of course. Not just some of the other, non Bill related vampires, but also humans and other supernatural creatures. They band together to take him out, eventually pinning him down. Except he's sixteen(ish) (or looks it, no one knows how old he really is) and uses his fake tears and baby face to sway some of the softer hearts (axolotl maybe?)(or maybe they couldn't kill him, not with the speed he regenerated) so instead of killing him outright he gets sealed, classic vampire style, chained in a coffin in a blood stained circle and all kinds of signs saying 'hey, this guys bad news! get away from here!'

So of course Ford stumbles across this huge red flag and says 'man life sure is beautiful behind my rose colored glasses'. cuts his finger on the coffin, rousing Bill from sleep and creating a connection, which results in all their dream dates. Bill was sealed so long ago for a misunderstanding Ford! He's so lonely here, and he wants to see the amazing world Ford knows! What is he? A god! His vessel was sealed, trapping Bill in this psychic space, but he sensed Ford was special, and they can do great things together :)

Ford has no idea Bill's a perma sixteen year old vampire. Bill's lying about his age here, catfishing a grown human man.

Anyway it ends with Ford breaking the seal, and Bill gets free. He looks awful and mummy like, and the only reason he didn't kill Ford straight up was because he wanted to turn Ford and has enough self control right now that Fords not bleeding to bypass him.

There's a lovely town down below after all :) Perfect for a hungry vampire.

Meanwhile Ford realizes he's Fucked Up Big Time, scrambles to chase Bill to stop the blood bath he knows will happen. Gets there in time to witness half the town dead and shout about how he's not gong to let Bill get what he wants! Except there's still that psychic connection, so Bill sorta hypnotizes Ford into not fighting him (not that he thinks Ford would stand a chance, but still).

Bill thinks this is so cute! Fordsy is playing hard to get, wants to make a game out of his inevitable turning. Bill, being a perma sixteen(ish) has fallen hard for Fords older man energy. Is convinced its only a matter of time before Ford folds and falls for his charms, let Bill turn him and together they'll take the world by storm. He's got it all planned out, has all kinds of dramatic 'oh no, you've got me ;)' and 'look at who I have here ;)' scenarios planned out. Then theyll make out or something. Doesn't matter, as long as Ford belongs to Bill.

Except he got Stan instead. Stan, the other Pines, who's nearly identical but also the bottom of the barrel in terms of humans. Bill wouldn't care about Stan, except that he's connected to Ford, so getting him instead of the real deal is like almost getting a jack pot then one of the spinners goes over or something. I don't know anything about gambling. It pisses him off, but! He can use it, use Stan as a new weird foreplay thing where he kills Stan and gives his shriveled corpse to Ford. Ford will love it! Or hate it, and chase Bill more! Either way, Bill wins!

Then he finds out Ford did not get the shriveled corpse Bill had prepped. Where did it go? Who's going around stealing corpses? Oh, Stan's a vampire now? Huh.

Rage. Rage in Bill 100000 years. He doesnt want Stan! Stan's not supposed to be a part of Bill's undead legion! He's supposed to be dead! Or forgotten once Bill turns Ford and paints the world red! Or fed to Ford in some other, more messed up form of foreplay! He's not supposed to be walking around in undead life!

[star-anise]

Everyone's got a take, and I've got a take too, about the current Internet Villain: James Somerton, a gay Youtuber who just got exposed (in the back half of a 4-hour video) as massively plagiarizing the work of LGBTQ+ media critics, historians, and memoirists, and then exposed in another 2-hour video as just making up the wildest nonsense about the topics he demonstrably had access to accurate information on.

He achieved a six-figure income on his work by squeezing money out of his audience with claims...

That only he was creating content that preserved queer history and elevated the voices and experiences of the LGBTQ+ community (a lie)

He was in serious financial distress and would have to go out of business if people didn't give him tons of money (a lie)

That he was going to use some of that cash to make definitely good and not-at-all-plagiarized independent movies, a thing he was definitely skilled and experienced enough to do (a lie), and

That those plagiarism allegations were incorrect,, and frankly,,,, hurtful and homophobic. (a GIANT lie)

Like, here's a visualization of the script of one of his videos, "Society and Queer Horror". The highlighted bits were lifted nearly verbatim from the works of others—the 18 authors identified at the time the exposé was posted—and presented as Somerton's own work.

So here's what drives me absolutely up the wall about this:

If he had just ADMITTED that it was the work of other people, THAT WOULD STILL BE COOL. If he had just said, up front, "We are going on a survey of thoughts and insights people have had about this topic", that would still be a good video with a real audience!

Like yes, he studied business in university, he might not have gotten the kinds of research skills and knowledge someone like Kaz Rowe uses to not just report on the history and analysis of others, but evaluate their relative validity and trustworthiness.

But honestly, since watching my niblings (oldest is 13) watch Youtube, I think you honestly can't underestimate the number of viewers who are really hungry for someone saying, "I don't understand this topic! Let's explore it together!"

But NOOOOOOO, Somerton didn't want to be just some schmuck waxing enthusiastic about homoeroticism on film and acknowledging the smartness of other people. He wanted to be HIM, MR. SMARTYBOY, very sophisticated and alluring and thoughtful and deep. Definitely an intellectual heavyweight who just happened to spout off his own personal ideas and analysis that put him at the forefront of all the scholarship on the topic he's come across.

I hate being wrong. Hate being wrong. But blogging for most of my life has forced me to confront constant textual evidence that two or ten or twenty years ago, I said some dumb-ass shit. Honestly, it'd probably keep me up at night sometimes even if I didn't have a written record. I absolutely understand the desire to scan the field, find the coolest people around, and quickly clothe yourself in as perfect an imitation of them as you can manage.

But if you want to be an artist or a scholar who produces something lasting, you can't prioritize coolness over truth all the time. To develop your true, independent voice, you need to find a time and place where it is just you and just the work you're doing, and you have pick up your tools and say, I don't know if I'm doing this right, but this is what feels right to me.

There are a lot of things in life to which we can only truly contribute our presence and our perspectives. Things we can only witness or hold space for. We cannot go back and bleed the pain out of history, or erase the complexity of another person's life. Not honestly, at least.

But those are the times that need our presence, our perspectives, our witness, and our space. When we gather round and tell sad tales about the death of kings, honesty can be the only thing you give that's worth a damn in the large scale of things.

If this dude had owned up to the truth and honestly showed the work of trying to piece together a queer understanding of the world, trying to draw the threads of culture together until he found a place he fit inside them, it would have been so much more valuable to our culture as a whole.

He probably made more money this way, though. While it lasted.

[i-am-traveling-the-multifandom]

Blood and Cheese

Warnings: S2 E1 spoilers, mentions of SA, mentions of gore and blood

So, you are telling me that HBO made b&c an accident. It was supposed to be Aemond. And they made Heleana run while Jaehaerys was being killed and her daughter safe and sound. And Alicent and Maelor wasn't even there. What the hell??!!

They turned one of the best, in fact the only well written part of the book and turned it into this piece of crap

Aemond was never involved. Daemon wanted to kill a child when Luke died because he didn't have the guts to fight Aemond. Aemond might have been the reason the dance of the dragons began but he was never the cause of b&c.

Heleana begged blood and cheese to take her life instead of her children and in the show, she offers her necklace. The entire point of blood and cheese is to show a distraught mother trying to protect her children and being forced to choose which one of her children die. And they made her simply point at her son. Book!Heleana would never. Book!Heleana had to hold the lifeless body of her eldest child that didn't even have his head. She couldn't see his last expressions, was there fear on his young face or was it pain? She would never know until these ruthless killers were found. She would rather lose her life and her sanity than her own children. And in the end, she lost them all. And that is the tragedy of Heleana the Dreamer. That is the tragedy of a mother and a queen.

Jaehaera is sleeping soundly and isn't even harmed while in the books she was a traumatized kid. She was threatened with rape by a man when she was 6 years old. She watched her twin get killed in a helpless position and could do nothing to protect him. That possibly was a driving reason of her suicide.

Maelor was present there at the time of b&c and he wasn't even born in the show. He was two years old; he was a child who saw such a brutal murder. Heleana in her mind made the right decision by offering Maelor instead of the heir to the throne but imagine how much that would have mentally and emotionally scarred him, if it wasn't for his untimely death. He was a victim of 'the greater good'. But it was never him and if he had grown up enough to even form words they would have been of pain and sorrow.

Alicent was in her room having sex with Criston Cole while in the book she had to wait knowing that her daughter and grandchildren would enter any minute and be harmed. She was helpless in those moments, and God knows what went through the mind of this woman who loved her children so much. Her trauma is undermined. She saw her bed maiden killed knowing this might be the fate of her beloved children and it was for Jaehaerys. She had to take care of Jaehaera and Maelor while her own daughter sank into a deep and dark pit of madness. She saw her daughter commit suicide because of this. Do any of us ever stop and wonder if she blamed herself for all this?

Blood and Cheese was one of the most traumatic events in the entire history of Targaryens and I will murder those who say otherwise. Not because I am team green but because I have sympathy. Sympathy for two young children forced to witness such cruelty, sympathy for a child who was inflicted with such early death, sympathy for two helpless mothers who blamed themselves for their children's doom.

And the show destroyed it. HBO destroyed everything, from the cruelty and from the trauma. And those who have never read the book will never know. Never know the cruelty of team black. Blood and cheese wasn't revenge, it wasn't a son for a son. It was pure cruelty and malice. It was the murder of a child who had never done anything wrong, and the show erased it. They never showed what extents team black could go in the name of war and revenge.

And I despise HBO for what they did. Once again, they show that team black can do no wrong, that Daemon Targaryen's actions are justifiable because he did it for his 'family'. But he didn't, like always he did this for the sake of violence, and forever will.

This season is ruined from the beginning. HBO can do nothing to make it better.

[thisapplepielife]

Happy 1st Anniversary, Tuesday's Gone With the Wind.

Twenty-nine years ago in fictional history, Corroded Coffin's plane crashed into the woods of Louisiana.

Thanks and so much love to anyone and everyone that has given this fic a read over the past year. Thanks for braving beyond that opening author's note. Thanks for the love you've given it. Thanks for making me feel seen. You made me feel like this thing that I spent months solely focused on, deep in research, was worth the time invested. You made me feel that it was a story worth telling.

It's my favorite thing I've ever written, and the one that still occupies my thoughts on the regular.

One year ago today, I finished posting it. It's not my most popular fic, not by a long shot. But I don't think it needs to be. It might not be for everyone, and that's okay.

It was for me.

And if it was for you, too, please know how much I appreciate you for reading it, recommending it, or championing it in any way. The audience it found may not have been huge, but the response from those that did read it, was so beyond overwhelmingly supportive and positive.

I said in the beginning that this was a love story. I'll double down on that now, with a year of distance and the continuation of their story in Wildflowers, under my belt.

It's many love stories.

And I miss these versions of them, and the love they all shared.

I miss Eddie Munson, with his big heart that fell fast and hard and forever. I miss Sweetheart and Dragon Slayer. I miss the Eddie that loved wholeheartedly, and despite all the problems he had, that never changed. Steve Harrington arriving in his life was the best thing that ever happened to him, and he knew that, from the start. He was all in.

I miss the young and flawed Gareth Jones, and his love for Di that he sometimes squandered like a goddamn fool. I miss his ride or die friendship with Eddie, that feels as real in my heart, as anything I've ever seen on screen. Gareth has changed how I listen to music, fundamentally. The drums snap to the forefront, now. And sometimes, I'll smile and think, damn, Gareth Jones would play this like a motherfucker.

I miss Jeff and Goodie, and their lifelong friendship, from the cradle to the grave. Jeff, for his even keel and ability to be part of the solution, instead of part of the problem, and Goodie for being exact opposite. The dry-witted, fanner of flames, that often made things (and let's be real, Gareth) a little bit worse, just because he could, for fun.

I miss Road Manager Steve Harrington, with his red milk crate and his unwavering competence and love. If love could have kept that plane in the air, Steve's love for them all would have been enough to do it, without a doubt.

If you haven't read it, and might want to, amazing, thank you. You don't have to read it unspoiled, and I'll even answer spoilery questions by DM if you want me to, but I'll always stand by the option to read it unspoiled existing, for those that do want to just dive in, and see where it lands. Or crashes, as it were.

I can only hope that you get, or have gotten, something out of reading it, because I absolutely got something out of writing it.

They changed me.

Thanks, boys.

Oo-de-lally, oo-de-lally, golly what a day.

[autumnshighlady]

Yes, sir

Eris x female!reader

part of The Professor Series

summary: you've been trying to impress Dr. Vanserra for weeks, and an opportunity presents itself when he offers you private study sessions ;)

warnings: smut, power dynamic, name calling, oral sex (f receiving), thigh riding, face sitting, fingering, inappropriate use of mirror, tw: Ianthe

word count: 6.7k

request/prompt: Eris would undoubtedly be a history teacher, sarcastic at times and rigid

a/n: i got my degree in medieval history so there's a bit of rambling in this fic about my area of study since Eris is a history professor, figured i spent 4 years researching it so may as well incorporate it into this fic lmao feel free to breeze past the reader's monologue about the study material (or read it if you're interested hehe)

series playlist on Spotify here

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

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“Does anyone know why this manuscript was significant to political theory at the time of its creation?”

A few hands raised around you in the lecture hall, yours included. Political history professor Dr. Eris Vanserra paced slowly across the floor, his amber eyes scanning the rows of students for someone to pick on. His red hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, a look that had more than a few of you swooning. His red button up shirt complimented the brown tweed jacket on his shoulders, an outfit that no doubt cost you more than you made in a month. Dr. Vanserra always had the nicest outfits out of all your professors, never coming to class with a thread out of place.

Over the last few weeks, you had come to terms with the fact that you were harbouring an intense crush on him. You couldn’t help it – he spoke with such elegance, explaining the most boring concepts in a way that had you utterly entranced. Frequently, you found yourself staring at his slender hands, which he often gestured with as he spoke. He was a strict professor, who had no patience for any fooling around during class. But his dry jokes were laced with sarcasm, adding to his charming wit. Everyone tried to impress him – Dr. Vanserra was a distant male, often brushing off students in his office hours as if he wanted as little interaction as possible. He never complimented their work either, a simple head nod being the closest anyone has gotten to positive feedback. He was quick to point out what you did wrong, never beating around the bush.

And so you moved your seat from the back of the class to the front, always making sure to be the first student in the door and the last one to leave. It was tough, with other students just as eager to gain a minute of his attention. But you welcomed the challenge, craving to be the one who broke his rigid exterior and get him to show that he at least had a heart. That included always being ready to answer any questions.

Eris’s glowing gaze landed on you, and your heart fluttered. For a moment, you were sure he would call on you to answer the question. But his gaze came as quickly as it left, landing on the blonde female two seats down from you, Ianthe.

“They’re important because they were written by a woman,” Ianthe said proudly, her annoying voice raising three pitches higher than what you knew was her normal voice. “The only one of its time, too. Proof that women in the elite class were learning to read and write just like the men.”

Ianthe proudly lifted her chin up, satisfied with her answer. Dr. Vanserra took a single step towards her, and she crossed her arms together and leaned her elbows on the table, her big eyes wide as she batted her lashes at the professor. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at her lack of subtly, noting how ridiculous she looked trying to push her breasts together to show off her cleavage.

“A weak and shallow take, Ianthe, as per usual.” Eris said, sarcastic disappointment lacing his voice. 

You had to cough to conceal your laugh. Ianthe was always trying to suck up to Dr. Vanserra, always humiliating herself along the way yet failing to recognize how foolish she looked.

“Is there anyone who can answer my question with a point that’s actually worth my precious time to listen to?” He continued, surveying the hesitant class.

Your hand shot up once again, and this time the professor’s gaze landed on you. He nodded, his stoic face revealing nothing as he waited for you to make your point.

“It’s the only manuscript we currently possess that’s written by a woman in its time,” You began. “That doesn’t mean it’s the only one to have existed. And the author being our only example of a body of literature written by a woman in its era doesn’t mean all elite women were doing the same. Her husband was a close friend of the emperor’s, acting as one of his closest counsellors. It’s highly likely that her husband’s unusually high status is the reason she was able to read and write.”

Dr. Vanserra nodded. “Carry on.”

You tried to ignore the intensity of his gaze as you scrambled to remember your information. “Well, the manuscript itself gives us insight into the political strife of the realm. Many of our other sources from that era never address the problem because they don’t want the history books to remember the bad times. Not only does she directly address the political issues at hand, but she also inserts herself into the narrative, something no other source from its time does. So while it’s written as a book of advice to her son who’s a political prisoner in an enemy court, it gives us insight into 3 aspects of family in that era: feelings, authority, and consciousness. Which also links back to what we talked about last week regarding the connection between the theme of consciousness within this era’s literature.”

You let out a breath, trying not to shake. The professor continued to stare at you, expressionless, leaving you unsure if your points were completely bogus or not. Finally, Dr. Vanserra dipped his head. “Good.” He said plainly, and Ianthe audibly huffed. “Now speaking of last week’s material…”

Dr. Vanserra continued his lecture, and you felt Ianthe shooting daggers at you with her eyes. But you didn’t care, you were too busy riding the high of your first ever praise from the instructor – anyone’s first ever praise from him, now that you thought of it. You happily scrawled down your notes for the remainder of the period, until the clock struck 9am, indicating class was over.

“I will expect the first draft of your midterm essays in three weeks, do not forget.” Dr. Vanserra said as students began packing up. “It’s going to take me a hundred hours to go through them all, so make them worth the headache it will cause me.”

Students began scurrying out the door, and you were grateful that you had no classes for the rest of the day. You packed up your things more slowly, your books and notepads stacked in an organised pile, just how you liked it. You stepped around the front of your desk and scooped them up in your arms, but quickly collided with a blonde female carrying a very full mug of coffee.

“Oh my goodness!” Ianthe squealed, her voice sweet as honey. “Your notes! I am so sorry hun, let me help you clean that up.”

Anger boiled in your blood, and it took everything in you not to yank her by her blonde hair and drag her face through the spilled mess. “It’s ok,” You forced yourself to say through gritted teeth. “It was an accident.”

“Oopsies!” She chuckled, her blue eyes glittering. “See ya!” She skipped away, miniskirt bouncing with every step. Gods, you hated her.

You looked down at your fallen pile of notes, now drenched in caffeine and completely illegible. Kneeling down, you tried to see if anything was salvageable, but nothing remained. Tears welled in your eyes – weeks of hard work, just gone. You felt your white t-shirt sticking to your chest, now strained with brown.

You hadn’t even noticed Dr. Vanserra approach. His pale, slender hand appeared next to yours, picking up a drenched piece of paper. You looked up, seeing him crouched down in front of you.

“Can any of it be saved?” He asked, her voice still stoic but slightly softer.

You shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak without crying yet.

Dr. Vanserra clucked his tongue. “Unfortunate. You’ve worked very hard on those.”

“Those are all my notes from the last few weeks,” You said quietly, lip wobbling. “Sir… I have nothing to work with for my essay draft now.”

He merely hummed as if deep in thought before grabbing the soaked papers from your hands and standing up. You heard him stride over to the trash bin and lift the lid, tossing the remains of the material inside. His expensive shoes clicked on the floor as he walked back over to you. His hand reached out, coming into your lowered field of view.

You looked up at him through teary eyes, confused. 

“Come on, get up.” Dr. Vanserra said, sighing. “She wins if you sit like that, just sulking. So get up and come with me.”

Trying not to tremble, you grabbed his hand. He pulled you up with surprising strength, his hand warm despite the freezing temperature of the room. Wordlessly, he grabbed your bags along with his own, walking out of the lecture hall with long strides. Puzzled, you scrambled to follow, too nervous to say a word. This was the most Dr. Vanserra had ever spoken to you, you didn’t want to risk screwing it up by saying something stupid. 

You followed him all the way to his office, shutting the door behind you as you entered the space. Rich tones of red, amber, and green adorned the room, expensive looking furniture and decor scattered everywhere in an organised manner. The office was filled with more candles than you could count, their orange flames flickering gently. Dr. Vanserra set your bags down on one of the chairs before finally speaking.

“Twelve lectures worth of your notes are gone, and you cannot do anything about that.” He said sternly. “So do not cry over it. However, I do not want to see you fall behind and try to redo the notes off of memory alone. You will fail the course if you do so. Therefore, for the next two weeks, we will meet in my office every day at 5pm. Each session we will go over one lecture, and you will redo your notes. We can go slow to ensure you do not miss anything, and you may ask me any questions you need. That will give you only a week to complete your draft, but at least you will not be lacking half the material needed for it. Does this work for you?”

Your jaw went slack. One on one review with the professor? It was the golden ticket you needed to succeed in this course, and you were going to make it count. “Yes, sir, absolutely.” You replied quickly, letting out a breath. “Thank you, Dr. Vanserra, thank you.”

“We are going to be spending a lot of time together over the next two weeks, my dear. You can call me Eris.”

Your heart flipped. “Eris.” You corrected yourself, testing his name on your tongue.

He smirked. “Excellent. Now that we are on a first name basis, I can comfortably tell you that the coffee has rendered your shirt see through.”

The blood drained from your face, and your arms shot from your sides to cover your chest. As luck would have it, you weren’t wearing a bra that day, meaning your nipples were likely visible through the wet white shirt. “Oh god, I’m so sorry.” You stammered, cheeks flushing red.

“It’s quite alright.” Eris strolled towards a small dresser in the corner of the room, opening up the middle drawer and pulling out a cream coloured polo sweater with a v-neck. “Put this on, I won’t have my student walking around campus with her tits in plain sight.”

You blushed deeply, taking the fabric from him. It was the softest thing you’d felt, and smelled strongly of the cologne you frequently caught a whiff of whenever the professor walked by you. The plainness of his words made your brain go haywire, and you stood there dumbly.

“Unless you want to give me a show, I suggest you turn around and change so I can put your shirt in a bag for you to take home.” Eris said, a hint of mischief behind his amber gaze.

You turned around, reaching down and pulling the ruined t-shirt over your head. You shivered, feeling those eyes burning into your bare back as you carefully held your arm out behind you with the shirt balled inside your fist.

Eris took it, and you heard him turn around and walk away, presumably to grab a bag. You quickly pulled the sweater over your head, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach that danced happily at the thought of wearing your professor’s sweater.

“All done.” You said, turning around. “I’ll get this dry cleaned before I give it back.”

The male only shrugged as he tossed your shirt into a spare grocery bag. “Clean it, keep it, shred it, it matters not to me. I have three more identical to that one.”

“Uh, ok.” You muttered. The idea of keeping his sweater felt wrong, but you were secretly thrilled that he suggested it.

Eris took a seat behind his desk, pulling out books from his briefcase. “Now be gone with you, I have research to do. And remember, 5pm tomorrow. Do not be late.”

“I won’t.” You promised, grabbing your bags and making your exit.

Maybe it was a good thing Ianthe spilled her coffee on you.

************************

ONE WEEK LATER

You tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep hours after your study session with Eris. At first, they had been gruelling. Eris would grill you for every answer you gave him, making sure you could confidently back up your claims. Your brain was exhausted by the end of it, but you were happy. Eris had also given you helpful anecdotes that he hadn’t mentioned to the class. You had twice as many notes as before, and they were twice as helpful.

He was different than when he taught in class. More patient, less demanding. He spoke slower, allowing you to catch up if you fell behind. His strict persona was as rigid as ever in class, but you found he was calling on you more and more to answer questions. It delighted you.

At first, you had sat in the chair in front of his desk. But today, the chair was moved beside his. More than once, your leg knocked against his muscular thigh, and you’d murmur an embarrassed apology. Eris never acknowledged it, only smirked before returning to the material at hand. You still felt the tingling sensation on your own thigh from earlier when he gently squeezed it. You had gotten a tough question right, and Eris had reached down and put his hand on your thigh, quickly squeezing it before retreating.

Your face had gone bright red, and there was no way he hadn’t noticed. Just that one simple action had made your core throb with need. It didn’t help that he had begun calling you pet names, such as ‘my dear’ and ‘love’. You drank them up, his silver tongue making the nicknames sound just right. Every time he said them, it went straight to your core. 

Studying with your professor had suddenly become incredibly hard.

You rolled over in your bed once more, hoping that perhaps this side of the sheets would finally bring you sleep. But every time you closed your eyes, all you could think about was Eris’s touch on your thigh, and how it would feel if his hand was higher up, right where you had dreamed about it being. You imagined his slender fingers pumping inside you, filthy words falling from his lips like the first snow of winter, red hair falling in your face was his body moulded over top of yours–

“Get it together.” You scolded yourself. “He’s your fucking professor. It was nothing. Stop overthinking.”

