#trying not to over-edit before my chapter uploads but I get anxious about something I wrote last September

[gremlinshatephilosophers]

Luckily I did get in about 1k of writing in this morning for a certain chapter after doing some additional research (there’s more research and writing to be done bc it’ll be on the longer side I think but the non-research part and all the real plot points and all the other chapters are finished.) Also after my upload-induced gender crisis I did a little editing on the Other fic for Reasons that I shall not spoil until it’s posted

[dvp95]

quiet on widow’s peak (15)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, mystery, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.2k (this chapter), 49.6k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

"So," Phil starts, and then pauses. He has no real idea how to say this.

His parents wait patiently for him to gather his thoughts and his mum mutes the telly. Having their undivided attention doesn't really help, it just makes Phil sweat a bit. He can't even bring himself to sit down, too wired with anxious energy as he is.

The video has only been live for a day, but it's already one of Phil's most popular. People are clamoring in the comments for more; demands for proof and simple curiosity about what could explain his experiences. He's already had a call from Martyn about the benefits of going back and doing an update, but PJ and Sophie have put their two cents in as 'absolutely not'. Chris offered a don't care and then asked for Phil's mum's lasagna recipe.

Phil wants to stay. It's not so much about the mystery, for him, but he's pretty sure his friends and maybe even his brother already know that. He's got his own reasons for not buying a train ticket the moment the video went live and asking his divisive audience what they wanted him to do. Yeah, he'd been sort of hoping for this outcome.

He's not sure if he wants to stay for himself, for the stagnation that being here allows him, or if he wants to stay for deep dimples and a nice laugh. Probably a bit of column A and a bit of column B, if he's honest with himself.

"I uploaded the video on this case," Phil tells his parents. "And there were a lot of, um, unanswered questions. Because of that whole thing with the footage."

"Phil," his dad says, exasperation in his voice already.

"And that means more money from one case," Phil presses on, "because I don't have many expenses here and the ad revenue was really good in comparison to my last five videos. Martyn really thinks I should look into this some more. I promise I won't be here for months or anything, I just - just give me another week. Please, I just need a week."

Money talk usually gets his parents to back down a bit, but they exchange a long look between them that convinces Phil it isn't going to work this time. His mind is already whirring quickly, trying to settle on arguments that it thinks might win him this battle. He considers telling them that this is more than just a video to him, that his whole future feels like it's resting on this one mystery, but he has a suspicion that they wouldn't be very impressed with that lack of foresight. He's ready to bring out specific numbers when their silent communication breaks and his mum gives him a small smile.

"Phil," she says, echoing his dad with a bit more warmth and a lot more pity. "You know we need to talk about this, dear, why don't you sit down?"

He shakes his head and shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets so they don't see the trembling. He's not scared, he's just anxious, and his brain and body are conspiring to make him feel like he's going to die if something unexpected happens.

Phil doesn't like change. He doesn't like seeing his childhood house like this, he doesn't like having his career up in the air, and he doesn't like the way his parents no longer trust him to do what's best for himself. The worst part is that he's not even sure they're wrong - Phil knows he isn't thinking logically right now, that Martyn is the one who even mentioned ad revenue while Phil was busy wondering how best to prove himself.

"I'm good," says Phil. He hopes that the nerves aren't as palpable as they feel to him.

"Okay, well," his mum says, briskly rearranging things on the coffee table like she has to be doing something with her hands while they talk about this. He's reminded a bit of Dan in the coffee shop, of Chris in the attic, and he wonders what it is about him that makes people need to split their focus like that. "Your dad and I have been talking."

"About how I need to grow up?" Phil offers, heart in his throat. It feels like he might laugh or cry at any moment. "Yeah. I've noticed."

"We're retiring, Phil," his dad says. That's not exactly news to Phil - he knows why they're selling the house, after all - but he bites his tongue and lets his dad speak. "We've understood the... unstable nature of your work for several years now, but we can't keep bailing you out whenever you have a bad month. You're a smart man and you've got a good degree, you should have something steadier under your belt."

"We love how creative you are," Phil's mum chimes in. It almost sounds like they've practiced this. Phil bites down harder. "And if you can channel that creativity in a way that isn't so dangerous, you'll have our full support."

Phil kind of wishes that he already had their full support, but he's already had this conversation with himself. The work isn't fun for him anymore, and the risk of getting arrested for trespassing isn't a low one. It's almost not worth it when he doesn't have that full-blown excitement about a case.

He doesn't need every haunt to have a nice ending wrapped up with a bow, but he does need to like the content he's producing. Otherwise there isn't any point to it.

Still. It sucks to hear.

Phil deflates a little bit. His automatic defensiveness that springs up whenever his parents start questioning his many bad decisions in life is fading to something that feels like bone-deep exhaustion. The anxiety is still there, thrumming under his skin, but there's nothing he can really do about that. The truth is that he's been feeling listless and defeated and trapped for a lot longer than he's been back in his parents' house. There's no real point in pretending otherwise.

"Give me a week," he repeats, quiet. "I want to finish this project either way, y'know? Just let me stay for the rest of this week and - and if it doesn't pan out, if I don't find anything new, then... then I'm done. I'll stop. I'll find something else."

"Are you sure, sweetheart?" his mum asks. The relief that pulls at her shoulders and her pursed lips is enough for Phil to be sure.

"Yeah," says Phil. He gives them a little shrug. "I'm comfortable with what I'm doing. I like making videos and exploring places with cool stories, and even talking to people has been getting better. But you're... you've got a point. I can't keep doing this forever. Not at the pace and quality I like to maintain. If this video goes well, it might help me break into a more diverse and less dangerous niche, which would make everyone happy, I think."

His dad nods at him. "Okay. You can stay until Sunday, because that's when we're going to the Isle. You can do whatever editing and post-production stuff you need to when you get back to Brighton. We'll expect a call when you know for sure what you're going to do, Phil."

Phil swallows, clenches his fists tighter in his pockets. "You'll be the first to know."

--

Nobody asks Phil to leave, but he can't stay in the aggressively neutral version of his parents' house and field their 'casual' questions about what sort of things he might want to do if YouTube doesn't work. He escapes to the city again, sending a message to Dan on the bus. Instead of asking if they want to hang out with him, he simply asks where he can meet them today. As if it's a given that they're going to be spending time together.

Maybe that's presumptuous of him, but Dan uses an exclamation mark when they reply, im at home!, so Phil thinks it's probably fine.

Dan meets him at the door this time, mid-ramble about the broken dishwasher in their flat as if social niceties are no longer expected of them. That suits Phil. He grins back at Dan and joins them in the small but tidy galley kitchen, letting Dan talk his ear off while they scrub at some discoloured Tupperware.

"Sorry," Dan interrupts themself, turning big and apologetic eyes on Phil like they've just registered that he's standing there. "I'm having a weird brain day. Bit all over the place, you know."

"That's fine," Phil says honestly. He smiles, because Dan doesn't look all that convinced by it. "No, really, I don't mind. I like listening to you talk."

The blush spreads across Dan's face too quickly for them to hide by turning away. They try, anyway, and Phil is left looking at their face in profile, turned down and rosy as it is. "Normally I at least break for breath. What's new with you?"

"Since two days ago?" Phil teases. Dan's dimple makes an appearance right before the smile splits their face, and Phil has to twist his own fingers together so he doesn't reach out and poke at it. He's still working through some stuff, still doesn't want to make any decisions about this without thinking it over carefully, but he's never been good at resisting temptation either. "Uh, not much. My parents are still on my case. I'm getting good feedback on the video, but you probably know that already."

"It was a good video," says Dan. They pause as they dry their big hands on an old tea towel. "I... appreciate you saying that stuff about me."

"I didn't say anything that wasn't true."

Dan meets his eyes again, almost stubbornly ignoring the colour in their own cheeks. "I can appreciate things that you think are true, dingus. Take the gratitude already."

Phil grins. "Never."

--

There are snacks after that and some video games that Phil loses spectacularly and some good ferret snuggles. As the afternoon turns to evening, Phil watches Dan rearrange some titles on the bookshelf as they chatter about one of their science-y classes, no longer self conscious about how much they're talking. He's sitting on Dan's soft, unmade bed with Pixel, who keeps rolling around in the sheets like she's trying to get comfortable.

Phil is already comfortable. It's hard for him to ignore that Dan's bedroom feels so much like a safe haven in the way that his old house no longer does.

At some point Dan gives up on whatever system they were trying to implement. They pick Tofu up off the floor and flop onto the bed with Phil, wiggling around in almost the exact same way Pixel had. Phil presses his lips together tightly so he doesn't laugh.

"I think that things can be improved," Dan is saying, and Phil tries to figure out if they're still talking about the environment or if Dan has picked up the loose thread from their earlier rant about Bethesda. Pixel and Tofu are both running around like Dan and Phil are just bony jungle gyms, and Dan barely even stutters when one of them steps on their nose. "Of course they can be improved, it's not something you just give up on when things get tough, but the problem is that the people in charge have to implement the changes that are necessary for improvement, and - ow, that's my ear, don't bite that - and, uh... where was I?"

"You were telling me about climate change," says Phil. "Or potentially Todd Howard's ambivalence towards a quote-unquote 'perfect game'. I honestly lost track."

For a moment, Dan is quiet. Phil's anxiety rears its head for the first time since he got here, but luckily he hasn't stuck his foot in his mouth this time - Dan starts laughing, more or less cackling, and they roll closer to Phil to bury their face in a pillow.

Phil grins and reaches out to tug at one of Dan's curls, fascinated by the way it just springs back into place. He's done this to PJ once or twice or six times, but he's usually had a couple drinks before he resorts to it. Dan comes out of hiding with tears of laughter welling up in their pretty brown eyes and their dimples in full force, grinning up at Phil like he's the funniest person in the world.

"Those are both really important issues," Dan says, trying their best to sound deadpan when they're so obviously gleeful.

They wiggle around again and Phil says, "You look exactly like Pixel when you do that."

He's pretty sure that Dan honks at that, but he's immediately distracted by a ferret trying to bite his eyebrow.

This is good. Phil likes this. He's trying to dig himself out of the mindset that he'd backed himself into when he first started noticing Dan, because PJ might have had a point. Okay, so PJ definitely had a point, and Phil has been a bit of an idiot.

He won't know for sure how Dan feels about him being gay and uncompromising about that fact unless he asks, and he doesn't think he's ready to do that just yet. But there's a rainbow flag on Dan's wall and they don't consider themselves not not a guy, so... Phil thinks that maybe he's been assigning a strictness to Dan's own relationship to gender and sexuality that isn't actually there.

Dan is talking again, to their ferrets this time, and Phil is almost overwhelmed by the force of affection that washes over him now that he isn't trying so hard to hold it back. Dan's leg is pressed against his own and they're holding Pixel up like they're playing airplane with her and Phil likes them so goddamn much.

"Did you want to," Phil starts, interrupting Dan's musing about what goes on in a ferret's tiny brain. Dan looks up at him with such genuine happiness on their face that Phil's words stick in his throat. He should be asking if Dan wants to go out for dinner again or if they've seen whatever blockbuster action film is playing in cinemas this week, but that's not what comes out of his mouth. When Dan raises their eyebrows quizzically, what Phil ends up asking is, "Uh, come spend the night in the haunted house with me?"

Great. Real romantic.

--

Dan doesn't make a secret about how much they hate this plan. They say it over and over, but they don't take any of the outs that Phil offers them.

"I hate this plan," Dan says as they make a bunch of sandwiches. It seems like way too much for just the two of them, but Phil isn't about to say no to having a near endless supply of peanut butter and bread when they're stuck in a dusty attic again. "This is stupid. You should have just left it at the first video, Phil, that was fine."

"You don't have to come with me," Phil reminds them for the umpteenth time.

Dan glares. "No, I'm coming."

"You're a very complicated person," says Phil.

With a heavy sort of sigh, like they've been dealing with Phil for years instead of a week, Dan finally sets the peanut butter down. "Look," they say, pointing the dull knife at Phil for emphasis. "I can hate this plan and still want to make sure you don't get fucking arrested or possessed or trip down the stairs or something. PJ knows where I live."

"I think he'd be in the camp of me deserving it if I died in the Wilkins place," Phil says, his lips tugging into a grin. "But thank you."

"Yeah, yeah," Dan mutters. "Will you at least tell me why we're going back? I know you're fucking stubborn and all, but I didn't figure you for someone who beats dead horses."

"Oh, that's a terrible idiom," Phil says, mostly to himself. He reaches out to squeeze Dan's shoulder when he sees them get all huffy at the apparent avoidance. The tension leaving Dan's body under his palm is frustrating to feel, because there's nothing Phil wants more than to lean into it. The problem, of course, is that he really does need to talk to Dan before he starts trying to hug them in their own kitchen. Phil lets his hand drop awkwardly between them and shrugs. "Well, uh. This is the first time in a long time I've actually been excited about a project. And that makes me think that maybe I've worn out my welcome here. Not... not here like Manchester here, but here like... my job, here."

Dan leans their hip against the counter and looks at Phil with their brow all furrowed. "This is an ultimatum," they say. "Like, to yourself."

"Yeah," says Phil. "I need to solve this - or at least find something else that I can show to people. Because if I don't, then I need to actually look at myself and admit I'm not doing something I like anymore."

"It sounds like you're already looking at yourself," Dan says quietly.

"I guess."

"No, you are," Dan insists, their voice stronger now that they can assert an opinion. "Trust me, I'm a pro at unproductive self-reflection and existentialism. Who am I, what does it all matter, I know the song and dance. And I don't think that getting more footage is going to erase what you're already thinking, Phil. Tell me if I'm out of line, whatever, but if you want to do something else with your life then just do something else with your life."

The automatic defensiveness threatens to make Phil snap back at Dan that this isn't any of their business, but he's had a lot of practice in keeping his negative thoughts to himself. He gives Dan a little humourless smile and shrugs his shoulders.

"You're twenty-one," Phil says. "And a student. I don't really expect you to get it."

Dan puts their hands on their hips like they're settling in for a proper row, but instead they just say, "I know. I don't know what you're going through, sure, I doubt anyone knows what anyone else is going through at any time. And, yeah, I've got another year before I have to worry about my career. But I've made some fucking tough decisions in my life, mate. I dropped out of my law course after two lectures. I don't talk to my family anymore. I've tried on so many different names and labels that it would make your head spin. You don't like your job anymore, and one video isn't going to change that."

"Yeah, probably not." Phil looks down at their little collection of sandwiches, feeling lost and stubborn and a bit scared about how much Dan sees him. "But I have to try, y'know? I can't just give up. I have to try."

There's a long moment of silence. Then, Dan sighs.

"Okay. Put these in a container, we don't use unnecessary plastic in this flat. Just whatever they fit in. I'll make some coffee for the road and find our Scrabble board."

[dutten-does-the-fanfic]

Uploading schedule for “Something Great”

Hello, and welcome to a rant that neither of us had expected me to make today - or, any day, really. It is also unedited and not read through even once, because I’ll start to second-guess myself if I have to read through whatever my fingers have decided to spit out on paper. You will, however, have to suffer through my stream of consciousness. You’re welcome.

In case you were unaware, I recently started uploading an Evak fic (link: tumblr, AO3) “I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great)” - it’s an AU that I’ve been working on since before I finished the third chapter of “Beat that Record” back in 2018.

Because I had the most inconsistent uploading schedule with BtR (and it was only three chapters back then) when I started working on “Something Great”, I’d decided I wanted to finish the entire thing (not aware of just how long it would end up being) and then start to upload it on a weekly schedule.

I’m a very impatient person - whenever I’ve finished writing something, I’ll be all like, “Right! Let’s edit it immediately so I can upload it!” I’m just always so incredibly excited to share the stories I’ve worked on with other people, hoping they’ll experience the same joy and love for the characters and story as I have for however long I’ve been working on it.

Honestly, writing like this for “Something Great” has actually been a really cool experience. I thoroughly enjoyed it. It gave me a lot of liberty so that I could write just because I wanted to write and I could write whatever part I wanted to write, I didn’t have to work chronologically because I had to have the next chapter ready. I got to jump around all over the place, I got to go back and edit already finished chapters because I just thought of that one thing that would be really cool. Honestly, I’m pretty sure that if I ever do multichaptered fics again, I will do it like this - just write all of it before I start uploading anything.

And now moving on to the actual point: A major reason why I wanted to have everything done before I started uploading, was so I could start uploading at a regular schedule, where you guys would know when to expect the next chapter. So I’ve been uploading “Something Great” on Fridays these past three weeks, and I’m just... not sure how I feel about it.

I’ve been considering making the uploads bi-weekly instead, and then I’ve spent a lot of time just going, should I shouldn’t I. I think one of the reasons why I’ve thought not to is because I’m only three chapters in and these are the shortest chapters (minus the epilogue) in the entire story. After chapter 5, there are no chapters below 10k, and some of them are closer to 30k at that. A bi-weekly uploading schedule would mean putting out close to 22k a week, which I don’t know if it’s too much? I also feel bad about changing it to bi-weekly, because a part of me feels like it’s defeating the purpose of spending literally two years working hard on something.

But at the same time, only uploading once a week is really stressing me out - I just don’t care much for it, especially not that the last chapter will first be uploaded at the beginning of September. If I change it to bi-weekly now, it’ll be finished at the end of July, which feels like a much more manageable timeframe for me personally. Also, because I’ve been stressing out, actually getting to finally upload this story that I’ve spent literal years falling in love with just... hasn’t been as exciting as uploading past fics have felt. And that’s a goddamn awful feeling, to be honest, especially when thinking back on just how fun it was to write and all the things I’d do to get in the mood of writing - I’d listen to music, and I’d do my spreadsheets like a nerd and I’d do these little doodles and drawings about the pivotal plot-things that would happen in each chapter’s present/past. I’d fall asleep at night thinking about what I wanted to do for a scene or run through my favourites, just because. I actually started to look forward to spending between one and two hours just sitting on the train five days a week, because that was my writing time, that was my me-time where I didn’t have to think about anything but the story and what the characters would do and what was happening to them - other than stare out of the window occasionally and see the odd fox and deer and pretty views to further dream myself away in.

And now when I’ve finally gotten to the point where it’s all done, it’s written and edited through, and I’ve actually been able to upload it, I’ve just been feeling sad and anxious about how much I’ve been stressing over only uploading on Fridays, and as I’ve been so excited about writing the story that I’d literally count the seconds until I’d be able to or I’d set of time on entire evenings just so I could work on it, it feels like something pure and dear to my heart is a little ruined because of it.

That sounded a little dramatic - it’s not that bad.

Honestly, what I’ve been trying to say, I think, is this (ooh, let’s do bullet points, because spreadsheets weren’t bad enough, y’all):

Uploads would change from only Fridays to maybe Tuesdays and Fridays?

And maybe just general thoughts? Like, what do you - either as a reader or as a writer - think about uploading schedules? Either about my fic in specific or other fics in general - I doubt people are going to be sad about more content during the week, but I don’t know. Is once a week preferable? Do you refuse to touch a non-completed story (that hasn’t been abandoned and is finished and regularly updated)? Do you have a preferable timeframe for uploading/receiving uploads? I’m just feeling a little at a loss, here, so it would be nice to hear back what you guys would like :)

and also just thank you to everyone who’s been reading and commenting on any of my stories, to be honest. Getting your feedback has always been such a cool experience, and all of this ranting has absolutely nothing to do with any of that - it’s still just as much of a joy getting to read your comments or go through your tags and just hearing about what you’ve thought of the chapter or the story in general, so the biggest thank you to all of you for being the most awesome and kind-hearted people in the entire world. You deserve it.

[ophiedokes]

author interview tag thing

thanks for tagging me @dickpuncher420!

name: Ophelia/Ophie

fandoms: used to be very heavy into The Hunger Games. Currently I’ve got my toes in the zukka fandom. Peering anxiously around the corner at the old guard fandom but not there yet. 

where you post: AO3

most popular one-shot: Speak Ill! not only just of what I have uploaded but out of anything I ever published (used to have over 50 works on AO3 lmao)

most popular multi-chapter fic: by default it’s the one hunger games fic I reuploaded after I left the fandom this spring, Beholden

favorite story you’ve written so far: this one is also Speak Ill I think. it’s 

fic you were nervous to post: I was anxious to post Courtesan bc it was my first Zukka and my first M/M and my first ATLA fic but it was so so well received!!

how you choose your titles: I try to be like, short and to the point (Speak Ill, Courtesan, Beholden) but when I can’t make that work I go for the classic song lyric 

do you outline?: for fic not at all lmao like I know what I want to do in the vaguest terms but I don’t bother writing down that plan. I do work off of a like half formed outline for my actual books though

complete: everything except for beholden and firepit which may not be picked back up lol

in progress: currently I’m working on an original fiction book for nanowrimo as well as edits on my other romance book I Wrote this year 

coming soon: uhhh I’ve got a couple of half formed oneshot ideas (like classic zukka Throne Room Sex trope) and have something written for a hunger games x zukka au because idk I’m a one trick pony 

do you accept prompts?: uhhhh yes but without any guarantee that I’ll ever get to it lmao

upcoming story you’re the most excited to write?: again this is original fiction but after I finish my current book I get to start on the one about the lesbian fake marriage thing and that’s. exciting

upcoming story you’re most excited about?: remorsefully here I admit that I have not been reading fic like, at all recently, because I’ve been doing nanowrimo/was working on double shot before that/etc. there’s a big bang or two happening soon I think? that I’m excited to go through after it’s all out and feast upon   sorry to break the tag chain but idrk who to tag for this so if you see this and wanna do it then you’re it! 

[kenkamishiro]

20181116 Translation of Ishida and Takahashi’s interview with BuzzFeed Japan

It took me 3 days to translate this monster of an interview (~3.5k word count lol), but it’s finally done! My hands need a break after typing for so long...

Thank you to the interviewer Kashima Yui for asking some really great questions, and BuzzFeed JP for making this interview happen. I really enjoyed seeing Ishida and Takahashi banter back and forth, you can really tell that they’re great friends, and I’m happy to have witnessed a sliver of their relationship.

Also, I’m far from perfect, so if I’ve made a mistake or mistranslated something, please let me know.

Edit: Fixed a line from Takahashi saying, “You did it,” to “He got me.”

