#(please pretend the second song sounds like Careless Whisper)

[ckret2]

Chapter 33 of human Bill is still the Mystery Shack's prisoner:

Stan takes Bill to get fillings from a creepy dentist in the back of a white van. And also they're handcuffed together the whole time.

Hijinks ensue.

Stan was startled from reading the paper by a shrill up-and-down whistle. Bill trotted into the kitchen, his voice a singsong lilt: "Incoming!"

Stan lowered the paper to glare at Bill. "Still doing that, are you?"

"Of course! I'd hate to scare you." Bill took the chair across the kitchen table from Stan. "Gooood morni—"

"Go away." Stan determinedly returned his attention to an article about the deathball arena construction.

Bill laughed. "You're funny. Anyway!" He noted Stan's plate of eggs and salsa was hidden behind his newspaper, and quietly slid the plate across the table as he spoke. "I need you to do me the teensy, tiniest little favor—"

"Nope."

"Take me to your dentist."

"No." Stan didn't even lower his newspaper. "The last time I took you anywhere, you almost made my niece cry, my brother left a Shopliftaholics Anonymous flier on my bed, and all I got out of it was a crummy ring. You wanna go somewhere, talk to Soos."

But, Bill noted, Stan was wearing said crummy ring. "Spend a day with that loser?" He rolled his eyes. "Please. I'd rather pry out my fingernails."

"You'd probably enjoy that, you freak."

"Not the point." Bill stuffed half an egg in his mouth. "Anyway, it has to be you. I need fillings, and Dr. Illing does them for free."

Stan squinted over the top of his newspaper. "How do you know about Dr. Illing?"

"What part of 'all-seeing eye' don't you get?"

Dr. Illing was a wandering dentist who spent the warm summer months in Gravity Falls. He squeezed his van and trailer into alleys between businesses in town, where he both lived and provided dental services until the police caught wind and chased him and his van out into the woods for a few days. On days with good weather, he'd pop open the back hatch of his nondescript trailer and set up a sign that read "COME INSIDE! FREE CANDY (for new patients)". He didn't attract many customers.

What really made him stand out was his unusual pay structure. He charged typical rates for regular teeth cleaning and dental maintenance; but if a patient had a cavity, he gave them a gold filling for free, and he paid them if he needed to pull their teeth.

Stan thought he was terrific. He hadn't had to pay for dental care in thirty years! Granted, he also wore dentures now; but hey, Dr. Illing had helped pay off Ford's mortgage, and at least the dentures were on the house.

Bill said, "You're the only one in the shack who knows all the places Illing might set up shop. Besides, he might be less jumpy in front of a stranger if an existing patient can vouch for it."

"I can see where you're coming from," Stan said. "But my answer is no, because I don't wanna."

Bill scowled in irritation. He sat back and ate another of Stan's eggs as he reconsidered his approach.

"Stanley—I'm a simple shape," he said. "A simple shape who's used to being coated peak to base in pure, lustrous, 24-karat gold. Having skin makes my skin crawl. I don't need any dental work done, these teeth are fine—but I'd really, really like just a bit of gold, somewhere on my body, so I feel a little more like myself in my final days."

Stan muttered, "You're trying to appeal to sympathy I don't have, Cipher."

"And then, once I'm dead," Bill went on, "I suppose I'll be leaving behind a corpse with a mouthful of free gold that whoever's disposing of my remains can do whatever they want with, do you catch my meaning Stanley?"

Stan lowered his newspaper just enough to grimace at Bill. "That's absolutely disgusting," he said. "But okay, I'm bribed!" He tried to fold the newspaper. "If you want your mouth to fund me and Ford's next year of globe-trotting, fine by me. Least you can do for messing up our summer."

"Mhm." Bill shoveled the last egg into his mouth while Stan was distracted by the paper and slid the plate over to Stan's side.

Stan slapped the paper down. "But we're not telling Ford about this. Agreed?" He offered a hand to shake.

"Agreed." Bill took Stan's hand, with the wrong hand—but before Stan could figure out what to do with that, Bill jerked his hand back like he'd been burned. "We'll take this to our graves."

"Or to your grave, anyway!" Stan laughed loudly, slapping the table.

Bill watched him with a forced smile. "Great. Deal made. Let's go get the magic friendship bracelets and—"

"Ohhh no," Stan said. "I'm not trusting a little bit of colored lace and some mystical hocus-pocus to keep you contained. If we're going anywhere, I'm making sure you can't escape."