But that didn’t stop you from sneaking your hand between your legs in a last ditch effort to ease yourself into sleep.

************************

A few days later, you checked your outfit in the bathroom mirror at 4:55pm before heading to Eris’s office. You hadn’t slept well last night, so you opted for a casual pair of soft, flowing green pants paired with a simple cream coloured button up. You’d be lying to yourself if you claimed you hadn’t deliberately chosen the pants that seemed to be Eris’s favourite shade of green. It was hard to sleep when all you could think about was how close you were going to be sitting to him the next day.

At 5pm on the dot, you opened the door to his office. “Good evening, sir.” You greeted him, locking the door behind you. It was something he insisted on, claiming he didn’t want his other students barging in thinking you were getting special treatment.

“Hello, my dear.” Eris said. “We’re covering lecture 10 today, I assume you brought the material.”

You nodded, setting your bag next to the desk before making your way around to Eris’s side. You paused, noticing something was missing. “Where’s my chair?” You asked.

“Oh, that thing,” Eris tutted, lips drawn into a faint smirk. “I gave it to my brother for the week. His office chair broke, and he has fifty students lined up outside his office every day who need it more than I do.”

Your mouth was dry, unsure of what game he was playing. “Where am I supposed to sit?”

“I think there’s enough room over here for you.” Eris’s voice was velvety and laced with smugness. His brown eyes glowed, like a viper approaching a small creature to make its first strike.

“Oh, do you want me to stand?” You tried hesitantly. No way this was going where you think it was going, right? 

“For two hours? I wouldn’t do that to you. Come here.” He beckoned you forward with a come here motion and spread his legs ever so slightly, making your stomach do a somersault. Your body obeyed him without question, stepping forward until Eris grabbed your hand and pulled you down, causing you to fall onto his lap with a yelp. Strong hands gripped your hips, adjusting you so you were perched on his right thing, one leg on each side.

You bit your lip so the whimper that had built in your throat didn’t slip through. Your throbbing core was pressed right into the hard muscle of Eris’s thigh, emitting a heat you were sure he would feel.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” He purred, his lips dangerously close to your ear. His breath was warm, sending shivers down your spine.

You stuttered something incoherent in response, but Eris cut you off casually, reaching forward and opening your book. His knee hiked up a bit, pushing his thigh further into your core. This time, you couldn’t stop the noise you let out.

“Are you alright, love?” Eris asked innocently. You gritted your teeth – he knew what he was doing, and was trying to get a reaction from you. As much as you wanted him, you were stubborn.

Two could play this game.

“Just fine.” You quipped, attempting to keep your composure.

“Wonderful. Let us begin.”

************************

An hour later, your lip had indents on it from your teeth. It was the most torturous study session you’d ever had in your life. It was less than 10 minutes in before Eris took it up a notch. He had rested one hand on your hip, a simple gesture as if to steady you. But his thumb found its way underneath the fabric of your shirt and began to rub small circles above the bone. 

The more questions Eris asked you, the closer he leaned into you. His lips began grazing your ear as he spoke, driving you wild. He didn’t sit still either, casually moving his leg from time to time, causing you to slide forward, clit grazing the sinewy muscle.

It was a slow torture.

“You seem distracted.” Eris murmured in your ear, readjusting himself again and sending another wave of pleasure through your core. You couldn’t help it, a quiet moan leaving your mouth as you felt yourself giving up.

He chuckled darkly, sliding the rest of the hand under your shirt fabric and resting it on the skin above your hip bone. “You’ve been working so hard my dear, I can’t have you unfocused.”

The rest of his fingers began tracing lazy, teasing circles against your flesh. You arched into his touch, tears from the lack of stimulation to your cunt threatening to form in your eyes if he didn’t touch you soon.

“Please.” You murmured quietly.

“Please what?” Eris asked, feigning cluelessness but letting his teeth scrape the shell of your ear. “If you need something from me, you need only ask. And I will be happy to oblige.”

The bastard was really going to make you admit it. He knew what he had been doing for the past hour, teasing you subtly to the point where you’d beg for more. Your earlier determination was gone, replaced by a pathetic neediness for his touch.

“Touch me, please.” You whined, not caring how weak you sounded.

Eris paused for a second. “No.”

Your eyes shot open in surprise. If this was some sick game to humiliate you, you were going to kill him. “What do you mean–”

“You know what you want to do right now,” He cut you off, his voice low. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you staring at my thighs for the past few days. This is your chance to take what you want, sweetheart. Only once you grind yourself into my thigh to show me how desperate you are for me, will I finally touch you.”

Humiliation burned through you. No matter how stubborn you were, it was no match for Eris’s. There was no way you’d be able to convince him to put his hands on you without first doing what he asked.

You leaned forward, placing your hands on his knee for support as your clit finally made contact with his thigh. You began rocking your hips, moaning at the relief it brought you. 

“Come on, I know you can give me more than that.” Eris remarked from behind you.

You groaned and ground your hips harder into his thigh, pleasure intensifying. You swivelled your hips back and forth and in circular motions, trying to find a path to the release you had been craving.

“Fuck.” You moaned, glancing sideways at the mirror that was propped against the wall adjacent to his desk. The sight nearly made you gasp. Your face was flushed, blissed out as you grinded into Eris’s thigh, a small wet patch having formed on his light brown trousers. Eris was leaning back in his chair, his eyes hungrily drinking in the view from behind of you riding his thigh. His face was dark with want, and his knuckles were white as they gripped the side of the chair.

You continued your motions, grinding into your professor’s thigh in his locked office, coming so close to building that familiar coil in your stomach but never quite getting there.

“Eris…” You moaned.

“Yes, my dear?” Came his reply.

“I need you. Please, sir, I need you to touch me.”

One glance in the mirror and you knew you were victorious. Calling him ‘sir’ seemed to have softened his determination to make you grind into him until you couldn’t take it anymore. “Aw, can you not get yourself off on my thigh without help?” He mocked, stroking your hip again. “You need me that badly, don’t you? You know how unsatisfying it would be to cum without my touch.”

He spun the chair around, lifting your hips with one hand and peeling your pants and underwear off at the same time. The two of you were now facing the mirror, able to take in the sinfulness of the situation in full view. Eris adjusted you on his lap so that you were sitting atop his bulge, legs spread over each of his legs. Your needy cunt was on display, and you leaned back into his solid chest.

“Such a greedy little thing.” Eris said. One of his hands reached down and stroked your clit, while the other wrapped around your other hip and began to tease your entrance. For a second, you thought he was going to cruelly pull away, leaving you high and dry. But moments later he plunged a finger inside you, increasing the speed and pressure on your clit as well.

Your entire body twitched with the sudden wave of pleasure, ten times more intense than anything you had given yourself. Your moan this time was loud, echoing throughout the vast space of the office. His hands worked you in all the right places, confidently finding the perfect pleasure spots as if he had been given a map to your body and spent years studying it.

“Is that better?” Eris cooed, running his lips up and down your neck. “Is this what you’ve been fantasising about, being completely at my mercy as I make you feel good?”

“Gods, yes.” You cried out, arching into him.

“There are no gods here to help you, my dear,” He chuckled darkly. “Only me.”

Eris bit down on the juncture between your shoulder and neck, causing you to gasp. But you welcomed the sting of it, sighing as his silver tongue caressed the indents in your skin. Your legs began to tense up, feeling the orgasm you had been so desperately craving building up. The wet squelching sounds of Eris’s fingers on your cunt sang in harmony with your moans, as you watched the scene in the mirror through half-closed eyes.

“That’s it, love.” Eris murmured, sucking your neck just below the curve of your jaw. “Cum all over my hands.”

Your body obeyed, erupting into a burst of flaming pleasure as your orgasm hit you hard. Eris’s fingers continued to work you through your high, intensifying it tenfold. You were a whimpering, twitching mess in your professor’s lap. Finally, he removed his hands from between your legs, giving you a merciful break. You slouched into him, panting.

Your professor had just given you the most intense orgasm of your life.

After a few minutes letting your body recover, Eris picked you up with ease, bridal style in his arms. He settled you both down on the couch, placing his hand on your inner thigh and slowly sliding it back towards your core. You whimpered as his fingers grazed your sensitive slit, causing him to chuckle.

“Oh you poor, sweet thing,” Eris mocked. “You didn’t think that would be it, did you? I’m not nearly done with you yet.”

Your mind reeled as he adjusted himself, laying back flat on the couch and pulling you on top of him. Luckily, you caught yourself with one arm on his chest so you didn’t land flat on his body. Eris’s hand reached behind your neck, grabbing you firmly and pulling your lips into his. You groaned, shifting on top of him so you were straddling his waist to get more comfortable. Eris’s grip was tight, putting you at the mercy of his kiss as his lips consumed your own. You melted into his mouth like butter, sighing as his tongue danced with your own.

His other hand reached down and squeezed your backside, pushing your hips into his crotch and causing you both to moan into each other’s mouths. The noise that emitted from Eris’s lips was the most delightful thing you had ever heard, you decided. It filled you with determination to see what other sounds your professor could make. So you ground your hips into his bulge again, causing him to groan.

“Careful,” He growled, nipping at your lip in warning. “You’re playing with fire here, my dear. Did I say you could grind on my cock like a desperate whore?”

You paused, heat rushing to your core at his filthy words. You’d always loved the sound of Eris’s voice, and hearing him say such sinful things to you brought a fresh wave of arousal.

A hard smack landed on your ass, making you yelp in surprise.

“I asked you a question.” Eris said sternly. “Did I give you permission to grind on my cock, yes or no?”

“No.” You answered sheepishly.

“No is right. Sit up. You’re going to make it up to me.”

You frowned in confusion, but did as you were told, propping yourself up and sitting back down on Eris’s hips, trying to ignore the way his cock dug into your backside. You took a second to admire Eris’s form laying on the luxurious couch beneath you. His red hair was fanned around his face like the morning rays of sunshine, a beautiful contrast with the dark green of the sofa. His expression was relaxed, but calculating as always – angular cheekbones made more prominent in the light of the candles, his amber eyes glowing with desire. It was a sight you wanted to commit to memory forever.

“Remove your shirt, and come ride my face.” Eris said plainly. You baulked, having expected him to tell you to get on your knees and take his cock down your throat. You were supposed to make up for disobeying him by… letting him eat you out? Most males you had been with had been selfish, only going down on you if you sucked them off first. But Eris was different.

“I would suggest you listen and do as I say, unless you want to be bent over my knee and spanked until you cannot walk, and are ordered not to cum for a week.” Eris’s voice was less patient this time, noting your hesitation.

Something dark in his eyes told you he meant it, so you obeyed, unbuttoning your shirt and pulling it off your shoulders, followed by your bra. You were now completely naked on top of Eris, who remained fully clothed. Under any other circumstances, you’d have insisted he at least partially undress first. But you knew his patience was wearing thin, and as much as you secretly wouldn’t mind being spanked, the thought of not coming for a week was something you couldn’t do.

You crawled your way up his body, seating a knee on either side of his head. You lifted your hips, core inches from his face. The male was practically salivating beneath you as you gingerly lowered your cunt to skim his lips.

“I thought I told you to sit.” Eris said.

You gawked. “But I don’t want to suffocate–”

Your sentence was interrupted by a frustrated growl from your professor. He gripped your hips firmly and pulled you down hard, seating you fully on his mouth. You cried out as his tongue expertly stroked your folds, flicking your clit as he ate you out with precision that made you weak. Instinctively, one hand came down to grip Eris’s red locks, causing him to moan into your cunt. His hair was soft in your fingers, and you relished in the feeling of it.

You felt Eris’s hands guide your hips back and forth, encouraging you to rock them against his face. Moans left your lips as you obliged, grinding into his face like you had on his thigh. Evidently, this pleased Eris and he groaned, which sent delicious vibrations through your core.

You let your head fall back, shamelessly riding Eris’s mouth as you pulled on his hair. If your grip caused him any pain, he gave no indication of it. Whenever you tried to lift your hips to let him breathe, his grip only tightened and firmly held you in place. It wasn’t long before you climaxed again, letting out a choked cry as your juices covered his face. After catching your breath, letting Eris wipe his face with his fingers before sicking the digits clean, you climbed off of him, collapsing into a sitting position on the couch as Eris sat up next to you. His skilled fingers began undoing the buttons on his shirt, and you hungrily drank in the sight of his bare chest as he pulled the expensive material off.

“You did so well, my dear.” Eris purred. “I think you can cum one more time for me. Ride my cock this time, love, make a pretty mess all over it just like you did with my face. And my fingers… and thigh.”

Your mouth went slack. After two orgasms, you weren’t sure if you could handle a third. But the desire to please him outweighed any reservations you had about your sensitive body, so you reached down and unlaced his breeches, making eye contact as you did so. Eris smirked, letting his head fall back onto the couch cushion as you pulled out his long cock and stroked it once. The tip was red and needy, leaking with precum and making your mouth water. You swung your leg over his hips, straddling them. One of your hands reached towards Eris’s cock, grabbing it and lining it up with your entrance. You took a breath, and began to sink down.

You stopped after getting just the tip in, trying to catch your breath. The stretch stung, and you weren’t sure how you were going to fit the rest of it in, especially being so oversensitive still. Eris simply watched with his hands behind his head casually, a smug look on his face. He did not help you, seemingly content to watch you struggle to take his length.

You forced your body to relax, sliding to about halfway down before stopping, moaning dizzily. All of your senses were completely overwhelmed, and you felt so full with only half his cock inside you. 

“Aw, are you finding it difficult to take me, love?” Eris mocked. “Maybe you can’t handle it–”

He didn’t get to finish the sentence, for his teasing tone filled you with sheer determination and you slammed yourself down onto him. Eris was cut off in a strangled moan, eyes widening as you impaled your cunt on his cock. The force of it knocked the wind out of you, but you didn’t let it stop you. You swirled your hips, pulling yourself up his length before falling down on him again, bracing your hands on his shoulders for support. Gods, he was so deep inside of you, touching places that made your head spin.

“Fucking hell.” Eris groaned, his voice rough as you slid up and down on his cock at a relentless pace. You twisted and swivelled your hips as you did so, your cunt squeezing his cock at new angles that made your professor gasp. You threw your head back, and Eris took the opportunity to lean forward and wrap his arms around your back, pulling your chest closer to him and taking your breast in his mouth. 

The new sensation made you cry out, but you refused to let your pace falter. Eris’s teeth scraped your nipple, sucking harshly before moving to your other breast. His hips began slamming up into you to meet your own, making the coil in your belly tighten.

“Eris…” You whined, tangling your hands in his hair again.

“That’s it, love, say my name,” Eris reached one hand down to roll your clit with his thumb, while the other gripped your throat and squeezed. “Let everyone know who’s fucking you dumb right now. Let them hear you scream for me as your tight little cunt takes my cock.”

You rode him with a vigour you didn’t know you possessed, shamelessly moaning his name over and over again. “Eris… Eris…. Eris!” It was overwhelming, your professor’s cock slamming in and out of you, his hand rolling your clit while the other held you by the throat. You kept your grip on his hair, yanking as you climaxed one last time, the action of your fingers pulling his red locks making Eris cry out too. His hips stuttered as his cum shot through you, your cunt clenching around him as you rode out your own orgasm. It was the most intense out of all the ones you had so far, the warmth of Eris spilling inside you making you dizzy with pleasure. 

You leaned forward, dragging your lips up Eris’s throat as he moaned with you clenching around him. He cursed, the slip in his control filling you with pride. His skin tasted like rich autumn spices. You pulled his cock out from inside you and collapsed into his chest, panting. You didn’t realise how exhausted your body was until now. Every cell in you was completely spent, leaving you unable to move. You fought the sleepiness, but the warmth from Eris’s chest was too comforting and darkness overcame you.

************************

A few hours later, you opened your eyes. For a moment, you expected to be in your own bed, the whole thing having been a dream. But you took in your surroundings, realising you were still in Eris’s office. The professor was sitting at his desk, quietly grading. You scrambled upright, the blanket that had been draped across you falling onto your lap.

“I’m so sorry.” You stammered. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Eris looked up at you, smirking. “You have nothing to apologise for. I take pride in your passing out, actually. Means I did my job well, not that there was any doubt based on the noises you made.”

You blushed furiously, but then looked down at your body. You expected to be sweaty and gross from the sex, utterly naked and exposed. But you felt clean, as if you had been wiped down with a wet cloth and then dried. Your old clothes were neatly folded on the ground next to you, and you were dressed in a pair of soft, forest green sweatpants and a white crew neck sweater. They definitely were not Eris’s size. “You keep women’s clothes in your office?” You asked, confused.

“I keep a spare set of attire for all the female students I fuck in here.” Eris’s voice was dry, and you whipped around to stare at him with wide eyes. “That was a joke, my dear. I had them picked out last week. You know, in case Ianthe decided she wanted to spill more coffee on you in the future.”

You snorted, heart fluttering at the surprising thoughtfulness of his actions. While you had hoped he wouldn’t just toss your clothes at you and send you on your way without a word, given the professor’s rigidness it hadn’t been entirely out of the question. “You’re not funny.”

“On the contrary, I am terribly funny.”

“You got these clothes last week, was it really because of Ianthe or was your plan to fuck me all along? Is that why you offered to help me in the first place?”

Eris rolled his amber eyes, giving you a stern look. “No. My offer to help you was, and is, genuine, and with your best academic interests in mind. I may be a prick, but I am not cruel. Fucking you was a delightful bonus, not an expectation.”

His words reassured you. Despite his strict reputation, it seemed Dr. Vanserra had a heart after all. You checked the clock, realising it was almost 9:30pm. “Shit, I have to get home now. My roommate is going to think I fell off the face of the earth.”

You hastily grabbed your things, giving Eris a quick kiss on the mouth before hurrying to the doorway. You had no idea what this meant for the two of you, if it was a one time thing to satisfy both your needs, or something more. Regardless, you didn’t want to think too much about it, content to bask in the aftermath of the best sex you’ve ever had.

“Same time tomorrow.” Eris piped up right before you opened your door. “Don’t be late.”

“Yes sir.” You smirked at the twitch of his face at your words.

“(Y/N)?”

“Yes?”

A sadistic grin crossed Eris’s face. “When you get home, I’m positive you will be reminiscing about the mind blowing orgasms you just had. But you are not to touch yourself until I see you tomorrow night, am I clear? There will be… repercussions, if you disobey me.”

You baulked, embarrassed that he had seen right through you, but nodded anyway. As the door closed behind you, you wondered if you were going to last the next 20 hours without breaking his rule.

[ywpd-translations]

Ride 792: Witness

Pag 1

1: I told you before, too

2: I believed I'd get to see Mountain King's race!!

You're kidding!

It's a cheering message written with chalk on the road!!

You wrote this in a hurry?

3: Anytime now, they'll come here soon!

We can see Manami-kun running from the first day!

Amazing, a serious battle between those two...

4: “History” needs “someone who sees it”

Pag 2

1: “A witness of the history”!!

Pag 3

1: They passed the 2km left point and it seems that now the mountain stage is narrowed down to them two

It narrowed down!

They're coming!

I'm so excited!

2: It's quite a long wait

3: I was looking forward to it during last year's second day's mountain stage

4: And before that, during winter, I purposely organized a race between you two, but in the end it didn't count because of the snow

Pag 4

1: Right now Hakone Academy's Manami is ahead

Sohoku's Onoda is following

Manami

2: Four-eyes

3: You bet your whole soul for this climbing race

4: You finally did it

Congratulations

5: You really chose this mountain on the first day ad your fight's place, huh?

Pag 5

1: And I, Toudou Jinpachi, Mountain's God, will make sure to see it with my own eyes!!

Pag 6

1: After this curve, the wind's direction will change!!

Pag 7

1: The trees are becoming lower!!

5: Ah-

Pag 8

3: The wind's direction will chamge!?

After this!?

4: You noticed

But it's already

Pag 9

1: too late!!

Pag 10

1: Manami-kun did a full acceleration in curve!?

2: Sooooo

3: reeeee!!

4: Spread....

Pag 11

1: your wings to the maximum!!

Pag 12

1: Hakogaku's Manami did a super acceleration!!

The distance between him and Mountain King-

What a strange acceleration!!

What was that just now?

Did he ride the wind?

2: -is spreading!!

3: I saw a pair of huge wings on his back!

Pag 13

2: Me too

3: 1700m left!!

Mountain King noticed the timing of Manami's acceleration, but was too late and is being left behind

Mountain King, do your best!!

Pag 14

1: Amazing, Manami-kun

He read the right place to attack...!!

2: His back is becoming smaller

3: He got stronger since last year

4: And even since that time he came on the Minegayama!!

5: For an instant, when Manami-kun accelerated, I saw “wings”....

6: and they looked three times bigger!!

Pag 15

4: You're amazing

5: Manami-kun!!

Pag 16

2: Huh

Mountain King was.... smiling... !?

Pag 17

1: Hum hum hum ♪

I've prepared too

Hum hum hum ♪

2: The anime I highly recommend, “Love Hime”... this year started its third season!!

Hum hum huum ♪

3: Yes ♪

“Love Him third season” opening song

4: Mitarashi in the afternoon ♪ It's a common story ♪ The princess has kinako* and brown sugar syrup ♪

“Morning princess scramble”

*(NdT.: roasted soybean flour)

5: What's going on with Mountain King...

He's saying something... he's speaking to himself!?

He's humming a song!?

6: Somehow his pressure suddenly grew!!

7: We met a long time ago ♪ you extended your knees and looked up ♪

I listened carefully to it and watched the PV

Pag 18

1: Definitely rise!! Love Hime ♪

'Cause you're the princess ♪

And I memorized both the lyrics and the melody!!

Pag 19

1: Look at Mountain King... what's with that cadence...

2: While singing...

3: he accelerated and went!!

4: I'm breathing hard... my legs hurt... but

5: Manami-kun...!!

6: During the training camp on our first year

I couldn't catch up to you

Pag 20

1: I always feel like I'm chasing you like this

2: Your cool white bike

Your figure from behind, running so happy and confidently

3: I've always been fascinated by your attitude

4: So.... wa... it

I still want to catch up to you

Pag 21

1: Wait, Manami-kun!!

[violetsaffron5]

Beautiful Disaster (13)

← Chapter 12 • series masterlist • Chapter 14 →

13 | Glass

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x f!Reader

A party at Satoru's house ends in disaster.

words: 3.9k

AN: Hey guys! Not sure if anyone is even reading this story anymore, but I fell of the face of the planet for a while, sorry about that. Things IRL were crazy with work and my personal life, and I just didn't have it in me to write anything. Things are much better now and I was in the writing mood, so decided to give this one a little update, since I already had the chapter mostly written already. 

I will be going through it to proofread/edit before I do the last two chapters (which will probably be posted together).

Ao3 • Discord 18+ • Social Media • Series Masterlists

April 2012

Taking a deep breath, cinching the robe around your waist a little tighter, you step into the class. There’s a murmur from students setting up their supplies, getting their easels into position, and canvases ready to draw on.

The walls are covered in art from various classes and years passed - even some portraits of past nude models hang on the wall as examples of creative liberties and proper proportions. Something many artists have a hard time getting a handle on.

As you stand in front of the class, a little stool next to you so you can sit on occasion while the other students draw, you look around the room, making eye contact with Choso.

He gives a small, shy smile, like he always does and you swallow thickly - feeling the way your chest and neck heat with the flush creeping up to your cheeks.

Satoru wasn’t particularly… pleased when you told him you were taking an extracurricular art class this semester. Less pleased when he realized Choso was in your class.

And even less so when you told him you offered to be the nude class model.

The decision was easy though, despite his grievances. His only real one was jealousy and not wanting everyone in the class to ogle you - which you assured him wasn’t likely going to be the case. You have no reason to be ashamed, and everyone who’s taking this class knew this was an assignment. Besides, the professor has made it very clear that if anyone says anything or makes you uncomfortable, they’ll fail and be removed from the class.

You offered to be the model when you found out it’s a paid gig, and you’ll take an opportunity that arises to get your own money - money your mom doesn’t need to know about and money she won’t have any reason to grill you on how or where you spend it.

Once you explained this, Satoru relented a little, though you’re confident his problems have more to do with Choso than anything else. Which is ridiculous considering there hasn’t been anything more than a friendship between you two. It’s not like you have a history with Choso like Satoru does with Mei.