“I’ve always thought about quitting” - Author of Tokyo Ghoul and his sworn friend talk about their creative works and the troubles they’ve faced

Behind the scenes of Tokyo Ghoul’s final chapter, and what it means.

By Kashima Yui, BuzzFeed Staff, Japan

November 16, 2018

Over 37 million volumes of Tokyo Ghoul have been sold worldwide. During the 7 years it has taken to reach its conclusion - from the start of its serialization to July of this year - Ishida Sui has delivered an elaborately portrayed work with a profound story to the world at a tremendous speed.

This enigmatic mangaka has almost never appeared in the media, but there is a certain someone that he’s been influenced by.

That person is Takahashi Kunimitsu of österreich, who was responsible for the Tokyo Ghoul:re anime ending theme, “You of Paradise.” Ishida for some time had a phase where he would only listen to the music that Takahashi composed. “He’s the type who’ll say everything that’s on his mind,” he raves.

At the same time, Takahashi must have also been influenced in turn by Ishida, for he had stopped making music until he received a request from Ishida.

I thought that I would no longer be making music. Why am I...?

Sui-sensei lives in Fukuoka, and Takahashi-san resides in the Kanto region. How did you two first meet?

Ishida: We first met 3 years ago when I requested the opening theme “Incompetence” for the Tokyo Ghoul √A anime. I’d already received many proposals for the opening song, but I more or less shot them all down.

It was because I liked the former band the cabs that Kunimitsu-kun used to be a part of. Right around when I was drawing volume 7 of Tokyo Ghoul, I was pretty much listening to just one the cabs song, “Soldiers in February”, which might be why I’m so strongly attached to the band.

Takahashi: But by then, the cabs had already split up and I’d stopped being a musician.

Ishida: After Kunimitsu-kun took a break from being a musician, I kept an eye out on his SoundCloud (laughs).

Every now and then I’d see a new song uploaded, so I knew that he was still alive and well. Since I knew he was still making music I thought, “Couldn’t he compose music for Tokyo Ghoul too?”

I said that to the anime people about 100 times, that I wanted Takahashi Kunimitsu to make the opening. But because he couldn’t make up his mind, they turned me down 99 out of those 100 times.

Takahashi: That’s ‘cause I never got the news to begin with! Back then the manager of the office I was enrolled at suddenly said to me, “Something big’s happened.” No warning in advance.

Ishida: What do you mean I never told you, are you even hearing yourself right now? (laughs) But it really was an impossible request. Plus the fact that Kunimitsu’s band broke up and was now nonexistent.

Takahashi: I thought to myself that I’d no longer work in music, so I wasn’t willing to accept at the time.

I’d uploaded my music onto SoundCloud, but that page was just a personal space for myself rather than a place to market my music. So when I was approached about a collab I was thinking, “What are they talking about? Why me...?”

Along with the fact that I’d never read Tokyo Ghoul.

Were you scared?

Takahashi: I was terrified. It had already been 3 years since the band broke up, so I felt like I’d lost my ability to compose music. I was thinking, “What’ll happen if I can’t make it?” On top of that, that piece was on a much larger scale than anything I’d ever worked on. That made me anxious on a regular basis.

...but on the other hand, it felt like this was a sign telling me to keep playing music. I wasn’t sure if I could do it, but I thought that if I didn’t try here and now, I might not play music for the rest of my life.

I was extremely tight on schedule for “Incompetence”, the opening theme for Tokyo Ghoul √A, but at any rate I frantically worked on it in a frenzy, feeling more and more dead by the end of it. I didn’t read a single page from Tokyo Ghoul so that I wouldn’t get pulled in by it. The result...every single bad thing that had accumulated during my 3-year hiatus showed up all over the song.

Ishida: I basically like everything he composes, so when I heard the demo I thought it was pretty good. I was more than happy. But I have to admit, that song...is way too all over the place (laughs).

Takahashi: Even when I listen to it now I think it’s all over the place.

Did the two of you come to interact through the production of “Incompetence”?

Ishida: No...back then I just received the demo. After it was released, we talked about it on Skype, and that was probably our first ever conversation. After that, was it through Twitter DM or email?...I got a message from him that had an “at this time” kind of vibe, and that’s when we began talking to each other more personally.

[T/N: I’m not exactly sure what Ishida meant by “at this time”, but the word he used, “この度は” is a form of “now” that you’d use in formal/business speech, so perhaps he meant that Takahashi’s message to him felt formal.]

The extent of our conversation for several months was just exchanging texts back and forth, but one day we unexpectedly began voice chatting through Skype. And then Kunimitsu-kun declared out of nowhere, “I am light.” (laughs)

Takahashi: I was overly concerned about my own image, so I’d try to crack jokes or else I’d have a hard time making conversation.

Ishida: I thought he was acting like an extremely gloomy person because he felt like it. Back then that dark part of me was also prominent, so when I tried talking all emo I’d get told, “I’m light.” (laughs)

Takahashi: I told you, that’s just me talking a lot and making jokes.

Ishida: After that, we’d talk on Skype once every month or two. One time we talked for around 6 hours.

Takahashi: Until morning. This guy talks while he works, you know, so he can blabber on for a long time.

Ishida: Funny enough I make more progress if I have someone to talk to while I’m working.

A mangaka and a musician talking on Skype night after night

And that doesn’t reduce your ability to concentrate? Since when you’re talking over the phone there are moments where you have to think about the person you’re talking to.

Ishida: It depends on the work. There’s a term in the manga industry where you’re just moving your hands. The “usual work”, should I put it? The “usual face”, the “usual composition.” When I’m doing that kind of work, I’ll often listen to someone talk, watch TV, or listen to music.

What do you talk about?

Ishida: About creative works, among other topics. Recently we’ve been talking about death matches.

Death matches?

Ishida: A type of fiction where a group of people are forced to kill each other off, you’re guaranteed to find one in any convenience store. Because the death match is such an excellent format, it’s easy to draw and sell in any era. But if the author relies too much on that format, the story will fall apart without them even realizing it...that’s my opinion on it.

The most interesting death match is still “Battle Royale.”

Takahashi: Rigid formats will always exist in any kind of media, including in music. It’s fine if you put a story into that template for starters, that’s what a countless number of creators are aiming for.

Ishida: The format itself isn’t bad, but if you rely too much on it, it no longer becomes your own creation, and the work ends up becoming sloppy and excessive.

When you’re talking things over with each other, are you ever influenced by the other person?

Ishida: I am. Whether it’s music or manga, I realized that there are many factors that I can relate to in terms of creativity, even if I may not be an expert in those fields. When I’m talking to Kunimitsu-kun, it makes me wonder if I can connect with people working in other genres. We can have discussions without building fences between one other.

What about yourself, Takahashi-san?

Takahashi: Objectively speaking, Ishida-kun is a very successful person. In the past I would always hold feelings of inferiority towards those successful people.

But talking to him...I realized that he was a normal person. It might just be by chance that Ishida is normal, but how should I put it, we suffer in similar ways. In that sense I’ve become more open-minded and changed how I think about people running on the front lines.

...I’m a professional too, after all. Since I’m a creator, the last thing I can do is call professionals fools.

I once gave up on music. Ishida Sui has kept going.

Takahashi-san, why did you stop being a musician in the first place? I heard that just before the cabs tour you suddenly disappeared.

Takahashi: ...that’s right. I caused a lot of trouble for many people, especially the band members, so I can’t talk much about it...just that I ran away like a fool. That’s why I thought I wouldn’t be working on music anymore.

After you kept composing music in your “personal space”, you received news of a collaboration. Have your thoughts changed on this matter?

Takahashi: I suppose so. When it comes to anything concerning Ishida Sui, there are two things that have affected me the most. The first is that the act of continuing on no matter what is worth its weight in gold, and to not object to it.

Ishida: It’s a huge feat, putting things out with no regard to its shape or form. I feel it even more since I’m not working on a serialization anymore. Whoever can accomplish this is truly remarkable.

Takahashi: I’ve already given up on music once, so I’ve got some very strong feelings regarding this.

And one more...because Tokyo Ghoul really felt like it reached its conclusion, I realized that “ending things properly” and “continuing” can both be considered equally wonderful.

What do you mean by “ending things properly”?

Takahashi: You know what Ishida-kun said when we first met? “I’d like to end Tokyo Ghoul by turning it into a complete train wreck.”

Ishida: You said you’d demolish it for me (laughs).

Takahashi: But when I actually read the final chapter, it had a pretty clean ending. "He got me...” I thought.

I’ve always thought about quitting

Takahashi: I find it frustrating that I was given the right answer without feeling like I earned it. Here I am strolling on the sidewalk, and before I know it Ishida-kun’s racing down the road...that’s what it feels like. That’s what I was heavily influenced by when I was making “You of Paradise.” How valuable “ending things properly” can be.

You’ve already mentioned how important it is to keep on going, but Sui-sensei, you continued to work on your serialization for 7 years. Did you ever think about quitting?

Ishida: All the time. I underestimated how taxing manga and magazine serializations were.

Why is that?

Ishida: I wonder...I think it was only after I realized that I could rely on other people that I really began to enjoy making manga. The conclusions I came to on my own were mostly self-contained, and I no longer felt that it was fun drawing manga alone.

But I found another way after asking around. And it only took about 6.5 years (laughs).

Have you been worrying on your own until then?

Ishida: This is a personal problem, but I didn’t want to tell anyone about how the story would unfold. I also considered the editor-in-charge as a reader, so I wanted to keep it a secret. In that case, what am I supposed to discuss with the editor? I can only talk about superficial things...that’s what I did for the longest time.

And though I’d been so eager to stop, I said that I wanted to keep going a bit longer during the last half-year...which was why I kept dropping off the manuscripts late every week. It seems that the printers always had to wait until the very last minute for my manuscripts.

The final chapter of Tokyo Ghoul was meant to be a train wreck

Ishida: I’d originally planned to finish it December of last year, but I said, “I’m sorry, I need another 3 months.” I increased the extension bit by bit, and I ended up lengthening it by about 6 months.

When I told the editorial department that I’d be done in 10 chapters, they prepared the cover page of the final chapter’s issue. But right before the deadline I told them, “I’m sorry again, I need 3 more chapters…”

Takahashi: I was reading that issue of Young Jump where it was supposed to end in 10 chapters. I was completely deceived (laughs). I saw the cover and it said, “Tokyo Ghoul climax.” So I thought, “Is it finally over?” but when I read it it just kept going on.

Ishida: When I told them I needed 3 more chapters, it was too late by then. Most likely every department was under chaos then, but I hope you can sympathize with the Young Jump editorial department.

Is that the reason why Tokyo Ghoul was on the back cover of the final chapter’s issue?

Ishida: It is. Thanks to the kindness of the editor-in-chief, he suggested that Tokyo Ghoul could get a cover if it was on the back.

I often see final chapters on the front cover, but it’s kinda cool to have it on the back instead. It might even be better to have the reader see Kaneki and Touka on the back so they can read it and think, “It’s really over.” It wasn’t what I was necessarily aiming for, but thanks to the editor-in-chief’s stylistic sense it made that back cover possible.

The final chapter went from a train wreck to a happy ending. Did you have a chance to change your mind?

Ishida: Probably...once I was aware that the ending was approaching, I lost all meaning of value behind a train wreck ending. At first I thought, “Let’s shock everyone and make myself disappear,” but then I realized that I was misconstruing that as cool.

Nonetheless...the endgame had some parts that were definitely messy, but I changed them to be positive. I’m fine with it not being good, as long as it’s got some definitive answers. That happy ending is also a train wreck in its own way (laughs). I thought that that kind of train wreck would be more interesting.

Takahashi: That ending completely shocked me. “He got me,” I uttered.

Communicating, continuing, ending

How did you feel when you were asked to collaborate with Tokyo Ghoul once again for “You of Paradise”?

Takahashi: As we got to know each other, we’d inevitably talk about the anime. I couldn’t refuse when I was asked to compose the ending song when I’d been watching the course of the final chapter from up close, and been utterly deceived and shocked by it.

...but I was scared.

Why did you think that, even though you achieved it last time without any major hiccups?

Ishida: I think it’s that feeling of, “did I strike gold?” There’s a lot of luck involved when you’re extracting gold from a lode. He was able to do this naturally during the cabs era.

Takahashi: I could compose music almost as if those lodes were exposed to the open.

Ishida: When I asked him to do “You of Paradise”, I got the feeling that he was thinking, “Where can I dig from...” I think he was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to dig up that lode. Though I thought he was going to be fine.

How do you think it turned out when you tried composing it with that fear in mind? Were there any changes, compared it to “Incompetence”?

Takahashi: “Incompetence” being all over the place was because I was all over the place.

Up until now I’ve been making music and thinking that I can’t convey my ideas well. When I was in the band, I’d never really been able to express my thoughts so I gave up. I thought it was an impossible feat for me.

“Incompetence” was a song that I tossed out into the world, without any hope that I’d be able to express such a warped feeling. For a while after that song was released, I hardly ever listened to it.

But Ishida-kun and my friends who are still playing in bands...I’ve watched them keep on going or reach a proper end no matter how many years passed by. They’re doing it right.

I came to the conclusion that it was dishonest of me to give up on expressing myself from the beginning when the people around me have been working hard and doing their best.

Sui-sensei, have you ever thought that you couldn’t convey something when drawing your manga?

Ishida: I definitely have.

Takahashi: Sounds like you’ve given up.

Ishida: Maybe, since I have to draw every week. If I don’t follow a set routine then I become overwhelmed very quickly. This means that I’m working on one panel at a time, but I can’t convey my ideas well that way.

And it’s not the reader’s fault, it might just be that I’m not good enough. I couldn’t figure it out no matter how much I thought about it, so I gave up on the issue of not being able to properly convey my ideas.

To be honest, I don’t really feel anything from people reading my stuff. I can’t physically see you reading the manga, and I can’t gauge how you really feel about it by asking how many copies you have. It’s to the point where sometimes I’ll notice someone reading it at a convenience store and think, “I finally found someone.” It makes me think that being a mangaka is a lonely profession.

Takahashi-san, did you compose “You of Paradise” after reading the final chapter this time?

Takahashi: I read it this time (laughs). At first, the song I was using for the ending before “You of Paradise” was some ridiculously abstruse piece. After I sent it to Ishida-kun, he told me, “To be honest, it’s got the things that I want to express and it’s packed with lots of stuff, but I want you to compose a really simple piece that anyone can listen to and enjoy.” And so it got rebuilt and that’s the song you see today (laughs).

First, face what you’re trying to convey. Don’t whine about how you can’t convey your ideas if you haven’t tried in the first place. That’s what I thought. If you start thinking, “I can’t do it in the first place,” you’re running away. Take that first step. It feels like I can now pursue universal virtues.

Ishida: It’s a challenge, huh.

Takahashi: I’ve thought about just giving up in defeat. When I first saw that the final chapter that Ishida-kun wanted to make a wreck of had turned into a beautiful and happy ending...he seemed to have chosen to end it by having it speak to people universally. I was shocked by it, and the desire to go along with it bloomed in me. If Tokyo Ghoul can have that kind of ending, then I can make the music to match it.

You seem to have changed a lot as a person over the last 3 years.

Takahashi: I had a musical spirit who would always whisper in my ear, “You’re that kind of human being, aren’t you?” When it disappeared after having stuck around since my band days, I kept my distance from it. But I feel refreshed now since I think I should finally put an end to my issues.

Ishida: “You of Paradise” is the only song appropriate for that kind of ending. No other song can work.

After a 2 hour interview, Ishida and Takahashi vanished into the streets of Shibuya to go watch a live performance of cinema staff, to which Iida Mizuki, the guest vocalist for “You of Paradise”, is a member of.

As an aside, the name of the cabs live tour that was never realized after Takahashi suddenly disappeared, was called “You of Paradise.”

END OF THE INTERVIEW.

Translator notes:

I think I need to clarify on what I mean by ‘train wreck’. When I say it, it refers to something in ruins, complete shambles, destroyed. Essentially a tragic ending, akin to chapter 143 of :re, so Ishida was thinking about having TG end in tragedy. I chose to use the term ‘train wreck’ and ‘in ruins’ over ‘tragic’ because they have slightly different connotations (台無し vs. 悲劇). It’s the reason why I would consider TG chapter 140 (when Kaneki ‘dies’ to Arima in V14, looks like an end to a classic tragedy play) as tragic ( 悲劇) and TG:re chapter 143 (when Kaneki loses to Juuzou and Hanbee and shit hits the fan for everyone) as 台無し (train wreck/ruined).

[of-thoughts-and-phobias]

Part Two: Realization

Sorry for the long wait! My phone broke, deleted everything, and now the new phone I got deleted the art I was working on. So no art for this chapter sorry.

A big thank you to my good friend @tinykitty252 for editing this!

Sean woke up on the floor beside his bed with the worst hangover ever. Was it even a hangover? Did he drink at all last night? What was his name again?

Red and green swirled through his vision, which made it hard to focus on anything.

"Ughh,hu" he sat up shaking his head, hoping to wipe away the pain. Nope, nope. Bad idea. Sean shot up and ran into the bathroom, before promptly throwing up in the toilet.

"Best way to start the morning," he thought spitefully, rubbing at his mouth.

He shuffled to the kitchen and filled a semi clean glass with water to wash out the sour taste in his mouth. Afterwards, he put a pot of coffee on and threw a few pieces of bread in the toaster. He downed another swig of water along with a pepto bismol. He sat up on the counter, counting the seconds by the indicator light on the coffee maker. The toast soon popped up, quickly followed by a high pitched beeeeep, so he hopped off the counter and grabbed them both before migrating over to the couch.

There was a wet squelch under his feet which made him jump a bit. It was his hoodie, tossed haphazardly on the floor the night before. 'Oh right,' he thought as he remembered the freak storm that came out of nowhere.

Next to his jacket was his phone. He picked it up and examined it; there was a sizable crack in the protector but that was easily replaceable. Sean switched it on and almost dropped it again.

"4:50??!" He'd missed both uploads! "Great. Just friggin fantastic," he groaned, swigging some coffee from the pot. He pulled up his Twitter to post a quick apology to his fans, and then speeding into his bedroom to get ready for the day.

Now feeling slightly less dead, Sean downed the rest of the coffee and set the pot in the sink to be washed later. He then headed to his recording room to at least get some work done. Camera up? Check. Game up and loaded? Sweet. Alright. In and out, Sean.

In.

And out.

"Okay and a 3, 2, 1 GO!"

As he worked, Sean could feel the tension start to leave his body and he found it easier to breathe.The pounding in his skull calmed down considerably and little by little, his strength started returning to him. Before he knew it, he had finished filming four whole videos! And that wasn't even counting the two that he'd uploaded earlier!

Sean sat back with a sigh. He checked his watch to find it was 9:45. "Some work, eh?"

His stomach started rumbling. He never did eat that toast, he remembered. He went to the kitchen and opened the fridge and good lord when was the last time he went shopping? Let's see here, peanut butter, m&m's, a half empty jar of pickles and what he hoped was a peach. Now, Sean didn't really feel like making a nightmare sandwich and having it exist so once more, he grabbed his keys and went out.

The roads were still wet despite not raining at all that day and the sky was clear for the first time in a while. A few stars were visible against the stark blue sky. The whole street was painted blue and it seemed that the only colors came from inside the shops.

Sean waited for a car to pass before running to the other side. He walked for a bit more until he arrived at a little, run down establishment. Best pizza in the neighborhood if you asked him. The door let out a pleasant chime as he entered and the smell of fresh baked bread welcomed him in.

"Heya Sean!" The guy behind the counter greeted.

"Hey Bruce," he greeted back.

"The usual?"

"Yeah but could you make it a large?"

"No problem."

"Thanks Bruce."

As he gave him the money, Bruce jumped back, flustered.

"Sorry man, y'kinda shocked me there," he said, grabbing the money from the floor.

"Did I? Huh, sorry."

"Don't worry about it," the tall man said, picking up the change he'd dropped. "Here's your receipt."

‘Huh, that was weird,’ he thought as he sat down. He rubbed at his wrists as he waited for his food.

Sean found himself awfully anxious but he wasn't quite sure why. His legs were bouncing, his fingers drumming on the table, his eyes darting to every little thing that twitched. The nervous looking man in the blue sweater had stopped to check his watch every thirty two seconds, poor dude. The barking of a dog a few blocks away followed by disgruntled shouts. He could clearly hear the lyrics from the music coming from one of the nearby apartments. He could perfectly see the wings of a fly circling one of the dangling lights. The lights. Why did they hurt? He was overwhelmed by just how loud everything was. The talking, the laughing, the dinging of the door, the colors, the lights. Why were they so loud?

"Sean!"

Everything stopped. He looked up to see a very concerned looking Bruce holding a fresh pie. Everyone in the restaurant seemed to be looking at them.

"Are you okay?"

Was he?

"Um yeah, m'fine. Haven't really eaten today, heh."

That didn't really ease his nerves but Bruce thought it best to not push it, so he placed the pie on the table and went back to the kitchen.

"T-thank you!" Sean yelled and he was answered by a mock salute.

It felt nice actually having food inside him and somehow Sean managed to eat the whole thing in about twenty minutes.

"You forget to breathe or somethin?" Bruce huffed as he came over to pick up the tray.

Sean chuckled "Absolutely. Nah, I just forgot lunch today."

"Whatever, goodnight Sean."

"Night Bruce."

Sean left the pizzeria with a full stomach and a ding from the door. Congratulations, he thought, you're a human being. Why'd he have to live so far away? If he had to walk any farther, he'd probably have to learn how to drive. ‘At least it wasn't raining this time,’ he mused.

A high pitched piercing noise came from nowhere and hit Sean like a punch to the face.

"Gah!!" He pawed at his eyes. What the-

"Sean.. McLaughlin?"

"Who's there?" He cried, still clawing at his face.

"William McLaughlin?"

"Do I know you?"

He could vaguely see two figures down the alley coming closer to him. A man and a woman by the looks of it. They were moving oddly, like they had no choice. Soon they stopped right in front of him.

"Sean.. William McLaughlin?" Okay now they were starting to freak him out.

"Yes! That's me! I swear if you guys say you're fans I wi-"

The man suddenly lunged at him, pulling him deeper into the backstreets, the woman standing directly behind him, blocking the way out.

"Hey! What're you doing? Let go of me, let go!" The man's grip did not budge. He continued to limp farther down the dark road. Sean started to panic, breaking his fists up and pounding against the man's chest. That did nothing to slow him down, but he kept trying.

"Let me go," He felt his hair rising on the back of his neck and his fingers start to tingle.

"Do you understand me ya fathead? I said " He raised up his fist.

"Let go of me!"

He clocked him right in the face, sending him across the street. "Woah what?"

He looked down at his hands. Blazing green mist flowed around his hands with his veins shining through his skin. What's happening to him? Oh no. Is he dying? Was the pizza radioactive? Was he drunk? What is happening?

The woman clumsily but determinedly ran towards him. Right. Now's not the right time for a break down, Sean. She reached out to grab him. But, grabbing her first, he pushed her away. She sprung back and grabbed him by the neck and pinned him down. The light from the passing cars rapidly illuminated her face. There was something definitely wrong with her, Sean could tell right away, but at the moment he was more focused on not dying than on the woman trying to kill him.

He put all of his strength into throwing her off. How was she so strong? She looked like she hasn't eaten in weeks!

"Ahh!" He yelled, reeling back.

"AAAGHHHH!!" Then everything went white.

When he came to, she was off of him and was trying to get back up. He looked around for the other one, taking note of his surroundings. For one thing, everything was on fire. Did he do that? Trash cans and discarded items were blazing and the water on the ground was steaming. The man from earlier had recovered and was slowly making his way across the street.

Sean ran to the back of the alley, only to be greeted by a ten foot fence. He was trapped.

Well, he thought, I hope these zombies are up for round two. They both jumped at him but he dodged under them. The man swung at him but he easily side stepped it. The man kicked his knee and sent him down, where the woman held down his legs.

"No!" He yelled.

The man wrapped his arms around his waist and started to pick him up.

"No! No no no n̷o̸ N̵̛̿O̴̻̎ ̵͚͝Ñ̸͊Ŏ̵̆ ̷͍̀N̸̈̄O̵͋̇!̵͓͆" power surged through him, burning him out of their grip. He felt like he was being torn apart. He screamed out in pain while they just watched in what could only be seen as confusion.

The street was alive with electricity, bolts of green lighting dancing across the walls. Glass from the nearby windows shattered and the ground below them started rumbling. And Sean was right in the middle of it.

"A̶̅̔ A̴̘̋ A̴̢͆ Ȁ̸̉ Ạ̵͝ Ğ̶͝ H̴͚͝ H̸̏̿ Ĥ̵̤ H̴̓̄ H̵͋̉!!"

They tried to get to him but the pure power surrounding the Irishman wouldn't allow them to come closer. And then.. Just as abruptly as it started

It was over.

The rumbling had ceased, the street had stopped hissing and it was dark once more.

The couple stood unfazed as the fires around them dwindled down into nothing as they looked down at the place where Sean William McLaughlin once laid.

Cold, brisk air rushed all around him, jostling him awake. He felt like he was floating on air. He opened his eyes and saw.. stars? Wasn't he in an alley?

A large rumbling thing whizzed underneath him.

It couldn't be.

'British Airways' was written in dark bold lettering along the body of the plane.

Those weren't stars. They were buildings.

"HOLY-" he was cut off by the plane shooting passed him, practically blowing out his eardrums.

"AHHHH"

Focus. How did this even happen? Last he checked, he was in the middle of being kidnapped!

He felt queasy, which was understandable considering the situation. The wind tugged at his face, pulling tears out of his eyes. This was it, he realized.

He held his arms out in front of him, ready to accept his fate when he noticed something odd. His arms were still glowing slightly, the burning green mist streaming behind him. Great, he still had some of that radiation left. Huh, that was a sentence he never thought he would say.

He focused on the burning sensation in his chest, drawing all of his power to his core. He felt worn out and overtaxed but he wouldn't be feeling anything if he'd just focus!

He thought of home.The nest of blankets on the couch, his recording room, the kitchen. The coffee pot he hadn't washed. Power flooded all throughout him. He recalled him and some friends playing on his Playstation when he first moved in. The God awful curtains he still hadn't gotten around to changing. The elevator that will probably never be fixed.

His apartment. His home.

He closed his eyes and dreamt. And it h̷u̶r̴t̷.

Pure, raw force circulated through his body, pulling it out of the sky and back to the earth.

Around thirty feet outside the complex, an old man was taking out the trash to the dumpsters. It was a pretty uneventful day if he were honest. Nothing really happens around here anymore. He sighed. The street lamps behind him started to flicker. He opened the lid to throw the bags in when a large blast suddenly came from the building across the lane. Emerald sparks shot up from a trash bin, followed by smoke.

There was coughing and wheezing coming from the bin, and it shook with every noise. A hand, followed by another came out the trash, accompanied by the rest of the man. He hopped out the dumpster and immediately keeled over.

He gasped "Young man!"

He didn't respond.

"You! On the ground! Is everything alright?!"

A moment passed.

".. Yeah," he wheezed "s'bad day."

"Better go home while there's still light."

"Thanks.."

Sean waited until he heard the door shut. Then he groggily got to his feet. Through shaking eyes, he saw the familiar glow from his apartment building across the street. He sighed with relief and started crying.

Close enough.

@septilover3 @cookiethedevil @obsidiancreates @reverseblackholeofwords @the-editor-is-bored @ytcoma @caori-azarath @alexis

Ask if you want to be tagged

[moodring89]

CH.4 Down the Rabbit Hole

Pairing: Jeongguk x Reader / Side Yoonseok Chapter Rated: M / NC-17 Genre: Fantasy, Hybrid AU (Prince Bunkook. Sue me.), Royal AU, Cinderella / Labyrinth feels Summary: Yoongi’s sister buys two tickets to the Autumn ball held at the Meadows, a notorious city known for its hybrid inhabitants, where she hopes to meet a certain bunny princeling.

A/N: Hello! First of all, sorry this took so long to finish. Like, seriously, so much happened in the middle of me writing this story. I lost someone, I was sick, I had to write two difficult parts. Lost my damn house. I’m needing emergency teeth work done. Sounds like excuses, but we’re here now, right? And there was so much to squeeze into this chapter. It’s so…extended. Not sorry though. The longest process was the editing, though.    About the update chapter deletion: I did not realize that by deleting chapter 4’s update, that it would delete the comments you guys wrote. I still have what you guys said, but everyone who I replied to, probably didn’t get my responses. I’m not sure why I thought it wouldn’t delete the comments. Goddamn. A/N/N: I tried to wrap this up neatly. I’m not sure if I did or not and if I didn’t, I do have a CC account that you can feel free to ask your questions at...I hope to high hell that this story is not sappy af. I tried not to be sappy, but I cannot be objective about my own work. I can only hope that you guys enjoy it. Thank you to Melissa for looking over my story. I do believe that I’ve taken up enough of your time. Please enjoy!  

Inspiration log #4 - Sweeter than sweet

04: Down the Rabbit Hole (Happily Ever After)

Weeks would pass, until she saw the prince again.

A fairy’s vision brought her this new life, but she didn’t know whether to be grateful for it or not. She’d decided to stay for now, although the option of leaving had never come up in conversation, unless it was with Yoongi. Her pocket-sized brother, with his too large a mouth, and rude quips, so much like her inner self. He wouldn’t want to leave, either. The Meadows was a beautiful place for them to live. High up from her lavish room inside the castle, she watched as the sun started to descend over the kingdom.

At six, she would be summoned for dinner.

It was part of her new daily, royal routine. She’d been forced to change her sleep schedule to accommodate its hellish timeline. Breakfast was at six in the morning, but due to her extensive, yet ridiculous wardrobe, she had to be up at five, so that the Queen’s ladies in waiting could assist her with getting dressed, and styling her hair. She’d never cared to go beyond looking presentable, she still didn’t – until she caught a glimpse of the king’s court.

The last thing she wanted to do was embarrass her in-laws, who just so happened to rule over an entire fucking kingdom. Hybrid royals, dressed in their best fashion. Young, beautiful rabbit hybrids who would have been better suited for the prince.

“Stop,” Jimin scolded her, able to hear her thoughts, as well as feel all of her budding doubts from his spot beside her. His wings fluttered opened and closed as quick as a blink, a sign of his unnerve, like he was ready to up and take flight. “You’re wrong and I can say that definitively.”

“Sorry,” she sighed, pulling herself away from the balcony. “Where’s Tae?”

“Slaving over your wedding present. These days, he even forgets to eat and fights me on rest.” Jimin scrunched his nose at her genuine look of worry, calming her, “I’ve been doing well with reminding him to take breaks and my wolf knows his place, so he doesn’t sass me as much as he does with others. You’re gonna love it, by the way, the present.”

The wedding present that Jimin could already see in his mind, but wouldn’t divulge. For the wedding that the Queen doesn’t stop gushing about, especially during dinner, like it was her only topic material for conversation. Bonus, she’d spent enough time with the King and Queen to do a basic comparison. Jeongguk’s outward behavior was much like his father, strong and masculine, making his presence goddamn imposing. She’d tried to find traces of his mother’s softness, but had come up short. Instead, she’d found most of their likeness in their shared bouts of shamelessness – delicate features, and simmering tempers.    

The dinner bell chimed throughout the palace and she inwardly groaned at the thought of sitting through another long wedding discussion that she couldn’t even weigh in on. The Queen seemed to be in favor of seeing to all of the arrangements herself and wasn’t interested in any outside input, not even from the bride. Perhaps it was a recreation of the wedding the Queen wished she’d had in the first place and she was now living vicariously through her son’s marriage.

Jimin helped her into her heels, offering his hand to steady her. The first few steps were always shaky, so he kept a hold of her.  

Curious was an understatement, as the next question had bubbled on the tip of her tongue for days. She didn’t want to succumb to this level of care, but, “How is his highness?”

“This is the first time that you’ve inquired,” Jimin noted with the amusement there in his tone, as they stepped out into the hallway, walking the familiar route to the dining hall. His wings fanned, contentedly, “To answer your question, the prince is doing what he does best. He’s engaged in competition, one of which he doesn’t much care to lose. I should mention that I’ve never seen the prince in an outright state of defeat. Even when he loses, Jeongguk makes sure he gains.”

She’d imagined that the prince enjoyed a variety of sports, given his physique. None of the articles had been specific about his hobbies in the past and it was something she wished to learn, even now. She readied herself, “So, like, fencing? Chess?”

“You.”

Clearly, she hadn’t been prepared for the answer.

“Oh.” ‘kay then.

The dining hall was a considerably smaller, more intimate room inside the castle. It was easily to tell that it’d been meant for family and not an entire kingdom. Therefore, it was probably one of her favorite rooms, apart from her own, and the ballroom. It would have been better if Jeongguk would come to dinner. During the first week of her stay, she’d been too anxious to eat to her contentment. Jimin was the one sending food to her room each night, before the kitchen closed. However, she’d learned not to expect the prince by now.

The girl took her usual spot between the King and Queen, greeting them cheerfully out of habit, and as a legitimate attempt at easing the awkwardness. The neat, empty plate setting across from her own did not affect her anymore.

“Your father has been enjoying the royal gardens,” the king said, breaking the silence with a start at friendly conversation, which she appreciated – truly. It was probably for her sake and for that, she’d been grateful. “I gifted him with his choice of camera, so that he may capture the palace flowers in full bloom. Journalists would kill to have access to our land. Your father’s photographs will be considered a rarity, therefore of value.”

If she knew her father, he would use this opportunity to upload as much photography as possible, so that he could also promote their family’s florist shop, despite the agricultural differences between the Meadows and human kingdoms being practically endless. He would find a way to use their new circumstances for his own selfish gain. It seemed like the Jeon family already knew of this fact, thus they further enabled him to do so, assisting him with his questionable endeavors, but on their terms.

Were they trying to take caring of her father or family’s future by doing this? What an oddly warm concept for royals.

“My mother was a botanist and after she passed away, my father took over her business, and he became rather passionate about the study of flowers.” Oh, holy shit – she hadn’t said that to anyone, ever. It was seldom that she brought up her mother. What would be next? Her father’s cacti collection? There was never a proper discussion between herself and her brother, not even with her father, and yet it had come out so easily just then.

“I’m sure she was a lovely woman,” the Queen offered with a smile that radiated comfort and warmth. It’s been so wholesome and kind in its delivery, which only made the girl feel more vulnerable.

“She was.”

Jeongguk’s father looked around the table, perhaps taking notice of how empty it was suddenly. He looked to the empty seat beside her, “Your brother has been skipping meals, as well. I heard that he spends most of his time at the library as of late.” He looked to his queen, pulling her into the conversation. “The boy told me that he wanted to be reacquainted with the grand piano, so I allowed him to do just that, but he played it so beautifully, it was as though they’d never departed in the first place.”

“My brother,” the girl said with a start, fully prepared to tell them all about Yoongi’s passion for hip-hop and synthesizing. How he’d poured himself into his music, but it didn’t feel like it was her place. She let it drop. “He loves music. I hope he can play something for us soon.”

The Queen turned to one of her maids, “Can you kindly ask that Hoseok call upon Yoongi for us? Thank you, dear.” She was smiling so sweetly that the girl had to wonder if the queen knew, like really knew about her brother, and the head of her royal guard – if she had, perhaps sent the fox hybrid to get Yoongi on purpose. “Now, let’s discuss cake. I was thinking of vanilla spice or sweet potato. I, myself, had a simple carrot cake for my wedding. It was stereotypical…”

The King sighed, heavily. “It’s my favorite. Why are you still upset about this? You’re going to ruin the flavor for me.”

Dinner was always in three courses, a large salad that she could never even hope to finish, followed by a protein. Hybrids were half human, so they required a healthy meat intake. It wasn’t wildly surprising and she’d been grateful, but it was obvious that they’d paid more attention to greens. Even the beverages were limited to vegetable and fruit cocktails.

She recalled the pinched look of complete and utter disgust upon Yoongi’s face, when he’d tried a lemon-ginger sparkler. The liquid fell from his slackened lips, pouring it directly back into the glass from his mouth. His face was so comically soured, as he asked Taehyung, ‘Did I just drink piss? Is this piss?’

The wolf hybrid raised a quizzical brow, ‘And how do you know what piss tastes like, hyung?’

Dessert was always interesting and was probably her favorite course. It could range anywhere from between creamy, spring blossom pudding to ironic bunny top cupcakes.

As the food was being served, the Queen settled her napkin onto her lap, and peered over at the girl, “I’ve already requested that Mimzy come at once, so that she can get started on your dress. Have you thought of what you’d like?”

This was new. “Well, I –”

“Of course you haven’t, dear,” she said, cutting the human off abruptly. “I’ve been positively obsessed with fishtail gowns as of late. A nice, lovely pink color would look best on you, I think. Standing next to our Jeonggukie with all the candles and the tulips, and oh, I just can’t stop thinking about how lovely it’s going to be.”

Right, yes, of course. How stupid of her to believe that the Queen was actually interested in her input, what with that, ‘Mother knows best’ attitude she had going for her. How did Jeongguk ever survive for this long?   

“Son,” the King greeted, as a typical fondness spread over the rabbit hybrid’s features, pleasantly surprised. Meanwhile, that single word was enough to make the girl freeze on the spot, too afraid to so much as glance in Jeongguk’s general direction. It had been nearly two weeks later that her fiancé decided to suddenly show up now, out of the blue, as though time hadn’t passed between them.  

Jeongguk’s formally bowed, before he’d addressed both his parents. He was speaking to them in a tone that was lighter than she remembered, softer somehow. In her all the memories she’d kept replaying, the hybrid’s voice was breathy and low, calling her perfect, demanding that she beg for him. Yeah, there was no way in fuck she was going to look at him. Not now. There was a hand gripping the back of her chair, the familiar spice of the Prince’s cologne hitting her senses when he’d closed her in. She inclined her head towards him, eyes focused on the carpet. The warmth of his breath hit her cheek he was so close, when he’d murmured a simple, “Princess.”

Despite it coming off as simplistic, she could hear the underlying heat practically dripping from the single word, intimate in the nature of which he’d said it, although sharing the same likeness to that of an insult. She ignored the shiver that’d run up her spine at that, resolving that her body was just a goddamn traitor. He circled the table towards his seat, where trays of food were already being set down before him. Still – she could not bear to cast her eyes at him, even while he was seated directly across from her with nothing but mere inches of table separating them. 

“Forgive me for my long absence,” Jeongguk said, doing his best to sound so sweetly apologetic. Even the bow of his head had seemed like a sincere gesture from out of her peripheral, but she knew better. He continued, “The wedding occupies my thoughts regularly. Seeing the princess is but a bitter reminder of how I must wait to have her, even whilst she is within arm’s reach.”

She could feel the weight of his eyes on her then, as though burning metaphorical holes into her skin. It was a habit, a stupid habit all the same, when her eyes finally flickered to his, unprepared to be met with the dark, doe-eyed stare that awaited her. He looked thoroughly unsettled, not quite nearly as satisfied with just staring at her – the hybrid was a visual wreck, haplessly in ruins by his own self-restraint. And yet, there was beauty to be admired, brown hair parted to perfection, sun golden skin contrasting against the rich black cotton he was wearing, coupled with a choker made of silk that was fitted around his neck.

She felt trapped, then, “I’m sorry to be the obvious cause to your displeasure, your highness.”

He wetted his plush lips with the point of his tongue, catching her attention. “Those are just pretty, ineffective words in the end. I prefer action.”

Right in front of his parents, too, that’s nice.

She tried not to roll her eyes at him, fully aware of how rude it would be in the presence at a time such as this one. If they’d been alone, however, she would have let him have it. Changing the subject, she smiled with faux innocence, “Surely seeing each other more often would quell your sorrows. Please come to dinner from now on, my prince.”

The King clasped his hands together, the smack resounding in the quiet space. “How can my son possibly refuse such an offer? She’s so delightful.”

If only Yoongi were here to throw in some dry humor, perhaps try his hand at easing the tension growing in the room. Hell, she’d settled for anything. He could say something vaguely crass towards the Queen – anything, anything but this – this moment. Which reminded her, Hoseok was sure taking his sweet ass time.

Good.