“Whenever you’re ready,” the professor states after closing the classroom door. You look around, taking in the overhead string lights giving the space a warm glow - the shades are drawn on the windows, stopping anyone from outside the room from witnessing what’s about to happen.

Licking your lips, and looking up at the ceiling, you draw the ribbons on the robe, letting the soft, fluffy material fall to the floor. The air is cold in the room, immediately perking your nipples as you purse your lips, feeling a wave of goosebumps cover your flesh.

The rustling of utensils being grabbed and the scratching on canvases immediately fill the room. Gaining a little more confidence, you look back at the class; Choso’s deep black eyes are the first - and only - you see in the room. At the beginning of the class, you thought it might be more awkward with him here, being the only person you know outside of class and seeing you vulnerable in front of everyone. It’s more comforting than you could have imagined.

In reality, you don’t know him all that well, but he’s always been kind, and he hangs around Suguru a lot. You also don’t miss the way his eyes trail the length of your body before he busies himself with what he’s supposed to be doing.

There are several times during class when your eyes meet, you give a little shrug and smile and he grins full-on, laughing to himself quietly as he continues drawing your form.

When class comes to an end, the professor allows you to leave to dress in the bathroom down the hall and come back since he has a few announcements.

Once you’ve changed you take your place next to Choso as the teacher drones on about maintaining professionalism from seeing a classmate naked and urging everyone to continue working on their canvases on their own time, turning in their finished work at the next class.

Except for you, of course, being exempt from having to draw anything and getting an automatic A on this assignment.

“Thanks for drawing me naked and not being a perv about it,” You whisper to Choso, nudging his shoulder gently with yours.

He flashes his brows, chuckling, “That’s kind of my thing, you know - trying not to be a creep.”

Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you wait for Choso to finish packing his art supplies, slipping the canvas under his arm, gesturing for you to walk ahead of him out of the room.

“Are you coming to the party tonight? Haven’t seen you around the last few.”

Choso gives a wistful smile, “Yuji’s grandpa is sick, in the hospital so I’ve been joining him on his visits. But I think he’s hanging out with his friends tonight.”

“Great!” Smiling widely, you turn and walk backward toward your next class as Choso stops in front of the stairs, on the way to his, “Then I’ll see you there!”

Steam rolls out from the bathroom door when you open it, the cool breeze from Satoru’s room hitting your skin, immediately making you shiver. He’s lying on the bed, arm relaxed by his head, long legs crossed at the ankles.

As soon as you emerge, he lets his phone drop to his chest, a heated gaze watching as you meander around, combing through your hair and deciding what to wear for their house party tonight.

Per usual, there’s a fight tonight starring yours truly. How the higher-ups at the school haven’t figured this out, even with Toji acting as an “inside man” - for lack of a better term - is beyond you. You’d think schools would want to investigate why several students show up with black and blue bruises and cut lips and eyebrows every so often, but apparently, they have better things to do.

Satoru has gotten off the bed, wrapping his arms around your waist and slipping them under the towel until it becomes loose enough to drop to the floor. He pulls you close to him, one large hand splayed on your stomach, the other playful tweaking your pert nipple while he kisses down your neck.

You let out a soft sigh when he nibbles your lobe, before whispering, “You smell so fucking good,” pushing his hips into your ass so you can feel his growing length.

With a sharp gasp, he spins you around, setting you on his dresser, wrapping your arms around his neck as he continues nipping and kissing your neck. And almost inadvertently, as soon as he slips his hand between your thighs, you close your legs a little tighter.

Satoru pulls away, brows knitted as you sigh and purse your lips. His tone comes out harsher, more exasperated than you think he really means, “What’s wrong?”

The truth is your heart fucking aches at the state of your relationship. Things were so great, until they just weren’t anymore - there was a part of you that always thought people who described being in a hard relationship felt like they were drowning were just being dramatic. But it honestly feels that way.

Your chest is heavy and your heart beats so loud that sometimes it’s the only thing you can hear; your throat feels so tight you can’t catch your breath. There are nights where you’ve stayed up wondering if he feels the same way but in reality, you’re not sure he’d ever tell you.

He avoids conversations like the plague and is so much better at hiding his feelings and playing them off than you are.

Since the Okinawa trip, there’s been a lot weighing on your mind about how realistic this relationship with Satoru is. He’s fun and makes you feel alive with his silly ideas and schemes, makes you feel heard and seen. And along that same vein, there are times where you feel simultaneously loved and unwanted.

Afterall, he’s the one who wanted to keep things casual but relented only because you wanted a relationship and it almost feels as if you forced his hand with that. Sure, he made his own choice, but even then, there are things you can’t deny or look away from.

There’s no hiding Mei is a point of contention in your relationship. She has been since before it even started. And it was something you thought would go away - that she would see the two of you together and go find someone else to sink her claws into but she just keeps coming back, and for whatever reasons, he won’t let her go either.

Satoru told you their relationship was primarily physical - that there’s no real interest in one another beyond that, and the only reason they were involved to begin with was because of their family businesses being tied together. More convenient than anything.

So why won’t he let her go? And is it fair to even ask him to? Outside of Suguru, Shoko and even Utahime, she is one of his oldest friends.

You’ve also been wondering recently how much Satoru respects you. Considering how many times you’ve talked about how uncomfortable you are with this… relationship with Mei and how it hurts you, nothing has changed despite his repeated promises.

And it’s not logical to think he’d change.

Satoru groans when you hop off the dresser, grabbing your shirt and slipping it on, “I’m fine. Just not in the mood, I don’t feel great tonight.”

“You’re never in the mood anymore.” There’s no mistaking the annoyance in his tone as grabs his glasses to shield his eyes, no doubt rolling them behind the dark glass.

Despite the lie you’ve been telling, you want nothing more than to have him, let him have his way with you as he has so many times before. But you’re not emotionally ready to go there right now - you need time to think and you can’t do that when he’s buried ten inches deep in you almost every night.

So the physical aspect of your relationship has taken a hit. You’ve tried talking about Okinawa with him, bringing up everything with Mei once again - but just like always, Satoru says you’re being dramatic, making a mountain out of a molehill.

But it’s clearly not nothing since it bothers you and it’s clear as day to everyone around.

Satoru doesn’t bother staying by your side during most of the party, opting to meet up with some of his classmates. You try not to pay too much attention to him, but you sneak glances over every now and again.

He chats, a drink in hand while laughing and animatedly waving his free hand around while telling a story.

“Hello?” A pale hand waves in front of your face, snapping a few times, breaking you out of your trance - apparently you were staring longer than you thought.

Blinking a few times and turning your head, you look at Choso, “I’m sorry - what were you saying?”

He gives a soft smile, glancing between you and Satoru for a moment, “Everything okay?”

Pursing your lips and sighing heavily, you nod slowly, “Yeah… It’s just…” You trail off, not sure how much or what to actually say. It doesn’t take long to make a decision though, since looking back over to Satoru shows Mei has joined his little soiree. “He says nothing is happening, but he’s always with Mei.” You nod your head in that direction.

Choso purses his head and nods, “Yeah. I was wondering about that.”

“Great.” Your voice is monotone. Because this just confirms you’re not the only person who sees them together constantly - that it’s not just you being high maintenance or a pain in the ass. It is a real problem, and one Satoru refuses to acknowledge.

“Why don’t we,” Choso starts, eyes flickering between yours for a moment before pointing off to the side, “take some shots?”

Your eyes trail to where he’s pointing - a small group of people around a small table, just big enough for someone to lay on and take a body shot. A smile spreads across your face with amusement for two reasons: Shoko is currently taking a shot glass out of Utahime’s mouth and tipping it back and because you’re feeling a little petty tonight.

Maybe it’s the alcohol you’ve already consumed, your inhibitions are lowered but you don’t care. If Satoru gets to have someone other than you hanging with him all the time, going on family outings during the holidays and hanging on him twenty-four seven - then why can’t you do the same?

Choso’s questioning stare is innocent, so there’s a chance he won’t be up for this - there’s a part of you that wonders if he meant just regular shots, and not specifically body shots. You get your answer however, when you agree and a wide smile spreads across his face.

While you walk to the table and lay back on it once Utahime has gotten up, Choso busies himself with getting salt, a lime and a shot of tequila.

Shoko is off to the side, staring daggers at you before asking, “What the hell are you doing?”

You smile and shrug, “Playing his game. I’m tired of being the one that gets hurt all the time.”

“This is a really stupid fucking idea,” Utahime chimes in to your surprise. It’s not often she adds her two cents on your relationship - normally she just adds how stupid she thinks Satoru is.

Choosing not to answer, you lay back and turn to face Satoru. He’s not paying attention, however Mei is, you glare, lick your lips and lift your shirt just enough to expose your navel.

“Ready?” Choso asks and you nod, but he keeps a hold of the tequila shot, rather than putting it in your mouth.

Small grains of salt hit just below your belly button and then the feel of a small metal ball and cool tongue trail up. The reaction your body gives is normal; stomach clenching, breath hitching and thighs closing ever so slightly - like a reminder of all the times Satoru has done the same to you.

Looking down at Choso was a mistake - he has a mischievous smirk spread across his lips and heat in his eyes. And rather than take the shot in his hand, he presses his lips to yours. Your eyes widened in shock, because this was not part of the plan - it was supposed to just be a normal body shot, just something to make Satoru a little jealous and hopefully realize how he’s been treating you.

Panicked, you sit up and fix your shirt - Choso winks, placing the glass to his lips just as a fist connects with his jaw in a deafening crack. Satoru is seething, nostrils flared as he grabs a fist full of Choso’s shirt and pulls him in for another punch to the face.

Choso isn’t caught off guard this time, landing his own blow on Satoru’s cheek, and then his ribs.

“Stop!” You scream hysterically, covering your mouth with your hand, because this was not the mess you wanted to cause - this wasn’t supposed to happen!

Before you can take a step forward, a large hand grips your shoulder. Suguru is next to you, shaking his head before stepping in to separate the guys. Panicked, you look at Shoko who has a look of disappointment written on her face, Utahime is shaking her head, watching as Suguru stands between the two.

Satoru runs a hand down his face, Choso wipes his lip with the back of his hand as Suguru says something to them - when he’s done, Satoru stalks out of the room and up the stairs without so much as a glance in your direction.

“Why,” it’s a small noise that leaves your lips, not loud enough for anyone to hear other than yourself. Looking at Choso with upturned brows, you shake your head slightly. If you had known he planned on kissing you, there’s no way you would have agreed to do this.

He must have seen you mouth the word because Choso walks over to you, brows bunched together. “Because he treats you like shit. And you just let it happen time and time again.”

A scoff leaves your lips, “I love Satoru - you know what, I can’t deal with this right now.”

Onlookers move out of your way as you make your way to and up the steps to Satoru’s bedroom. The room is quiet, light off except the illumination of the lights peeking out from the partially closed bathroom door.

For the first time, probably ever, you knock on the door to make your presence known before poking your head inside. Satoru’s standing, head hanging between his shoulders, leaning on his palms on the cool countertop.

“Satoru,” a step forward with your hand outreached for him, wanting to check on the cuts on his lip, and the bruise blooming across his cheek, “I -”

“Stop.” He interjects, tone raspy, lifting his head to look in the mirror but not looking in your direction.

A sigh leaves your lips, because of course he doesn’t want to talk about this. He would rather let his emotions show physically - through sex or fighting - rather than sit and have a two minute conversation to talk things through.

“Okay…” You’re really not sure what to do in this situation, stay and potentially make it worse or leave him to cool off and come try and talk to him later. Opting for the latter, you take a step back - you really need to talk with Choso about what happened too, you just needed a second to take a step back and see Satoru. To make sure he didn’t need any bandages or some other medical care. With the exception of the few scrapes and bruises, he seems physically fine.

Turning and opening the door, a large hand reaches over your head and pushes the door fully closed.

“Where are you going?” Satoru asks, voice annoyed.

“To check on Choso.” It comes out quieter than you intend, which Satoru’s body heat radiating against your back, his hand still firmly pressed against the door, yours on the knob.

“Why? Kissing him wasn’t enough?”

Heat flares through your veins at the comment, because he’s acting like you asked for him to kiss you. And that was never the intention - you would never do anything like that, and he knows it - especially with your history.

He’s just trying to piss you off too.

Turning around, you snap at him, pointing a finger in his chest, “Maybe because my boyfriend went insane and beat the shit out of him,” he grins slightly at that comment, teeth pink from fading blood. “And because -”

Because you saw the way Choso looked at you when he suggested body shots. Knew it would piss Satoru off to no end. Because you were already questioning what Choso was wanting to do before you agreed. It was like you lost your mind in the moment, in all of the feelings and anger and hurt at everything that has happened, and continues to happen in this relationship.

“Because this is my fault.” Your voice is quiet, shoulders slumped, guilt written on your faces as tears well in your eyes.

Satoru’s arms are around you the moment the first tear drips from the corner of your eye, holding you close and rocking side to side gently.

“Don’t leave me,” He whispers into your hair and you’re sure he doesn’t mean physically, in this moment.

“I’m not - I won’t.” You say between sniffles, pulling back to look into his ocean blue eyes, showing his own uncertainty in this situation - a look you’re not used to from him. “Satoru, that was scary. It looked like you were trying to murder him.”

“I wanted to.”

Your brows pinch together at his admission, “You’re insane.”

“In a good way?” The teasing tone to his voice is starting to come back.

A small laugh leaves your lips, “How is there a good way to be insane?”

He thinks for a moment, pulling you back into his muscular chest before shrugging, “Dunno just, don’t go to him. Okay?”

Closing your eyes, you nod against him, taking in the warmth and safety you feel in his arms, hoping he’ll explain his reaction to that, “Why did you punch him?”

It takes several minutes of standing in silence, holding one another to realize he’s stopped swaying you back and forth, a motion you found comforting when he was doing it, and the odds of him answering are lower and lower with every passing second.

After another few minutes you pull away and sigh, wiping the smeared makeup under your eyes away.

“I don’t want him touching you,” Satoru says hurriedly when you open the bathroom door again, grabbing your free wrist, “Let alone kissing you.”

That’s not a real answer - just some fucked up possessiveness he feels he needs to display because another guy is clearly interested in you. Which is ironic considering he said the two of you could see other people before he agreed to try dating.

And clearly he forgets is attached to him at the hip anytime she’s around, but how dare anyone but Satoru do that with you. It’s a stupid double standard and one you’re tired of.

He lets your arm go when you shake your head slowly, which breaks your heart. Wishing he would fight for you right now, for your relationship - not physically fight, but actually listen to each other and work together to make things better.

Maybe it is time to call it quits. Having these feelings in your relationship continuously is not healthy and it’s taking a toll on you. At this point you’re not sure what’s worse - finding your boyfriend cheating on you with your own mother, or this cycle you found yourself in with Satoru.

There’s a deep stuttering sigh behind you, to your surprise, “Things haven’t been great between us recently,” he says quietly, clearly unsure how to say what’s on his mind, “And I - fuck -” he groans, running his hands up and down his fast several times, “I don’t know, okay, but I don’t want to see you with anyone else.”

Your brows are raised as you turn to look at Satoru with surprise, not having anticipated getting any sort of answer. It’s not much, but it speaks volumes that he’s admitted your relationship isn’t in a good place right now - honestly you weren’t sure he was even aware of it. He never wants to talk about these things, he’d rather have sex and show you how he feels by the way he delicately spreads your legs, teasingly kisses up your thighs and makes love to you.

But it also hurts that the only time he says he loves you, with the exception of the first few times, is when you feel like you have to force it out of him, or when he’s buried deep in your cunt.

“Are we gonna make it?” You whisper back. And for the first time in your relationship, find yourself wondering when this relationship will meet its inevitable end.

But maybe there is hope. He’s admitted this - maybe it’ll just take more time for him to find the words and continue learning to open up. 

Satoru kisses the top of your head, opening the restroom door and pulling you gently to his bed, laying down behind you and covering you both with a throw blanket before whispering back, “We’ll make it... Just don’t leave me.”

So you don’t.

@petalsrdead @sofiaconlaz @lovelylashawnalee @s-witch-bitch @watyousayin @desthevirgo @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn @musababy @sagejin @ritsatoru @faewithsnakes @erenputurchildreninsideme @lex-dear @hvziers @babybae-shisui @sugurunicorn @niki-sun @lilith412426 @sofiaconlaz @lxvephxbic @iam-mia9 @laylasbunbunny @creolequeen11210 @xiaosie @lem-hhn @yogurttea @slut-jr @crystxlline @ritsatoru @abba-simp @myabae @etherealkakashi @hyperfixationsporfavor @yihona-san06 @ambersea7 @knightoflove

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Pechsträhne Chapter 12

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Word Count Approx: 25k

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A/n: She's long, she's here, she's A LOT. Love you all, and I can't wait to hear how you feel.

The rest of the Pinterest boards will go up tonight as well! So for all my sleuthing readers-look forward to those!!

Edit: I forgot the recap-Okay now for real

Most lovingly, ~Delyn

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Recap

“Oh my god.” Y/n gasped,  her mug slipping from her fingers, and her other hand coming up to save both the mug and her floors from an unfortunate demise.

“What? Did I break them?” Namjoon spun in his chair, hands frantically coming up to look over her shoulder. 

Y/n didn’t need to answer. The answer was written clear as day on a torn napkin resting where the eaten strawberries used to be in swirling neat penmanship. 

“They’re listening to me. I’m sorry.” 

--

January 4th, 1901

Today–simply put–is one of the worst days of my life. 

First and foremost, it is cold, bleak like what is to come. The hills that surround us are blanketed just the same, in colorless waves of white that do nothing to combat the nothingness I feel on this morning. I should be proud, mother says, to behold such an honor–such a historical moment in our history, but I feel nothing of the sort; I feel something more akin to hatred. There is no honor found in being stuck as a perpetual witness, though she seems to disagree with me vehemently on that belief.

Does that make me wretched? To feel hatred for my own blood? Mother says as much. He is my brother after all and I must keep reminding myself of that despicable fact each morning when I see his annoyingly broad face at breakfast, and I hold back the urge to crack the shell of my eggs upon his forehead. I hate witnessing them enjoy in merriment that should be mine: the wines and imported cheeses; the frivolous outfits and unappealing hats (certainly they must see that adding height to the top of one's head does not make up for a lack of substance beneath it); the music and the dancing women parading the halls and theater; oh how it should all be mine!

I really should not be saying things of this kind about my brother, for some good has come from him–and by that I mean the two lovely little girls that bounce upon my knee each morning, devouring the alphabet letters I teach them in the study with as much passion as one would enjoy ice creams from town or fresh baked cakes from the kitchen staff. I look to their shining faces and I see something worth haunting these halls for, which spurs my mother to lament on when I plan on having a few of my own–though I have little interest in that process. I would rather run naked through the lobby on a bustling Saturday evening and face the consequences of such actions than to become swollen and burdened with birth and babies and men. 

My mother still insists, though she is fully aware of my distaste for it, and I can not possibly fathom for why she chooses to throw herself so forcefully at my choices, when they had never been interested in my potential in other regards–if they love showering my darling brother so much, shower him with the same iron hot poker you incessantly prod me with each month–for he is already building a crib for his third baby. 

Poor Phil, six years barely seems like enough time to recover from what I can only assume is the worst part of womanhood–If it were me I would have taken a trip out of the country and found myself lost at sea when the proposition for another biting mouth was offered up to me–though I am aware that her choice in the matter is mute; neither of their two existing children are boys. My younger brother, on the contrary, has already bestowed upon our nerves a babbling boy that he loves to throw into all of our arms like it’s a talisman from god and not just another drooling baby; all the while shouting praises to his similarly pregnant wife, (only a year in between births–goodness me I am starting to sweat at the thought). 

Ernst has yet to be sworn in only hours from now, and the race between brothers has already begun. 

Must I have a child to enter the race? A son, to be more precise? If I go to the theater and find myself a pretty girl to wear on my arm like a bracelet glittering as a show to my affluence in both money and prowess and have her bear a child in my name–will I be of more importance? What a silly thought.  

Unfortunately I must go, I am being called to dress for the celebration. I contemplate whether a funeral would be a more apt name…

Until tomorrow then, the first day of the end. 

Adelaide

Bear laughed, the breathy chuckle puffing out of his mouth swallowed up by the crackle of flame from the blazing hearth and the distant trill of horns and pulse of drums. His hand reached over the end table, distractedly lifting his glass of spirits to his mouth and letting the liquid pool about his lips, immediately taken in by the next entry. 

The wooden doors to the study burst open in a clamorous hurry, his older brother Duane, Youngho Jung, and Seonggi Kim barreling in through the gaps they left. The bang unsettled the dust from the tall bookshelves and Bear’s nerves, jolting the glass from his lips and barely making it back to the table next to him in time for Duane’s broad-shouldered arms to grab his own in a rough shake. 

“Spending the last day of 1953 locked up in the study? How unlike you.” Duane was clearly intoxicated, his button down coming loose from the waistband of his high waisted tweed trousers and his meticulously slicked back hair had a few sprigs loose. He bent his towering height down to Bear’s ear, a mischievous smile curling his features into something devilish. “There are dolls in all directions that I think might be something worth looking at–a wife in your own near future perhaps?” A chorus of drunken laughter waved through their small group at such a preposterous proposition. 

“You should know better than to say the ‘W’ word around him, Squirrel–that word doesn’t exist in his vocabulary.” Youngho pried Duane’s sweaty hands from Bear’s shoulders, ignoring Duane’s obvious disgust for his childhood nickname. Youngho clapped one of his own in their place and offered him a smile significantly less saturated with alcohol than Duane’s. “I’m sure he will join in on the party when he’s ready.” 

Bear’s grateful smile was drowned out by Seonggi’s own chaffing comments “I never thought we’d have to find him in the effort to get him to join us, I figured we’d be finding ourselves fishing him out of the lake by morning in nothing but his smalls.” Seonggi’s lanky arms were enveloped with a tan plaid long coat, a green sweater barely peeking out from where he still had it buttoned from their trek from the hotel ballroom to the estate, the sleeve riding up as he used one to swipe Bear’s glass off the end table and finish it of in one gulp. 

“Well, what else would I be friends with you all for if not to do just that?” Bear shot back recovering from their less than coordinated entrance in stride, jumping to his feet and straightening out his own dress shirt. “I was catching up on some reading–saving up my energy for the rest of the evening, the night is young!” 

“Now you are finally making some sense.” Duane guided him by his shoulders towards the entrance of the study, pushing him out of the warm embrace of the fire towards the chilled entrance way that brought the hairs of his arms up to stand. “To the party! I will not have my brother being a square during my last few nights as an apprentice–Come tomorrow everything changes.” 

“For the better, I hope.” Youngho snickers, loosening the brown tie around his neck. 

“You say that as though you doubt me!” Duane pushed open the front wooden door of the estate, leading their group down the steps to the gravel path. 

Seonggi rolled his eyes, pressing down the back of Duane’s collar where it had popped up in the back. “Did you not hear my earlier comment about fishing your brother out of a lake?” 

“That was about Bear, not me.” Duane shrugged, his breath plumed into the cold night air, mixing with the wispy snow flurries.

“The thing about that is that you two are one in the same–I’d be dragging you by the belt up the bank after he was pulled in from the water.” Seonggi retorted, his almond shaped eyes glaring into the side of his friend's face. 

“And what a great friend you are for that.” Duane tipped his head, and belted out a few laughs, leading the rest of the men to follow. 

“Boys!” 

The four heads swiveled in the direction of the front door behind them, ceasing all sounds of merriment. The sound of Adelaide’s crackly voice still manages to fill them each with fear despite them being grown, most with children of their own. They need not ask what she wanted, she would tell them accordingly. 

“Duane, is it not your wife I passed upstairs, wrestling with your son to get his night clothes on while lugging about your baby on her arm?” Her hair was gray, and her face aged with skin as thin as paper. A miracle it was that she was still walking about the halls at all, let alone speaking to them with such clarity. 

“Yes ma’am, I suppose it was.” Duane gulped nervously, tugging at the collar of his shirt, unintentionally popping out the back that Seonggi had just fixed. 

“And Jungho, was it not your son I saw streaking through the halls and making a mess of the carpets with his soap sodden feet?” She turned her icy eyes onto her next target.  

“Yes Ma’am.” Youngho paled under her scornful glare. 

“Then shall I reprimand the fully grown men in front of me to fulfil their fatherly duties so their wives may enjoy just a crumb of a beautiful night, or will you relieve her and the new pianist's wife of the job that is only yours on your own accord?” Adelaide phrased her words as a question, but the men knew it as anything but. They moved sluggishly to comply, and it gave Bear enough time to think up a new response. 

“I can handle it–let me attend to my uncle duties after being away for so long this past year.” Bear skipped back up the steps, grateful for an excuse to avoid the lavish party–something he’d never thought he’d find himself thinking. 

“But you haven’t even had the chance to join in the fun yet! Let us handle our little ankle biters and you go get a few more drinks in your system while you wait.” Duane argued, landing on the step next to him with ease, but Bear held up a hand to silence his protests, looking up at his brother with mirth.

“I insist. I haven’t had much to drink yet so I’m the more coordinated one of the bunch here anyways–you guys go ahead, I’ll catch up!” Bear gave Duane a gentle shove down the stairs, and a reassuring thumbs up. “Enjoy your last New Year’s as a son, and not the owner, yeah?” 

Duane grinned, and clapped Bear on his shoulder roughly before skipping down to rejoin the gaggle of men.

“What about you Seonggi? Why didn’t you get your ass handed to you?” Bear could hear Duane’s accusatory jest from the door as he watched them leave, their voices diminishing in volume. 

“I already helped put him to bed before we left. It helps to plan ahead sometimes, you know.” The man in question scoffed, offended he would even ask such a question. 

“Duane? Plan ahead? It’s the New Year–not the second coming of Christ.” Youngho chortled back at them, their shared laughter an echo of what their boyhood had once been as the three ambled back down the cobblestone path. 

“Du solltest seine Verantwortung nicht übernehmen, Bär.” Adelaide gave Bear a reproachful once over, though she still held open the door for him to follow after her.

He chuckled, and shut the door behind him to keep out to cold winter air. “Ich bin sein Bruder. Was ihn beunruhigt, ist auch meine Sorge.” 

Adelaide led him up the stairs, taking her time with each step, her hand gripping the railing tightly with bony fingers. “Und es hat nichts mit Patti zu tun?” 

Bear froze a few steps behind her hunched form, his mouth suddenly dry and he found himself wishing he still had a drink in his hands to help ease his tension–but found enough wherewithal within himself to quickly deny the hidden accusations of such a question. “Of course not.” 

Adelaide hummed, clearly not convinced by his rebuttal. “Then what is the real excuse?  It is not like you to be kept in on a night such as this.” 

Bear thought to himself for a moment, wondering if confiding in Adelaide would be of any use to his current predicament, or if it would make him feel even more so unsettled. He thought against lying, for she had a keen eye to pinpoint trickery from a mile away, much to his and his brother’s chagrin. 

“I’m not interested in fireworks anymore. I find them…” Bear searched for the proper words, watching carefully as Adelaide made the final step up to the landing. “I find them unsettling now.” 

If Adelaide believed his answer was enough, she did not share; just led him along a soapy path down the right side of the hall, the carpet still wet and squishing beneath his shoes from where much smaller feet had run along it previously. 

“Jeonghun is giving the newcomer a hard time–but I think she has it handled for the most part. It’s Johan and Dorothea that are causing most of the trouble.” Adelaide pushed open the second door down from the playroom, not bothering to knock, the only barrier between them and an infant’s cries removed so it could pierce their ears as intended. 

Patti looked drained, the kind of tired that no amount of her cigarettes would mend. The bags under her eyes more prominent than ever, mostly caused by the barely four month old baby draped over her shoulder that she bounced from side to side to try and sooth their high pitched cries; while her other arm was tangled in a blue patchwork quilt she was attempting to straighten out to her son’s liking. Though each time she lowered it down to the mattress he protested by jumping to his feet, and running in swift circles around his mother’s legs in a one sided game of chase. 

Still, in her exhaustion Bear couldn’t help but find her more beautiful than all of the stars in the sky combined.

“I brought you some help.” Adelaide’s firm tone cut through the noise of the children, bringing Patti’s deep brown eyes up to regard Bear with nothing short of relief. 

“And where’s Duane? Will he be joining us?” Patti inquired breathlessly, her eyes squeezing shut in a moment of covert irritation, for her son had just started another round about her legs for what must’ve been–according to her reaction–the hundredth time that evening.

“No. Your husband returned to the hotel to revel in the festivities. Thankfully Bear offered up his help in his stead.” Adelaide turned to exit the room, stopping within the open door to fix them both with an unreadable expression before making her exit. “I will be in my room at the end of the hall if you need me. I am far too old to be up this late anymore–party be damned.” 

A beat of awkward tension clouded the room, both of them unsure of what to say first.

“If you wouldn’t mind–” Patti started, cut off by Bear’s words spoken over her own. 

“I’ll handle that rascal. You sit with Dottie.”  Bear didn’t wait for instruction, relieving her now trembling arm from the weight of the quilt so she could escape from Johan’s room over to Dorothea’s nursery, and turned his attention to Johan’s giggling face. 

“Now you–” He lunged forward, grabbing the boy in his arms and flinging him into the air over his shoulders with an exaggerated groan of protest. “You are getting too big to play like this–take it easy on your poor mother.” Bear threw him down onto the mattress, letting him bounce a few times on the surface while more giggles erupted from the child’s mouth, already preparing to squirm away from Bear to start his next race. 

“I don’t think so.” Bear cut him off, blocking his path and pushing him back onto the bed. 

The two of them continued their little game of chase, until Bear was able to settle him down with a few bedtime stories from his own adventures on the promise that they were of both himself and Duane to appease his young and curious mind. Johan’s eyes were cemented closed, Bear only just having gotten a few sentences into his second tale when he had noticed his evened out breathing and still feet. 

Bear leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to the sleeping boy’s forehead and whispered a soft “Sleep well Johan, 88, Bear over and out.” He rose to his less than impressive height, soaking in the quiet tranquility of the room as opposed to the roaring party outside the estate's doors, giving himself one moment to believe that this could be his life and his son sleeping peacefully in front of him. 

“What’s that?” 

Patti whispered to him over the threshold startling him from his thoughts. Dorothea had been soothed and coddled over the opposite shoulder, Patti’s left hand rubbing tender circles on her back, the glinting ring on her finger a reminder to Bear that none of this belonged to him. 

“What?” Bear asked, stepping out of the room to join her out in the hall, but Patti didn’t linger, leading them back to Dorothea’s nursery–the nursery Bear had helped her paint a shade of bubblegum pink when his brother had failed to get around to it. 

“What you said to him in there, at the end of your story.” Patti clarified, settling herself down onto the brand new wooden rocking chair that Duane had delivered as one of his gifts to Patti for the nursery (even if she had whispered to Bear in guilt ridden shame that she had wanted one with more cushion, like she had seen in one of the furniture magazines in the study). 

“88?” He lowered himself onto the vibrantly pink nursery ottoman, his eyes catching one of the printed and plastered strangely proportioned lambs leaping around the walls.

Patti hummed in affirmation, keeping her voice low as she rocked the infant, her heels pressing into the equally bright rug beneath her feet. 

“It’s something my father and I said to each other when I was younger. It’s shorthand for ‘love and kisses’ when using amateur radio transmission.” Bear took in a hesitant breath, and offered more detail that she hadn’t asked for–something he excelled at in conversation. “Though I do my best to only use it with people that I’m familiar with. Unfortunately, followers of the madman now use it to spread hate. Funny isn’t it–something meant to spread affection being used as a weapon to hurt.” Bear trailed off, his eyes unable to remove themselves from Dorothea’s sleeping wrinkle of a face.

“That’s how it always goes, doesn’t it?” Patti sighed, her hand stilling on Dorothea’s tiny back. “Hopefully they grow up in a different world, where it can just mean love and kisses again.” 

“Unfortunately,” Bear began softly, “We can’t erase that side of it–for what is done can not be undone. All we can do is hope that the people who use it for good can overpower those that use it for bad.” He took one finger and tenderly traced it over Dorothea’s small button nose, pausing to watch small puffs of breath leave lungs much too small for Bear to fathom. 

Patti watched the exchange, her eyes syrupy and tired, a thankful smile tilted her cheeks up while her lids blinked slowly. “Thank you for your help tonight. You never have to, yet you always do.” 

“Because I want to.” Bear flickered his eyes from the baby up to Patti’s rich tawny eyes even though he knew he shouldn’t look at them the way he was. “It’s what family does for each other.” 

“Family?” Patti muttered the question with each syllable as blurred as the line she crossed by sliding the hand off of Dorothea to brush against Bear’s. “I wish Duane thought we were as important as you seem to.” 

Bear’s face colored with passion, quickly coming to her aid with words of intended comfort. “Patti don’t say such nonsense–you guys are Duane’s entire world. He would do anything for you.” Bear tried to give his words the power they needed to be convincing, but even he could not deny the scenes he had seen play out before his eyes; Duane consistently leaving Patti to her own devices in the name of focusing on his apprenticeship and studies, only  for Bear to sweep along behind each poorly thought step to clean up after him. A common theme it seemed, Bear cleaning up after his brother’s messes and missteps only for Duane to take the credit. He would never tell anyone though–he loved his brother too much to face the reality. 

Bear wore the label of mischief maker like a badge of honor, or a shield that is so broad it protects his brother without even trying. Each accusation or pointed finger tends to lead to Bear as if pulled by an invisible magnet–what an easy target one is when they are self assured and loud; unafraid to take up space.  

“I think we both know who has actually done the most for our little family.” Patti murmured, her delicate finger caressing the side of his palm, bringing him out of the thoughts of his brother and back to her overwhelming presence. 

Her phrase should not have affected him the way it did, spurring his heart forward into a gallop under her intense gaze, leaden with many words they had only shared in private secrecy that he had sworn he would never speak of again. He cleared his throat, and pulled his hand away from where it had fallen to rest with them. He can’t let her touch him that way.  

“If you no longer need my help, I should be going.” Bear stood, straightening his brown trousers and checking his watch. “Fireworks will begin soon–if Johan gives you trouble I’ll just be downstairs.” 

“Goodnight, Bear. 88.” Patti called after him, rushing through a tacked on “Not the fascist way of course!”

He paused, looked at where she sat so ethereal in the warm lamplight on a cold night, her eyes begging him to stay even though they both knew he shouldn’t. “Goodnight Patti, 88. Also not in the fascist way.” Bear nodded in her direction and slipped from the nursery with every muscle in his body screaming at him to turn around and sit back down next to her until the sun rose, or Duane stumbled back in from his night out celebrating. Yet he refrained. 

Bear took slow steps down the stairs and back towards the study, the same hair-raising sensation prickling his skin as he passed through the foyer and into the kitchen in search of another drink to wash away his horrid thoughts. He decided on a glass of champagne, humoring even just a small amount of celebration for himself to take with him back to the study. 

He was too distracted in his journey to see the hulking, hunched, shadow standing at the end of the hall just out of view; and far too disinterested in caring when the shadows invisible dragging steps following him into the foyer, covered by the loud booming sound of flame and gunpowder in the sky outside that signaled the arrival of the New Year. Bear settled into the couch of the study once more, oblivious to the watchful stalking eyes of the creature that laid waiting in a plane invisible to the naked eye. He was too focused on keeping his own cool through the torrential downpour of flame from outside.

Waiting. 

Be that as it may, Bear was never good at being oblivious; especially not for long.

Bear shuddered, spitting out the last of his champagne onto the red rug beneath his feet. Through the stained glass panes of the study doors edges, he could’ve sworn he had seen something–inhumane in nature and grotesque by design–lit up by the red and golden flourishes from outside and reflecting back at him like some imprint of death pressed against the glass.

Bear fell to the floor, each blast rang louder than the last in his ears, reminiscent of too many memories he wished not to think of anymore. All control broken by the unsuspecting image. His chest heaved, and he risked a glance back to the glass, only to find the face gone–vanished with the the raining light of a dissipated firework. 

Nothing but a memory, Bear poured himself a glass of water and brought the rim shakily to his lips, forcing each sip down his throat. Nothing but something to forget. 

Bear could not remember such a face from all of his duties served–no friend or foe had looked as such. He did not linger on thoughts of what could be, or couldn’t be explained; those kinds of thoughts serve one who has lost many a friend no good. 

Bear remained on his knees on the study floor against the center table, pouring glass after glass of water until the pitcher was empty, but nothing seemed to quell the sweat building on his brow or the pounding of his heart nor the dryness of his mouth. 

Not when that creature's face haunted the edges of his vision, and the thunderous roar of fireworks above ripped into his subconscious and forced him back into memories he wished not to see. 

“Bär.” Adelaide’s voice cut through the white noise of fireworks and his own heartbeat. She stood wrapped in a dressing gown, her hair tucked away and out of sight for the night. 

Bear couldn’t catch his breath, not even for a moment. Adelaide held a small bell in her hand, and frantically waved the orb around the study door like she was trying to swat at an invisible fly. The scene itself managed to grip its hold onto him: an old frail woman flailing her limbs about with a look so serious he couldn’t help but let out a few wheezing chuckles at the blasphemy of it. 

Once she seemed satisfied with whatever it was she had set her mind to, she slid the pocket doors of the study closed, locking it for good measure.  Adelaide spun on her heels and took long purposeful strides over to Bear, one of her tremoring hands reaching out to pinch his chin into place, holding him still and repeating the same swinging of the bell around his head and face as if trying to banish his anxieties with the soundwaves. For what it was worth–whether it be the absurdity of it or the power behind her waving–he began to regain control of himself, both mind and body. 

Adelaide dropped his chin and took to running about the corners of the room, ringing its gentle tinkling sound in each one before moving onto the next.  Her age left her at odds with the motions, her own breath growing labored as she returned with a slow tread to the couch Bear had settled himself on during her ministrations. She sunk down next to him, and fixed him with an admonitory stare that pierced straight through him. 

“You must be careful, do not let yourself become vulnerable to that which walks these halls.” 

Bear couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head out in a way that made a few curls of his own fall from their gel coated cage. “Adelaide, the spooks of the house people whisper of are not what I’m worried about.” 

“You should be.” Adelaide shook her head, and grabbed his hand tightly in her own. “Keep it, I have plenty. They feed off of your troubles.” She dropped the bell into his palm and curled his fingers around the metal that was now warm from her touch. 

Bear didn’t have it in him to argue with her old and wispy mind, complying enough just to tuck it away into his pocket for safe keeping. “Alright.” 

Her dark eyes flickered to the journal he had discarded on the center table, her facade of stone falling just enough for him to catch a real glimpse of her–eyes wide and glowing from the firelight, a youthful air about her face as she ran her fingers across the leather cover wistfully. As quickly as he had seen it, it was gone. 

“Where did you find this?” Adelaide snipped, though her tone was nothing but an empty threat; he had angered her enough growing up to know when she was truly a threat.

“Squirrel and I had gone digging through some of the old boxes and archives in the cellar and historical office. He had procrastinated on his preparatory reading for his ceremony tomorrow and needed to skim a bit.” Bear knew he was throwing his brother to the wolves with such a comment, but after having seen how much he had left to Patti that night–he couldn’t help but let something that wasn’t a compliment slip from his lips. 

“How interesting.” She examined him with passive curiosity. “All of the other reading materials at your disposal–and this is what you’d decided was worthy of your time?” 

Bear leaned forward, snatching the journal off the table and flipping to where he had left off. He read an excerpt aloud, doing his best to do so with animated expression. “He is my brother after all and I must keep reminding myself of that despicable fact each morning when I see his annoyingly broad face at breakfast, and I hold back the urge to crack the shell of my eggs upon his forehead.” He snapped it closed, sandwiching one of his fingers between the pages to keep the spot. “I think that is some very profound writing if I do say so myself.” 

Adelaide did the unexpected–a short bark of withering laughter sprouting from her chest. “Brother’s are a fickle thing aren’t they?”

“Very.” Bear agreed, a smirk finding its way to his lips. 

The firework display was coming to an end, though with Adelaide’s company he had barely registered the finale–something he would have to thank her for. The cheering and music from the distant courtyard and hotel ballroom could still be heard, for the party had no intentions of stopping at midnight.

“It should be you up there tomorrow, If I do say so myself.” 

If hearing her laugh had surprised Bear, her sudden shift into modest honesty had knocked him into another realm entirely; the closest thing to a compliment she had given him in ages. He adamantly shook his head, and returned the journal to the center table. 

“My brother is the only real choice. I am off on other lands or on the other side of the country, sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong far too often.” He pressed the curl back into place. “He worked hard for this. We always knew it would be him.” 

“And how much of his work was done by your hands?” Adelaide prodded, giving him a knowing look. 

Bear’s heavy sigh was enough of an answer, and Adelaide took to looking into the flames. 

“You deserve it–I think you would’ve been the obvious choice if it were me.” She finished, hoisting herself to stand and start a wobbly path to the study doors. “Remember, use the bell if they return.” 

Bear took the bell from his pocket, and turned it this way and that in the low light, inspecting what seemed like just an ordinary bell for something extraordinary that she insisted it had. He shook it once, the twinkling sound catching Adelaide's attention enough for her steps to hold pause. 

“I think you deserved it. You were the obvious choice to me.” Bear commented, boring his eyes into the back of her head where she stood frozen in the doorway. It was her turn to be caught off guard, something Adelaide almost never was. 

She didn’t react otherwise, pulling herself together and sliding one of the doors open for her exit. She hesitated, her hand holding onto the door frame to support her old rickety bones. She spared him one quick glance, her eyes glassy and wet. 

“I see you’ll find yourself making good use of that bell. Goodnight, Bärchen.” 

_________________________________________

Y/n sat on the edge of Yoongi’s bed, holding the napkin held out for everyone to see. Jimin’s scrawl was easily legible–impeccably neat even under the given circumstances of the less than ideal materials he had on hand. It was quiet. Each of them in a state of confusion or disbelief–or both. But as always, Yoongi spoke his mind first in the way he knew best: Eloquent and efficient.  

“What the fuck?” Yoongi gaped at the torn corner with disdain, his eyes squinting to get a better look. “‘They’re listening’? Why hasn’t he reached out about this before?” 

“Maybe he can’t. With the way he’s been talking to me lately, you’d think he’s under constant surveillance.” Y/n fiddled with the patterned paper between her fingers for a few moments before dropping the note into Yoongi’s hand to inspect it further. “Even at a park a few miles away he acted like he still had more to say but couldn’t.” 

“The shadow figure?” Jungkook offered, his dark eyes looking at the note from over Yoongi’s shoulder. 

“That’s our best guess.” Y/n shrugged, unable to look him in the eye after her discussion with Namjoon. That and she was exhausted beyond belief–she could blame the conversation with Namjoon and her previous experience with Jimin for making her head throb and her eyes heavy with fatigue. Her mind couldn’t pinpoint if she was still frustrated with Jimin, or if her irritation was trying to throw itself around at the first thing it could sink its teeth into in a blind search of whoever was causing him to act this way, for she was getting so easily riled up with each sound or thought that wormed its way through her skull. She took two fingers and rubbed at her temples to ebb away at the aggravating pulse behind her eyes. 

Namjoon stood from Yoongi’s desk chair and rested one of his large hands over one of her own, stopping her from boring holes through the side of her head with much too forceful presses of her fingers. “You shouldn’t be getting this upset right now–you’re still healing from your fall.” 

“I can’t exactly not feel worried when one of my best friends just left me a cryptic note about being listened to–by some ghost or my mother who knows.” Y/n groaned, letting her hands fall from her face under Namjoon’s guidance. “I don’t know what to do with this right now.” 

“We can do one of two things.” Yoongi started, looking up from the paper napkin and wetting his lips. “We can either pivot our goals for this weekend into figuring out what’s going on with him, or we can continue with our original plans and then we can try and get him to crack.”

“Let’s not make any plans tonight. Like I said, she should be resting.” Namjoon enunciated the last word with a pointed look at Yoongi. 

Y/n wanted to argue with him, and tell him that he was wrong–that she could handle the discussion just fine. But in all honesty she didn’t have it in her to push back against his stubborn commands, she did truly need rest if she wanted to be of use for the upcoming weekend in any capacity. All she had left in her was a meak nod, and let him guide her out of Yoongi’s room and back to her own, the box of strawberries still strewn about her desk where they had left them to scurry over to Yoongi’s room to share in her discovery.

“I’ll go over your wards and then leave you be. Don’t stay up too late tonight.” Namjoon directed her to sit on the edge of her bed while he gave all of her windows and doors a once over, even going as far as to check the corners of her bedroom and bathroom to make sure nothing had been bumped or pushed aside. 

Y/n sat, staring unfocused at her knees. The fire that had been ignited before of irritation and confusion had burned through all of the energy she had left, leaving her a drained shell on the edge of her bed. This was a cycle she continued to struggle with, getting worked up to the point where she felt she couldn’t contain herself before it suddenly fizzled out and left her empty and void.

 She wanted to call Jimin and beg him to tell her everything–to demand further answers from him in the excuse of lending him a helping hand. They had Namjoon and his knowledge of plant witchery, Yoongi’s extensive knowledge of the occult, and Jungkook the Psychopomp on their side: Whatever Jimin was dealing with they’d be able to handle–at least better than he could on his own. 

Though in response to these thoughts of rushed rash decisions, came the echo of something he had said to her earlier that day; a pretty voice sounding out a sentence laced with a warning beneath the sweet tone. 

“You know–there’s things a lot of us hide from each other. Maybe for good reason, but maybe out of fear. Perhaps some people aren’t able to say them outright in fear of what may happen to others as a consequence of speaking up.” Jimin’s plush lips moved to release the words in swift tandem. “Sometimes we all need a reminder that there are people that are here that will listen.” 

“It looks good. I might have Yoongi give you some incense to burn in here though, just to refresh the space. You can never be too safe.” Namjoon stopped in front of where she sat, peering down his nose at her with his hands tucked into his pockets. 

Y/n nodded, pushing Jimin from her mind and shifting to stand. “Thanks Joon. For everything today, not just for checking the wards.” she leaned forwards and let her forehead fall onto his shoulder, the warmth feeling nice against the ache behind it. 

Their hug was brief, as was their goodbyes. The disappointment of being alone didn’t fester for too long–it didn’t have the time to. Her dress had barely hit the floor by the time she crawled herself into bed fully intending to stew on their discussion like she had promised, only to last merely five minutes into her thoughts before she was drifting off into a restless slumber. 

Her dreams were riddled with images of the demonic creature she had encountered in the kitchen the weekend before, still dripping with tea and ectoplasm. His mouth open and waiting for her to fall right into it with molten hungry eyes trained on where she lay paralyzed below him, unable to stop her inevitable demise. No matter how many times she tried to reign in her dreams and steer them somewhere else, she couldn’t. All roads led back to him. 

The images didn’t leave, even when her eyes opened to find her own bedroom dark and empty. Faint outlines of his figure were visible from all angles, burned into her retinas to torture herself with whenever it was much too dark for her brain to fully recognize that it wasn’t real. A constant state of wondering whether or not what she was seeing was reality or just the haunting etches of his memory. 

If it was dark, the risk of traveling over to one of her friends' rooms or vise versa was high–it was still Thursday after all–so her father would be expected to sing his sickening lullabies tonight for the last time before the weekend. Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to keep feeding her twisted mind with mirages of the demon, and fumbled for wherever her phone had landed on her bed. 

The shuffling of light feet outside her door had her muscles locking in place. She could hear the soft steps (much too soft to be her fathers) hesitating outside along the carpet running over the wooden floors of the halls. Rustling overtook the feet, and she heard three objects drop to the floor outside her door, each one barely audible and signifying how lightweight whatever the gift was must be. Once whoever it was seemed satisfied with what they had done, Y/n followed the sound of their footsteps a few feet down the hall but no further. They were too quiet to hear past then. 

Y/n cautiously touched her feet down to the chilled floor, her heart pounding against her ears as she reached from the flashlight on her end table and clicked it on. Her phone read that it was minutes to midnight, so still much too early for her father to be the culprit. Y/n took the risk, shining the light out from the gap of the door prior to unlocking it and giving it a gentle shove. Something in front of the door stopped it from opening entirely, the sound of leaves crunching making her pull the door closed ever so slightly. 

She poked her head around the edge, finding three more perfectly cut and trimmed peonies laid gently in front of her door. She swiped them up without hesitation, and quickly shut her door–even if she still had some time in regards to her father, she couldn’t say the same about every spirit. 