Yoongi removed the book from his face, having used it to block out the light in the royal library, while he took his evening nap. It was Seokjin’s fault that he practically lived there now, waking up to the smell of hardcover, and taking in as much hybrid literature as one human could possibly withstand. The doctor casually dropped that there were books on hybrids of all breeds, but there was such little on foxes. The small bits and pieces he found were sacred to him, mentally bookmarked, and cataloged. He’d spent so much time reading, while successfully avoiding Hoseok in the process, knowing that he’d only suffer otherwise. The fox was terrifying, well and truly. So, instead of taking his inquiries directly to Hoseok himself, he’d spent long afternoons engaged in conversation with the Queen about the fox hybrid. What does the head of the Queen’s guard do? How did Hoseok come to fall into such a position? What drastic measures had Hoseok taken in order to protect her? Yoongi was entertained by these thoughts, in his own obvious interest that was being cradled safely inside the Queen’s palm, as she answered his every question. She wasn’t lacking in detail, either, as she described close calls, as well as candid examples of Hoseok’s many acts of heroism.    Now that Yoongi knew more, he could safely admit to himself that it wasn’t enough. Somehow he knew that it would never be enough and it was with that knowledge in mind that, he decided that touching Hoseok wouldn’t be in his best interest. Thusly, he’d chose to ignore the redheaded enigma, practically diving out of the hybrid’s line of sight, as though one look would strike him down – hell, it probably would. He had that level of faith and confidence in Jung Hoseok. The blonde sat up from his spot on the table with a tired yawn, ruffling his hair out of his face. He’d heard the dinner bell when it had gone off, but he’d been too lazy to move at the time. Actually, he’d been too damn lazy to do much of anything recently. The last productive thing he could recall doing was locking the door to the ballroom, so that he could bend his fingers across the keys of the grand piano without being interrupted. Again. He placed the book down and made to hop down, when a loose thread of his sweater caught onto a piece of splintered wood. The tables in the library were ancient, despite appearing so finely polished, and in mint condition. He pulled on the hem of his shirt, watching as the stitching continued to unravel with every unwise tug. “Oh, for the love of Luna,” Yoongi cursed, as he wrapped the string around his finger, intending to pull it free, when a hand suddenly closed around his wrist, both startling and stopping him. He hadn’t even heard the doors being opened, let alone any steps advancing towards him. What the fuck?   “I wouldn’t,” warned an amused voice, or the voice, rather. Yoongi immediately knew its source, whom it belonged to, and that it was Hoseok standing there next to him, being close, too fucking close in Yoongi’s opinion, skin to skin in a gentle touch that could do just as much to light him aflame. The fox’s tail curled slightly, as he concentrated on the thread going from the table to bottom of Yoongi’s sweater. “Hold still for me, hyung.” Hold still, when Yoongi couldn’t even breathe properly. The hybrid drew a thin, delicate throwing dagger from one of the leather satchels on his belt – steadying Yoongi’s wrist, as he carefully sliced through the thread from beneath where it was cutting into the blonde’s finger. The hybrid then casually tucked the weapon away, before tying the string still attached to the blonde’s sweater as close as he could get it to the stitching, knotting it firmly. “It’ll probably be ruined next wash,” Hoseok said, tsking at the damage. The hybrid stared down at the elder, dark eyes cutting. “What?” “The Queen said that you’re even better with a bow.” And why the hell did that just pour from his mouth? He blinked away at the shock, trying to recover himself. “I mean, she’d said in passing that you sometimes represent her in the Archery Leagues, and that you win too often.” ‘Too often’ was supposed to elicit some kind of reaction from Hoseok, perhaps a laugh, a smile – even a modest reply would have done nicely, but all Yoongi was met with was an eerie quiet.   The tip of Hoseok’s tongue wet the surface of his bottom lip, “Interesting conversation that you’ve scored with me. A better conversation would be why you’ve hidden yourself from my sight, avoiding me as though you’re good at it, hyung.” Yoongi wasn’t very good at lying, but he liked exercising his rights, “I haven’t been.” “Oh, but you have, and I have theories,” Hoseok said, using his nearness to press Yoongi against the table, the wood digging into the back of the elder’s thighs. “All of this reading up on fox hybrids…” He tapped his finger down on the book Yoongi had been rifling through for the emphasis. “And you’ve learned nothing, have you, hyung? Well, allow me clue you in, then. All of my senses are heightened and sensitive. So, I can smell you, before I even see you.” The blonde swallowed hard at the implication that Hoseok had known of his whereabouts the entire time, which would mean all of his efforts had been in vain. Yoongi’s heart was racing at a speed that he was not used to dealing with, willing himself to calm down. There was no such luck with the way Hoseok was closing him in, the fox’s hands flat against the table at the sides of Yoongi’s waist. He’d felt helplessly trapped, but in a way that he preferred to be, wanting Hoseok, yet fearing him all at once. “Apart from smelling you, I can also hear you, hyung.” Yoongi closed his eyes against the low, dark tone the fox had taken on, shuddering pleasantly, because fuck – he wanted to be devoured, right here and now. The only thing stopping him from sitting on the table, all open and willing, was because he wanted Hoseok to be the one to place him there. “I had to dismiss my guards from your door the other night to give you privacy. You were being so very loud and you smelled so fucking good…” The other night, when the Queen had given Yoongi his fill of information, satisfying his every curiosity with the promise of more the following day. He’d been three fingers deep, envisioning Hoseok fucking into him ruthlessly with his wrists pinned to his back, as the other went to the front of his throat. Because when Yoongi thought of Hoseok, all he could think of was predator. “My theory, hyung, is that you want me. You want me so badly that you’re fisting your cock every night, whining into your pillow, pretending that it’s me. I heard you say it…” Hoseok’s hips met his own, allowing the blonde to feel his arousal, already so hard through the layers of their clothing. “You said my name. You said, ‘Hoseok, please fuck me…’ and it was the loveliest, yet the filthiest thing I’d ever heard, and I want to hear it again.” Hoseok was chasing him, crowding the human, angling his face with every overwhelmed turn of Yoongi’s, inching closer still. The blonde had no other choice but to be honest then, the guilt evident and thick in his voice, “I’m fucking obsessed with you.” The slow forming smirk that grew upon Hoseok’s face was goddamn indecent then and it took everything in Yoongi not to – ah, fuck it. He drew the hybrid in closer to his height, fingers digging into the back of Hoseok’s neck, desperate almost. Yoongi expelled the air from his lungs in a long, shaky exhale. He was trembling, so ready to break beneath the younger, should the fox deem it necessary. One look was all Hoseok needed in order to know, to truly understand that the human was too far gone – that they made a mess of one another with such minimal contact, that avoiding it for too much longer would only make it worse. He brought his hands to the small of Yoongi’s waist, placing him on top of the table. It was automatic, the way his legs so readily parted around Hoseok’s hips, pulling him in closer. The hand on the back of Hoseok’s neck grew more insistent, blunt nails digging into soft golden skin. Yoongi needed – his lips falling open, waiting with bated breath. “If I kiss you, I won’t be able to stop. I already know it,” Hoseok confessed, touching the tips of his fingers to the curve of Yoongi’s jawline, angling the elder’s face up to meet his own. The hybrid’s eyes darkened, “Instinct tells me to claim you, hyung.” He wore a mask of complete calm, as though the blood housed within his veins wasn’t boiling or itching to finally leave marks across Yoongi’s smooth, pale skin. “It says to fuck you and breed you like you’re one of my own, but I don’t want to chance hurting you.” “But that’s what I want,” Yoongi said, bringing his other hand to Hoseok’s wrist, guiding the hybrid’s fingers down to the slender line of his throat. “Humans aren’t fragile, Hoseok – most especially, me. I want it to hurt, need it to hurt. I wanna be able to feel you – for days, weeks. I want it to last.” In the next moment, Yoongi had willingly dug his own grave, hammered each nail into his coffin, using the same breathy tone as the night before, saying the lovely filthy line to rile the hybrid up, “Please, Hoseok-ah, fuck me.” The redhead could feel Yoongi’s pulse within his hand, the way his breathing hitched when he’d applied more pressure. His fox ear twitched, picking up on guards changing shifts just outside the library doors. The situation wasn’t ideal and despite Hoseok’s better judgment, he’d found himself leaning down to taste Yoongi’s lips, groaning into him the moment they’d made contact, confirming his belief that no – he wouldn’t be able to stop. Yoongi was deliciously receptive to him, mouth eagerly parting around Hoseok’s tongue. And honestly, it shouldn’t have felt this fucking good. The fox could almost concede that each kiss and every touch was like fire, slowly burning him through, searing him in ways that would surely leave a scar. He could feel Yoongi’s length with every slight rock of his hips, seeking friction against Hoseok solid frame. This really wasn’t the right place to be stripping Yoongi down, yet Hoseok found himself twisting the button free on the elder’s dark slacks. The zipper fell on its own when he’d dug his fingers beneath the waistband of Yoongi’s briefs. It really wasn’t the right place at all. And it was difficult for Hoseok to use his heightened senses, while he was being thoroughly distracted by his human. The hybrid sucked in a sharp breath, as a pleasurable chill ran down his spine, feeling the soft pads of Yoongi’s thumbs caressing the sensitive skin of each fox ear. He rebutted by wrapping his long fingers around the blonde’s leaking cock, tugging at Yoongi’s mouth with his sharp teeth, receiving a broken whimper in response. It was apparent that the human enjoyed the sting of pain and Hoseok was more than willing to give it, as he stroked Yoongi dry within his palm – leaning down to leave bruises against the elder’s skin. The firm, strong swirls over Yoongi’s pulse had him moaning aloud, too loudly – Hoseok determined, as he withdrew long enough to remove the sweater from Yoongi’s body. He wore a simple thin, black t-shirt beneath it. The dark shade complimented how pale he was, delicate veins standing out against skin so translucent. Hoseok enjoyed the way he flushed so easily for him, panting heavily in the quiet of the library, already so affected. He slowly released Yoongi from his grasp, trailing his fingers teasingly across his cock to grab the hem of his shirt and connected it at the collar, pulling them tightly together. Hoseok’s eyes gleamed mischievously, when he touched the fabric to Yoongi’s mouth. The blonde raised a brow in question, but allowed Hoseok to ease the material past his lips, and found that it only aroused him further – he fisted at the front of Hoseok’s uniform, bringing him as close as possible. “You look so pretty like this, hyung, but you sound even prettier,” Hoseok said, roaming his hands down the front of Yoongi’s bare chest, repeatedly skimming his thumbs over the erect, pink buds there. “But the castle is guarded by hybrids. We all have sensitive hearing. Truthfully, even with the gag, they’ll still be able to hear you. They’ll hear me, too…” He leaned in, taking Yoongi’s sensitive skin into the heat of his mouth, trapping a nipple between his teeth. The reaction was instantaneous, a jerk of Yoongi’s small hips, a muffled cry into the rough fabric of his shirt. Hoseok resumed in his torture, pressing a slow trail of wet kisses lower, “…sucking on your cute human dick, until you come.” The fuck… Yoongi groaned at the hot mixture of the hybrid’s actions and words, flushing deeply, wondering what the hell made Hoseok’s dick so fucking special. He wanted to know, but he was currently more invested in the direction of Hoseok’s hungry mouth. No – he wanted to fuck up into the fox’s mouth, wanted to feel Hoseok choke on his ‘cute human dick’. He wanted to smear his cum right across the hybrid’s stupid, grinning face after he was finished with using him. Instead, he slipped his hands away from Hoseok to grab at the edge of the table, knuckles turning bone white when he’d felt the first flick of the fox’s tongue over his heated skin. Hoseok’s movements were fast, when his hands were suddenly placed on top of Yoongi’s, pinning the elder there, while he darted the point of his tongue against the slit of his swollen cock, quick to taste the pearly precum that threatened to drip down. The hybrid was practiced, as he swallowed Yoongi’s length down in one go, humming appreciatively around him, “Mmm…” The deep sound reverberated, causing the blonde to shudder with chills. Hoseok enjoyed the familiar stretch of his mouth, breathing in and out through his nose to take his human even further to the back of his throat, before starting up a rhythm, determined to get the elder off as fast as he could, since he’d been tasked to fetch Yoongi, not to completely #wreck him. If Yoongi had been able to form a complete sentence, he’d tell Hoseok to slow the fuck down, but the more selfish part of him was all too pleased with the steady pace, the continuous lave of Hoseok’s hot tongue, how he’d paid extra attention to the head of Yoongi’s cock, swirling, and slurping lewdly. From beneath his dark lashes, Hoseok watched the elder get lost in a state of blissful enrapt, pulling off just to show Yoongi the sticky webs of saliva and precum hanging from between his cock and the fox’s swollen mouth. The redhead smirked at him, “I can’t wait to eat you up.” The way Hoseok said it, fuck – if this wasn’t eating Yoongi whole, then, what else would it be? Oh. The blonde felt a tremor rip throughout his body, the muscles in abdomen clenching. Oh. Once the fox was certain that the image had been painted all nice and vivid in the human’s mind, of Hoseok fucking him open with his sharp tongue, he wrapped his slender fingers around Yoongi’s length, and brought him back inside the warm suction of his mouth. Yoongi leaned his head back, having no other choice but to feel as his orgasm climbed way too fast. It was purposeful on the hybrid’s part and out of his control. This was what Hoseok wanted, sloppy and quick – no grace to be salvaged, when Yoongi’s eyes squeezed shut for all but a moment, reaching for the hybrid’s crimped fire red hair, more in warning than anything – Hoseok pinned his hands back down to the table, holding him. Fuck. Yoongi felt as the familiar rush swarmed him, crying out when he released into Hoseok’s mouth. Hoseok continued stroking him through each wave of pleasure, milking Yoongi of every last drop he had to offer onto his tongue. And humans, they were different. They smelled different, tasted different. Yoongi was like vanilla and spiced cinnamon, but with a human bitterness that he’d come to know and crave. He flicked his tongue across the head of Yoongi’s spent cock, before flashing him a grin. Yoongi was delicious and well worth the wait. Jimin had told the hybrid that it would be his year, his month – his forever. Hoseok was a very patient fox, but he was also voracious, and known for having an appetite. The hybrid could only hope that his cat-like human would be able to keep up with it.  He helped Yoongi back inside his boxers, buttoning, and zipping up his slacks. Then he gently and slowly, unraveled the bunched up shirt from his mouth, dark eyes staring down at the elder’s too pink lips. “The Queen sent me to come get you.” Hoseok’s dick was pulsing beneath his jeans, having yet to be relieved, aching as he watched Yoongi’s pretty mouth naturally pout at him. “We have to go now, hyung.” Yoongi wasn’t entirely convinced that Hoseok had meant the last part. With a voice like gravel, the human returned to his typically shrewd behavior, “We don’t have to go anywhere. I don’t have to do anything, especially since we just – I finally get to have you. I’d take a small nap first if I wasn’t so certain that I needed more from you right now.” “And I’m going to let you have it,” Hoseok promised, as he grabbed at the side of Yoongi’s face with enough force to pull him from off the table right to his mouth. Any kiss was dangerous at this point, steadily testing the fox’s resolve, but Hoseok wanted what Yoongi needed – he practically yearned for it. The hybrid would do anything, anything to help ease the ache, but orders come first. “You’re also mine, hyung, and I’m going to make sure that you won’t forget that fact,” he murmured, drawing lazy circles over one of the many growing bruises along the side of Yoongi’s neck with his thumb. “You might want to quickly change into something high collared...” Even if hybrids wouldn’t be able to see the marks that Hoseok left, they’d be able to smell the fox’s claim. Yoongi had done enough reading to know.