It was as if the flowers themselves were enchanted with more so than just their stunning looks and perfect blooms: for as she rubbed a few velvety petals beneath her finger tips, an overwhelming sense of calm seeped into her mind and body, uncoiling all of her tension and leaving her a tranquil cloud that floated back to her beds previously stifling embrace that now felt like anything but. The sweet floral scent stuck to her fingertips that were tucked near her face, lulling her back into an easy sleep no longer invaded by creatures from the basement or looming dark figures: but of the first half of her date with Jimin. Or was it Jimin she saw? Her mind slurred images together in slow, languid waves, mixing up images and trading them out for others however it saw fit. 

Y/n realized she had been wrong entirely about the scene–it was not her date with Jimin. She wasn’t even at the park anymore. She must’ve just been misunderstanding what she had seen–because now she was walking along one of the property trails, hand in hand with Jungkook. His eyes reflecting the glint of the sun and his hand warm and comforting within her own. 

She would have to be sure to ask him to go for a walk with her soon, Y/n thought, her breath leaving her mouth in puffs, barely conscious of what she was thinking any longer. She really liked how it felt to hold his hand.

_________________________________________

Y/n slept much longer than she had intended to that night, the sun blazing through her curtains at an angle letting her know as such without even having to check the time. She moved sluggishly about her room, in no similar rush as to yesterday to get dressed–just settling for comfortable clothes, dangling the new stems from the string above her bed, and falling back into her comforter. 

Their group chat had blown up her phone, heightening her anxiety through the roof before she managed to click on the first private message from Namjoon. 

[Joon 🌱]: Don’t freak out…nothing that bad has happened. You just need to check your work email. 

Y/n did as she was told, thankful for Namjoon’s stable mind. No matter his reassuring words, she still found herself rushing to tap the icon to check on the mostly barren inbox–except for one from her parents with the subject line enough to send her through the roof. 

Send him well wishes on his journey! 

It is our greatest honor to escort our very own Jimin Park to Baltimore Maryland for his graduation where he will be awarded his Masters of Museum Studies. We will be sure to send photos and a live stream link for anyone that would like to attend and share in the festivities virtually. 

Expect our return on Monday, and be sure to give him your congratulations! 

Sincerely, Anselm and Mariah Wörner

Attached to the short email was a picture of Jimin, Jin’s parents-Hana and Yeongjin Kim, and both of her parents posed in front of the hotel, looking as though it had been taken early this morning. Two sleek black cars were being stuffed with luggage on the edge of the screen, but that wasn’t what was holding Y/n's attention the most.

Her father’s arm was thrown over Jimin’s shoulder, a bright smile taking over his features that was compensating for the lack of light in his eyes–soulless and empty. His hand was clamped onto Jimin’s opposite arm, digging into the fabric of his shirt and holding it clenched within his fist. An almost imperceivable display power, a barely noticeable warning. 

Jimin was going to be alone with her parents for an entire weekend (well, alone with Jin’s parents and her parents), and that filled her with trepidation. There would be no way to text or call him about his message while he was with them–he would be almost completely out of reach. 

There was no way this wasn’t deliberate. No–not the day after he had left her an ominous note–not when her mother had said nothing about indicating them joining them, nor had Jimin. Which could only mean one thing: Whatever Jimin knew, or whatever he was involved in and trying to tell her must threaten whatever her mother had been up to. 

Y/n spiraled, mentally and physically for the rest of the morning in a pacing circle until Namjoon stole her away from her mental cages in a brisk walk to meet Jungkook in the dining room for lunch. Jungkook wasn’t the only one present–Jin and Hoseok were draped over opposite chairs, busying themselves with their small lunch menus with an air that held a suspicious amount of nonchalance. 

Jin’s attire stole her wandering eyes and fixating mind, the absence of his cap, gloves or hotel coat more apparent to her than ever. It’s Friday. He should be working, Y/n noted to herself, then swept her eyes to Hoseok. The same tired taciturn nature oozed from his frame as when he had insisted he was sick–only this time he was trying harder to conceal it from her by the way he plastered a bright smile on his face and waved with too much enthusiasm at her entrance. And if that wasn’t odd enough, he appeared to sag with relief when she ended up choosing a seat further away from him; something that under normal circumstances would have him pouting at her for the first half of their meal. 

“How are you feeling today, Y/n?” Jin’s silver tone voice was saturated with gentleness, laying his menu down to look at her with undivided attention. 

“Fine…how about you?” Y/n couldn’t take her eyes off Hoseok, and how plastic and fake he looked sitting at the head of the table. His grin akin to a barbie doll in the way his eyes shone little interest in reflecting the same sentiment of joy. 

“Great. I was actually going to come up and see if you would want to play a game or two. I took today off since my parents were in town so I could see them off.” Jin answered, oblivious to how Hoseok didn’t even seem real at the moment. 

“Yeah that’s…That’s fine.” Y/n finally turned to fully address Hoseok, surveying him carefully for any kind of response. “And you?” 

“Peachy!” Hoseok chirped, putting more force into his upbeat mask. “Nothin’ too crazy has been happening on my end. Just driving–the usual.” 

Y/n pursed her lips and furrowed her brow, her voice coming out more accusatory than she intended. “I thought you were working extra shifts at the convenience center this week?” 

Hoseok’s head tilted sharply to the side, his smile faltering. “Oh yeah–right.” He nodded, his meticulously curated smile returning. “That’s right. Sorry, thought that was implied.” 

Y/n briefly met Namjoon’s eyes from across the table over the edge of his menu, and they shared a dubious look as she fumbled through her response. “It’s fine…just checking in.” 

She reached to the center of the table to grab a menu from the pile, clipping the moment Jin sent Hoseok a warning glower from below his brow–startling Y/n’s hand to retract from the menu at such a strange display of emotion from him. He must’ve not noticed she had glimpsed the passing shadow of it across his face, because he just returned to reading his menu with an impassive expression like it hadn’t happened. 

Next to him, Jungkook leant back in his chair with calculating eyes on constant surveillance of the dining room having caught the strange interaction. The muscles of his cheek twitched when his teeth clenched down on his cheek but he too chose not to call them out on it, settling for observation over confrontation. Though it was only seconds before he sensed Y/n’s stare, his head turning to meet it. A microscopic quirk of his brow was the silent ‘You okay?’ she had grown accustomed to when in group settings, and for some reason–she found her face heating up at their eye contact, and averted her attention to her menu with the tiniest of nods. 

Lunch was quiet, Hoseok distracting himself with his phone and Jin focusing on his meal. Namjoon’s accusations from the evening prior taunted Y/n each and every time she snuck a look in Jungkook’s direction, and they delved even further into her skin when she would find him already looking at her. The only thing that managed to stop her from glancing at him was when Seokjin looked up at the same time, wordlessly intercepting their game of tag with an unreadable flick of his brow. 

On their walk back to Y/n’s room, she and Namjoon were discussing all of the progress (and lack thereof) he had been able to make during her week of absence, plucking at her guilt that bloomed at his words–frustrated with herself for missing only her second week of work. Y/n knew he wasn’t upset with her, and that was the only comforting string that kept those feelings from stacking on top of the thoughts she was already sorting through that day. She fought to keep herself present in the tale he was currently recounting of his run in with their new greenhouse roommate–a black widow spider they lovingly named Julia Caesar. 

“...I put the pot down then and could see all of her scary little eyes–no thanks–she claimed it as hers now I’m not going to risk evicting her and getting bitten. Consider this a warning when you come back next week: she has taken over the empty terracotta pot on the second floor. I might even get a tag to put on it so everyone knows.” 

“Joon, we can just take her outside.” Y/n snorted, resting her head on the shoulder of the arm she was holding onto. “Just take the pot outback for a day and I promise she won't be there by sundown.” 

Namjoon looked affronted, curling his mouth in disgust and bringing his chin inwards at the suggestion. “Absolutely not. I’m not touching it–like I said she owns it now.” 

“Then I’ll do it.” A new thought clicked in Y/n’s mind, a teasing smile warming up her lips. “Unless you are actually starting to like her now…” 

He sputtered, leaning in front to open her door for her. “No. Never.” 

“Are you sure? Because last I checked a bet was made, and it smells like I might be winning.” Y/n reluctantly untangled herself from his arm and stepped into her room. 

“Positive.” Namjoon’s neck was turning red, and his eyes refused to stay locked in one place. 

Liar, Y/n giggled to herself. 

“Uh huh. Sure.” Y/n gave an exaggerated nod, dragging out the last word longer than necessary and leaning up against her door with her hand already tapping it closed. “You owe me a trip to Longwood.” 

The close of her door stifled any of his protests, and Y/n couldn’t stop the loud laughter she knew he could hear from the otherside, his defeated footsteps trailing down the hall towards the landing to escape his loss.

Y/n found her thoughts slower than they had been that morning. They no longer raced around her brain like they were trying to put a seasoned Mario Kart player to shame, instead, they ferried about the currents of her mind, coming and going at a pace much easier to control now that she had food in her stomach and Namjoon on her mind. Thus, she was able to tuck her nose into a book, flipping through a dozen pages or so when someone made their presence known on the other side of her door. 

Seokjin stood on the other side of the threshold, a leather guitar case perched over one shoulder and his cream colored tote bag on the other. Y/n beamed up at him, though his eyes were stuck inspecting something on the floor in front of the door. Y/n followed his line of sight, trailing down his figure to a handful of peonies trimmed in perfect matching length and laid in a pile at the foot of her door. 

“You have a few gifts.” He commented timidly, and bent down to pick them up for her. “I was going to text you but I decided to just change and come get you myself.”

“Oh-No worries!” Y/n gingerly took the flowers from his hand with her confusion evident on her face, she definitely had heard anyone else knock since Namjoon had taken his leave. “You can come in if you want, just give me a second to set these aside” Y/n eyed the guitar case over his shoulder quizzically. “Did you still want to play some games or have you decided to change the plans? Not that I’m complaining–I loved listening to you play.” She left the door open for him to follow in after her and dropped the new peony additions on her desk. She was going to run out of room for them soon…Y/n thought as she watched a few stray petals fall loose from one of the stems and scurry to the floor. 

Jin shifted uncomfortably in the center of her room, his gaze following her movements as she leapt to stand on her bed and clip the bundle of stems to a string Jungkook had helped her hang up. ”I was going to suggest we dust off the old Wii and have some fun with it, but it’s so nice out today that I couldn’t excuse staying cooped up.”

Y/n hummed in response, mesmerized by the petals and the fresh scent they emitted. The flowers were cut at the exact length as the first she had received–but this time it was four perfect blooms staring back at her with full blushing faces. Y/n tore her eyes from them and turned back to Jin, hopping down from the bed to join him in the middle of the room. 

“Where are we going? I’m not exactly dressed for anything fancy.” She examined his casual attire, simple black pants hemmed above the ankle and nice white t-shirt hidden beneath a thin blue jacket. Y/n caught the glint of a small silver pendant hidden beneath the collar of his shirt but couldn’t make out its shape. 

“Me neither.” He chuckled, giving her a sweet smile. “Guest house?” 

Y/n felt her eye twitch slightly, but chose to ignore it and push down any thoughts of getting roped into being there late into the evening–she would just be sure to tell him she had plans with Namjoon after dinner as an excuse if need be. “Sounds good.” She glanced down at her own lounge set with a wrinkle of her nose. “I probably will change actually–much too hot for fleece.” 

Jin gave her an affirming nod, and gestured to her door. “I’ll wait out here.” 

Y/n quickly shuffled out of her clothes and into a pair of green embroidered shorts and a white long-sleeved cropped shirt, tugging on some taller socks when she remembered how Namjoon had chided her last week for not wearing any during tick season–god forbid she get one during their walk through the woods and she would have to admit it to him (not that the rest of her outfit was necessarily tick friendly, but she had to compromise somewhere). Y/n stood tall, regarding the mysteriously appearing flowers where they dangled over her bed apprehensively, then slipping out into the hall after Jin. 

Thankfully, Jin didn’t linger around the estate for very long, urging them out and onto the dirt trail to the guest house and lake to enjoy the afternoon sun. Jin was awfully chatty this time, distracting her with antidotes of his work week and about how he had gone out for lunch with his parents the day prior–filling her in on their most recent trip to Portugal. The house came into view before Y/n had even realized it, and the unknown passage of time reminded her of how much Jin seemed to calm her mind, unwinding her tensions and putting her at ease; the kind of friend that had you forgetting that time itself even existed when you were with them. 

Once in the house, Jin took a moment to prop open the sunroom door that led directly onto the turf and the fire pit, and moved back to drop the leather case onto the glass table top in the center. Y/n made herself comfortable, finding the same rhythm they had a few days prior: her seated comfortably near him and him fiddling with his guitar.

He unlatched the case and lifted the instrument out from within, situating himself down next to her and beginning the task of tuning the strings according to his liking. Y/n closed her eyes, taking a deep breath of fresh early evening air and letting it furl in her lungs and release through her mouth at a lazy pace. The chorus of chirping woodland animals and the sound of rustling trees comforting her in the best way possible. She couldn’t even remember any of the things that had worried her that morning. Something about Jimin? It didn’t matter. She was comfortable here now with Jin. 

The scent of freshly cut grass and the thick beams of sunlight that enlightened clouds of floating dust, cut through by the shadow of a bird flying overhead in front of its source made her feel truly at home. While she loved the ease of travel and particular beauty of D.C while in college, nothing beats a nice day in Pennsylvania trees. The smell of fresh earth and clean air made her muscles relax into a tranquil state that only grew in strength when Jin started absentmindedly strumming a few chords, simple progressions designed to warm up his fingers.  

Y/n curled her legs up onto the couch with her, and rested her elbow on the back of the couch to prop her head on it, captivated by how easily his fingers slid on the fretboard to find their next chord. The rhythm promptly switched, moving into a climbing introductory flourish of a song she could immediately recognize as one of Hozier’s. She didn’t interrupt him (nor did she feel pressured to find a distracting hobby) and let him start through the opening verse, his time kept by his foot rising and following on beat against the wooden floor beneath them. His confidence had already multiplied since Wednesday, for the lyrics were already spilling from his lips in lilting shapes of romance and yearning, flowing into her ears and muddying her senses. 

He didn’t take much breaks in between songs, just letting them flow from his hands and mouth with practiced ease and filling any empty space between them that would have been. Y/n didn’t mind, enjoying the silvery tone of his voice and the nostalgic plucking of the strings. Y/n felt her mind growing loose, having found a moment of refuge from whatever was going on back at the hotel and estate drifting completely from her brain and leaving her floating, light as a feather through the soundscapes that enveloped her in their welcoming arms. 

There was a small pause in the music as he leaned forwards to fish through his bag that she had recognized from before to thumb through sheet music and chord charts for the next song he was looking for. 

Y/n took that moment to take in his soft skin in the golden cast of the sun from the windows, and the way it glowed. She saw him now for how she knew him best beneath the carefully built exterior to match the role of the eldest: kind and carefree. Y/n nibbled at her lip, taking in how relaxed he seemed in that moment. His back wasn’t straight as a pencil and his face wasn’t forced into a pleasant smile. Y/n felt honored, thinking about how this must be the place he felt the most comfortable–and she could clearly see why. Out here almost felt like a completely different property, like they could walk through the door and pretend this was their house, a normal house with normal activities. No pressure of any preexisting legacy or long family history to pull them this way and that. Y/n watched him closer now, her brow furrowing in thought as she started to see him in a new light. Relaxed in the normal. Is this what he wanted? Normal? Did he even want to be at the hotel?

She had always just assumed he would–because that’s what everyone else concluded as far as she could remember–especially with him being the first and only biological child of the Kim’s. Her trail of thought continued even further, unraveling new strings from what she had always thought was a completed tapestry, a picture perfect image of Seokjin Kim. But there were loose threads at the bottom, and Y/n kicked herself for never even bothering to check. 

She had yet to hear anything about his intentions to take over after his father as the Hotel and Estate’s finance manager, and wondered just what he was doing still working at the front desk if his parents were in the process of finalizing their retirement. This encouraged her previous line of thinking, why had she never asked him what he wanted? She decided the only way to build a better read into what he was comfortable talking about or not talking about, would just be to shoot her shot and see how it landed. 

“Jin?” 

“Hmm?” He paused his rummaging, and looked at her from over his shoulder. 

“Your parents are retiring, right?” She approached the subject gently, not yet wanting to scare him away.

He looked back at the splayed open folder, a small twitch of his nose the only sign he gave her for how he felt about the question. “Yes. Why do you ask?” 

“Well I was just wondering…You know…” Y/n tried, hoping he would catch on to her question so the topic would be in his hands to choose whether or not to elaborate further.  

“Oh.” His hands lowered the folder down to rest against the glass, and he sat back against the couch to look at her, his mouth quirked to one side. “I’ll be taking over sometime next year if that’s what you’re asking.”

Jin was good at guarding himself, Y/n concluded. But she was also good at picking apart his body language: No jokes and a fidgeting mouth. He was either extremely uncomfortable or extremely serious. Both of those options were odd to see on someone who constantly chooses to put forth the face of an easy going friend, or an excellent host. Jin was truly a chameleon. 

“How are you feeling about that?” Y/n tested the waters even further. “You don’t seem very excited.” 

Jin’s eyes moved swiftly from one part of her face to the next and chewing on the inside of his lip while he thought up his next response. Y/n rushed to apologize, not wanting to ruin the peaceful environment he had curated. 

“You don’t have to answer that–I’m sorry that was–”

“I don’t know.” 

Y/n froze, her eyes flicking up to look at his face. She watched part of his guard crumble enough for him to sigh and give a rueful smile. 

“I want to keep the tradition going, and I don’t mind the work. A family of number crunchers breeds a great mathematician so it’s not that I’m worried about.” He gave a dry chuckle. “I just feel like…” He looked out towards the grass, his eyes cloudy, “Nevermind. I don’t want to trouble you with this.” 

“No, I want to listen,” Y/n tucked a leg beneath her and shifted her body to face him completely. “You feel like?” Y/n urged him onwards, her eyes shining earnestly. 

He moved his guitar to rest on the case, and mimicked her position, turning towards her and propping leg on the couch, bent at the knee and brushing against her own. “ I just feel like I wasn’t ever really asked. It was just expected of me. I like the job and I love being here, but I just wish it would’ve felt more like my own choice and less like an obligation.” He flicked a piece of hair from his eyes only for it to fall right back into place. “I know that sounds a bit contradictory–if I like it why should I care right?” 

“I get it.” Y/n shook her head, and laid it back on her palm to regard him with reassuring eyes. “Even if you want it, it feels nice to have autonomy over the decision.” 

“Which is something I don’t really feel like I have.” He shrugged. “It’s such a first world problem-” He held his hands up, his eyes rolling to take in the ceiling and his voice squawking out two octaves higher in a mocking tone. “ –‘Oh no! I have a well paying job and rich parents! I never have to make a decision ever again! Woe is me!’” 

Y/n giggled at the display, and he seemed pleased at being able to make her laugh. “If it makes you feel better, I always felt like such an ass complaining to classmates about why I left.” Y/n copied the same silly tone he had used moments prior. “‘Yeah my family is rich–and I threw that away because I got mad. Woe is me, I made my own bed and now I have to lay in it.’” She dropped her tone back to its normal octave. “So don’t worry, we are of the same ridiculous kind. I won’t judge you.”  

A tiny melancholy smile graced his features, took her in with warm and inviting eyes. “I’m sure you did great in school though.  You’ve always been hard-working.”

“Right back at you.” Y/n shot back, a playful smile working its way through her calm demeanor. “Although, I do admit–I do work pretty hard.” Y/n gave a feigned modest expression and puffed up her chest. “One of us has to make sure there’s trouble around here. It may be tiring but it’s honest work.” 

Jin rolled his eyes. “Every time I try to be kind to you, you just insist on instigating.” He took one long finger and pointed it at her. “There’s enough trouble around here already, no need to overdo it. I’m getting too old to chase all of you around.” 

Y/n let out a short burst of laughter, making a few of the distant animals scatter at the sound. “Old? You’re not even thirty yet!” 

“I’m close enough.” He rubbed a hand against his brow in exasperation. 

“You have like three years left until then, take a breath.” Y/n scoffed with a shake of her head. 

Jin mumbled out a quiet ‘my knees say otherwise’ and moved to grab for his guitar again. “Would you like to hear anything else?” 

“Hmmm…” Y/n brought a finger to her chin, and shrugged, “Have you been working on anything new since Wednesday?” 

Jin thought for a moment, and grabbed for a few sheets of paper from the folder and lined them on the table in a neat row. “If you don’t like it just let me know. It’s just a song that was recommended to me recently.” 

Y/n motioned with her hands for him to continue, and made herself more comfortable (if there was even any more comfortable she could even get at the moment). Y/n let her eyes close, leaning her head against her hold to focus on the melody with no intention of giving him anything other than her full attention. She barely noticed the song growing distant–the chorus feeling more like a distant memory than a song played no more than a few feet from her ears; and the sound of the trees and bugs faded into a mindless blur, more white noise than anything decipherable. Her head fell from its perch on her hand and onto the back of the couch as her breathing evened out.  

_________________________________________

“Wake up!” 

The harsh whispering voice pulled Y/n out of her impromptu nap, her eyes blinking to adjust to the the once bright room being coated in shades of black and blue, only a ring of yellow light around the sunroom’s now closed door from the outdoor porchlight having been turned on. 

Y/n searched for Jin, but he was no longer next to her–a discovery that had her swallowing roughly against her scratchy dry throat. Her unfocused eyes scanned anything it could make out in the dim lighting, finding his guitar case latched shut and propped in the corner of the room, the chairs and couches, but still no Jin. 

She felt incredibly disoriented. Her body felt distant, like her head was no longer connected to it, and her hands trembled slightly with muscular fatigue. She tried to clench them into fists but her grip strength was weaker than usual, and the act of sending command signals to her own body felt foreign. Y/n started to panic, trying to move each limb on its own but was met with great difficulty–how long had she been out? 

Whoever had woken her up was also nowhere to be seen. Their voice, urgent and familiar, had the hair rising on her arms and her breath quickening. She couldn’t pinpoint who it was, but it definitely hadn’t been Jin’s. If she hadn’t known any better she would’ve said it almost sounded like it had come from outside, as if called through the screened windows or the storm door. But no one was present, no footsteps and no human figure stood outside the door; just a symphony of crickets and the bump of a gentle breeze against the window panes. 

Y/n stuck her hands in her pockets in her first instinct to find purchase in the comfort of her flashlight ‘lightsaber’, yet found only the folds of the soft fabric–it was empty. Her stomach sank in on itself, the realization that she had forgotten to grab one from her nightstand before she had left had shame crawling up her throat and clenching her heart down in its unrelenting fist. So much for any trust she had built with Jungkook, she mourned. 

She was alone, with no weapon, and Jin was missing. Nausea, an unforgiving enemy as always, made its appearance–climbing up the back of shame like a ladder to join in on its torment. Her hands began to slick with sweat, and she couldn’t seem to swallow enough times, the motion her only weapon of choice against hurling her lunch on the outdoor rug. She may not have found her flashlight, but she had been smart enough to at least grab her phone–which she found snug in the deepest part of her other pocket much to her relief. 

Y/n yanked it up into her shaky hands and just about keeled over when she registered the time glaring back up at her. It was coming up on 10pm–she had missed their scheduled meet up time and dinner.  And to top it off, she was going to have to walk back to the estate in the dark. Alone.  Her heart thumping painfully in her chest with dread at the idea of walking the trail by herself with no light but her phone. At night in a city, there’s streetlamps or houselights–hell even in suburbs you can usually still see the residual wingspan of human life stretching over the sky from the surrounding areas. 

Not in the woods of Pennsylvania. You will find no sign of light here. 

Not when there are acres upon acres of trees and mountains surrounding you on all sides, and the nearest city is a 20 minute drive out–any and all remnants of it swallowed up by the hungry shadows of the natural world. 

Y/n unlocked her phone, and her breath hitched. There were over a dozen missed calls from her three accomplices, and almost double the missed texts. And most of them were from Jungkook. 

[Jungkook] 7:03pm : Where are you?

[Jungkook] 7:09pm: I’ll have them put food away for you.

[Jungkook] 7:55pm: Are you alright? 

[Jungkook] 7:58pm: It’s me outside your door, are you asleep? 

[Jungkook] 8:02pm: You’re not in your room. Please respond. 

[Jungkook] 8:27pm: I’m going to come look for you if you don’t answer any of our calls.

[Jungkook] 8:29pm: Y/n. Answer please. 

[Jungkook] 8:32pm: Please.

[Jungkook] 8:40pm: I’m coming to find you. 

Y/n quickly moved onto the next notification, trying to rush through them all so she could get her bearings and respond. 

[Joon 🌱] 7:08pm: Are you feeling okay? Or did you fall asleep again…

[Joon 🌱] 7:22pm: Do you want me to bring you up something to eat? 

[Joon 🌱] 7:46 Okay seriously Y/n, I’m starting to get a bit nervous. If you could just give me something to let me know you are safe. 

[Joon 🌱] 8:06pm: We went into your room without your permission–sorry. Where are you??? 

[Joon 🌱] 8:08pm: Jin isn’t answering either. Are you still with him?

[Joon 🌱] 8:30pm: Kook is freaking out. Please just call one of us if you can. 

Jin wasn’t answering either? Y/n’s head began to pound and her eyesight threatened to give out, pulsing the light of her phone screen in and out of focus like some sick joke. She groaned quietly–for that was about all she could muster, and willed her pupils to focus back in on the messages. 

[Zoltar]: 8:00 pm: You ded sleepy head? Lol

[Zoltar]: 8:10 pm: Okay this isn’t funny. Where are you 

[Zoltar]: 8:16 pm: I’m trying to hold down the fort but the kid is getting antsy 

[Zoltar]: 8:22 pm: Answer your damn phone Y/n. 

[Zoltar]: 9:01 pm: Where the fuck are you?

Y/n wasted no time in sending a message to their group chat to let them know she was alive, her fingers being as remorseless as her vision, each digit moving as if weighed down at the tip; the only solution to typing was to drag her finger across the screen and hope for the best. 

[Morning Glory 🌼 ]: I’m ok I thinkk. I’m at theguethouse. I don’tknow how I slept this long–I wasneven tired before. I don’t feelllright. 

[Morning Glory 🌼 ]: I was wt Jin 

[Morning Glory 🌼 ]: Idkk wher he is

[Morning Glory 🌼 ]: I rreallyy dontfeel rright. 

It hadn’t even been a full ten seconds before her phone screen was blocked by an incoming call from Yoongi, and she hastily swiped to answer it as quick as her fingers would let her, holding it to her ear with a shaky hand.

“Jesus Christ, Y/n.” Yoongi hissed through the receiver. She heard the loud commotion of Jungkook and Namjoon shouting back at him from within his range, the microphone picking up the sound but not their words. “Shut up I’m trying to listen to what she is saying!” 

Y/n kept her voice a whisper, scared that Jin would return from wherever he had left and catch them talking to each other red handed. That was if he was even still here…

“Y/n?” Yoongi’s voice cut through again, pulling her out of her hazed funk.

She hadn’t answered him yet she realized with a shake of her head, and did her best to slur out her explanation. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. I don’t…” Y/n dragged her eyes to scan what parts of the house she could see through the door, just a dark kitchen entrance and the start of the dining room. Unease pooled into the pit of her stomach, and the unmistakable feeling of being watched pricked at her skin like cold drops of rain on a hot day. She wasn’t alone, and from the sense of it, whatever was watching her wasn’t human–meaning if she were to stretch the invisible vines of her spiritual senses out it could trigger something much worse at the expense of finding more information.

 “I’m scared.” She shuddered out, embarrassed with how weak the admission sounded to herself. 

She could hear Yoongi’s heavy breathing on the other end, and it sounded like he was running. 

“We are on our way–about halfway there. We were already heading to check the lake. Thank god you’re not there. Just stay put and try to stay out of trouble.” His voice rang through loud and clear, but it did little to combat the growing fear in her belly. 

A dark shadow passed by the frame of the door and her heart stopped–or at least it felt like it–but she knew it couldn’t have with how loud the blood rushed through her ears with each pulse. 

“Okay scratch that I’m really scared.” Y/n’s voice shook, edging off of the sofa and crouching below the couch and out of sight, praying it hadn’t seen her yet. Her legs were still waking up–she wouldn’t be able to run if she tried just yet.

 The figure returned, walking in her line of sight, only to turn back out of it. It didn’t take long for her to understand that it was pacing quickly from one end of the dining room to the other where it would disappear around the wall and return seconds later; its body language agitated and fidgety. 

Yoongi cursed, and she heard Jungkook’s garbled voice trying to shout something to her. 

“I don’t have my light.” Y/n could barely hear her own voice it was so quiet, and she hoped they still could by pressing the microphone as close as she could to her lips without touching it. She had surely lost all of Jungkook’s trust, she lamented to herself. What a fool she has made of herself. 

Whoever was in the other room had started muttering to themselves, their breath coming out labored around the sharpness of their words. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but she could tell that they were upset, and that made her terror only grow. She couldn’t stay on the phone, it was too risky–they were going to find her, and she was going to have to run. There was no other choice. 

“Hurry please, someone is here.” Y/n begged, and before he could respond she hung up. If she waited at all, or gave any of their voices time to pierce through her mounting resolve she would stay stuck in her spot, using the sounds of their breathing like a security blanket of delusion that it would do enough to keep her safe. But it wouldn’t. 

Y/n could now make out the sound of the spirit’s rushed and clumsy footsteps dragging back and forth across the wooden floors, picking up speed and slowing when they would turn to retrace their steps. The muttering grew more frantic, and its volume increased–surpassing agitated and skyrocketing into twisted mania and fury. Y/n struggled to swallow, and knew she was going to have to make a decision on when to run, but the thought of her lost friend held her back from fleeing each time the figure vanished behind the wall. 

Jin, where are you? Y/n pleaded in her mind that he was alright, and had simply gone to the bathroom or to one of the guest rooms to lay down. But why hadn’t he woken her up? Why hadn’t he said something? 

“But as for someone else near you, the smell of death is quite strong–someone at your table perhaps? I’d know your onions if I were you.” 

No. Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, pressing the palms of her hands against her eyes that threatened to leak salt streams of fear down her cheeks. That was a lie. Jin has to be okay. 

The person pacing back and forth groaned in frustration, and she saw them bring their hands up to their head to cover their own ears and their steps got faster as a result, blazing lines into the floor as they darted back and forth. Y/n made up her mind in that moment that there were only seconds left before this thing erupted into something more; her gut and her senses buzzing with alarm bells, and her nose picking up the first few whiffs of rot. 

There was movement outside on the grass, and Y/n let herself have one delusion to keep herself sane (funny way the human mind works, isn’t it?)–and let herself believe that it was Jin. Y/n knew that this was her moment, and tracked the figures next turn and watched it vanish for a second behind the dining room wall, timing how long it took for it to come back into her sight and turn. Two seconds. Y/n shook out her hands that had finally regained feeling, wiping the dampness from her eyes on her shorts. Two seconds will have to do, she reluctantly noted. 

When it turned and started its trail back behind the wall, she leapt to her feet and bolted for the sunroom door, ripping it open and throwing herself down the few wooden steps to the grass and taking off towards a broad shouldered figure bent forward at the waist to inspect something in the grass. Y/n could hear the figure from the kitchen thundering into the sunroom, its voice layered with a thick accent in a language she couldn’t discern at the moment–but she didn’t care. Not when Jin was coming into view, and alive. 

“Jin!” Y/n called out for him, the tears from before returning in an overwhelming sense of relief. 

As she approached him, he rose to his full height and Y/n grayed in horror when as the distance lessened, no features became distinguishable on his face: there were no plush lips and no warm brown eyes to look down at her. Just a dark shadowy figure. Y/n kicked up grass and left divots in the dirt below it in the wake of her feet finding enough of a hold to stop her trajectory forward–but she was going too fast. She collided with the figure, the shadows licking at her skin with icy tendrils where two calloused and freezing hands gripped at her shoulders and held her in place. Y/n bit back a scream and tried to shake the hands off of her to no avail. 

“Get off me!” Y/n’s hands disappeared through their torso when she tried to push them away. Though it did not verbally respond, the shadowy figure that held her shoved her to the side, stepping in front of her and towards the speedy inhuman figure that pursued her from the sun room. Y/n watched as the tall figure in front of her pulled something long and slender from his back to hold at eye level. 

A gun. 

A gun that was pointed directly at the rapidly approaching dark figure from the kitchen.

Y/n’s hands clamped down on her ears and crouched low to the ground to mute a deafening bang that rang from above, splitting the figure from the guest house into two wispy halves. The spirit howled out in agony, the sound almost just as tumultuous as the gunshot–then he was no more. Y/n watched both halves dissolve into dusty, weightless, particles and fall to the grass where the demonic figure had just been a second before. Gone. 

The remaining figure in front of her lowered the gun and turned his head to nod at her, using one hand to point at the woods behind her frantically, only stopping when she turned her head to look to where he was gesturing wildly to with a slow and uncertain turn of her head.

From the direction in which he pointed, two more dark outlines of men emerged from the treeline, these two varying in height and build. They ran up to where Y/n was crouched, peering down at her with similarly featureless faces, and the taller one of the two took both cold hands and lifted her to her feet, waving at her with what could only be read as excitement. 

Y/n blinked at the shadowy man, her ears still ringing from the gunshot and the scream. Something in the way he held his hands up to her face and tilted his head with an air of innocent youth brought forth another image. An image from the woods outside the historical society, and an uncannily similar shadow figure tiptoeing behind her. Y/n gasped, her hands falling from her ears to muffle the sound. 

It was the same indecipherable man from before–the shadow from the historical building that had followed her and Jungkook.  

“Tree man?!” Y/n breathed through her hands, the sound warped by the press of her fingers.  

The shorter one (not tree man) grabbed at her forearm, and cold sensation coated her hand that they enveloped in a shadowy one of their own giving one firm tug in the direction of the treeline. Y/n tried to pull her arm away but stopped; Tree man tapped her arm to give her a thumbs up that held too much enthusiasm than Y/n found appropriate for the situation they were in, but nonetheless the effects were reassuring–at least slightly so. 

Tree man faced forwards to the first figure, and reached up over his own shoulder to unholster his own musket, juggling with parts of it she couldn’t see and jerking his head to the side in the same direction his shorter friend was trying to lead her to. 

Y/n didn’t need any other convincing to hightail it out of there–not when she could see the ground pulsating with an ever growing dark mass where the other ghost had vanished, whispers of his anguished mutterings spewing from it like a pit of souls. 

Y/n spun on her heels and sped off towards the path, her hand in the hold of the shorter spirit. She glanced back, catching the tallest shadow man perching his gun on his shoulder again in preparation for the return of the demon, sidling up next to Tree Man in uniform position. It was almost funny that now with something else completely taking over her fear, she didn’t think twice as she barrelled through the brush with a potentially dangerous spirit and onto the dirt path, her mind focusing only on finding her friends and getting the hell out of there. 

Y/n pumped her arms and legs with fervor to keep up with the short ghost’s agile speed as he weaved the two of them through the complete blackness of the woods, trusting in the way he appeared to know exactly where they were going. Her eyes caught the faraway glare of a flashlight–a gleeful swell of hope pooling between her struggling lungs and throwing herself to accelerate forwards blindly in search of catching another glimpse of it. When the glares turned into tiny bouncing balls of white light Y/n held her free arm up and shouted out to them from down the trail as loud as she could with what little breath she had. 

“It’s me! I’m right here!” 

There was a chorus of distant shouting, and her legs nearly gave out in relief when she recognized each one of the voices calling back to her as her friends. As the lights grew closer, she could make out the familiar shape of Jungkook charging ahead of the other two, and Y/n wanting nothing more than to be scolded by them because at least it meant she was with them and not lost in some hazed mess in an entanglement of spirits back at the guest house. 

The distance between them closed and she released the ghostly hand with no fight from the spirit, and hurtled herself towards Jungkook with what last of the power she had left in her, his arms already open to catch her fall. They collided with an audible noise, the wind knocking out from her lungs  an entirely acceptable trade off in her mind for being able to feel the warmth of his body radiating heat onto her cold skin. Y/n felt her teeth chattering–Had she been this cold the entire time? She had been too focused on fleeing to even notice that her skin was coated on goosebumps, or that her fingers were completely numb. 

Jungkook held her close, his eyes trained on the figure that had guided her here with a leering glare. Yoongi and Namjoon filed in next to them, exhausted and out of breath. Yoongi’s wild eyes fixated on her face, and Y/n watched his muscles make their move to bathe the helpful spirit in light from his flashlight. Y/n freed one arm from Jungkook’s hold and waved it in front of the beam of light as best she could, some of it spilling between her fingers and streaking across the spirit’s figure.

“Stop! They helped me!” Y/n cried out desperately, the figure raising a hand of its own to shield the light from its face. 

Yoongi directed the beam towards the ground, his shoulders still heaving and his eyes raging with a strong emotion she couldn’t read. For a moment it was just the sounds of the night, and their heavy gasps for air while they were at a standstill with the figure. 

“Who are you?” Jungkook grit through his teeth, the whites of his eyes swallowed whole by his stabbing glare. “Show me who you are.” 

The figure faltered forwards, as if tugged by an invisible rope towards Jungkook. He dug his heels in and scrambled a few steps back to try and fight the magnetic draw of Jungkook’s words, glancing over his shoulder and back to the four of them he hastily surrendered both hands up into the air with a skittish shrug. Jungkook stiffened and opened his mouth to speak, but Yoongi beat him to the punch.

“Do you even know your own name?” 

The figure inched his hands back down to his sides, letting them fall against his legs with a somber shake of his shadowy head. 

Yoongi grunted out a sigh and wiped at his brow, the release of breath doing nothing to soothe the tension radiating from him. “He’s harmless.” Proving his point, he shined over shadow with his flashlight to find him immune to the effects of the light. “A soldier.” Yoongi licked his lips and pocketed the flashlight, gesturing to the figure with his chin. “You can go.” 

The figure held up one hand in a grateful salute and followed Yoongi’s order, whirling back down the path whence they came to the guest house. They watched him dissipate into the darkness through the beam of Yoongi’s flashlight, and Y/n felt the shake of her knees threatening to give way, gripping onto Jungkook tighter. Namjoon came up on their right side, and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder blades to which Y/n threw one of her arms over Namjoon to siphon more heat into her clammy skin.

“No more guest house.” Yoongi declared with a huff and kicked a rock with vengeance, watching it sail into the tree line and clamber out of sight. 

_________________________________________

Y/n stumbled along the now lit dirt path, her one side tucked tightly against a steely Jungkook, and her other hand squeezed between Namjoon’s fingers.  Yoongi strode in front of them, invisible steam still seeping from the top of his head and into the air and his shoulders were still scrunched up towards his ears while he took it upon himself to light the way ahead of them all. 

Y/n felt terrible for stressing them out the way she had–the only way she seemed to be able to anymore. But she couldn’t stop the tears from pooling in her eyes and slipping down her cheeks at the thought of Jin’s voice that had lulled her to sleep, or his sweet smiles.  It was unlike her to leave anyone behind–she hadn’t even gone in to look for him–she had only thought of herself. 

“Jin,” Her mouth worked on its own accord, her voice croaking out from between her lips and into the heavy air that surrounded them. “We need to find Jin. I just left him there–I need to-”

“-You didn’t leave him anywhere.” Yoongi spun on his heels, his tone cutting. “Jin left you as far as I’m concerned.” 

Y/n stilled, causing Jungkook to stop with her. “He wouldn’t have if he had known better. Something is wrong back there and he might still be out there alone.” 

“His fault.” Yoongi grunted, starting forwards again. 

“No it isn’t.” Y/n admonished, refusing to take any further steps forward. “He could be hurt. Think about what Bea told me Yoongi!” 

“We can’t trust everything every ghost says. We need to get you to bed before you pass out.” Yoongi didn’t stop even though he knew she wasn’t following. 

“You can’t be serious!” Y/n turned to Namjoon and Jungkook for aid, imploring them to back her up. “He can’t be serious!” 

But neither of them could bring themselves to look at her. Y/n felt a few more tears drip from her chin, and used her hand that was conjoined with Namjoon’s to furiously wipe them away. 

“We don’t leave anyone behind. Ever. We stick together, remember?” Y/n weakly called back up to Yoongi’s distantly retreating figure, her shouts making him freeze mid-step. Yoongi coiled in, pulling taught with an inhale like a poised hunter, waiting to strike. He snapped into motion with his exhale, whirling back to stride towards her with purposeful steps.  

“We aren’t kids anymore Y/n. This isn’t play time with Uncle Bear–This is real shit.” He took one finger and pointed at the darkness behind Y/n, down the path towards the house. “No one gets left behind? I think Jin forgot the memo. Because the last we saw of him on the way here, was him getting into a car at the front of the estate, dodging any questions Namjoon threw at him of your whereabouts and driving off into the night with one of his best buddies.” 

“No…” Y/n launched herself into denial, her lungs constricting in on themselves like they were getting stuck together with every exhale, and every inhale ripped them apart with a painful spasm. “Who did he go with?” 

“Who do you think?” Yoongi hissed through his teeth. “Hoseok Jung.”

The world spun around her–or maybe it was her that was spinning–she couldn’t tell. What she could tell was that her stomach was lurching dangerously, and the nausea that had held her in a chokehold before had made its return. The ground approached her quickly, and Y/n barely managed to crawl a foot to the left to avoid hurling on any of her friends' shoes. 

“Yoongi–that’s enough.” Namjoon reprimanded the shorter one in front of him, and rushed to rub comforting circles on Y/n’s shoulder blades. “She’s been through enough tonight.” 

Namjoon turned his words to Y/n penetrating her peripheral with a fixed worried stare. “He’s not mad at you Y/n, I promise.  He’s angry with them–we all are. But first and foremost we just want to get you home safe, okay?” He raised his tone to a volume loud enough for Yoongi to hear and then some. “And we aren’t going to take out our anger on anyone that doesn’t deserve it, right?”

Yoongi slid his eyes closed with a sigh, regarding Y/n’s pathetic look at him from over her shoulder, and Namjoon’s heated glare. Jungkook remained silent; as wooden as a puppet while he stood motionless where she had left him. 

“I’m sorry.” Yoongi submitted softly and pressed his tongue against his cheek, his dark eyes glistening vaguely in the reflecting light of his flashlight. He abruptly turned with a clear of his throat, and started forward again. “We need to get you home. You should sleep.” 

The remainder of their trek was silent, save for Y/n’s occasional sniffle or Namjoon’s concerned voice checking in on her in hushed whispers. Once the estate had come into view, Yoongi separated from the rest of them, his head kept low while he rounded the back of the estate to enter through the back door while the rest of them entered through the front. 

Forcing Jungkook to let her enter the Estate and walk up the stairs with only Namjoon was like trying to bend hot metal with her bare hands, but he relented with the promise that he could come check on her before bed once he had gotten himself settled; only responding to any and all comments with single words or shakes of his head. 

All Y/n could think of as Namjoon guided her up the stairs was how terribly she had messed up that night–with Yoongi, with Jungkook…

With Jin. 

She couldn’t even say his name in her head without wanting to cry. She couldn’t fathom that he would have left her behind on purpose. But then the more Y/n thought about it–the more things fell into place. 

Jin always requested to spend time with her on days they conveniently planned to try something new–or push a new boundary spiritually. There would’ve been no way he could’ve done that on purpose. No way he would have known their plans ahead of time. 

“They’re listening to me. I’m sorry.” 

Jimin’s note crashed through her thoughts, spinning through her brain like a tornado–sucking up everything that she knew and spitting it out into mismatched and jumbled theories and conjectures. 

The night when Hoseok and Jin returned from a mystery outing with her mother; The way Hoseok had clearly lied at lunch about his whereabouts; Jin’s impeccable timing on wanting to spend time with her; Hoseok dancing with her while her mother whisked Roland away; and so many other “coincidences” she could spiral herself into if she wanted to–though they all led back to the same conclusion: they had to be working together to cover up whatever mess she had made. They had to be listening, she  just couldn’t piece together the how. 

“Here we are,” Namjoon sighed, pushing open her door for her and steering her into it. “Let’s get you to bed, yeah?” The smile he gave her said everything she needed to know–that he had already come to the same conclusion, and that he was doing his best to keep everything together with a solid hold; the foundation beneath the crumbling walls of everyone else’s processing.

God she loved him. 

“Yeah.” Y/n murmured, stumbling to her closet and pulling out whatever was closest to her. Y/n didn’t care if he was still in the room with her, tugging off her shirt and pulling on her t-shirt swiftly. They were adults, and could handle it. 

Her sleep shorts were tugged on and she tossed her old ones haphazardly into her hamper as she passed it on the way to her bathroom, catching sight of Namjoon bent to inspect her plants in a covert way of offering her privacy.  He followed her into the bathroom, hovering in the door frame and watching her lazily scrub at her teeth, before she moved onto washing her face. 

“We will figure this out, okay?” Namjoon broke the silence, convincing both her and himself with his words. 

“Yeah. Okay.” 

Y/n didn’t have it in her to say anything else, and buried her face into a soft towel. Her friends might have been betraying her this entire time, and she was dumb enough to let them.

“Christ!” Namjoon leapt into the air as Jungkook rounded the corner to stand next to him in her bathroom doorway, having forfeited knocking and moved to letting himself in. Jungkook didn’t react to his startled outburst, keeping his face still as stone and his eyes distant while he observed the scene.  

“I’ll let you two be.” Namjoon resigned himself, his hands sliding into his pockets. “If you need me for anything Y/n, I’ll be here.” 

“Same to you. They are your friends too.” Y/n returned, dropping the towel and moving to take him in a hug meant to comfort the both of them. Y/n felt his shoulders shake beneath her hold, if only unnoticeably so, and he squeezed her back just as tightly. 

“Yeah,” He breathed, “They were.” Namjoon untangled himself from her hold, and kept his face turned away from hers while he made his way to her door, making his exit quickly.

Y/n could feel Jungkook’s eyes still boring into her, and she readied herself for the impact of his scolding–whatever it was, she deserved it. She turned to face him, leaning herself against her bathroom counter to leave less than a foot between them and face him head on. 

“Whatever you want to say–say it now.” Y/n held her hands out in surrender. “I know. I fucked up.” She took one hand and counted off her sins for him, her voice growing more hoarse with each itemized bullet she was giving him to throw at her. “I forgot the flashlight, I was by myself, I didn’t think things through, I trusted a ghost of all things-”

Jungkook lunged forwards, one hand coming to cradle the back of her head, guiding it to his shoulder and the other wound his arm across her middle to squash her against him with crushing force. 

“Stop.” His voice was much flatter than she expected, far from the anger filled wrath she anticipated.  

Y/n welcomed to embrace, returning the gesture with her arms clawing around his middle to grasp at the back of his t-shirt. “Why aren’t you yelling at me? Please yell at me–do something. Anything.” She begged, his distance hurting more than any scolding could. 

“I thought you were dead.” The dam broke with a broken whisper, and he trembled against her. “I thought I was going to have to find your body somewhere.” If it was even possible, his admission had him pressing her to him tighter than before, desperate to feel her heartbeat and her breath against his skin. “And then when we found you, you were so fucking cold–I couldn’t tell if you were a ghost.”

Y/n felt as though a hole had been punched through her chest, carving out everything it could to find a grasp on his words. “I’m so sorry.” Y/n sobbed, one of her arms coming up to card through the hair on the back of his head, imitating the way he held her to him. 

“Don’t. It’s not your fault.” He spat out the words with soaked venom, and she felt two droplets drip onto the side of her neck. Then another. And another. “It’s them.”

Jungkook didn’t let go of her for the rest of the night, and Y/n didn’t want him to.  They had tucked him into a makeshift bed on the floor next to her own, thrown together with extra blankets from the hall closet and shoved as closed to the edge of her mattress as they could get it. Y/n’s arm was hanging down the side of her bed, securely tucked between Jungkook’s fingers and his cheek while they both stared absentmindedly with glassy eyes into the darkness of her room; him on his back and her on her stomach. 

“They aren’t going to do this to you anymore.” Jungkook muttered from the floor, her eyes flitting down to stare at his face. “I won’t let them.” He looked up at her with pure rage simmering beneath the surface of his irises–hot and biting. “I promise.” 

With Jungkook’s slow and steady breathing next to her, and his real hand slotted in hers, any haunting images of the beast from the kitchen or the figures from the woods were kept at bay. Eventually the two of them managed to slip into a restless sleep with only a few hours until sunrise.

_________________________________________

Y/n was hungry. That much she was certain. 

Anything else? Don’t ask–because she wouldn’t have an answer. 

It was late Saturday morning, an appropriate foggy mist settling over the grounds that occasionally found itself sliced through down the middle by rays of sun that crept through thick layers of harmless cloud. 