 Jeongguk started attending dinner, but anyone in the room could tell that his attentions were solely fixated on her, making eating difficult, even long after his presence had become ritual. It was as though he were the one starving, despite having consumed a full three course meal without stopping to so much as take a breath. She wondered how often hybrids needed to scent their mates, if it was part of his apparent duress, met with the twitch and flicker of his fingers, or a long, bent rabbit ear. Perhaps Jeongguk would be the one to beg her in the end? It was still relatively early in the evening, when Jimin escorted the girl to Mimzy’s workroom. He’d been tasked with helping her find her way around the castle, watching as silks, and frills were being fitted to her body. Not that he minded all that much, since he was in good company. They’d agreed that the Queen’s fishtail idea was to be scrapped, indefinitely. The royal seamstress was all too pleased upon hearing the declaration. “The only time I design fishtail gowns is for nautical weddings. Not saying that you wouldn’t look beautiful, because you would,” Mimzy said, as she focused on pinning a piece fabric into place. “But you’re not a fish’s bride. Don’t get me wrong, they’re totally cute, but you’re a rabbit’s bride. The two styles are much, much different, that I can assure you.” Whatever the hell that obvious statement was meant for. Jimin looked over the final sketches of her gown, closing his eyes to recall the wedding day in his mind, confirming that this would be the one. Sometimes the power of his gift still amazed him. However, not all of fae’s visions were of the good kind, especially when he was unable to prevent catastrophes from happening. Meddling too much with fate could one day strip him of his sight. There’d been plenty of times where he’d been tempted to risk it. Like last winter, where he’d been forced to act oblivious, knowing that Taehyung was but moments away from fracturing his wrist. The wolf’s supernatural healing ability or not, it still sucked. ‘Fuck – did you know?’ Taehyung hissed out, his inner wolf dripping from his voice, as he cradled his injured wrist to his chest, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip to keep from crying out in pain. He snapped, angrily, ‘Jimin! I said did you know that this was going to happen?’ The fairy gave a slow nod, somewhat pitifully, the glow of his skin dimming. ‘I-I wanted to stop it, but I…’ ‘It must’ve been hard for you,’ Taehyung gasped, trying to calm his breathing when Seokjin finally administered him a painkiller, the effects almost immediate. He’d waited until the doctor was gone to look over at Jimin, voice thick with relief, and tension. Taehyung’s eyes were wet, tears falling from his bottom lashes, ‘You can’t ever interfere, you know that, right? Don’t ever sacrifice your sight for me.’ Jimin knew the day would come where he’d be faced with that decision, trapped in a moment where freeing himself would mean disregarding Taehyung’s plea, in order to do what felt right. Unless the King’s admiral decided to retire the wolf hybrid, but that was highly unlikely. Taehyung was a crucial part of the kingdom’s defense unit.   “All set,” Mimzy said, as she started helping the girl out of her many layers, comically hefting the heavy garments over towards the sewing mannequin. “I’ll be sure to have it finished by next week. That way, it’ll be too late for the Queen to object to the changes.” The fairy agreed, “That’s a wonderful idea.” He then placed down the sketches to assist the princess with her complicated attire. There were too many buttons, laces, and zippers for her to figure out. He could tell that she still wasn’t used to the clothing yet. The girl hadn’t bothered to startle, comfortable with Jimin at this point. He asked her, “Will you be alright from here? I have to go make sure Taehyung remembered to eat something.” “I’m sure that I can find my way around,” she said, before bowing her goodbyes to Mimzy, and parting ways. There were a number of times she’d been left to her own devices – most of that time had been spent alone in her room, staring out the balcony at the Meadows. She yearned to see the rest of the city, to walk among the crowds, and put her newly acquired golden card to good use, aka eating everything in sight. She enjoyed traipsing past the art leading into the Queen’s quarters, imagining seven year old Taehyung focusing intently with a paintbrush, squinting at his work. He was currently slaving over a piece to present to her at the wedding and the thought alone was enough to make her feel full with overwhelming happiness. She’d never received a handmade gift, not even from her own mother. Not on purpose, but rather she’d never learned how to paint or knit. Instead, what her mother had given to her consisted of love and knowledge.   On the opposite end of the castle, away from what she’d been used to, were the King’s quarters. The Prince’s chambers were probably at the far end. She’d never so much as glimpsed in the general direction. Was she even allowed to go there? The décor changed the further she explored, purple turning into a deep red. The art on the wall was decidedly unimpressive in comparison to Taehyung’s, not that her biased opinion mattered on the topic. She’d come across her first set of guards, testing her boundaries. Neither hybrid so much as flinched when she passed them, thus green lighting the rest of her steps. It wasn’t until the cat hybrid appeared, Namjoon, Seokjin’s genius husband, stepped out into the hallway that she’d been stopped in her tracks. “Princess,” he greeted, as he closed the door behind him. He’d kept his hand on the knob and was slow to release it, puzzled by her sudden appearance. “It’s unusual seeing you here. Are you lost?” “No, Admiral,” she declined with a shake of her head, looking away. Namjoon was intimidating, dimples, or not. “I was wondering if Prince Jeongguk was in his chambers?” “He’s not, however if you’d like to wait for him, that would be fine as well.” He extended his arm out, pointing down the corridor. “His room is at the very end of the hall, the white door.” She nodded, meekly, “Very good. Thank you...” “You should inform us next time, so that we are able to make adequate arrangements on your behest. A formal visit would ensure that the prince be wherever you’re looking.” And with that, the hybrid was sauntering off, whistling a jaunty tune. What the fuck? Well, she hadn’t known that she could request such a thing. Honestly, she didn’t even think she’d be able to enter Jeongguk’s room without his permission, but you learn something new every day at the palace. She proceeded down the hallway, the white door standing out against rows of black. She stepped inside like it was the most natural thing to do, unprepared for the strong waft of floral that struck her senses. The room was covered in Bell’snaps, which was a delicate mix between snapdragons and roses, known for its unique bulbs. They were more commonly referred to as the Heaven and Hell flower, since they tended to grow along the border separating the two kingdoms. She’d learned a great deal about them, not because her parents were florists, but because she’d been presented with them year after year on her birthday without fail, since she was fifteen. Perhaps it would be premature to assume, but her heart had already confirmed it for her, that Jeongguk had been the one sending them to her, knowing who she was, that she was to be his someday, frustrated that he was unable to reveal himself. The hybrid still found a way. She gently touched a finger to one of the white petals. Of course he found a way. The rest of Jeongguk’s room was dark, almost in spite of the white glow of the Bell’snaps. The walls were painted the color of onyx, the furniture reminding her of storm clouds, or the surface of the moon – dark and bright all at once. His belongings sat atop of mirrors, cologne bottles, and silver jewelry scattered across them haphazardly. Hanging above his dresser was a selection of silk chokers, a look that he clearly took seriously. It was rude to touch without asking, but she found herself reaching for one of them. It was light pink, a color that seemed too soft for Jeongguk. She brought it around her neck and secured the ends. The cologne from Star’s End had come in an expensive bottle, not that it needed such a flashy appearance to sell its quality. The brand usually spoke for itself. Testing the fragrance out on her wrist, she’d decided that it smelled better when it was mixed with Jeongguk’s chemistry – a scent that was practically made to only be worn by him. There was framed art hanging up on the wall, one of which resembled that of Taehyung’s work. It was a depiction of what she’d imagined the Fae Realm to look like. She then wondered if Jimin had taken his wolf there, if he’d allowed Taehyung to see the fairy nests hidden within the forest – if he’d returned to the palace covered in glitter and paint. She attempted to sit on top of Jeongguk’s bed, the frills of her gown rejecting the movement. It was too high up, proving that the climb would be a task, which was simply ridiculous. Growing annoyed, she opened the door to his closet and went in search of something more ideal to wear. There was no shortage of plain button ups, so she grabbed one – a white top that was probably never worn. Beneath her dress, she wore a feeble pair of britches to combat the cold temperatures of autumn, so there was no need to steal a pair of his slacks. She huffed with each pull of her dress, untying the lace of her corset, cursing with every awkward bend of her fingers, as she tried her damndest to tear everything off. She’d have to see about more casual style clothing, something tasteful, yet less. So much less. She glared at the heap of clothing on the floor. Maybe she needed her maids more than she initially thought, as they tended to make fast work of the removal process. Jeongguk’s shirt was massive on her, the bottom of his shirt reaching mid-thigh, like a tunic. The sleeves could almost fold to her elbow. She climbed onto his bed without a problem this time, as she flopped herself onto his soft pillows, and was pleasantly assaulted by another hit of his cologne. This time it smelled more like him, diluted with his natural scent. And that was it, the pinnacle of comfort, as good as it was going to get for now: a place of belonging. With Bell’snaps at every corner of the room, the long mystery was finally over, curiosities settled. Yoongi would be happy to hear it, no longer burdened to play the role of Sherlock. She closed her eyes and pulled at the hybrid’s bed sheets, slipping beneath them, and tucking herself further into the pillows. How long had Jeongguk waited? When did he find out her name or her birthday? Why would someone as beautiful as Jeongguk even…? Why would he ever… …love someone so small…? The bed dipped beneath her – a firm tug of the sheets, soft warmth enclosing her within its arms, lights puffs of air hitting her skin. The familiar spice of Jeongguk’s cologne was stronger then, easing her into what was sure to be oblivion, but even while in her cozy, sleep induced mind, she knew that she wasn’t alone anymore. As though to solidify her belief, insistent hands were pulling her closer still. Jeon Jeongguk, a rabbit princeling with control issues. She curled herself against the wall of his chest, the movement instinctual, as their arms and legs tangled for much needed contact. “Princess,” he sighed, the lilt of his tone somewhat airy, and gentle. She swallowed hard against the feel of his fingertips teasing beneath the silk that was covering her throat. It was his choker to be exact. “It isn’t that I’m not pleased to find you in my chambers, asleep in my bed, in my clothes, but why are you here?” With sleep still muddling her thoughts, the conversation had come easily. “I was waiting for you.” “Well, that much is obvious. I have been waiting, as well.” Here it comes, the resume button being pressed from their last close encounter. Apparently, the hybrid wasn’t willing to let it go. She knew it and yet she’d expected more from him, to forget about his childish demands to enjoy the moment. He was still playing with the silk, pulling at it until it grew tight against her skin. “Do you have words for me?” “The magic words?” she asked, stalling. ‘Beg for your prince’. She’d never begged for anything. It wasn’t in her nature to do so, ask any of the Min’s. “Why must I?” “So that I know that I’m not the only one behaving so desperately. Marrying you won’t be enough to satisfy what has felt like a lifetime of my wanting you.” He pulled back far enough to look at her, dark eyes unintentionally cold. “It’s selfish of me, I know this all too well, but I need you begging for me.” She laughed, incredulously, “I’m the one who is desperate here. You reduce me down to ash beneath the burn of your gaze, as though you mean to consume me. Your presence is so great that it drowns out my own and yet–” The hybrid cut her off. “Then beg.” She bit at the side of her lip, holding back from cursing him. Submitting to him would call for setting aside her dignity. In the prince’s mind, he’d already given himself over to her forever ago, suspended in a state of longing, that she would never truly be able to understand. He wanted the same courtesy, and although it made sense on some messed up level, it was still difficult. “I’ve been curious since the first mention of there being a hybrid prince. I followed the papers, clinging to every written word, fantasizing. I even crossed kingdoms just to see you.” She had no idea as to why she was divulging all of these intimate details again. The night of the Meadow Ball, he’d known how deep her devotion for him had run. “The white Bell’snaps was your doing, wasn’t it? You gifted a flower that represented our two kingdoms, before I even knew of your existence. If anything, I’d been the one to suffer in ignorance.” He shoved his tongue against the inside of his cheek, growing impatient, “Just the same, princess.” “Please,” she whispered, the words barely audible. By the way the hybrid’s ears twitched, it was clear that he’d heard it. And yet, “What was that?” She closed her eyes, trying again, but this time louder. “Please, Jeongguk. I’m…” “You’re begging,” He informed her, gently, “…and you do it so well for me.” It would have been soothing, if not for the current situation. It was not at all a real appraisal, but condescension in its purest form. Jeongguk had the nerve to smile at her, as he demanded, “Again.” Was he joking? “You’re pushing it.” “Oh, am I?” There was sarcasm laced heavily within his tone, as he slipped his fingers into her hair, carefully pulling at the pins holding each strand into place. “I don’t really think so.” She was almost ashamed at how easy it was the second time around. “Please.” The last bobby pin was tossed to the floor. With her hair down, he combed his long fingers through it freely, comfortingly, before he closed his grip – the action abrupt, as he brought her face inches away from his own. The sharp gasp that escaped was enough to send a pleasant shiver down his spine, quite enjoying the way she sounded, eager to hear more. The hybrid stared at her lips, before he’d pressed their mouths together firmly. It was pressure on pressure at first, wanting to feel her and needing to be felt. She said it one last time between aggressive pulls of his lips, “Please.” Uncertain of how much begging would be sufficient enough to satisfy the prince, hoping that it was enough to reflect her own desperation. She roamed her hands along his back, feeling the muscles flex beneath her fingertips when she’d held on. Instinct told her to reach for his ears, intentions becoming apparent when she skimmed the nape of his neck, into his soft dark hair. It the hybrid pause, body as still as stone. He was suddenly staring down at her, eyes narrowed into slits, both dark and accusatory. If looks could kill, she’d already be dead. The white fur slipped from her hand, intrigued by how a single touch could so easily unravel him. “Your ears are just so soft,” she said, as though it would somehow justify her impulse to grab at them. The word ‘soft’ seemed to have struck a nerve, when the hybrid took hold of her wrists, and pinned them to the mattress. It was much like how their first encounter had originally went, with Jeongguk’s hips falling between her thighs with little effort. It felt like an eternity, until he spoke again. “Keep your arms down.” She nodded, wrists staying where he’d placed them, when he started to unbutton the shirt she’d borrowed from his closet, exposing new inches of skin. Wearing a bra wasn’t necessary with her gowns, an observation the hybrid had made as he worked further down. He allowed the shirt to remain shut, affording her brief moments of modesty. “I’ve wanted you for so long. I couldn’t wait to have you like this, all to myself…” How to articulate that she wanted him more than that? The bedside lamp cast a dim light over them, but it was enough to make out the hard lines of Jeongguk’s chest when he removed his shirt from off of his broad shoulders. The hybrid’s physique was a result of his time on the battlefield, a trained soldier within the Admiral’s squadron. Delicately sculpted muscles, miles of golden skin – Jeongguk was a whole meal that’d left her salivating, and starved for a taste, until she remembered herself. Touching him would mean breaking his command. He stared back, shamelessly, taking in the way she was openly admiring his body. “I was always worried that you’d find someone else. A nice, human boy,” Jeongguk confessed, a bitter smirk reaching the curve of his glossed lips. “There were tells about you, though, obvious tells of your inexperience, and that you’re untouched. You have no one to compare me to, princess.” “How fortunate for you, then, should you perform inadequately,” she teased back, her breath hitching in her throat when his eyes flashed darkly. He’d felt challenged by her. She continued to press him, enticed by the thrill of it, “You must be brimming with confidence…” Jeongguk grew quiet then, as he idly traced his fingers beneath the silk choker she was wearing, before tearing it from her neck – breaking the clasp in the process. It’d been weeks since he’d last scented her. Weeks that she’d paraded around the royal court, mingling with other hybrids, being ushered from room to room by his fae, who was usually in the presence of Taehyung. Even if she’d currently smelled like his cologne, it was not of him – not truly. Mating her would be the simplest long term way of making sure that he remained on her skin. Jeongguk wanted every hybrid within the kingdom to be aware of the fact that she’d been properly marked and not to be sought after, if anyone so bold existed.   He parted the shirt covering her breasts, drinking in all of her insecurities with one greedy look – the newly exposed inches of skin calling to be claimed, for Jeongguk to take what had always belonged to him. The hybrid pressed his palms into the mattress, hovering over her, “Your heart is racing. I can hear it…” He lowered his mouth to where her pulse was fluttering against the side of her neck, swirling his tongue over the same spot with slow repetition. It was when she’d felt the sharp pinch of his teeth, that she’d arched her hips up into his own, and could feel how hard he already was for her. Their chests met once he’d settled his full weight atop of her, allowing her to feel more of him each time rocked forward, seeking friction. She’d learned that the prince was all about slow, thorough consumption – languid strokes of his tongue and rough, seemingly practiced touches. He knew just how to hold her, splaying his fingers across the opposite side of her neck, keeping her skin to his teeth. “Jeongguk, please…” This time she’d truly meant it, able to feel an acute ache in the deepest pit of her stomach. The slick of her arousal was wet against her inner thighs, already such a mess. “I want to touch you, too.” It would only be fair, not that fairness seemed to be of high importance to the prince. He trailed the back of his unoccupied hand down the underside of her arm, teasing past the curve of her breast. “Touch me, then,” was the husky response, voice breathy and thick against her throat, before he resumed his torture, drawing his thumb back and forth over her peaked flesh – making her tremble beneath him. “Before I change my mind, princess…” She uncurled her fingers at the warning, bringing a hand to the nape of his neck, as the other clung to his back. The rabbit ears were off limits for now, as she decided to tread carefully in mapping him out. She sucked in a breath when he slid his large hand to the slope of her stomach, the hybrid’s cool fingers slipping beneath her tights. The hold she had on his back moved to the arm that was currently at work, gasping when she’d felt three of his fingers cupping her through the silk of her panties. It was impossible for her to not want to hide, so very aware of how wet she was, but not wanting him to stop.    As though able to read her thoughts, he laughed humorlessly, “You’re completely drenched for me, princess.” Oh, well, fuck – he was out to kill her. The hybrid felt along the tender flesh of her inner thighs, fingers coated with her slick. There was a lack of genuine remorse to his tone, as he continued, “You’re practically dripping all over me, begging me to stuff you full with my cock. Should I?” Jeongguk stared back with eyes as black as charcoal, the smirk touching his lips downright predatory. She wondered if he’d truly expected an answer, her skin burning the longer he searched her face for, every bit of the pleasantness wiped from his expression, and replaced with something hungry. Why the hell was she allowing him to get away with it? “Your highness…” He was quick to silence her with the firm press of his mouth, tongue parting her lips with ease. She hummed at the distraction, melting into the kiss. The hybrid moaned into her, pleased with how she fit inside his palm – his middle and index fingers bent, as he rubbed her through the silk material, easily slipping between the folds of her soaked flesh, and over her clit. It had become obvious to her that Jeongguk controlled every aspect of their coupling, like a wave that kept crashing down on her in a show of dominance, leaving her fighting for air, until the last moment when he allowed her to fill her lungs. He took slow, languid drags of her mouth, distracted by the slick warmth between his fingers. The mess had grown when he’d removed the remaining garment – webs of clear, sticky arousal hanging from between the material of her panties and her skin. He watched her through heavy lids, dark eyes having narrowed when he brought his middle finger to the center of his tongue, and made a show of licking it clean. Oh… The situation was foreign to her, intimidating – so much more than she could ever imagine, and yet she’d wanted more of it. The hand she’d placed on his arm steadily pulled him forward, encouraging him to continue. She whispered, unable to find her voice, “Please, Jeongguk. I need…” Please, please, please…Listening to herself beg was unbearable, even if it had come naturally by this point.  “You’re such a good girl for me,” he cooed, lowering his mouth back to hers, their lips parting into shaky gasps, when he curved a long finger into her. She whimpered softly at the warm pressure filling her with every thrust. His tone was almost accusatory, “You’re so perfect and all mine. All. Mine.” He pushed in slow, shallow at first, allowing her time to adjust to it, before adding a second finger. The prince continued to taunt, enjoying the way her skin flushed red, “Will you be able to handle me, princess? You might be too small for my cock.” Her walls clung onto him tightly, as though to keep him in, welcoming the stretch of each intrusion, the strokes of his long, delicate fingers exactly where she needed it. “Listen…” The loud, wet sounds of his fingers moving inside her warmth made her want to die. “So, you’re into humiliation,” she breathed, shuddering when he teased his mouth over her breasts, meticulous in his onslaught of rabbit teeth and tongue, leaving behind a trail of purple and pink marks. “I am into…” He said, placing a firm kiss just her below her navel, “…the sound your body makes while I’m fucking you with my fingers.” More kisses, this time hot and lingering – from one side of her hips to the other. The hybrid held her eyes, lips twitching, “The desperate little moans and gasps that you make whenever you hold in your breath for too long, too afraid of what I might think, when all I want is more.” She jumped at the soft touch of his ears, velvet making contact with the sensitive skin of her lower stomach, as he brought one of her legs to rest on top of his shoulder – spreading her wide and pulling her closer all in the same process. Long before they’d started, he’d been able to smell her arousal, both heady and thick, clouding his thoughts, but at this proximity, it was damn near intoxicating.   He nuzzled into her thigh, flicking his tongue out to taste her sticky skin with the flat of his tongue, humming contentedly at the sweet bitterness that he practically starved for. The hybrid met her eyes, critical of the way she suffered through her bouts desperation without verbalizing it, when she’d gasped another plea, her body trembling – hips arching to get closer to the awaiting warmth of his mouth. Fuck this. Her fingers reached for the ears that were tickling her skin, tugging on them gently, and felt as his breath stuttered upon her skin. The shiver that tore through the hybrid was satisfying for her to watch, pleased that he’d yet to pull back to reprimand her. Instead, he withdrew his fingers very slowly, dark eyes fixed on the way her walls clenched tightly around nothing, slick glistening against raw skin – Jeongguk’s hunger persisted, almost stealing the rest of his patience.  He wasted no time in opening her with his thumbs, exposing her nice and wide for him, before lashing his tongue out over her clit, growling low and appreciatively – the sound reverberating against her, and gaining her chills. It was becoming too much, too soon, even for him, as he pressed his hips firmly to the mattress in an attempt to relieve himself, however slight. The touch of her fingers on his ears left him aware of the fact that she wanted to affect him just as badly, to have even a modicum of control over the situation – his precious little human. She’d have nothing, but this, this, this. He licked a long stripe from her entrance to the swollen hood of her clit, the hand holding her leg in place tightening when she’d jolted. All it took was the next reaction, a choked sob that sounded so raw and lovely to his sensitive ears, and Jeongguk was gone. The hybrid devoured her like she was a meal, trapping her within the tight suction of his mouth, as he darted his tongue over her in a myriad of quick, unmerciful motions. The higher she climbed, the more he wanted her to fall – as he grabbed at her hips, hard enough to leave bruises, and firmly guided her against his mouth. “A-Ah, Jeongguk…” She cried out, tugging at the white fur of his ears like it was a lifeline. “I’m c-close, I’m so close…I’m…” He licked at his swollen lips when he’d pulled off, “You’re going to come for me.” The hybrid was so confident with her end, rubbing fast circles into her clit with his nose pressed into her, delving his tongue past her entrance in deep, controlled thrusts. She felt her orgasm drawing closer, until the heat unfurled at her center. He drank her in the moment she let go, sucking greedily, as he pinned her hips back down to the mattress. “Oh, my fuck…” she gasped, limbs weightless, and mind freed. The high of her release was familiar, but more intense, both mentally and physically this time. She covered her face with a hand, laughing breathlessly, “That was amazing.” She was still playing with one of his ears, soft velvet brushing between her fingers. “Tell me how to please you. I’ll do anything.” “I know you will,” he said, while he once again settled between her legs. The material of his slacks felt rough against her sensitive skin, letting her feel the hard outline of his cock with each slow grind of his hips. “Now let me show you.” Jeongguk brought her hand against his abdomen, inching her fingers down lower beneath his own, where his skin hot, and toned.    He bit at his plush bottom lip, letting go of her hand when she reached the button of his pants. She pulled it free and trailed the zipper down. The serious look of concentration on her face was endearing to him. The hybrid chuckled, “You get to expose me now, princess. Are you secretly enjoying it?” She smiled, nervously, unable to meet the weight of his stare, “I would enjoy making you feel good, too.” “An easy task for my sweet human...” The first touch of her fingers against the heated skin of cock was enough to leave him winded – throbbing and leaking within her small hand when she’d pulled from his briefs. He leaned onto the mattress, rocking forward into her closed fist, enjoying the view between their bodies. It was when she’d begun moving her wrist in tandem with him, strokes wet, and tight, he’d hissed between clenched teeth, “Yes, princess. Just like that…” She used the hand on his hybrid ear to pull him into a kiss, before sliding down to the back of his neck. He parted her lips with his tongue, licking into her mouth somewhat lazily, faltering from her touch. It was erotic, how innocent she was and how lecherous he felt, wanting to take it all away. He felt the exploration of her hand ending at the base of his spine, too close – when her fingers skimmed the pure white fluff of his tail, sending ripples of pleasure throughout his body. The kiss broke with his harsh breaths, warning her, “You must stop.” It was disarming, how beautiful the hybrid could look when he was being wrecked. She tested her limits, brushing her fingers through the fur of his tail, before giving it a hard tug at the ends. The guttural sound that followed after was almost worth the risk of continuing, finding their reversal empowering – another adventure, for another time. She’d stopped as he’d instructed, releasing him to instead lower his slacks and briefs down over his ass. It was fact that hybrids tended to mate from behind. That bit of information had been learned unwillingly, when she’d made the mistake of taking interest in whatever her brother was reading at the time, lost in the royal library. However, Jeongguk didn’t appear to be going with ritual at the present. No change in position. The hybrid took hold of his cock and started coating himself with her arousal, using the swollen head of his length to rub up and down against her.   Dark eyes measured her, carefully, “It’s going to hurt at first and you won’t be able to have it back. It’ll be mine…” He pressed himself against her entrance, the fit snug – the pressure slight, but it was enough to make her tense up with anticipation. “The whole kingdom will be able to smell my claim on you after this. They’ll know I’ve properly marked and bedded you. This is what it means to give everything to me.” And with that, he slowly eased the tip into her, pausing the moment he was met with a barrier. The discomfort was evident on her face, her skin flushed with her thighs trembling at his waist. He steadily withdrew, before snapping his hips forward – breaching past the tight resistance, as he buried himself in deeply. It was the only way in his mind, since he knew that inch by inch would have been worse for the both of them. The hybrid was quick to bring his arms up to cradle her, chest aching when he’d felt her fingers curl into his back. They were trapped in a state of perpetual overwhelm.   “You feel so good…” It took every ounce of Jeongguk’s self-restraint not to lose control, to remain still, and behave – fuck if it wasn’t difficult. “So tight and perfect for me, isn’t that right?”   She nudged at him with her nose, needing him, needing more, their lips brushing between shallow breaths. He grabbed at the side of her face, sighing into her, eager to take – slipping his tongue into her mouth in hot, warm strokes. A brave nip of her teeth drew a soft moan at the back of his throat. “Fuck,” he cursed, allowing her to kiss along the prominent curve of his jawline. The burn of being so full one moment, and then empty the next was unpleasant, when he pulled back his hips, stopping until only the head of his cock was still inside her, before he rocked forward – beginning a slow pace at first, allowing them time to adjust. Another small bite was placed at the hollow of his throat, which prompted the hybrid to act on impulse when he pinned her head down to the pillow by her hair. There was no need for words with the way he stared at her then, eyes impossibly black – the muscle in his jaw twitching. No female hybrid would ever dare and perhaps that was why he loved, rather than loathed her species. He slowly loosened his grip on the strands, his point having been made, “Show me how well you touch yourself. I want to see how you’ve done it, time and time again, while thinking of me fucking you just like this…” She winced when the encouragement made her walls clench around him, nearly killing them both. He resisted the urge to start pounding into her, gritting his teeth, “You liked that, huh, baby? Come on.” She reached down between her legs, pressing her pointer and middle finger in circles over her clit – giving a startled gasp when he brought her knees to her chest to get a better view of how she was touching herself, stretched so tight around his thick length with the mess of their arousal making it easier to drive into her. The hybrid was determined to hold off for her, slowing his hips, so that he focus on leaving marks across her skin. He wanted to devour her whole, taking in the way her nipples stood erect, sensitive against his hot tongue, her eyes brimming with tears when she stared at him. It only made him want to ruin her more. The moment he could, was the moment when pain turned into pleasure – her walls gripping around him like a pulse. Spurred on by the her small cries, the hybrid gave her more, the sensual grind of his hips turning into hard, quick thrusts – hard and deep enough to feel it within her bones, the slick sounds of their sweat covered skin meeting loud in the quiet room. The muscles in his abdomen tensed, when he moaned out, “You’re going to make me come.” He was noisier than she was, sighing and gasping at a higher frequency as her desperate, needy sounds.  “W-Wait, wait,” she cried, eyes closing tightly when he hit a spot, as though touching at her very core, exactly where she needed it, and how she needed it – leaving her breathless, lungs on fire from the suffocating tension. She threw an arm over her mouth to keep herself from screaming, trembling. “Let me turn over…” The suggestion was enough to have him slow to a stop, edging them both when he withdrew. She’d felt so very empty again, left red and raw and clenching around nothing. It was on shaky limbs that she moved onto her stomach, feeling a large hand slide down the length of her spine. He paused between her shoulder blades on his way back up, pushing her chest down to the mattress. Her hips remained poised, ass in the air with her thighs pressed tightly together. “You spoil me, princess,” the hybrid murmured, voice reverent almost when he took in the sight of her. “I thought hybrid ways would be too impersonal for our first time, especially when considering the sensitivity of humans. Overtime perhaps, but look at you behaving so well for your prince. It’s like you already know your place…” He moved his hand between her legs, two fingers trapping her clit, as he pushed his thumb into her. She whimpered, grabbing at the bedding, and holding it tightly. He smirked, dark and meaningful, “Your body is positively sinful.” He slowly withdrew his fingers, when he eased his cock back into her, watching the way she swallowed him up so greedily – the new angle allowing him to go deeper – deep enough to bottom out each time he slammed into her, hybrid instinct taking over him. It was her act of submission that had finally made him snap, dominant by nature. He grabbed hold of her hips where bruises had started to form, sending her forward with each powerful thrust. A whimper had the hybrid leaning far into her, the wall of his chest against her back to press apologetic kisses along her shoulders – skimming his fingers low across her stomach, down between her thighs, as he started rubbing her in time with his thrusts. Jeongguk was shameless, whispering filthy promises into her skin, moaning out her name – something that was now far more intimate than the usual, ‘princess’. The cool air reached the back of her neck when he scooped her hair up into a fist, drawing her head back, so that he could speak into the sensitive shell of her ear, “I want to feel as you come around my cock.” Thick tears were clinging to her bottom lashes, the pleasure overwhelming, as he continued striking over her chord, bringing her dangerously close to the edge. “Are you going to cry for me? I told you to give me everything.” She spiraled so fast – coming in spasms of heat and bliss, the tears flowing freely. The feeling was emotionally and physically intense, making her feel whole, sated and high, with her heartbeat racing. The hybrid continued pounding into her through her orgasm – teeth sinking into his bottom lip, when he released inside her, spilling so deeply without fear of consequences, knowing that there was no current risk.   He brought a hand to her stomach, keeping her still as he filled her – possessive in the way he marked her thoroughly, inside and out. The hybrid waited for the erratic pace of his heart to slow in rhythm with hers, before pulling away to situate himself beside her. They’d claimed each other’s first time, before the wedding even. He wanted to laugh at the prospect. Although, he would have had her the first night he’d formally met her, if only she’d begged for it. They stared at one another in the dim lighting, the fire waning within the oil lamps, and drawing shadows along the walls. The silence was one of contentment, where actions held more meaning, than spoken words. Damp skin, rising and falling chests. Jeongguk leaned over, capturing a tear in its path down her cheek with his mouth. The kiss was lingering, when he slipped his fingers into her hair, and pulled her so that she was settled on top of him. This high up with her wet and slick skin touching his lower stomach, she felt utterly embarrassed, and dirty.  “The white Bell’snaps,” she said, returning to the topic in hopes of distracting herself from feeling so vulnerable. He hadn't clarified earlier, even if it was obvious. She wanted his explanation. “Why?" “I really couldn’t leave you be, even while I was advised that I could risk losing you.” Jeongguk shook his head, as though finding it just as absurd now, as he did back then. “I associated the Bell’snaps with you, because it symbolized our two kingdoms, and our union. They brought me great comfort, especially during times where I’d felt frustrated, willing to cross the line, and disrupt fate just for a glimpse of you. I used to command Jimin to give me descriptions, while Taehyung attempted to put them down on canvas.” “I’m sorry,” she whispered somewhat guiltily, unable to imagine how lonely that must’ve have been. He brushed his fingers over a mark on her thigh, voice wistful, “You’re here now, princess…” Jeongguk paused to stare up at her then, time caught between them. Dark lashes against equally dark eyes, lips too pink, drawing her attention. “…and you’re all mine, finally.”  She wanted to challenge him and be defiant just for the sake of seeing him get riled up, but there was no truer statement. Instead, she placed the flat of her palms against his chest and teased, “If we are to speak as though people are possessions, then you’re the prettiest trinket that I own, your highness.” “That fucking mouth,” he murmured, before forcibly pulling her down for a slow kiss, unhurried, and thorough – a kiss that was filled with heat, stirring, as they took turns sucking, and nipping at each other’s lips. “…drives me mad.” The hybrid’s breathing was harsh between each word, when he lifted her hips, so that he could push into her warmth, still slick with their mingled cum, easily sheathing his entire length inside of her. If this was the consequence of speaking smartly to the prince, then Luna help them both, because she won’t be able to keep her mouth shut.

On the day of the wedding, the streets of Meadow were lined with human and hybrid kind. Even though the girl hardly had any chances to meet with the kingdom, they’d embraced her all the same, celebrating, and leaving their gifts at the gates. The ceremony itself would be smaller and held within the heart of the castle. Garland made up of Bell’snaps decorated each room, even the hallways. It was the flower that spoke for itself. A bouquet was tied neatly with gold string, awaiting its bride. Yoongi was acting calmly, despite the circumstances. He’d always been protective over his sister, but the situation hadn’t caused him any alarm. From what he could tell, Jeongguk was woefully enslaved, even while the rabbit hybrid tried demonstrating otherwise, he’d always failed. The few, intimate conversations he’d had alone with Jeongguk were tense, for sure, but the boy hadn’t cracked under the pressure, nor had he fought against Yoongi’s shitty attitude, which made the blonde respect him all the more. “What time is the reception?” Yoongi asked, growing impatient. Hoseok was currently on security detail, ensuring the Queen’s safety – being sexy? What the fuck.   Their father was there, playing the role of anxiety personified, and was flustered about it. He took out his handkerchief to timidly clean away at his glasses for the umpteenth time, “Well, son. That usually comes after the wedding ceremony. That eager to dance, are you?” “Oh, yeah,” Yoongi snorted, lacking any real enthusiasm. “That’s totally it.” “I feel ridiculous,” she said, stepping away from the mirror. Her mother’s pearls were pale, which matched perfectly with the dress. It was one of the requests she’d handed over to Mimzy, who’d added more beads to her gown. The makeup was applied lightly to go with her usual natural and soft preference, despite the Queen’s critiques. She had her hair pinned into place, save for a couple choice strands.    Yoongi tilted his head at her, “But you look beautiful. When do we sacrifice you to King Kong?” “Better question, how do we give you away?” her father asked, placing his glasses on the bridge of his nose. He stepped next to her, “Your mother made a beautiful bride. Seeing you now, you make a beautiful princess.” “Damn it,” she cursed, trying her best not to cry. She fanned at her face, as if it would blow the feels away. She wasn’t, but, “I’m ready.” “Like there was any doubt,” Yoongi said, as he helped lower the netting of her veil. “I need to go be with the groom party. I’ll see you out there.” She nodded, somewhat dazedly, “Yeah.” He quickly reached in to grab her arm, leaning towards her, “Blink twice if you wanna Christian ‘Bale’ on this thing, we’ll make like fucking Batman and Robin, grapple our way out a window…” “I don’t want to bail, ever. What the…out, Yoongi. Get out.” Admittedly, Yoongi felt ready to belong to a bigger family. He knew that his sister was ready for it, as well. His father was a broken man prior to the palace life, without humor – doomed to wilt. The Meadow was a blessing for Yoongi, since it housed a certain fox hybrid. A shiver of excitement made the blonde pause for a moment, realizing that his lethargic behavior had gone away since living in the castle. Now his heart raced whenever he so much as thought about Jung Hoseok. He entered the wedding hall, making his way down the white carpet. The strong scent of Bell’snaps filled the air, and made his nose itch. The prince was at the end of the aisle with Taehyung and Jimin at his side. The wolf hybrid raised an expectant brow. “Well?” Yoongi smirked, “She’s on her way.” Jeongguk folded his gloved hands at the mention, standing tall in his dark royal attire. The hybrid exuded arrogance in Yoongi’s opinion, even if he wasn’t – hair parted with his pure white ears looking especially fluffy, and soft.  Jimin was in what was considered formal garb for the fae kind, where a majority of his back was exposed with his wings on full display. A soft sheen of glitter highlighted his golden skin – not smudged with handprints for once, which was a sign that the wolf was behaving himself, but from the way Taehyung’s fingers were curled down at his sides, Yoongi could tell that it wasn’t without effort. “Would touching me make you feel better?” Yoongi teased, as he fell into formation with his hands folded neatly. Taehyung inclined his head, “Touching you could cost us our lives, human.” He rolled his eyes at that, “You think I’m scared of Ferngully over there?” “No, not at all,” Taehyung mused with a wry smile. “The fox, however…” He turned so that he was now facing the blonde, dark eyes gleaming with interest. “I can smell him all over you, you know. Hybrids can detect when someone is spoken for and you are most definitely off-limits. And receiving, Yoongi? I didn’t peg you as the type.” Jimin leaned over, careful not to touch anything, as he murmured softly, aware of the fact the wolf doesn’t like to be scolded, “You’re embarrassing him, my love, and before you say it, I know you don’t care, but try for today.” Taehyung hated being wrong. The wolf in him practically growled, “Of course.” Yoongi snickered when the hybrid’s tail stopped wagging, “Heel boy.” ‘I’m going to crush you,’ Taehyung thought, as he stared down into the fae’s eyes, where there was no mercy to be had, not that the wolf expected there to be any. No – Jimin’s eyes were sparkling prettily – pretty enough to cause the hybrid physical pain. A pain he’d always answer to with just as much aggression, ‘The moment I get my hands on you, I won’t let go. Not until you feel broken by me. Not until you beg me to stop.’ “Until then,” Jimin said, breathily, skin flushed by the stream of thoughts coming from Taehyung, overcome by the tension building between them. “You’re going to behave and just like Yoongi said, you will heel.” The music started, which caused all the guests to stand up from their seats. The soft melody being played was not the Wedding March, but rather something that had been composed and gifted from the fae realm. Yoongi had to choose whether he wanted to perform or be a groomsman. The moment she stepped onto the carpet, he knew that he’d made the right choice. The double doors parted for her, their father’s arm linked within her own. From beside him, he swore that he could hear Jeongguk’s audible pull for breath. It only solidified Yoongi’s theory, that the hybrid was so clearly spellbound, and taken with her. Jeongguk met them a few stairs down, taking her hand away from her father’s, and pulling her to him in a fashion that was perhaps, not according to tradition. The ceremony itself was straightforward, the same procedure for every royal marriage prior, vows to be repeated with listening – lots of listening. When the time had come for it, he was more than happy to finally unveil her, watching how she’d immediately looked away from him, as a deep blush flooded her cheeks. Despite all that they’ve done, how every single night since their first coupling, they’d been inseparable – unable to sleep without one another or keep their hands to themselves. She had the nerve to act shy and to look so pure, then. As though he’d never had his way with her, countless of times, in so many ways, in so many rooms – it was disarming, leaving the hybrid with every intention of ruining her all over again.   He tucked his finger under her chin, lifting her face to meet his own. The look she received was severe and full of promise. He made no plans to release her, holding her with beneath his heavy gaze, until the priest told them to kiss. He brought his fingers from her jawline, slowly brushing her lips apart, before he claimed them in a bruising kiss, unwilling to let the current audience sway him. When the prince had finally pulled back, they were left panting.        The royal official was proud to announce them for the first time as, “Prince and Princess of the Meadows.” The room doesn’t explode like it typically does in the movies. There was no rice being thrown or loud, celebratory cheering. A royal wedding was quiet and so, so very still like a picture, save for her side of the family, who looked so out of place, yet eager to express their excitement through facial expression. Yoongi too was smiling so wide, gums and all. Her father was a blubbering mess, snapping away on his camera. A long blog post would await her in the morning. Jeongguk walked her back down the aisle, bringing her out into the hallway where the King’s Admiral was prepared to escort them to the reception hall. “Admiral,” she greeted, less intimidated by Namjoon at this point.   “Princess.” It was now a title that she could not so easily refuse, if ever again. “We’ll receive the gifts first,” Jeongguk informed her, holding her hand around his arm. They were walking at their own leisure, basking in the aftermath of the legalities. “Then there will be toasts, followed by lots of food, and then dancing. We’ll be the first to leave the hall. No one is allowed to go before we do, so we must be mindful of the time.” She nodded, “So, no partying ‘til the break of dawn? How droll.” He smirked down at her, “Your night has already been booked in advance, princess. Oh, how I intend to exhaust you.” “You’ve seen and had it all,” she said, trying not to die right there on the spot from the anticipation. “What more could you possibly want from me?” “If you haven’t noticed by now, I am insatiable.” He lowered his voice, speaking quietly despite the fact that he didn’t need to, “I’ve been thinking. Our children will be the perfect combination of bratty and stubborn. Do ask that Seokjin stops with your injections.” She flushed anew, as the heat steadily consumed her. “That’s a bit too soon, so I think the fuck not, your highness. I’ll take my nope salad with the fat-free dressing on the side.” “A discussion for later, when I have you coming undone beneath me,” the hybrid muttered with an air of nonchalance. Her ladies in waiting made quick work of removing the long extension of her dress, along with the veil, leaving her crown in place. Jeongguk helped her into her seat at the table, given her still too many layers. It was only once they were comfortably situated, that the guests were allowed to pool in. The night had proceeded exactly how Jeongguk said it would, with the presents first: There were bars of gold, precious gems, miles of land, rare silks, and exotic pets, save for the black and brown furred Pomeranian that caught Taehyung’s eye. Jimin covered his mouth, eyes scrunched up when he’d smiled big, “Our little Yeontan is here. This is him.” “Well, there was no way we were getting through this without re-gifting something,” the prince said, noticing her sad expression. He pulled her hand into his lap. “Besides, the dog’s eyebrows were very angry. Were you not satisfied with the snow leopard that we received? Let’s not be greedy.” It took two of the Queen’s guards to haul in Taehyung’s gift, setting the massive painting down on its easel. The frame was covered in a dark cloth, but she could already tell by its size that it would dominate whichever wall it would be hung up on. The wolf tugged at the cover, slowly revealing the art to the couple, eyes intense as he focused on their reaction. Taehyung was about making others happy – he lived for their expressions, to know that he’d been the one to bestow that happiness upon them. The moment he’d chose to capture, the image that he was unable to remove from his mind, was the night of the Ball, where the prince had finally met his princess. She was clumsy, yes, unbearably so, and even though he’d been engaged in conversation with Yoongi, seconds away from having to excuse himself – he saw art, and took a mental picture.   It painting showed when the prince had brought her onto her toes, their faces mere inches from touching. The rabbit hybrid was in his masquerade mask, holding her against his frame. The colors that Taehyung used were bold and exaggerated, but in a way that appeared necessary with each stroke being so precise. It was breathtaking, more than what she’d been expecting, and for a long while she’d sat there with her mouth parted, intending to speak, but nothing would come out. Jeongguk smiled at the room, “For once, the princess is speechless.” He leaned forward with her hand still held captive within his grasp. The prince nodded to the wolf hybrid, his oldest friend, “It’s a beautiful piece, Taehyung. Thank you.” “Yes, thank you,” she beamed, snapping out of her reverie. “I love it.” Seokjin was not one for long, meaningful speeches. He didn’t like to give them, not even while they were in the form of medical lectures, but those days were far behind him. Sitting through wedding toasts was just the same, bothersome, and uninteresting. Watching Namjoon struggle, however, was one of his favorite pastimes. His husband was intelligent, surprisingly good with his words, except for at this very moment, where he had to explain his poetry and metaphors to a table of confused royals. Always overdoing it… When he was finished, Namjoon took a seat next to his husband, slightly defeated. He could feel Seokjin staring at him and if he looked, he knew that there would be a smug expression waiting for him. So, he didn’t. “So smooth, my love,” Seokjin practically cooed at him, but the condescending tone was there, to which Namjoon smiled at him sweetly, dimples on display. “My humiliation is your pleasure, is it not? Just as your enjoyment, is mine.” He extended his hand out when the music filled the room. “We haven’t shared a dance in ages.” “Because you have two left feet,” Seokjin murmured, as he took the admiral’s fingers into his own, and walked with him across the floor. He winked, “It was how I tripped and fell for you in the first place.” “Your jokes,” Namjoon mused, the good mood causing his cat ears to perk. He rested a firm hand against the canine hybrid’s waist, bringing them closer together. “Really get me going.” Hoseok entered the hall during his shift change to find Yoongi sulking at a table next his father, nodding somewhat numbly to whatever was being said to him. It was adorable, because the hybrid knew, he knew where his human’s mind was, utterly lost to the foxes, drowning in loneliness. And it took no time at all, for Hoseok to close the distance, watching the way that Yoongi tensed suddenly, as if he’d realized the hybrid was there without any certain, or direct recognition. Hopeful was a look that appeared so soft upon Yoongi’s otherwise miserable face, lips turning into a deep pout, so small within that moment. That was when Hoseok knew that a fox was in love with a kitten, unable to help himself, and he didn’t particularly want to, either. He’d never felt this way, with his heart in a constant state of duress, all because of this human. “Congratulations to your household,” Hoseok said, bowing in a manner that superseded ‘polite’. The action was so easily elegant and measured. With the fox’s posture, it probably wasn’t even intentional, but natural. It still kind of pissed Yoongi off, how Hoseok tended to handle everything with perfection, and that it always seemed to come so effortlessly. Whatever stupor Yoongi had fallen into prior to Hoseok’s presence vanished almost immediately, as he quietly surveyed the hybrid’s every move. “How kind of you,” he said, icily, before his father could toss around the same words, give or take a few nervous giggles. Yoongi challenged the hybrid, somewhat miffed that he’d been left to himself the entire night, “Is that all you wanted to say, then, guard?” Oh. Hoseok arched an eyebrow at him, narrowing his eyes darkly at the blonde, “No. I have plenty more to say to you. Will you excuse us?” The redhead’s usual cheery smile was in place then, not even bothering to wait for Yoongi to get up from his seat, when he’d started walking away briskly. He knew that his human would follow after him. Once it felt as though the hybrid might snap beneath his anger, Hoseok turned sharply on his heel, coming face to face with Yoongi. The blonde was biting at his lip, anticipating the hybrid’s retaliation. The difference in their height had never seemed so daunting, as it did then. There were couples dancing around them, the two of them paused at the center of the ballroom floor. Covering, Hoseok took the human by his hands, and pulled him in. “I don’t dance,” Yoongi said, stiffly. Hoseok chuckled humorlessly at that, “Well, I’m usually not talked down to, but we all have our firsts, don’t we?” He pressed a hand to Yoongi’s back, a small whimper escaping. This was what he’d wanted, this meager bit of contact. The hybrid leaned in so that he could speak against Yoongi’s ear, “You’re trembling, baby. It’s almost as if you ran your mouth without thinking that there would be consequences.” The elder swallowed thickly, as the tension practically seeped through his skin, “And what are the consequences?” Despite not being able to dance, Hoseok knew exactly how to guide him. Each firm touch was another burn against his skin. “Of pissing me off? Oh,” Hoseok said, while purposefully brushing his mouth over the pale skin of Yoongi’s neck. “You’ll come to know them. Intimately.” Dear Satan, I should have known it was you all along. Signed, Min Yoongi   “Princess,” Jeongguk said, as he turned the girl about with ease. “I must inquire about the improvement in your steps.” She brought a hand to his shoulder, when he’d pressed himself closer, “A certain fae was offering dance lessons for free.” “And you allowed him to touch you like this?” The rabbit hybrid made a show of teasing his fingers across her skin. It was suggestive – the type of behavior that would have their parents unsettled. She quickly stole a kiss, gasping when his hands turn rough, pulling her more firmly against his chest. “Couldn’t help but notice that you have yet to deny it.” She couldn’t pass up the opportunity, “How else was I to ensure our honeymoon to the fae realm?” “Actually, I was wondering about something,” Jeongguk said, the change in his demeanor visible, growing serious. “I wanted to know if you’d like to come with me to the Isles of Lunar? I intend on making the trip regardless, but I want you there with me, since you were the one to help me realize my mistake. The night we’d formally met, when I’d revealed my truths to you, the truth about Lunar bothered me the most.” She smiled, overwhelmed by the sentiment, “Yes. I’ll go with you.” He leaned down for a kiss, but didn’t touch, waiting, until she leaned up the rest of the way to briefly seal their lips. “Also, Jimin didn’t touch me. Taehyung did.” “That wolf…” Jeongguk grumbled, pulling back far enough to stare down at her. “…is the handsiest bastard in the kingdom.”  She laughed, enjoying the way he turned petulant and jealous over it, “Trust me, I know.”

- EPILOGUE -

Jimin startled from his vision with a sharp gasp, chest heaving with each painful intake of fresh air – beads of sweat collecting along his brow, orange hair damp in his eyes. Taehyung was there beside him, the young hybrid holding onto his hand, as the other picked up the book that had fallen from the fairy's loose fingers.  

The hybrid’s ears fell back, as he swished his tail from one side to another, growing impatient with worry, “Where’d you go?”

“I went ahead,” Jimin murmured, voice soft as he stared into the wolf’s curious eyes, full of new knowledge, knowing what they would eventually become. It was difficult, seeing Taehyung grown in his vision to how young he was now, a mere boy. The things that Taehyung would eventually say and do to him were enough to make his skin burn.    

The hybrid placed the book down on the bench in favor of examining the odd tint to the fairy’s complexion, speaking in awe, “You’re glowing.” The fae’s cheek was soft and warm beneath his paint covered fingertips, flecks of glitter falling to the grass with the brush of his hand.

“It happens whenever a fairy is at their happiest,” Jimin said, educating him, all the while remaining very, very still – not even his wings dared to flutter.

The words could have meant anything, but Taehyung took them in the way they were meant to be received, that he was the cause of it. He was already so smart and clever for his young age, mature. The wolf in him practically salivated whenever the fae was near, flooding the boy with impulses that left him feeling needy, and unreasonably possessive.

He wished Jimin didn’t belong to the prince.

He wished…

Taehyung continued tracing his thumb over the fairy’s cheek, watching the glitter smudge, and crack away like dust catching in the sunlight. He then leaned towards the opposite side of Jimin’s face, pressing his trembling lips to the fae’s bright skin, lingering in that position for what felt like an eternity, but couldn’t have been longer than a few seconds. The heart within the wolf’s chest was pounding so loud in his ears, he was certain any hybrid within radius would be able to hear it.

The fae’s hand twitched within the boy’s hold. He was hundreds of years older than Taehyung, but he couldn’t contain the warmth he felt for him, wings resuming to fan softly. He could tell that the boy was reluctant to release him, the evidence of his kiss in specks of glitter across his mouth, and all over his hands.

“Come with me? I need to tell the prince of what I have just seen,” Jimin offered, watching the way the wolf turned from curious to excited.  

Taehyung’s tail was going a mile a minute, whacking himself on the leg, “What did you see?”

“His princess.”

THE END

Questions?

CC

l

TW

[lokifiction]

Caught in the Crossfire

The day the Battle of New York occurred was a fateful one, especially for Camryn, who was caught in the crossfire of a Chitauri weapon and Loki’s Tesseract-powered scepter, the blast sending her into a comatose state.

When Thor returns to Midgard to assist with rescue efforts, he finds her, unconscious and close to death, though emitting a strong magical trace. Puzzled by it, the prince brings her to Asgard for medical care- and observation.

Over time, the mystery of what salvation or destruction she will cause because of her magical abnormality becomes harder and harder to solve. As she begins to lose control of herself, she must seek help from the only person that can teach her how to harness her newfound power and the one who happens to hate her the most.

Loki.

Category: Fanfic

Rating: Teen

Notes: Hi, guys! I know I always apologize for late updates, but I felt particularly bad about this one. I planned to try to write a lot in my last month of summer, but I’m in the process of uploading the fics from this page onto ao3 (more info about that later), so that already caused some delays. Then rehearsals and my conditioning program for the year started, pushing my writing back even further. And then, when I finally finished the chapter, a bunch of busywork stuff came up, and I never had time to get it edited. Every night I couldn’t get this up I felt absolutely awful, and I’m so sorry! I hope this proves worth the wait for you guys!

Warnings: Some language and very mild mentions of sexual content in this one. Enjoy!

Masterlist

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

Chapter Fifteen

           Despite our heartfelt declarations and our supposed new relationship, hardly anything changed in Loki’s and my routine, and the only thing altered in our behavior towards each other was the addition of painful awkwardness. Loki had no more outbursts of hatred towards me and I stopped fearing they would happen, but we still weren’t in sync. We would share luncheon, served by Gerd and Inge (Toril had been mysteriously absent ever since the kiss), have a training session, then eat dinner together before retiring to our respective chambers. The only thing that would mark us out as being in a relationship were the hesitant touches and pecks we would share upon greeting and goodbyes. In fact, we had never been together anywhere outside of my chambers, and I hadn’t even seen his.

            Admittedly, the removal of prevalent fear in our dynamic helped me make excellent progress in my training, and I soon reached the point where I hardly ever had difficulties controlling my power. Loki, glowing with pride, had said that as far as my physical prowess, the containment training was nearly finished, and soon we would be able to move on to actually applying my abilities. The enormous hug he gave me the day I had no reaction to the most intense triggers he could summon was the most natural moment between us since the kiss, while every other gesture of affection, while genuine, seemed forced. I began to reflect on how little time we had actually known each other and began to wonder if we rushed into things too soon.

           I expressed as much to the girls as I was eating breakfast a week and a half after Loki and I kissed and had our reckoning, responding to Gerd’s question of why I seemed so jittery.

           “Well, he didn’t give you much of a choice,” Brenna commented, biting into a fig. I didn’t require check-ups after my lessons anymore, and wouldn’t again until we got to the stamina portion of my training, so she often came to take breakfast with me to keep in touch. “He took you and kissed you. Hard, from the way I hear it. You couldn’t just go back to normal after that. He threw any notion of a properly developing relationship out the window.”

           “I know, but we had such chemistry before,” I argued. “While it’s not completely gone, it’s considerably diminished. We’re not passionate now, yet we were when we still hated each other. Now we’re like two preteens in their first relationship.”

           “It s a completely new dynamic, and the two of you are just figuring it out.” Gerd topped off my tea, placing a comforting pat on my back before pouring herself a cup and settling into the chair next to Brenna. “Give it time.”

           “I just fear…” I broke off, staring at my hands. “I’ve just been thinking of how little we really know each other. I can count our interactions before the kiss on my fingers. I worry that our attraction for each other was just us reacting to extreme stressors and new situations, and that it’s not really there. I wish we would have had time to riddle that out before becoming entirely romantically involved.”