Namjoon had prepped the batch of tea they were supposed to use the day prior for this afternoon–where Yoongi had decided that if evenings were going to be so complicated, they might as well try to make use of her mother’s absence by trying out a session while the sun was still up (more or less with today's weather, but the point still stands). Nothing would stop them this time–absolutely nothing. Not when the stakes had risen that much higher after the scene at the guest house. For the only thing Y/n had left to do before Namjoon finished up a few last minute tasks at the green house while Yoongi handled an A/C emergency at the hotel, was to simply find something to eat. Only there was one problem. 

Yoongi was–as explicitly stated–at the hotel; Namjoon was working at the green house for a couple of extra hours that he had hoped to take uninterrupted; and Jungkook was getting in a much needed gym session to work through the remaining tension and stress of the previous night, with the promise to be back as soon as possible. Thus leaving her with no way to satiate her impatient stomach. 

Whatever time Jungkook was to return, wasn’t soon enough. She was starving–no dinner and no breakfast, coupled with a traumatic experience and life altering news? Yeah, she was rolling the dice for whether or not she was about to shoot off into a rocket with the only possible destination being the beginning of a manic episode. Which while great for productivity, would not be great for her physically or spiritually. 

Y/n texted their group chat with her thoughts, feeling more like a toddler than a grown woman for having to ask to eat–but it was better than running into the beast from before or any other demon that would choose to crawl from the cracks and stomp after her. She tried to will the time to pass faster (which never worked, but it was worth a shot) by getting herself dressed and ready in clothes that were easy to move around in, but comfortable. The sound of someone approaching her door had her all but skipping over to open it–her excitement dropping like a vase crashing to the floor and shattering into little pieces at her feet; the same feeling of anger and desolation at the sight of more fucking peonies. 

Y/n huffed, grabbing them from the floor and tossing them carelessly onto her desk with the pile from the day prior and talking out into the empty room and hall, leaving her door open for the mystery culprit to hear. “Alright, this isn’t funny anymore. Whoever is doing this–I got the message, thank you for the flowers but I’m going to run out of space.” 

Nothing. 

Nothing except shoes scuffling on the carpeted stairs and rounding the landing to approach her hall.

Taehyung came shuffling around the corner, a paper bag swinging over his arm that held a cup of coffee up to his lips, his head bent to take in the screen of his phone and keep the straw lodged between his teeth for quick and easy access. 

Freedom, both Y/n and her stomach thought gleefully. 

“Hey!” Y/n waved at him from her doorstep, being sure to keep her feet within her door frame. 

Taehyung perked up at the sound of her voice, his lips releasing his straw to give her an inviting smile. “Morning–or I guess good afternoon.” He chuckled. 

“Morning, what are you up to?” Y/n tried to sound nonchalant like she wasn’t just talking to thin air, and also internally praying to the universe that he hadn’t gotten anything to eat from the cafe and would be open to taking her down to the kitchen for something. 

“Needed some caffeine–had a bit of a rough night of sleep.” He scrunched his nose as he approached his own door, stopping to face her. “You?” 

“Oh–nothing interesting over here. I only just woke up not too long ago myself.” She laughed nervously, moving to prop a foot up against the back of her knee and leaning all of her weight on the doorframe. “Would you perchance want to go grab something to eat together?”  

“Perchance?” Taehyung laughed around his straw, and took another sip to hide the growing smirk. “I would love to, but I did just have a pastry from the cafe so I don’t have that much of an appetite for a big meal.” 

Y/n’s face visibly fell, and her stomach let out a similar cry of its own. “Oh.” 

He bit his lip over a boxy smile, his eyes flickering from her stomach to her disappointed pout. “If you wanted to spend time with me that badly, you could’ve just asked.” 

Y/n’s face grew warm, and she rushed to defend herself. “I didn’t–I mean I want to I just wasn’t trying to–” 

“It’s alright.” Taehyung held the paper bag up for her to see, and gave it a gentle shake. “Luckily for you, I brought extra back for seconds.” He twisted open the door handle to his room and gestured into it with his chin. “Care to join me?” 

Y/n started forward, but paused. If Namjoon wasn’t enough to keep the demon from the basement away, who's to say Taehyung was? But she couldn’t resist the invitation, she was human after all–and her stomach was threatening a coup on both her insides and mental state if their ransom demands weren’t to be met. And after her events from last night , she could feel herself tipping into foolish carelessness from being so close to the safety of her room–she had much better chances here than having to run through the woods in the dark.

“One sec!” Y/n called back to him, rushing back into her room to tuck one of her flashlights into her jogger pockets and her phone in the other. She practically leapt across the hall between their doors to slip into his room, missing the questioning raise of his brow at her antics. He left the door of his room cracked slightly behind him as he entered, and moved to drop the bag of pastries onto his dresser. 

He had kept his room close to the original design she noted: red ornate wallpaper, a dark and heavy solid wooden bed frame that was older than any of the children on the property, but a new mattress lay with a vintage floral comforter in creams, oranges, pinks and reds to match a sizable old painting hung on the back wall that–forget the kids, was older than anyone that was still within the land of the living on the property. The two end rooms sandwiched in the middle of the estate were more narrow than the rest, the shapes reminiscent of what a true house from the 1800’s looked like: narrow and tight fitting with an even smaller bathroom and closet than most of the other available rooms. Why he chose one so small when there were still a handful of bigger ones available, she couldn’t know. 

However if there was one thing she could pinpoint about Taehyung, it’s that everything from his music taste, style, and interests were what she could describe as classic and vintage; so it was no wonder he kept the room mostly the same as it had been when G-min had lived in it before him. The past lived on with Taehyung, and she had to admire his effort to stick to his aesthetic, noting the choices of antique furniture he must’ve dug out from the basement or attic to suit his personal tastes.  

“I grabbed a few extra, so take your pick.” Taehyung tossed his brown coat over a skinny coat rack that had a few nicks in the varnish from age. 

Y/n felt little embarrassment in doing as she was told, poking around the bag at what he had to offer, settling on perching a fruit tart on her palm and looking around for some place to sit. Her eyes landed on the thick wooden chair snuggled up against the wooden desk, and back to Taehyung. 

“Is it okay if I sit there?” 

“Hmm?” He looked back at her over his shoulder and nodded. “Wherever you’d like to sit is fine by me.” Taehyung cocked his head to the side, a playful smirk threatening to erupt on his face only held back by a bite of his lower lip as he moved to say something else but stopped himself–finding it best he didn’t. Y/n shrugged it off, and focused back in on her saving grace, the light in a dark tunnel: food. 

The first bite was well worth the risk of coming over here in her opinion, a small sigh of relief being pulled from her system when the flavor burst across her taste buds, laying a balm over her hyperactive mind. Content with munching on the edges first, she barely registered Taehyung coming up to her side, his loose fitting emerald green sweater brushing over her shoulder as he reached over her side jolting her to notice his close presence. His hands fiddled with a weathered record player that took up the corner of his desk, and dropped the arm carefully down onto the record he had played last, not bothering to put a new one down onto the turntable. 

Y/n’s phone buzzed in tandem with the first blow of the gravelly trumpet from the speakers, a text from Jungkook asking if she could wait twenty more minutes for him to get back and shower. She responded with a simple thumbs up and shoved it back into her pocket, not wanting to come off as rude or disinterested in the man before her who had turned to perch himself on the edge of his bed, their knees practically touching with how close the desk was to his bed. 

“How have you been? I haven’t gotten to see you around as much this week.” Y/n braved the first question, the urge to both genuinely check in on him and to have him be the one talking so she could continue taking bites of her pastry. 

“I should be asking you that question.” Taehyung tilted the top of his cup towards her, but seemed to eye the way she scarfed down the sweet treat and relented his answer first. “I’ve been alright. Worked on some setlists, went into town to help Jimin pick out a nice outfit for this weekend and for a few other things…otherwise I’ve just been here, practicing.” He shrugged, giving her a coy smile. “How’s that pretty head of yours?” 

Y/n choked on the last bite she had just managed to push into her mouth, and beat her chest a few times to help ease it down her throat. “I-It’s fine. Thank you.” She averted her eyes to stare mindlessly at the painting above his bed. 

“Good to hear. Did you go see someone about it?” Taehyung remained passive and friendly, but the question felt intentional if the way he plucked at the paper edge of his lid was anything to go by. 

“I did, my mom ended up taking me. They said everything seemed alright–though I might have to go get imaging and shit done.” Y/n rolled her eyes with a dry chuckle. “Whatever, as long as my mom pays for it.” 

“You don’t think you should?” One of his eyebrows quirked up ever so slightly and he teethed at the edge of his straw. He gestured for the paper back with the two remaining pastries in it with a beckoning hand.  

Y/n shook her head, holding the bag out for him to take. “No–I don’t see the point. There’s never been a reason to go get anything checked.” 

“Until this past weekend, you mean.” Taehyung corrected, and looked up at her from over the edge of the bag, pulling out a chocolate croissant and putting away half of it in one oversized bite. 

“Yeah, until this past weekend.” Y/n scratched at her ear awkwardly at her own slip up, and tilted her head to get lost in the way the vinyl spun, reflecting the light from his window on the grooves. 

Taehyung grunted around his second bite, only a small portion of the flakey pastry left in his fingers. He chewed a few times, and brought his other hand up to wipe away a small dot of chocolate on his nose only to smear it across the surface to make a much more noticeable stain. “That’s a good enough reason in my opinion. You don’t want to fuck around with your head.” 

“I guess so…” Y/n watched him toss the last small piece into his mouth and try to wipe at the chocolate again only to miss it entirely, her eyes unable to look away from the growing spot. 

“You guess so? You went down pretty hard in there.” He scoffed, grabbing a napkin to dab at it yet still somehow missing. 

“Were you there? I hadn’t seen you–” Y/n couldn’t watch him struggle any longer, pulling the napkin from his hand and leaning forwards, “–let me get it please.” She graced one hand along the edge of his jaw to hold his face still while the other rubbed at the spot, swiping it from his face and onto the napkin with a gentle hand. 

She hadn’t realized how close her impulsive action had brought them, their faces only inches apart and her fingers still pressing into the side of his face forcing them closer in proximity. Y/n slowly brought the napkin down between them and hastily let go of his jaw. 

“I’m sorry–I shouldn’t have done that without asking.” Y/n didn’t pull herself away from his entrancing gaze–a contradiction to her words–and neither did he.  

Taehyung licked his lips, his eyes flitting down to look at her mouth and back up to her eyes so quickly Y/n had thought she had missed it. He didn’t lean in any further, but kept them locked in an intimate stare far longer than Y/n would’ve normally found comfortable. But lately she hadn’t felt normal. 

“Would you like to get coffee with me tomorrow morning? At the cafe?” Taehyung's voice was silky, the baritone tone rattling up from his chest and to her ears like sweet molasses. 

Y/n didn’t trust her voice to speak, settling for a few nods in its place.

Lithe, heavy-shoed, steps drew her back from his orbit and Y/n caught a glimpse of red pass by the crack in his door, stopping at her own. 

“Y/n?” Yoongi’s gravelly voice called softly for her, and she heard his heavy work boots stop outside her door.

“Sorry Tae, I have to go–Can I call you Tae? Sorry I’m a mess today.” Y/n scrambled to her feet at the same time that he did, their bodies engaging in an awkward shuffling dance in order to let her roam towards the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow If I don’t get to see you before your show?” 

Taehyung chuckled, his eyes furrowing in humored befuddlement and his cheeks flushed lightly while he tipped his cup in her direction as a goodbye. “Yes you can–and same to you. See you tomorrow.” 

Y/n whisked herself out of his door, praying that he would keep his mouth shut to everyone else  about just who exactly had come looking for her. His door clicked shut behind her and she came up right behind Yoongi, giving him only seconds to adjust to her arrival. 

“Where were you?” He pressed, arms crossing over his chest where he still hovered outside her open door. “You’re lucky I came to look for you first and not the kid.” 

“I was with Taehyung, he had offered me a sweet treat and my poor empty stomach and I simply could not refuse.”  Y/n gave a sheepish shrug of her shoulders, and clasped her hands in front of her in prayer. “Please don’t tell the other two–they’ll kill me for leaving the room before any other ghost will.” 

“Hmmm I don’t know…What’s in it for me to lie?” He looked at her expectantly, a ghost of humor passing over his features. 

“My undying loyalty?” Y/n tried, giving him her best puppy dog eyes. 

“Boring.” Yoongi flicked her forehead, the surface of her skin tingling where they touched. “Try harder.” 

“Ugh.” Y/n brought her hand up to run her fingers along the sore spot. “I’m still recovering technically, that could've set me back you know.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Yoongi scoffed, and started down the hall. “Think of a better argument and I’ll think about keeping your illicit affairs with our neighbor a secret.” 

“It wasn’t like that!” Y/n whined, following him out the door into the hall. “I swear–you always make assumptions about me and anyone I’m alone with that isn’t you.” 

“It’s not an assumption if I can see it written all over you. Psychic remember?” Yoongi tapped his temple, and signaled for her to wait at the end of the hall. “I’ll head down to the dining room first and watch you come down just out of view of the cameras. I’ll be right there, just give it thirty seconds or so.” He pointed down to the foyer, and started in the direction he gestured to. Y/n felt her anxiety prick at the back of her throat, making it feel tight to swallow and the hall suddenly felt wider and far longer than she remembered. She couldn’t help but imagine the demon lurking just out of sight around each corner, and wondered what had gotten into Yoongi to even think about leaving her alone for thirty seconds after last night's escapades. 

The top of Yoongi’s head stayed in view, giving her enough of an anchor to pull herself out of another spiral with the last thing he had said to her coming to the front of her mind. Could he really see how jumbled her feelings had become for her friends? Why did that concept make her feel more nervous than her discussion with Namjoon had? The seconds ticked by to thirty signaling Y/n to start her descent, and his eyes never left her movements as she walked from the landing to the dining room, just out of view of the cameras like he had promised. 

“You still hungry, or did I catch you too late?” Yoongi smirked, obviously picking up on her increased embarrassment from his earlier blunt observation. 

“No, I could definitely still eat something.” Y/n licked her lips, ready to devour the first full meal in sight. 

“What are you in the mood for? We could wait here for lunch, or get something from the Adelaide–even go into town?” Yoongi asked, shifting his eyes from the front door to the kitchen. 

Y/n snorted. “Eat here? Yeah right–Mom may be out of town but she’ll still find out somehow.” She squinted up at him curiously, eyeing his relaxed features. “What’s up with you? You seem much happier than your texts make you seem…”

Yoongi shrugged and licked his lips, quirking a flirtatious brow in her direction. “I get to see you. Isn’t that reason enough? Now make your decision.” 

Y/n scrunched her face and released a few nervous chuckles, taken off guard by Yoongi’s blunt verbal affection but complying either way–swinging her arms back and forth at her sides in thought. Y/n had just landed on her decision to just go with the easiest option, partly because of respecting Yoongi needed to get back to work and partly because it meant having her meal in less time than it would take if they went into town. Visions of the rice bowls from the Adelaide lunch menu came to the forefront of her mind and left just as swiftly when Yoongi grabbed her wrist with urgency, his wide-eyed gaze fixed over her shoulder on something in the foyer.  

“Run.” He hissed, tugging her swiftly from the dining room and through the kitchen doors without even giving her a chance to see just what had garnered such a reaction. Not that she cared to anyways. 

Y/n could barely keep up with his unforgiving speed, hauling her behind him out into the hall, the doors of the ballroom whizzing by in a blur. Y/n stole a frantic glance over her shoulder, but could see nothing with her own eyes. Alternatively, he ears happened to pick up on another set of heavy footsteps pounding after them, the glass panels from the ballroom doors reflecting snippets of something broad and dark hot on their tail. 

Yoongi turned them sharply down the hall to their right hand side, and kicked them forward  to barrel through the entrance of the living room. Whoever was pursuing them didn’t falter, if anything their steps grew more prominent, and more if this world than that of spirits. They weaved in and out of the couches, armchairs, and end tables, and leaped over the stack of brightly colored bean bags that toppled over each other by the backdoor. They blew through it in seconds, and Y/n managed another look over her shoulder as they tumbled out onto the back porch, only a glitching image of a tall masculine frame visible for nothing but half seconds at a time. He blinked rapidly in and out of her vision, none of the flashes suspending in time long enough for her to see any defining features. Y/n cast a nervous glance down at her feet, only covered by socks–there hadn’t been time to grab any shoes and her feet were going to get wet-

“Don’t stop!” Yoongi commanded, jolting Y/n back into motion where she had unknowingly stopped.  

They dashed across the yard, the grass still slippery from the overnight rainfall not enough to slow Yoongi down. They passed by the greenhouse, where a very confused Namjoon peeked out at the two of them from the window he had propped open. He opened his mouth to shout after her, but she hadn’t the time to listen to what any of the words meant let alone respond to them.

Yoongi didn’t let up, dragging her only faster to cross one of the small cobblestone side roads used only for residents and into the tree line–yet the mysterious pursuer didn’t seem to be following them any longer–no footsteps trailing after them. 

“Yoongi–slow down!” Y/n shouted up at him, struggling to catch her own breath. “I don’t see anyone following us!” 

He didn’t let up–if anything he squeezed her hand tighter within his own clammy hand, pulling her deeper into the damp trees and brush. Y/n twisted her wrist, his grip starting to hurt and her hand starting to feel like it was full of static from the lack of blood flow. She barely managed to shimmy it from his grasp and come to a tumbling stop. 

One moment Yoongi’s boots were hitting wet mud and the next they were completely still, sinking into the substrate beneath them and coming to a stop with breakneck speed. His black eyes were piercing through her, urging her forwards. 

“You need to run Y/n, they are coming.” Yoongi tried to grab for her again, but Y/n leapt out of reach–something in his face seemed off, and she couldn’t put her finger on it. 

“Who? Hadwin? The beast? Duane? Who?” Y/n demanded, subconsciously taking a step backwards. 

“I don’t know–you know I can’t see that well. Who cares who it is?” Yoongi spat, his frustration evident in the way the words shot from his lips like daggers. “Now come on–let’s go.” 

Yoongi made a second attempt at reaching for her, but Y/n took several steps away from him, backing away in the direction from which they came. She shook her head slowly, anxiety crawling up her throat making it feel tight. “No.” 

Y/n’s chest rose and fell quickly, and her eyes zeroed in on every part of him–his wildly messy black locks, his deep penetrating dark eyes, the familiar furrow of his brow–everything seemingly normal. She couldn’t understand why every cell in her body told her to do exactly as he said. To run. Just not with him, but away from him. 

“Y/n–Now isn’t the time for bullshit. We need to go, now.” He held fast, his jaw clenching in a clear show of self restraint. 

“To where?” Y/n asked breathlessly. 

Yoongi threw his hands up in exasperation, scoffing. “Does it matter? Anywhere but here!” He closed the distance between the two of them, forcefully grabbing her hand in his. Cold. His hand was cold. 

Before he could tug her forward Y/n grasped at straws for a question he would surely know the answer to, not willing to accept his lackluster roundabout answer. 

“What is your contact name?” Y/n took her hand from him again and swallowed her ragged breaths down, cradling her palm to her chest to warm the frigid temperatures that crept into her skin from his.

“Pardon?” He turned to face her slowly, utter disbelief pulling his brows into his hairline, rage simmering beneath the surface of his eyes. 

“In my phone. What is your contact name?” Y/n snapped back, the unease in her chest engulfing her nervous system into panic mode. 

Yoongi laughed–humorless and empty. There was no small hiccupping squeak in the back of his chest or visible gums creeping in on the edges. He trained his sharp stare on her, not like he was looking at her, but like he was calculating his next answer and her next move. “Is this a trick question?” 

The hair on Y/n’s arms rose in response to the iciness that seeped from every crevice of him, her voice coming out harsh and challenging. “If it’s such a stupid question, it must be easy to answer it.” 

It was at that moment–that terrible, stomach dropping moment–that Y/n saw the facade drop long enough for her to see through it. His lips curled up to show his teeth, pulling his nose into a scrunch like he had tasted something awful. The movement lasted only half a second, but it was something she had never seen him do even in childhood. The unconscious tick did not belong to him, and had slipped through while he thought of his answer. The action was foreign enough to make her arms feel disconnected from her torso as all other space to feel had been smothered by freight. 

“Yoongi. My contact name is Yoongi.” Yoongi’s eyes looked black. Not his deep brown eyes that swallowed all light, compacting each ray into flakes of gold that only appeared to those gifted the chance to be close enough–to those looking at just the right time when passing by him. Those were gone. 

A ray of sun slithered from a break in the gray clouds, shining down through the canopy of trees and scattering golden shapes over the dirt and their skin–only Yoongi’s looked spotted with gray where it touched. There was no lively glow. Y/n couldn’t bear looking at whoever stood in front of her for another second. This trickster, demon, mimic–whatever the hell it was–it wasn't Yoongi.

Y/n cut through the trees to her side, catching the mimic off guard for he had expected her to run back to the house, his long heavy strides starting in the direction they had come before registering her change of direction. Y/n could hear the trees rustling above her yet no birds, her heartbeat pulsing in her ears, and the mimic’s stampeding steps following after her–wearing the sound of Yoongi’s breathing like a costume. It made Y/n sick. 

“Y/n, don’t be scared. It’s me, Yoongi.”  That voice; it scratched from his throat in a whirling mixture of Yoongi and monster–like he had gone M.A.D. “Just slow down.”

Y/n didn’t let his taunting words try to convince her of anything other than the truth, and pumped her legs faster across the uneven terrain. The mimic growled, appearing to be displeased by her lack of response. Y/n could see a part of the winding road that led to the front gates of the estate coming into view like a mirage in the desert, tipping her forward into a frenzy to get out of the uneven woods that clearly had no effect on the creature’s speed. 

“Don’t you love me still? Or have you already left me behind for someone else?” 

Y/n tripped onto the asphalt, catching herself on her tender palm that had just healed from her last encounter and tearing open the freshly formed scars. Y/n gasped at the sting but didn’t stop, lurching to her feet and running straight into the road. 

“Leave me alone! Yoongi would never say that!” Y/n screamed back at the haunting cackles of the mimic, still using a botched version of Yoongi’s voice over its own horrid scrape of vocal chords; like that would make her believe its terrible disguise after all the mistakes that have bled through the cracks during its attempts at camouflage already. 

The creature let out an ear splitting screech of victory–a cross between a yowling cat and a whistling train as it blew from his cheeks–the mimic had made it to the road and was gaining speed. Y/n wouldn’t be able to stay in the lead for long. There would only be one other option–because she was fucking tired of running. 

Y/n stopped, digging her heels into the road and skidding to a stop. The imitation Yoongi collided with her back, sending them both careening forwards and Y/n ducked at the contact; the momentum of his run sending him flying forward over her and onto the misty road below them. The blow did little to deter him, for he was able to spring up from his jumbled heap into a crouch at inhuman speed. 

“You can’t run from me–I am not of the living.” The mimic swung his fist in a spinning arc towards Y/n, and she dodged the movement just in time for him to throw another–this time landing the blow successfully into her stomach. 

Y/n bent forward from the force, the wind pulled from her lungs as her morning pastry threatened to make an unwelcomed reappearance. She hissed through clenched teeth, flames of wrath licking at her insides and pulling her upright by the sheer magnitude of its power. She was tired of being a punching bag. 

“Enough with all of you!” Y/n didn’t think–she just acted. She’d have to apologize to Jungkook later for her slip of mental control; because her fist collided with the side of the mimic's gray version of Yoongi’s face.

White hot pain seared through the bones of her hand, but she didn’t care. Not when she saw the image of Yoongi flicker, a glimpse of someone taller curling down in on itself to hunch to Yoongi’s height. 

“Sorry Yoongi.” Y/n hissed through her teeth, grabbing the ghosts shoulders and shoving him down to bring his face to meet her kneecap, extending her leg outwards to give him a kick in the chest for good measure. 

The mimic sprawled back onto the asphalt, shock exploding with bursts of black blood across his face. The surprise didn’t last long, his slackened jaw closing to beam up at her with an excited grin that pushed more black fluid from the corners of his mouth. 

“You are a lot more fun than I thought you’d be.” He cloaked his own voice with Yoongi’s eliciting more fury to pool in Y/n’s belly with each stolen syllable. 

“And you are all annoying.” Y/n readied herself for the mimic’s next move, planting her cold feet on the road while the creature pulled itself to its feet, giggling all the while like they were two children playing on the lawn. 

“Funny–because we all say the same of you lot. Sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.” The mimic barreled towards her, dodging all of her hits with animalistic reflexes and trapping her arms at her side with an iron grip. He used his own forehead to smash into the back of her head, achieving his intended goal of disorienting her enough to push her down to the ground. 

The blow did no real lasting damage to him, the blood streaming from his nose black and thick as bothersome to him as a buzzing gnat, and he treated it with just as much disinterest when he wiped it onto his pants with the back of his hand. 

“You know, we tried to make this easy on you.” He straddled her back, one knee planted on either side of her torso. “We sent people who were much nicer than you deserved.” slotted his hands through the roots of her hair and dug into her skull, tugging her head sharply back at an angle to grab her chin with the other, leaning down to spit into her ear. “But now we need to play dirty–you’ve proven yourself quite the bug.” He summed, feigning a pensive moment of consideration as he wrenched her head from side to the other. “I’ll show you a bit of mercy by offering you a choice: Would you prefer to be smashed into the pavement or would a quick snap of the neck please you?” 

“Is that a trick question?” Y/n mumbled up at him, mocking the mimic’s previous choice of words. The distant sound of a rumbling engine made Y/n’s ears perk up, though she tried not to let the hop show across her features. She could practically hear the spirit roll its eyes at her response, and felt a thick liquid pool onto her shoulders and down her front where it gushed from his face. 

“Then I will make the choice for you.” He sighed, readying his arms to coil around her throat to hold her still. 

The car was coming closer–and rapidly. Y/n held her breath and just hoped it would be quick enough. 

“Now hold still. Unless you want me to have to do this twice.” He sibilated, bringing one leg up to steady his foot against the road, giving him the extra push he would need to make quick work of her neck. 

The car screeched to a halt behind them, and she heard Namjoon shouting her name, and over volant footsteps against the cobblestone. The creature above her snarled and constricted his elbow against her windpipe, the sensation all too familiar for Y/n’s liking. 

“Oh look, an audience. I always loved the chance to put on a good performance. It’s my specialty after all!” he howled with laughter as the steps grew closer. “He thinks he can stop me, but we all know he is much too we-” 

The creature's words were cut short, his weight was removed from torso and his arms wrenched from her neck. Y/n looked up as she gasped for breath, her forehead just missing a collision with the pavement in time to see them mimic eating his own words: Jungkook had him gripped by the collar of Yoongi’s work uniform, and pushed flat onto the pavement, raining down punches onto his face with sickening crunches. Namjoon skidded to halt, falling to his knees next to her, helping to guide her into a sitting position. 

“So much for having those few uneventful hours to ourselves, am I right?” Namjoon panted out, his large hand coming to rest against the back of her head, and coming back coated in black goop. 

“With us? Never.” Y/n shot back, equally as out of breath. 

Their attention was forcefully stolen by Jungkook’s wrestling match with the demo coming to pause, the pummeling sounds ceasing to exist. Any final waves of the creature’s laughter were silenced by Jungkook's fists, their pummeling force only stopping to hoist the mimic’s face up to his own, speaking to him through gritted teeth.

“Who. Are. You.” Jungkook grunted out through heaving breaths, shaking the creatures shoulders for good measure. “I command you to tell me.” 

The creature gargled out a few more snickers, though his confidence had faltered to a lesser degree of prominence than it had been moments before. “I’m your friend! See?” The creature’s eyes then widened into pure panic, pupils blown and his hands coming up to claw at Jungkook’s fingers, his voice and mannerisms a perfect imitation of Yoongi. 

“Please! Jungkook stop! It’s me–Yoongi!” He gasped out, spitting some of the blood onto the pavement next to him. “You’re going to kill me!” 

Jungkook hesitated, his grip tightening its hold in the cloth of his red jumpsuit and his jaw clenching. Jungkook shook his head, and pushed the figure down. “No.” 

The creature immediately dropped the act, finding it ineffective. “Fine. How about this one?” 

Y/n watched, unable to look away as Yoongi’s face melted–dripping away onto the pavement like hot wax, and disappearing with flourishes of steam. In its place, (s/c) flesh took its spot, and their eyes rolled back into terrified versions of her own. It was like looking in a mirror, only this mirror coated her reflection in black ectoplasm, and had a mind of its own. 

“Holy shit.” Namjoon swore next to her, vocalizing her internal sentiments. 

“Jungkook!” They used her own voice, the sound grating to Y/n’s ears and making her flush with how desperate the creature made her sound. 

“I should’ve trusted my mom–You’re hurting me just like she said you would!” The mimic used hands identical to her own to grapple for Jungkook’s looming face. “I’ll love you if you let me go. Please–I’ll do anything just let me go!” 

Jungkook was frozen in place, one fist suspended in mid air to take his next blow. Y/n wanted to scream at the creature for being so insufferable–for making moves so criminal she was genuinely worried Jungkook might lose. 

“Don’t listen to them!” Y/n shouted at him, one weak fist coming up into the air. “Kick their ass!” 

“No! Jungkook don-” 

Jungkook lifted the creature by the shoulders and slammed them back into the ground, the image of her face glitching out of view, replaced by flashes of a dark figure in between each flicker. All of their protests were knocked from their mouth, for Jungkook was ruthless; his fingers digging into the skin of the creatures shoulders, and sinking into the surface like it was softened butter. The flesh spiraled between the gaps of his fingers as he grunted, pushing them deeper into the creature in search of something solid to grip onto. 

Raw terror surged through the mimic’s face–not the imitation of hers or Yoongi’s–their own unadulterated fear as the realization of their impending defeat had set in. 

“You can’t! You are weak!” They tried to use Y/n’s voice, but could not seem to find the sound of it anymore, the raspy wheeze of a demon coming through. 

Jungkook’s fingers seemed to find what they were looking for, his forearms flexing with the strength it took to hoist it to the surface. The flesh of the mimic burst into a spray of black liquid, showering down upon his skin and his hair, staining his clothes; the fallout splattering over Y/n and Namjoon who were wholly unprepared for the explosion–their faces and arms coated in the substance. 

The dark shadow of a man was all that was left in Jungkook’s hold, their legs flailing in their frantic scrabble to free themselves from his hold. 

“Who are you?” Jungkook’s demand was unyielding, coercing the figure to let out a shout of defiance–but they could not stop the answer from displaying itself in front of their eyes. 

As if coerced by Jungkook’s command, the shadows melted away into swirling mist, scattering into the ground like frightful animals. In their wake, a fully visible man was left behind for all to see: tall and lanky, yes sunken in and black–gone like all of the other M.A.D ghosts on the property. His jaw was squared and strong, wider than the average man’s, and his mouth was black and decayed, his lips split directly down the center as if sliced vertically with a knife. 

Their throat contracted repeatedly, sounds trying to make themselves useful from his lips but found no proper order. That was until Jungkook asked again, lifting him closer to his face so they couldn’t avoid his prodding, all consuming eyes. 

“Tell me now. I won’t ask again.” 

“Cl-” The spirit started, unable to win the fight against Jungkook’s control. “Clay.” 

Y/n sat ramrod straight against Namjoon, the name ringing a bell of familiarity–but not finding a clear image of the name. 

“Clay.” Jungkook repeated, the name sounding more like a curse from his lips than anything honorable. 

Clay nodded vigorously, as if doing so would save him from his wrath. “Yes. Now have mercy on my soul, reaper. I have done no wrong.” 

Jungkook swallowed, his head tilting to the side in a taunting jerk. “Nothing wrong?” He cast his eyes in Y/n’s direction, taking in the damage Clay had done. Clay’s own gaze finding her gave her the privilege of watching the light of hope drain from his expression like a squashed bug. 

Jungkook shifted his weight back so he could lift Clay a few extra inches off the pavement, coiling his muscles up for his final blow. 

“Go to hell.”

Jungkook slammed the man into the ground, and Y/n felt the rumble of it within her, but not against her skin–the rumble was not of this world. The man shrieked with misery as his body crumbled into dust within Jungkook’s hands, the particles falling to the road and disappearing beneath the surface. 

_________________________________________

_________________________________________

“Du solltest seine Verantwortung nicht übernehmen, Bär.” : You shouldn’t take on his responsibilities, Bear. 

“Ich bin sein Bruder. Was ihn beunruhigt, ist auch meine Sorge.”: I’m his brother. What worries him is also my concern. 

“Und es hat nichts mit Patti zu tun?”: And it has nothing to do with Patti? 

Bärchen: Little Bear (term of endearment for children). 

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taglist: @rkive-joonie @kokoandkookie

[l0singsdogs]

a little of shameless promo (like almost every saturday).

i feel so close to you right now. language: english words: 7,104. chapters: 1/1. dickkory.

Their love was written in the stars. Maybe Dick Grayson and Kory Anders weren’t together anymore. Maybe their relationship was just a memory now—unforgettable, but in the past. But when one night of celebration changes everything, they’ll realize that destiny had always tied them together. That no matter what, they were never truly apart. Because that night, Dick Grayson had never felt closer to Kory Anders. He couldn’t control his heart, let alone his emotions, when he held her in his arms again. And a few months later, when a surprise entered their lives, there was no denying it—fate wasn’t done with them yet. (A story about how Mar’i Grayson came to be—the doubts, the emotions, and most of all, how they learn to survive this new chapter in their lives.)

domestic meeting. batfam. gen. language: english words: 4,053. chapters: 1/1.

Bruce Wayne has always been a reserved man—or at least as reserved as he can be, especially with the press constantly on his heels. But when it comes to Batman, he is even more elusive, operating from the shadows. The moments when he reveals himself to his allies—his family—are rare, but when they do happen, they are nothing short of remarkable. Still, seeing Batman as a father, or even in a more mundane light, is a sight few have the privilege to witness. Perhaps this is one of those moments. Or maybe, during an online meeting, the Justice League gets an unexpected glimpse—not just of Batman as a father, but of his vigilantes as siblings. A side of them the world rarely ever sees.

good older brother. dickkory. language: english words: 3,719. chapters: 1/1.

Dick Grayson always liked the idea of being an older brother, but the downsides of it were something no one ever told him about. Or simply, a moment where Dick Grayson tries to have a date with Kory Anders without his younger brothers bothering him — and, of course, he clearly loses that battle. Or just a scene of Dick acting like the older brother while also trying to have a date with Kory at the same time.

tears in heaven.  gen. language: english words: 4,010. chapters: 1/1.

There was a time when Bruce Wayne had been a fun father. He used to take Jason and Dick to baseball games, go trick-or-treating with them, and just be the kind of dad most kids could only dream of. But after what happened to Jason, that version of him slowly faded, slipping further into the shadows. Or perhaps it’s just Damian and Tim, watching old photographs and videos of a father they never truly got to know. Maybe, deep down, they both wish they had the chance to meet Bruce Wayne—the one who hadn’t yet been consumed by grief and darkness.

haunted by the past.  jason & damian. language: english words: 2,236 chapters: 1/1.

Damian Wayne knows that he has brothers and a sister at the end of the day. He knows his family is complicated, that his father has his issues, and that it's not the typical kind of family he sees elsewhere—but he understands that too. But he also knows the mansion hides secrets, that the rooms feel haunted and heavy with history. And yet, there is one room he rarely enters, almost as if it’s forbidden. Still, Damian Wayne is a teenager, and curiosity often runs in their blood. (Or simply—a quiet moment of Damian visiting the room of his not-quite-dead brother, Jason Todd. Seeing, perhaps for the first time, how often his father still lives in the pain of the past.)

time in a bottle. selina kyle / bruce wayne. jason & bruce. bruce & dick. cassandra & bruce. language: english words: 6,829 chapters: 1/1

Bruce Wayne has children, but he never got to hold them in his arms as babies. He never saw them grow from infancy, never spoiled them in his own subtle way. He didn’t get to sing them lullabies or teach them from the moment they opened their eyes to the world. Damian came into his life at eight years old, Dick Grayson and Jason Todd arrived already knowing the harshness of life, Tim Drake showed up when the situation demanded it, and Cassandra Cain appeared when it was necessary. But when Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, and Cassandra Cain are magically turned into toddlers — for a fleeting moment — Bruce Wayne allows himself to dream. Even if time is short, even if reality will soon crash down on him, he holds his children in his arms, if only for a little while.

one quiet day a year. dick & jason / jason & bruce. batfam. language: english words: 2,781 chapters: 1/1

Jason Todd is twenty-six when he finally receives the gift of his sixteenth birthday. It took Bruce Wayne ten years to give it to him— a gift he always wanted to give one of his children—a moment shared between father and son, and also within the family.

LONGER FICS.

knightfall eternal. gen. jason & dick. jason & bruce. dick & bruce. language: english words: 18,335 Chapters: 5/?

When Red Hood and Nightwing are sent on a mission to take down a new metahuman in Gotham City, they never expected to fall into another universe—one much darker, where the night has always ruled. It's a Gotham where the Dark Knight is more vengeful. A city where the light never seems to reign. Or simply a world where Jason Todd and Dick Grayson find themselves in a universe where Batman truly works alone. Where the Batfamily never existed. And maybe, just maybe, where Batman is far more terrifying than they ever thought possible. There was no life left in him. No humanity. Or a universe where Batman truly works alone. Where the Batfamily never existed. There was never a Robin. Batman lets himself be consumed by his inner beasts.

when the masks fell. timkon. dickkory. stephcass. batcat. language: english words: 32,642 Chapters: 6/?

A world where there were no aliens, no metahumans, and no second chances at life. Where the Justice League didn’t exist, and heroes were nothing more than characters in movies. Where the Joker was just a playing card, and Batman was nothing more than a clever turn of phrase. Gotham was just another city. The police did their best to keep the streets safe. A world without heroes. Without vigilantes. It's a normal world. Or maybe the Batfamily had fallen into another universe—one where vigilantes, powers, and mutants were never real, where there were no secret identities, only family, goals, and dreams. Or perhaps, for just a fleeting moment, Bruce Wayne could dream of a normal life.

[siobhanhazel]

Shivvy's favs of HP Secret Santa Rare Pairs

In December I participated in HP Secret Santa Rare Pairs 2024! 

I read a lot (but not all) of the fics, and I would like to highlight my favourites 💕

As of Jan 8th, I have read about 103 fics out of the approx 129 of the creative writing category works! The remaining fics I either skimmed and decided they weren’t my cuppa or I still have them on my to-read list.

Again, this is completely just subjective and to my own particular tastes (which lean very heavily towards queer content). All of the writing and other creations were amazing contributions to different corners of the fandom and I know we all did our best to create amazing gifts for our giftees! Reminder: I don’t wish to receive any comments that fall out of the range of the three basic fandom courtesies: YKINMKBYKIO - Your Kink Is Not My Kink, But Your Kink Is Ok  || SALS Ship And Let Ship  || DL;DR - Don’t Like; Don’t Read

Yah so - if you don’t like, don’t read, n' don’t reply anything negative at me. Thank you! 💕 * But if you notice some info or link errors please let me know (tired eyes). 💛  = my brief squee/comments

Gifts I Received

Thank you so much to my gift writers! I included so many ship requests and was so happy to see I got Severus twice kekeke. 🎁 Fragile Bonds by @picklesonjupiter / picklesonsaturday 💕 Sirius/Severus  || T || 309 words Sirius seeks healing from Snape, but their complicated history and growing feelings make the process more challenging. 💛 I love Severus’ hands… I love Severus being adept at using his hands… I love Severus being adept at using his hands on another man…! On Sirius! LOVE. 🎁 No Need to Hide Under These Friday Night Lights by @maraudersaffair / maraudersaffair 💕 James/Severus   || E || 5,096 words James Potter is the most popular boy in school. He's even the star quarterback on the football team. And for some strange reason, he won't stop staring at Severus Snape. 💛 I swooned when I realised I’d get non-magical High School AU Princechaser!! It is so sweet and so smutty, I love it!

Fics I Went Feral For (reverse alphabetical by pairing)

🎁 the gift that keeps on giving by @the-invisibility-bloke / the_invisibility_bloke 💕 Teddy/Draco/Harry || E || 12,993 words There’s only one thing Teddy wants for Christmas: to lose his virginity. 💛 I went feral for this fic and am now obsessed with Tedrarry - the wit, the pacing, the pining, the smut…! All the comments for this are rave reviews, please read it and other fics by the author! (they write a lot of Sirry and other pairs too)

🎁 Hold onto this lullaby (even when the music's gone) by @knotsnuffles / objectlesson 💕 Sirius/Harry || E || 8,345 words The truth is, Harry doesn’t just want Sirius buying him fine robes and dressing him in them—in his heart of hearts, he wants Sirius to take him out of these robes, too. 💛 Another unstoppably fantastic Sirry fic by objectlesson! Mind the tags and if it’s your jam, curl up for fluff/smut and Sirius taking care of Harry.

🎁 speeding through red lights (into paradise) by @the-invisibility-bloke / the_invisibility_bloke 💕 Sirius/Harry || E || 9,975 words Just before fifth year, true to form, Harry does something very brave and very foolish. 💛 This turns the dial for ‘Harry Pining for Sirius’ up to max Brilliant prose by the author, highly recommend if the tags make it seem like your thing.

🎁 Pink Aster - Days Gone By by @trueliarose / Trueliarose 💕 Severus/Charlie || E || 45,664 words Fire melts ice, or so they say. Severus just hadn't thought that that applied to the ice in one's soul as well. Or, When Charlie Weasley came to Hogwarts to accompany the dragons for the triwizard turnament, he met Severus Snape. But can a short affair turn into a lovestory? 💛 This long fic has my whole heart! Severus is written wonderfully, the sex is spot on, and the atmosphere and Charlie’s care is just chef’s kiss! It spans canon and my heart aches along with Severus and Charlie as they fall in love amidst the war.

🎁 Rematch by p0intless_p0et 💕 Pansy/Ginny || T || 2,239 words In a cold, dark Hogwarts, ruled by fear and suspicion, Pansy Parkinson and Ginny Weasley find an unlikely spark on a makeshift Quidditch Field, and, much to everyone's amusement, only one of them can play Quidditch. 💛 The characterisation is just perfect, the atmosphere of Book 7 Hogwarts is stunning, and I thoroughly enjoyed this and reread it already, perfect Ginsy rivalry.  

🎁 Teacups & Tankards by @schmem14 / Schmem_14 💕 Madam Puddifoot/Madam Rosmerta || M || 9,589 words Bea and Ros are best friends who learn love and trust as they suffer loss and heartbreak during the Second Wizarding War. 💛 AAAH ITS SO SWEET AND EMOTIONAL and they are perfect for each other, please, come meet these sweet ladies with their slow romance kicking off during the hardships of war. It’s infused with so much heart and sexiness, I cannot recommend this enough! 

🎁 Rotten Roots by p0intless_p0et 💕 Neville/Draco || G || 2,335 words Draco Malfoy has everything he needs to complete Snape's potions work, everything but the ingredients. Neville is the Herbology professor at Hogwarts, he'll give Draco what he needs, at a price. 💛 Draco laced with guilt, and Neville's gentle hand guiding him close, showing Draco he knows him, and can be there for him. It’s suuuch a brilliant set up for a Dreville, it makes your heart ache for Draco, and Neville is so solid and steady and supportive!

🎁 Carry A Piece Of Me by @skywatcherrose / sky_watcher_rose 💕 Narcissa/Minerva || M || 3,471 words In the aftermath of a lost war, Narcissa and Minerva are just doing their best to survive - and perhaps take a little pleasure along the way. 💛 These two women, loving each other and holding strong as part of the feeble underground resistance… I love the tenderness of their intimacy during the darkness of war. Amazing portrait of these women!

🎁 A Tale of Two Tonks Women by @midnightstargazer / MidnightStargazer 💕 Andromeda & Nymphadora || T || 3,632 words Throughout her life, Tonks defies her mother’s expectations. Andromeda couldn't be prouder of her. 💛 I felt like I never understood Andromeda until this character study piece which is all about Tonks and her mother’s relationship. Very worth the read, thought provoking!

Fics I Want to Highlight  (reverse alphabetical by pairing)

🎁 Brightest Witch and Brightest Star by @jinrosemoon / JinRoseMoon 💕 Sirius/Hermione || M || 511 words

🎁 The Tabby Teapot by @celestemagnoliathewriter / CelesteMagnolia 💕 Seamus/Dean & Minerva/Poppy || T || 8,768 words  

🎁 Good Together by @anaxandria-writes / Anaxandria 💕 Neville/Theo || T || 800 words  

🎁 The Heat of the Moment by @schmem14 / Schmem_14 💕 Marcus/Percy || E ||  8,638 words  

🎁 Live for Today by  @schmem14 / Schmem_14 💕 Marcus/Oliver || M || 2,273 

🎁 Ron Weasley: GILF Hunter by @alyceofthetogas / AlyceoftheTogas 💕 Madam Puddifoot/Ron || E || 2,456 words

🎁 Look What We Found by @daydreamingfoxglove / DayDreamingFoxglove 💕 Luna/Pansy || T || 3,048 words  

🎁 Just Warming Up by briarandbone 💕 Hermione/Pansy || M ||  2,102 words

🎁 Prodigal Daughters by @chemicalwildflowers / QueenOfStormySkies 💕 Hermione/Andromeda || T || 3,952 words

🎁 In the Bleak Midwinter by @apricitydays-lazynights / Apricitydays 💕 Cho/Ginny || G || 2,340 words

🎁 The Beginning of the End by @mymindisverycomplicated / mymindisverycomplicated 💕 Cho/Dudley || T ||  27,265 words  

🎁 Frostbitten by @mrsprobie / mrsprobie 💕 Astoria/Luna || G || 346 words

🎁 Family Is What You Make It by sky_watcher_rose 💕 Arabella/Minerva || T || 5,366 words

🎁 Gurbaith-Feuer by @mitsuki91 / MitsukiSirya 💕 Albus/Tom || E ||  15,395 words

Gifts I Made

🎁 Copper and Blond Catharsis by SiobhanHazel 💕 Draco/Ron || E || 16,642 words Post-war, mild angst, porn with plot, fluff and smut etc 💛 For suniwrites - I had a great time writing something a lil dark and sweet! 

🎁 [Art] Hug Him Back by SiobhanHazel 💕 Sirius/Severus || G || 💛 For Julesss - It was so fun to exercise my drawing skills with a cute Snack pic!  

A Few Fav Non-Fic Entries

There were sooo many amazing art and other crafts etc! I didn't have a serious chance to look through them all again, but the ones that came to my mind as amazing are:

🎁 [game] What's that ship? by @lumosatnight / lumosatnight 🎁 [Art] So… Thank You by @sillylittlebeans / sillybeans 💕Harry/Bill || G ||  🎁[Sculpture ] Lazy Sunday by @elisedonut / elisedonut 💕Percy/Oliver || G || 🎁[Comic] Kiss Me if You Can by sillybeans 💕Cedric/Harry || G ||  🎁[Craft] Meet Me Outside by @sugareey-makes-stuff / sugareey 💕Marcus/Oliver || G || 

There were so many other amazing things (esp art!) but alas I have run out of steam! That’s all, it was an amazing batch of fics, I was so happy to participate and read! Kudos to everyone!

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

I do not know if you did already answered this,but how Saint Just dealed with his execution? We know about his last words? I did readed a time ago that he dealt with it with determination,unbrekeable composture in his way to the guillotine.

I have not found much in regards to Saint-Just’s behavior on the way to the guillotine. Out of all the newspapers describing the robespierrist execution in the days after it happened, only one — Suite de Journal de Perlet — really brings up Saint-Just at all, and this only by mentioning he sat in the same tumbril as former mayor of Paris Jean-Baptiste Edmond Fleuriot-Lescot. Besides that, I’ve also found the following descriptions, the first one from Biographie nouvelle des contemporains (1827) volume 18, by playwright Antoine Vincent Arnault, the second one from Historie complète de la Révolution française (1834) volume 5 by former Convention deputy Pierre-François Tissot:

[Saint-Just] marched to the execution with calm and firmness, casting his gaze disdainfully over the immense crowd which served as his escort, and seeming entirely insensitive to the vociferations of the multitude, as well as to the insults heaped upon him by some men who, a few days before, were his accomplices or the servile instruments of his crimes. When his guilty head fell on the scaffold, which he himself had so long watered with innocent blood, Saint-Just was still only 26 and a half years old.

Saint-Just, whom Robespierre draggad with him in his downfall, died with his full constance. None of the outlaws showed weakness.

Both of these are of course written way after the fact, and it’s not at all established if the authors were themselves present for the execution, had spoken to someone who was or are straight up just making things up. As far as I know, there is however nothing that goes against the possibility of Arnault and Tissot having themselves witnessed the execution, so there is still a chance of these being their own observations.