           “I agree with Gerd,” Inge put in, reclining in her seat. “Give it time. The two of you made a mistake by rushing into it, so just don’t let it happen again. Don’t force anything, and let it happen naturally. If it’s meant to be, it will all work itself out.”

           I nodded as I reached for my fork to finally devour the plate of delicious food that had made me queasy not a minute before, the churning in my stomach quelled a bit by their advice and reassurance. Around a bite of warm, spiced fig, I looked around at the women seated before me, my heart swelling with thanks that I was able to come across such a wonderful support group. Though, as I studied Gerd and Inge, I realized just how long it had been since I saw their third member.

           “Where has Toril been the past week?” I asked, attempting to sound casual. “I haven’t seen her since the night Loki and I kissed.”

           “She fell ill the next day, and has been in bed ever since,” Inge replied, blowing on her cup of hot cider.

           I cocked an eyebrow. “Suspicious timing.”

           “I thought so, too, until she didn’t get any better. She’s been locked in her room this entire time, and refuses to let anyone see her. Today she departed for a leave of absence to her mother’s house in the countryside until she recovers.”

           Brenna furrowed her brow. “If she’s so ill, why did she never come to the healers? Usually Eir has to give her permission for a member of staff to take a sick leave. We never even knew Toril was afflicted with anything.”

           Inge shrugged. “I’m just getting this all from Edill.”

           Brenna scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Edill is Toril’s lackey. I wouldn’t trust a word she says.”

           “I don’t entirely, but I did see Toril leaving the palace today.” Inge looked pointedly at me. “If she’s not sick, she’s up to something. I would be on your guard, Camryn. Part of the reason why Loki never kept his lovers for long was because Toril always got involved if they were around any longer than two weeks. She can be vicious.”

           I gulped, my food becoming unappetizing yet again. I had refrained from asking Loki about Toril thus far, but Inge’s information made me realize that I had to at the earliest opportunity. I needed to find out what was really going on, and why Toril felt the need to sabotage our first outing and hurt all of Loki’s past lovers, for my own safety. Surely he’d understand my fear and tell me for that reason.

           Though, an awful voice in my head crooned, if he doesn’t, it could ruin everything.

 ***

           “Good afternoon, Camryn.”

           “Good afternoon to you, Loki.” I stepped out of the doorframe to make room for him. “Come on in.”

           Loki entered the room with a smile and a tender brush on my upper arm. “How are you today?”

           “I��m good. And yourself?” I grit my teeth at how congenial we were being. We were like strangers on the street. No heat burned between us any longer, whether that heat be hatred or love.

           “I’m well. I’m eager to start your training today. It’s going to be an entirely new unit, so I’m anxious to see how it goes.”

           “Well, come and sit down for lunch so we can get started all the sooner.” I went to direct him to his chair, but at the same time he made to pull mine out for me, so we ended up gently colliding en route. With pressed giggles, we went to our own respective chairs and sat with our gazes trained on our plates.

           “I have somewhat exciting news,” Loki eventually announced, draping his napkin across his lap. “I thought that after our lesson, we might finally have our palace tour. I’ve made sure that there will be no interruptions this time.”

           My stomach knotted with nerves, but I knew I couldn’t pass up such a perfect opportunity.

           “So you heard about Toril’s illness, then? And that she left the palace?”

           “I heard about her leaving, though I doubt it’s from illness.” He snorted, raising his wine glass to his lips. “It’s probably best that she’s away for a while. There will likely be hell to pay when she returns, and this way we’ll have more time to prepare ourselves.”

           My breath hitched in my throat and I drew my trembling hands into tight fists. “Loki, I- can you...I was wondering…” I broke off with a frustrated sigh before blurting, “What’s your relationship with Toril?”

           “That…” He set his goblet down with an arduous movement that made me want to scream. “Is a long story. I suppose I should start from the beginning.

           “I was about four hundred and sixty-five years old when she came to the palace. By that point, I already had a reputation of being a womanizer, but I had yet to do the deed. Until she came along, that is.”

           Oh no, I inwardly moaned. Toril took his virginity, didn’t she?

           “Because of her low status, she was assigned to be a scullery maid upon her arrival. Usually, they work out of sight in the nobility, but in my youth I was always thinking of creative ways to evade my family and tutors, so I often crossed paths with them, anyway. I noticed her out of the corner of my eye a few times, and after a week or so I realized she was watching me.

           “One evening before bed, I was informed that the maid that usually tended to my fires in the middle of the night had sprained her ankle, and a substitute would be provided until she healed. I suspect that Toril injured my usual nighttime maid herself, and convinced the head of housekeeping to allow her to fill in.

           “I often stayed up until the early hours of the morning or didn’t sleep at all, and the idea of an unfamiliar person in my room whilst I was sleeping made me uneasy, so that night I sat in my armchair, tearing up a mystery novel my mother had gifted me that morning. I was there when Toril walked through the front door, and all she did was say ‘Good evening, Your Highness,” before abandoning her tools, coming over to straddle me, and kissing me deeply.

           “Now, Toril was a couple hundred years older than me, and her mother was a whore. They don’t like having children living in brothels, so I suspect she was put to work for her room the moment she was able. Though, Toril is the twisted type of person that actually enjoys that sort of work, and was very talented at what she did. All that experience drew me in, and the pleasure made me her prisoner. I remember her whispering to me, right after she strippped me bare, ‘Before I do this, promise me that you’ll put in a good word to your mother about me.’ I was so aroused at that point that I would’ve agreed to anything, so of course I said yes.

           “We were together that night and many others. I helped her rise through the ranks to become Mother’s handmaid, and she taught me everything I know. However, I was not one to be tied down at the time, and we never established any sort of relationship outside of sex, so after a few weeks I began pursuing other girls again. She didn’t like it, but tolerated the one-night-stands. However, if it went on for any longer than that, she became testy.

           “She learned that when I was truly interested in a girl, I would pursue them for longer. I wouldn’t jump right in and take them to bed, but I would romance them for a week or so, and often keep them around for about a moon. She picked up on this behavior, and she started doing things about it.

           “First, the girls would mysteriously fall ill or become injured before I could take them to bed a second time. Then it would happen before I could do it in the first place. I picked up on the act when girls started handing in their immediate resignations only a couple of days after I started pursuing them. I realized that, while I had no feelings for Toril other than lust, she had formed her own twisted kind of love for me. It was out of control.

          “Due to Toril’s eventual high status as my Mother’s handmaiden, we kept our ‘relationship’ a secret, so when she convinced me to stop pursuing other girls and Mother noticed that the stream of chambermaids and healers-in-training stumbling from my rooms in the morning had ended, it was decided that I was to have a betrothed- a Vana named Sigyn. Toril grew cold and refused to see me during the courting stage, but when Sigyn and her family came to stay in the palace as guests, they were only there three days before one night I was roused by Sigyn’s hysterical screams. I rushed to her chambers to see what was the matter, and through sobs she begged me not to come near her. Her party left before dawn the next morning, and they haven’t set foot on Asgard since. That night, however, Toril came to my chambers, and made me hers again.

           “Ever since, I’ve never courted anyone else, yet Toril has always just been the one I fucked. It’s quite sad, really, because when I think about it, I realize that I’ve lived a life devoid of loving someone outside of my own family. I came to her when I was upset, angry, frustrated, confused, happy, or just simply wanting it. There have never been any feelings from my side of it,  she was simply…”

           “She was your own hand, in a way,” I giggled, hoping the joke would distract me from my fear that he was lying about not really having feelings for her. The history the two had, even if it was just sex, was something I couldn’t ever hope to compete with.

           Loki chuckled. “That’s a particularly vulgar way to put it, but our relationship was vulgar, so I suppose it’s fitting.”

           I bit my lip hard, screwing my eyes shut and bunching the fabric of the gown in my fists. “And…have you been with her since we...since you started training me?”

           Loki reached across the table, running his fingers down my arm and around my elbow until I surrendered my hand to him, and he held it tightly.

           “I haven’t been with her in at least three years, though she’s made her advances. I’ve tenaciously refused every one, which I must admit, makes her come back with more vigor. But I made my decision long ago. Whatever strange relationship we had is over,” he assured. “You have nothing to worry about as far as infidelity through her. When she comes back to the palace, though, there will be backlash, but we’ll be ready for it, and I’ll make certain that no harm comes to you.” He squeezed my palm reassuringly, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a smile. I could only reply with a shaking breath, the edges of my lips twitching upward as I averted my eyes to the table. Loki’s brow furrowed in thought, and as he rubbed his thumb along the top of my hand, I realized that I was too distressed to realize that we were finally having a tender moment with no awkwardness.

           “I’ll tell you what,” he proposed. “Since you’ve been out of your cell, you haven’t had a day off from your training. You’ve made such good progress, so let’s not do the session today. What do you say we go straight out and have our tour, hm?”

           I raised my head and mustered a small, genuine smile, giving a single nod.

           So Loki and I set off, arm-in-arm and sharing light conversation, mostly composed of him telling stories, both personal and historical, about nearly every nook and cranny of the palace. It made me realize just how long he had lived, that he had so much to say and so many tidbits about a mind-bogglingly enormous building. He took me into ballrooms and galleries and dining rooms and throne rooms (apparently the one I had been in was used only for court), and by the time we reached the top floor of hundreds, the shadows were growing long and my stomach rumbled audibly. Loki chuckled at the sound.

           “Perhaps we should stop for the day, and go get you something to eat.”

           I looked up at him with an incredulous expression, inwardly noting that the tour had helped relieve even more of the discomfort between us.

           “‘For the day’?” I echoed. “What do you mean by that?”

           “Well, the tour is far from over,” Loki said theatrically. “I’ve merely shown you how to find your way around! There’s still so many rooms to take you into, and the secret passageways, and you haven’t even seen the grounds, except for the enclosed courtyards! And not to mention that once we’ve exhausted the palace, I have to show you the city, and then all the rest of Asgard.”

           I laughed, patting his bicep. “Well, I suppose we have our date night activity set for the next, what, ten years?”

           I waited for his joking reply, but he merely went stiff, eyes trained on something ahead of us. I followed his gaze to the end of the lengthy hall and noticed a relatively young man with chestnut waves, sporting luxurious goldspun robes, walking our direction. He didn’t notice us, however, for he was deep in conversation with an older man dressed in the dark colors of a personal servant.

           “Damn,” Loki muttered. “I forgot that I told everyone you were a visiting diplomat from Alfheim.”

           “What does that mean?” I whispered, sensing that this was a situation where I should keep my voice down.

           Loki broke our contact and stood in front of me, shielding me from view, scanning my face before reaching out and freeing the hair that I had absentmindedly tucked behind my ears at some point, rearranging and patting it down so that it thoroughly covered them.

           “You may look elvish in the face, but your ears are a dead giveaway. I meant to give them a glamour, but I never quite got around to it,” he explained. “Keep them hidden.”

           “Oh. Alright.” Stiff in my frazzled state, I merely watched as Loki manipulated me like a puppet into our previous position, completing it just as the robed man sent his servant away and focused his attention on us.

           “Good evening, Your Majesty. My lady,” he greeted, coming to a halt before us with a pompous, if not slightly smug, expression. His build was short and stocky, but he was still conventionally handsome, with sun-browned skin contrasting his light blue eyes.

           “Councilman Olaf.” Loki tipped his chin curtly. “Lady Camryn, may I present Olaf Umunson, a member of the High Council. Councilman Olaf, I introduce-”

           “The elven diplomat everyone’s speaking of,” Olaf interrupted, an unsettling gleam in his yes. “Camryn, you said your name was? How odd. That’s not an elvish name, rather, it sounds quite... Midgardian.”

           My heart leapt to my throat, and though Loki betrayed nothing in his expression or stance, a hard squeeze on my hand relayed his fear. Councilman Olaf knew something, but I sensed that Loki was silently urging me to find out the extent of his knowledge before revealing anything.

           “My parents simply wanted something different,” I improvised. “They were quite creative, and simply made it up.”

           “Hm.” Olaf pressed his lips together, thinly suppressing a smirk. “Alfheim certainly is a beautiful realm. What region are you from?”

           Before I could panic, a familiar voice echoed in my head, one I recognized as the Tesseract feeding me information.

           The elves that have dark hair and eyes like you usually come from the forests in the south, it whispered.

           “The south,” I piped up, feeling Loki ever-so-slightly relax next to me. “Near the forests.”

           “The most beautiful part of Alfheim, in my opinion.” Olaf rocked back and forth on his heels. “Forgive me, but I’m quite out of the loop of the current events of Alfheim. Who’s the king right now?”

           As the Tesseract fed me the answer, it became clear just how extensively Olaf was testing me. I raised my chin defiantly, puffing my chest up proudly.

           “Actually, there’s a queen on the throne right now.” It was my turn to smirk. “Queen Euraviel.”

           “Your Midgardian is educated quite well, my king,” Olaf chuckled darkly, and my smile vanished. “Did you school her up on Alfheim, or was that the Tesseract talking?”

           “Pardon?” I choked out.

           Olaf reached out and pushed my hair away from my ears. “Those aren’t the ears of a light elf. This little girl is a mortal, come here because she has power from the Tesseract.”

           “How do you know that?” Loki spat, drawing me closer to his side to prevent Olaf from touching me again.

           “There are a large handful of guards that have dealt with her when she’s been in the midst of dangerous states.” Olaf shrugged. “Men are as gossipy as women, you know.”

           “I know it wasn’t one of the guards.” Loki’s voice was dangerously low. “I and Queen Frigga before me put a spell on everyone that dealt with Camryn and did not have our unconditional trust. If they tried to speak of her, their voices would not work. If they tried to write things about her, their hands would be stilled. Gods, even if they tried to act things out, their bodies would become petrified. I will ask once more: who told you?”

           “A concerned citizen that wishes to remain anonymous.” Olaf remained nonplussed. “One that told the High Council that this mortal is very, very dangerous.”

           “I’m training her to control her power,” Loki said through gritted teeth. “She doesn’t have outbursts anymore, and now I’m teaching her how to apply her abilities.”

           “Then she will know how to use this incredibly dangerous force, and it could mean terrible things if she turned against Asgard.” Olaf began to walk away from us. “I’m not trying to anger you, Your Majesty. I’m just passing along the message that the Council wishes to meet with her tomorrow. Just the usual, simple inspection like we do for all unplanned guests; nothing to worry about.”

           Once Olaf was out of earshot, Loki broke away from me and swore in a different tongue, and though I didn’t know the direct translation, I could tell it was blistering.

           “Loki…” I began in a voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to provoke him further. “You know it was Toril that told him, right?”

           “Of course I know it was Toril.” Though Loki’s tone was sharp and biting, it was clear that his anger wasn’t directed towards me, and that he was only raging at the situation. “It doesn’t surprise me that it was Olaf she used, either. He’s the only one on the Council that’s not a shriveled old man. She likely gave him information and then fucked him to convince him to tell his peers and call the meeting. That’s exactly why I tried so hard to hide you: to keep the lecherous Council from interfering.”

           “What’s so awful about the Council?” I dared to question.

           Loki, who had been furiously pacing through our conversation, suddenly stilled, voice calming. “They’re the only beings on Asgard that have more power than I do.”

           “How can that be?”

           “Well, perhaps not on all counts. In most aspects, they’re a royal council like one you would see on Midgard. They’re the king’s chief advisers, and each of them are masters of certain aspects of Asgard. For example, Olaf is Master of Agriculture. There’s one Councilman for each of the nine districts of Asgard, and they serve lifelong terms. They’re selected by a popular vote from their district, because the motto of the High Council is to keep the interests of the people as their priority, and prevent them from having a tyrannical leader. If the vote between the nine of them is unanimous, they can overrule or nullify any laws or commands, and they can even remove a king from the throne.”

           “What if the Council just doesn’t like a king, or they’re the ones that are corrupt and tyrannical?” I questioned.

           “That’s why they’ve never been popular with the royalty. If a king tries to overrule the Council or remove one of its members, he’s instantly branded as a tyrant and the Council removes him.” Loki smiled bitterly. “That’s why I didn’t want them, more than everybody else in the palace, knowing who you really are. If they deem you a threat to Asgard and its people, they can override everything Frigga and I have done and take action to remove you.”

           “Something in your voice tells me that I don’t want to find out what removing me would consist of,” I whimpered. Loki, clearly not wanting me to be upset any longer, softened his expression and took his face in my hands. I was suddenly entirely distracted from my fear, for it was the most natural and passionate thing to happen between us since our first kiss, and my heart began to pound in my chest.

           “I’m sorry. I’m overreacting. You needn’t worry about them.” He dragged his thumbs along my cheekbones. “I’ll convince them that you’re harmless, and they’ll leave us alone. They don’t call me Silvertongue for nothing.”

           I closed my eyes and laughed once, savoring the feeling of his cool fingers drawing soothing lines on my skin and the tenderness with which he cradled my head. “I didn’t know they called you that.”

           “It won’t be long before you find out why.” He leaned in and kissed me briefly, playfully running his tongue along my lips before pulling away. It was a simple, quick thing, but it was enough to cause me to throw my hands up in surprise and leave me flushed and breathless. I suppose our problem with not having heat is officially a thing of the past, I thought, my head swimming.

           “Now, you were hungry, weren’t you?” Loki wrapped his arm around my waist, drawing me down from my daze. “Let’s go get you something to eat, hm?”

           And so we returned to my chambers and shared a meal with easy conversation suiting new lovers, filled with laughter and gentle touches, all the while our feet playfully rubbing against each other under the table.

           “Let’s change things up a bit,” Loki suggested as I walked him to the door at the end of the evening. “Would you like to come to my chambers for breakfast tomorrow?”

           I grinned. “I would love to.”

           “Wonderful. Good night, Camryn.” He leaned in and gave me a parting kiss, tender yet long. When he walked away, I felt as if I could float right after him, my toes tingling and my heart beating irregularly.

           “That certainly didn’t seem awkward,” Inge commented as she cleaned away the dishes. “What changed?”

           “We were angry and scared together. We have a common cause that’s drawing us closer,” I answered in a thin, dreamy voice, but as I slid down the door and hugged my knees to my chest, my mind couldn’t be further from Toril and the Council. All I could think of was Loki, and all I could do was count the seconds until I could have my lips on his again.

Next Chapter

[jestbee]

June 22: Ships that pass in the night (Chapter Two)

[sweetnestor]

Story of Another Us | Week 7, Part 1

university au, platonic af, now on ao3!

this is the point where we (I, the lazy author) start skipping weeks, so donut fret for not finding weeks 5 and 6 bc they donut exist :)

previous chapter

Tell me if you wanted it at all

“Let me hear you,” Jack said.

I remained quiet, my face beet red.

“Come on, Bellers,” he coaxed.

“I don’t sing in front of people!” I blurted out, tangling my fingers together nervously.

“You sing in front of me!” interjected Mark, who was sat next to Jack on the sofa.

I hesitated. “B-But that’s different…”

“No, you always want someone to hear you sing before you post it on your channel!” he told me. “And it’s just me and Jack, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

I looked down at my keyboard. I was excited to sing for them earlier, but then the time came and I got cold feet. One of the few things I was proud of about myself was my ability to sing. I had perfect pitch since I took classes as a child. I could sing big vocals like it was nothing, high notes came easy to me. It was just intimidating every time someone heard me sing. I was being watched and judged and I was never good under that kind of stress.

But it was just Mark and Jack. I shouldn’t have been so nervous, but I was always nervous. I inhaled deeply and played the first few notes of the song I had chosen.

“I can still taste the ocean, like it was today…

You said ‘please keep on holding my hands’ and the rain it came too soon,

I will wait for you to love me again”

I kept my eyes on my fingers pressing the keys. In all honesty, I only wanted to sing this particular song to Mark because it made me think of him. I figured I would hint at it in the description box if I decided to be brave.

“Guess I was running from something, I was running back to you…”

Have you ever listened to a song and you just wanted to live in it? Or inject it into your veins? I had strong feelings when I heard this song, feelings similar to when I realized I really loved my boyfriend.

I took a quick glance at the two guys. They both had matching grins on their faces. I kept singing, slowly detaching myself from reality and getting lost in the music. And then came my favorite line:

“The darkest night never felt so bright with you by my side…”

That particular line always made me emotional. I was full of darkness, I was negative. But I had Mark, and he was my light in this mess that was my life. I hadn’t realized how down I was until I wasn’t really there anymore. I didn’t expect him to “heal” or “fix” me, I just needed his help.

“What did I tell you?” he said to Jack when I had finished. “She’s incredible, right?”

My face went back to red.

“Yes, she is!” Jack agreed. “You’re really talented, Bella!”

“Thank you,” I responded.

“They’re going to love you,” Mark told me.

The next time I sang Outer Space, I had my camera on. I did it one take and just uploaded the video. I did covers every now and again on my channel. Those, along with the occasional daily vlogs, were insanely popular compared to my makeup tutorials/rants.

Mark went back to his house after I posted my video. He was always busy with whatever projects he had going on. He was script writing, preparing sketches with Matt and Ryan, editing videos, and slowly but surely working on a tour. That was mainly why I barely saw him these days, even when I stayed at his house. The only reason why it didn’t bother me that much was because I had Jack to keep me company.

Once I thought of that, it dawned on me that he wasn’t going to be here permanently. The semester ends in May, then he would be going back to Ireland. What would I do then? He was the only friend I had. I never realized how alone I was until he came along. I had fun with him. He was slowly taking me out of my shell.

I mean, yes, I had Mark. But like I said, he was always busy, and it’s considered “healthy” and “normal” to have other friends besides your boyfriend. I didn’t know what I was going to do when I was alone again.

What did I do to distract myself from my future of crippling loneliness? I isolated myself in my bathroom and washed my collection of makeup brushes. When you’re a socially anxious makeup artist who uses online shopping as a coping mechanism, that takes up a lot of time. I had barely gotten through one brand of brushes before I heard footsteps out in my room.

“Baller!” Jack called. That’s a new one.

“In here!” I replied, reached over from the sink to open the door.

He came over and saw me, tilting his head. “What are you doing?”

“Washing brushes,” I said.

“All of those?” he asked in surprise, pointing to the giant pile on the counter.

I shrugged. “I’ve been putting off cleaning them.”

“Do you need help? Looks like you’re going to be here a while.”

“Sure, if you’re not busy.”

He happily approached the counter and stood next to me by the sink. I handed him a dirty brush and showed him how to properly wash it. It was simple, and now that there were two of us doing, things were getting done faster.

“So, what got you into makeup?” he prompted after a while. “Why do you like it so much?”

Oh man.

“Are you sure you wanna hear that story?” I asked in response.

“Yes!”

I sighed. This was a tough subject. “To put it shortly, there was a point in my life where everything sucked. I mean, there’s been plenty of times where everything sucked, but this one was pretty bad. I just wanted to feel good about something, so I bought a cheap little eyeshadow palette and wore that whenever I was down. Of course, that expanded and escalated, and here I am now.”

Jack nodded. “So you wear makeup when you’re sad?”

“I used to. But now I do it because I love it and it’s fun. I actually went to beauty school and everything, but I never finished it because of YouTube.”

“Well, that’s cool.” Jack put one brush aside and picked up another. “I didn’t know it was personal, by the way, I’m sorry if I was prying or anything.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ve wanted to make a video on why I got into makeup for a long time since I never talked about it, but I don’t want to seem depressing. Like… I want something like that to be helpful instead of just sharing my sob story.”

“It must be really serious then. Don’t worry about how you’ll sound. If you think you need to talk about it, then do it. If you think it’ll help someone, that’s even better.”

It was itching at me now that I had spoken out loud about it. I had never talked about this with anyone. Not Mark, not even my therapist. It was like a crying fit stuck in my throat and it refused to come out. Not that I particularly wanted it to, anyway.

“I’m still thinking about it,” I  concluded.

“Well, no matter what you decide,” Jack said, “you have my support.”

“Thank you.”

He was so easy to talk to. I was fighting myself not to just spill everything out and burden him with the things that I’ve done. I couldn’t expose him to how bad I really was, and I really didn’t want to tell him something that I couldn’t even tell to my boyfriend.

Ironically, Jack asked if Mark knew this deep, dark story, and I said no. I hadn’t told anyone.

“Do you think you need to talk about it?”

“Yeah, but not anytime soon.”

“Should I be worried?”

“No. It’s a thing of the past.”

~

Exams and midterms still took place. It was mainly for the students transferring to actual universities after YTU closed for good, but everybody attending still had to take them. I was never good at studying, or good at school in general, but I managed to get by.

One of my classes, English, required group work, and that was a nightmare. I was interacting with others, but I still remained friendless. My yoga class sometimes involved partner poses, but I had Jack there to help me. That was probably one reason why we got closer.

But alas, Jack was leaving soon and then things won’t be the same anymore. I had Sophie - kind of - she was more of an acquaintance. She would mostly talk and I would listen. She had plenty of other friends, and her best friend, who I had in my yoga class. I was easily replaceable.

I had Mark too, but he was spreading himself thin lately. As much as he denied it, he was slowly stressing himself out. I would try to help him, but I was afraid of making him snap. He was just busy all the time, practically leaving me alone with Jack. Maybe that was another reason I got close to him. But that’s what Mark wanted, right? He wanted me to have at least one friend so that way, he didn’t have to worry or feel guilty that he was away from me all the time. That wasn’t a bad thing, I did need friendship.

It was a typical warm day… well, it wasn’t warm to me. Jack was a bit miserable, claiming it was “hot as fucking balls.”

“This is nothing compared to the summertime,” I told him, amused. “In my hometown, it’s all desert, so you’d get the dryest heat of your life. Oh, and during the spring, it’s so windy that you’re pretty much eating dirt.”

We were both out of class early due to exams. We had extra time to kill. It was nearing five o’clock and the campus was particularly barren. I didn’t have any videos to film today, and Jack liked to film well into the night.

“Can we go to the Tube?” he asked. “I heard it’s good.”

“Really?” I asked in response, my stomach immediately flipping over.

The Tube was a diner/bar specifically for vloggers, and it was connected with the university. I had only been there once, and I ended up having a panic attack in the bathroom. That was the last time I went to a restaurant… until I started dating Mark.

“Yeah, I’ve never been there! Please?” Jack asked, giving me and exaggerated pout.

I had to give in. I didn’t want to ruin everything, even if it meant sacrificing my own comfort and mental health. We walked down the street to the diner, my jaw clenched shut from the nerves.

Jack went to order us drinks while I found us a booth. It wasn’t particularly busy today, but there were intimidating vloggers scattered here and there. Some of them were looking at Jack, who was far more known and respected than I was.

He came over to the booth with two beers and sat across from me. “I don’t know what you like, so I went with Coors.”

“That’s fine,” I said, accepting the bottle and taking a gulp. Alcohol helped me relax in social situations. “I actually don’t drink that much.” Because I never go outside, therefore I had no reason to cope-drink.

“How come?” he asked. “You strike me as someone who does shots and cocktails.”

I shook my head, chuckling a little. “Nope. The idea that a liquid can impair your thoughts and actions is a bit terrifying.” Yet it’s one of your maladaptive behaviors. Okay then, Bella.

Jack rolled his eyes, amused. “Are you a lightweight, Bellers?”

I was embarrassed by that little fact for some reason. “No…”

“Chug your beer, then.”

“iChale! No way!”

“Come on! I’ll do it with you! Look!” Without missing a beat, Jack took his own bottle and began to down it.

Fuck it. This bout of nerves and anxiety wasn’t going to go down by itself. I tipped down my beverage, though I didn’t feel any different once I finished it. Beer never really did it for me, I needed something stronger.

“You drunk yet?” Jack jokingly asked when he put down his empty bottle.

“It’s gonna take more than that, mijito,” I said back.

At one point, a waiter came by and replaced our drinks with new ones. Jack ordered some food as well, and we got settled in.

“So, how’d you meet Signe?” I asked.

“She made some art of me, and I started talking to her on Tumblr,” he replied. “There was this time where she was streaming, she was drawing a picture of me. I went onto the stream and watched a little bit, and I told her ‘you better draw me pretty.’ She told me to go fuck myself.”

I giggled. “How romantic.”

“Yeah… I really miss her.” He took another sip of his beer. “How did you and Mark meet?”

“It was here at YTU. We had some classes together, and we were partnered together on a project,” I said. “And you know me, I was super quiet and awkward. Except, when he tried to make conversation with me, I did not want to cooperate.”

“Same old Bella,” Jack commented, smiling. “So you were friends before you started dating?”

“Yeah, we only started dating in October, but we’re pretty close.”

“Do you not drink because he can’t?”

“It’s a personal choice. You’d think with all the shit I have in here-” I pointed to my head “-I’d be a raging alcoholic. But no.”

“That makes you a very strong person. I respect that.”

I smiled. “Thanks, dude! Wanna do a shot or two?”

“Sure!”

When the waiter came with our food, I managed to order two tequila shots. One bright side of my drinking-in-social-situations habit, I could do things on my own without shaking as much. However, I was still too polite and shy to say anything when we were presented with a whole plate of tequila shots.

Jack was giggling once the waiter had gone. “Is this what you ordered?”

I hesitated. “I did say a shot or two…”

“Oh, tiny little Baller. Ready?” He took one small glass and held it up.

I took a deep breath and held up my own. “Let’s do this. To… friendship?”

“To friendship!”

And down went the first shot.

It burned my throat, but not enough to make me want to throw it back up. It just made me want to drink more. I was feeling better and more free as the alcohol set into my system. More people entered the diner, and I wasn’t plagued with the urge to hide in the bathroom. But if I did feel that, then I had more tequila to help me out with that.

I looked through my phone at one point, some time after emptying two more shot glasses. I was making sure I didn’t receive any texts from Mark. As usual, I had no new notifications, so I scrolled on Tumblr, and my heart began to burst.

“Jack,” I said urgently. “I need to tell you something.”

“Tell me,” he replied, leaning forward in his seat. His cheeks were flushed.

“You fans are so fucking nice, dude. I love them.”

“I know! Thank you! They’re being nice to you?”

“They’re drawing fanart, and they say my makeup is pretty!” I could have cried in that moment. “They also have this funny idea that we should be together.”

“That's called shipping,” Jack pointed out.

“I know, I'm just thinking,” I said, “maybe the shippers are going to my head or something.” I hesitated. “Do you think if you didn't have Signe, and I didn't have Mark, that we…” I let my sentence finish itself.

He actually considered it, looking at his empty shot glass with a lot of thought. “I don't know. I can't imagine myself with anyone but Signe. You and me? Maybe… in another life probably.”

“Another story,” I added. “Una historia de otros nosotros.”

“I'm going to pretend like I understood that.” Jack chuckled. “Do you actually think we could work?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. I mean, we're complete opposites, but maybe that's not a bad thing. You bring out my happy, energetic side, and I…”

“You teach me how to shut the fuck up,” Jack continued. “No but really, you taught me more about anxiety.”

“You make me want to be a better person,” I said, my words slurring a little bit. “You’ve made me feel less lonely. God, you're such a nice, good person Jack! I don't deserve a friend like you!”

“Aw, you're so sweet, Baller!” he replied. “I'm glad we're friends on some level, y'know? Sure, in another story we could be more than that, but I'm happy where we are right now. Besties, and nothing more.”

“Exactly! We should get bracelets or something...” I could have cried, this was such a nice moment. I really did love Jack, as much as you can love a good friend.

“If you and Mark ever break up, I'm still hanging out with you,” he said. “That's how close I think we are.”

“Bros before hoes doesn't apply to me?”

“You're a bro! The best bro, queen of the bros!”

“You sound like Felix.” I giggled.

“Maybe that's a sign we've had too much to drink. Let's call someone, shall we?”

“Yeah, let’s do it.” I pulled out my phone, somehow managing to dial Mark.

“Bellaboo!” he greeted upon answering.

“Hi Markimoo!” I greeted back, giggling like a little girl. “My love, my life, my wife!”

He chuckled on the other line. “Where are you?”

“Me and the Jack decided to have special friend time,” I explained. “We’re having fun, but maybe too much fun. There was tequila involved.”

“Oh, I understand. Can you drive, babe?”

Everything he was saying was funny. “I don’t think so. Could you be the bestest, sweetest person ever and pick us up? Estamos cerca del universidad, si sabes?”

“English, honey,” he told me.

“Y’know that one bar, restaurant, thing by campus? That’s where you’ll find me and my son.”

“Jack is your son now?” Mark laughed.

“Yes, I adopted him, and we’re raising him together! Right, Jack?”

“Right!” he replied even though he didn’t hear what me and Mark were talking about.

“Okay, I’ll be right there, baby,” Mark told me.

“Thank yooouu, I love yoouu,” I sang before hanging up.

_______

next chapter

[forgedobsidian]

Hi. I hope you don't mind if I ask for some advice? I used to write fanfiction all the time but then I started to get a lot of anxiety about my writing. Nothing I try to write is good enough for me, and I haven't been able to finish and upload anything since around 2011 even though I've had plenty of plot bunnies. Do you have any advice that might help me start writing again?

Sure!! I’ll give what advice I can!!

I actually went through a period of not-posting-anything, myself. A spike of anxiety when one of my fics went completely review-less killed my motivation to post anything. It lasted about a year and a half, and only in the past couple months have I really gotten back into fic writing. Here is what I found helped:

- Getting in contact with other writers makes things fun!! I follow about 7 other fic folks, and talking to each other about what we write or even just leaving really long rambly reviews is a great way to meet really awesome people and boost some writing confidence. 

- Sometimes you just run out of steam. It’s okay to take breaks, even if they seem terribly long and you don’t want to disappoint any readers with rare updates or new posts. It’s chill to take your time. I know anxiety can be a real pain when you feel like you have to be constantly working on or posting stuff, but as both a reader and a writer I can say that it’s really important to take your time and only post when you want to. 

- Write down those plot bunnies!! Keeping track of your ideas is a good way to keep your creativity going, and then if you get burnt out on one idea there’s always another to keep you entertained. It’s okay if you never finish all of them. Fic is supposed to be fun, and there isn’t a ‘quota’ that needs to be filled. 

- Understand that the everpresent possibility of growth does not detract from you skill in the now. Chances are you grew a lot in writing skill and really developed your writing style from that first fic up to your most recent writings. I know I did!! You have skill right now, and it’ll grow the more you write. 

- Being unsure about your writing means that you’re holding yourself to a personal standard, which is a-okay! I have seen a few fic writers say that they were really able to write well when they stopped caring so much, but that’s not something I can do, personally. I like to feel good about what I’m writing and posting. When it comes to feeling like I’m not doing my absolute best, I like to remember that we are always harder on ourselves than anyone else will be, and I can always come back to it later. And creativity has it’s own time of hibernation, so expecting yourself to be constantly at 100% all of the time isn’t gonna work. ALSO: what might be something simple and rough and not-that-great to you will be pure art to someone else. 

               - ALSO: the bare minimum for fic is that it’s understandable. As long                    as you’re hitting that mark, any extra effort you put into it is just                          making it better!

- It’s okay to feel anxious about your writing. It’s a pretty common feeling, actually. I go through a solid hour of avoiding the Internet after I post something because I can get really jittery. When it comes to dealing with anxiety, I’ve found that stepping away from what I’m doing helps give me some space to think. I can go over some of my old stuff, or my more recent stuff, and it’s like “Hey, I did that, so I can totally do this.” Anxiety is such a pain, but it’s normal, and it can be worked around. 

- Splitting up longer works into multiple chapters helps if you get an idea that seems to keep growing the more you write it. If it turns into something REALLY LONG AND INTIMIDATING, it’s okay to put it on the shelf for when you feel ready. 

- Finishing something is always interesting. Unless I have an ending really planned out beforehand, I always feel like I should have been able to fit in more or write it better or that I made it too long and focused on the wrong things. If you’re really unsatisfied with it, rewriting some scenes or even the whole thing might help (scary, but it works). Also, since it’s fic, you can always go back and edit or add more chapters or a sequel or two if you really want to. 

- Posting work is hard! It’s sending out something you worked on, something you put time into, and you don’t know how it’ll be received or if anyone will like it or even if you’re proud of what you created. I post-and-run, honestly. Thinking back over all the effort I put into something sometimes gives me that push to click ‘Publish,’ though sometimes I just have to wait for another day or so. Then I usually feel more prepared and confident, even if I haven’t done any more work on it. I’ve also seen some folks just post little snippits of stuff they have in progress to get feedback, so that might help to sort of ‘test the waters.’

I hope these help!! Though this is just what I personally found useful when it came to writing again, so they might not work for you. I won’t tell you to make writing a habit, that at 5:00 each night you HAVE to sit down and you have to write at least 500 words. Fanfiction should be something you enjoy. If a long time passes before you feel like you might enjoy it again, then that’s okay. Self-compassion when it comes to your writing is more helpful in the long run than self-admonishment. 

So, overall, being gentle with yourself and remembering that you are always growing and developing is incredibly important.  You can only do you best - which will vary from day to day - at a given moment, and that’s more than enough.  

Hope I could help even just a little!! Happy writing!!

[readfelice-blog]

Moominland Chronicles Siebzehn: infatuation is not a gift

Blog guide: all italics are my wednesday edits.

Before we begin:

Anyone who suddenly might be unexpectedly flush, my crowdfunding campaign has less than 24 hours left

https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/acht-ocho#/

Well then, hello, no more letters lets return to moominland.

You might remember in my last chronicle that my bloody tale of woe was still in action, after many pills and spending time with a really wonderful gynaecologist who spoke about death with me - following my lead, (she didn't open an appointment with a death chat, I don’t think doctors are normally allowed to even think the word) it was finally determined I have chlamydia.

Surprise!

What fun eh?

I’m on antibiotics now, it should be gone by this weekend, and the bleeding stopped about 2 weeks ago after I started a combination of blood clotting pills and the contraceptive pill. My suspicions are it was stress, hormones and chlamydia that caused the gushing of blood, it would be an act of suicide on chlamydias part to deprive itself of so much iron, which it needs to survive.

So as inferred previously, the NHS would of caught this sti months ago, I would not of cost my insurance company thousands of euros or been subject to various ultrasound spy dildos and gleeful practitioners telling me I was pregnant rubbing their hands together in anticipation of jumping into my vagina, or surgeons hysterically clutching scalpels, so overjoyed to be operating again.

BUT, if I had dealt with my insurance issue diligently, and gotten a proper gynaecologist much earlier and done my research carefully, AND LEARNT GERMAN, this would also not have happened, so I can't deny my own responsibility in all of this either. I still retain my idiot abroad status, which I need to work on to be a proper functioning expat.

So, I’m lying in bed a bit nervous because I’m printing my first copies of my publication tomorrow to fly them to italy at the weekend: it’s Tuesday as I type this horizontal on my phone. As I'm away and just embarking on the next chapter of my project, the making it really real bit, I thought it best to get this log drafted and up before I go.

They’re done, some of the pages are wonky, but they look great actually.

Follow the diary of this project here:

https://felicezhukov.net/bocem-diary

(Because death lurks round every corner, it’s best not to have any unfinished business.)

It’s been quiet, I’ve been napping a lot and taking pills and cutting down salt, my social life has utterly ground to a halt aside from the occasional quick drink and my trips to the studio to practise the live element of this project, which has been revealing itself to me and making me consider myself in a new light, somewhere between a musical performer, a stand up comedian and just all out weirdo, but I’ll refine this at a later date.

What I want to talk about this week are the letters to Nicolás Jaar, but not as a letter to him. As thoughts directed into the macrocosm of the internet.

Because I finished ‘I love Dick’, at first I wrote a very clumsy synopsis and realised many of the critical details had passed me by, academic references sifting out of my mind like flour and swirling away into the air. It has made me realise I need to study what I read, but again that's a thought to refine later.

Still, I was left with a very strong impression which fermented inside me like kimchi and whilst sat in my kitchen earlier between courses, my eyes resting on candlelight, it struck me, the protagonist of the book, Chris, was bullying dick, suddenly it was crystal clear that her infatuation was never weathered by Dicks resistance, that Dick could be curious and still also be anxious about her attention, that victims make mistakes to. But she ploughed on, regardless of his protests, for a long time.

Now, my letters to Nicolás Jaar only lasted a matter of months in comparison, and did not include any colluders, but they were still deeply personal and troubled. Week after week I decried the suffering in my life, the cruelties I was facing, the emotional carnage of my break up and my alcoholism, addressing them to someone I’d formed an infatuation about solely on the impressions of his public persona and his music.

When I was 15 I was obsessed with the doomed relationship of courtney love and kurt cobain, as a the eternal odd one out with nowhere to go in the countryside I entertained myself by creating a character called enigma, who lived in New York. I drew hundreds of drawings of her in different attire that looked more like fashion illustrations than anything descriptive, my mum used to get frustrated at this waste of talent bound to repetition, and enigmas neck was always to long.

Enigma had a lover, called jake, chiselled jawline, a genius musician with a tortured soul, he seduced and slept with all of New York’s cultural elite, but he loved enigma. Though they stayed plural and their relationship was often fraught, they were absolutely bound together, forever destined to explode and then reassemble.

Jake didn’t kill himself.

That fantasy has taken new form, enigma looks like me now, but it is the foundation of every infatuation I develop.

Nicolás Jaar was in the middle of a grueling international tour, I mangled what I read about him into some kind of twisted connection between us, he was travelling the world to the backdrop of me destroying every last vestige of my life,in all senses of the word, selling and trashing my life’s work and possessions, leaving my husband, leaving my home of over 10 years.

Then In its closing chapters I retold and fictionalised a very unsettling story about murder and submersion, the whole thing taking an unsavoury twist with me paralleling beauty and the beast, what if the beast had killed beauty?

I was the beast.

But aren't we all the beast sometimes?

I can only imagine how tiring and unsatisfying months of touring can be for someone creative who wants to innovate and explore in their work, it would be my personal hell, that rotation of groupies, hangers on and gargantuan crowds, barely a moment to breathe and personal space so diminished that you stop knowing who you are any more. In the midst of this to be receiving unsolicited attention from a mentally damaged stranger on twitter, sometimes 2 or 3 times a week, could only serve to heighten the stress you're already experiencing and cause you to disassociate yourself from your inner core even more.

In my mind I was pleading to be saved by devoting all my attention to him, in my unhinged state I felt like by baring everything to a man I’d never met he’d be so disarmed he'd surely empathise, find solace in my garbled stories of misadventure and anxiety.

But now I see how selfish it was, to project on to another human, after all dick was just a human to, with all his own baggage to cope with, though infatuation can amplify its object the reality is noone is really built to cope with that kind of attention, not Dick, not Nicolás Jaar.

Though it was an interesting exercise in some way and will always be part of my oeuvre, probably more definitively so because it exists on the internet, so if the walls don’t come crashing down it is relatively protected, it wasn't kind. I was not trying to help Nicolás Jaar, or create something nourishing, it was selfish. Infatuation is, at its core, selfish, the object is merely that because there is no connection, or at least in this example. There was never any exchange between us, just me pouring all my illness into him blindly.

And I know this well because I have suffered with others becoming infatuated by me on more than one occasion, it’s not pleasant.

In Turin, on stage, he seemed so broken and at odds with himself during his set, he appeared to be really unhappy, my most noble act in this whole enterprise has been to stop writing him letters and focus on myself. I do feel angry with the former me though there is no use regretting what has already passed and life moves on as surely as the sun and moon pass each other in the sky.

In the end i cant punish myself, to err is humane, to forgive divine, I must forgive myself as well.

I’m glad im returning to Turin a more advanced and thoughtful person, I’m going to order in a restaurant this time (well, maybe, but I’m definitely going to buy chocolate) and have a nap before I go out on saturday, I’m going to go to Italy this time, not to stand wretchedly at the feet of a man who owes me nothing and asks for nothing from me. Because as someone grappling with their own fears about performing: this kind of incident is one of the key aspects of what I am terrified to illicite, so i say to you my readers, that I'm sorry to Nicolás Jaar and I will never repeat this journey with any future influences in my life.

I wonder if Chris Kraus has ever apologised to Dick, I’m going to give it a google now I think then try to get some sleep.

Goodnight all, next week I’ll regale you with my Italian trip and who knows what else.

Should ever our paths cross, I don't think I could be like chris, I feel like I’m done exposing him, so it may very well be that whatever ending this story could have, this here will be the end in terms of its written account, I might never type the words Nicolás Jaar on tumblr again.

And by the way, I’ve already uploaded my album, because actually I detest exclusivity, it’s free to download and publically available on 2 of my music based accounts, it’s not hard to find, trust me.

[jestbee]

June 23: Ships that pass in the night (Chapter Three)