"Okay," Bill said, a touch warily. "Fine. How?"

####

Soos took the handcuffs out of his toolbox, removed the key and stuck it in his pocket, and asked, "What side do you want it on?"

"Left," Stan said. "Gotta keep my punching arm free." Bill rolled his eyes. 

Soos closed the cuffs on Stan's left wrist and Bill's right, then tightened Bill's half until it actually held his tiny wrist. "There."

"Ha!" Stan grinned at Bill. "Try escaping that!"

"I wasn't planning to escape."

"Sure, pull the other one." Stan pointed toward the door. "Now... to the car!"

####

They stared in dismay at Stan's car.

The El Diablo was a classic of the 1960s American automotive industry—and it was in terrific condition. (Notwithstanding the recent dents, scrapes, and keyed scratches in the paint reading "TRICK-OR-CHEATER!!") It came with the features standard to American cars of the time, like a steering wheel on the left, and a wide front bench that provided space for multiple passengers to sit to the driver's right side.

Bill was handcuffed to Stan's left side.

"Wow. You're stupid," Bill said.

"I'll break your smart mouth."

"What do I care, we're headed to the dentist anyway." He sighed. "Okay! Let's go inside and tell Questiony how stupid you are."

Stan did not want to tell Soos how stupid he was. "No! How do you know I didn't do this on purpose? Maybe having my right arm free is more important than—er... driving."

Bill considered that with pursed lips. After a pause, he ventured, "Do you want me to drive—?"

"No, no, nope, I am not letting you drive my car, under any circumstances, ever! Not a chance!"

"Then how are we doing this?"

####

Stan gripped the steering wheel with both hands, knuckles white and jaw clenched.

Bill was uneasily cuddled up against Stan's right side. The handcuff forced him to stretch his right arm across Stan's chest. 

They were both wearing tank tops. Their bare upper arms were plastered together with sweat.

They were getting cricks in their necks from how far they were tilting their heads away from each other.

On the radio, a hit 50's soul song crooned romantically, "Oh, my sweet love... you're my lovely sweetie... and I never love you more, than when you're pressed to my side... as we go for a sweet loving car ride..." Neither of them could reach the radio dial without touching each other even more. They'd silently decided to pretend as hard as possible that they couldn't hear the radio.

"Welp," Stan said. "Out of all the times I've been handcuffed in a car, this is one of the worst."

####

They spotted Dr. Illing's "FREE CANDY" sign posted surreptitiously near the barrel and crate factory, and circled the block to park the car in front of a business that looked responsible enough to file a missing persons report if the car was still abandoned there by nightfall.

They tumbled out of the driver's side door with a maneuver that looked like a cross between a waltz and a mugging. Stan kicked the door shut. As they untangled themselves, in a surprisingly decent impression of Stan's voice, Bill said, "Gotta keep my punching arm free. How's that working out for you?"

"Bold words from a guy in punching range, you little—" As Stan finally separated himself from Bill and straightened out, he caught sight of Sheriff Blubs and Deputy Durland halfway up the block. "Oh, great. Cops. Exactly what you want around when you're doing something weird." Stan shook his head. "Well, as long as we go the other way and don't make eye contact—"

"Hi Darryl! Hi Edwin!" Bill stood on his toes and waved wildly. "Hey! Working hard or hardly working? Haha!"

"Oh, hey Goldie!" Durland waved back, and he and Blubs headed their direction. "How've you been, did you have a nice Summerween?"

"Ahh, I was stuck in the house—"

"Bill," Stan hissed. "Whaddaya think you're doing? Do you want them asking questions?"

"Hey," Durland said, "Why're you handcuffed to Stan?"

Bill turned toward Stan. He smiled at him. It was a smile that said I did not think this through.

"You need some help there?" Blubs asked. "I bet we've got a key that matches that handcuff model."

Stan bet Bill would love to accept that offer and go traipsing off with the cops. "Nope! That's fine! Thank you officers, but we're keeping the handcuffs on," Stan said. "Because." He paused. "They're necessary. For... uh... for me."

The cops and Bill watched him expectantly. Bill had that awful gleam in his eyes that he got when he saw an opportunity to make up a story.

"Because I'm old," Stan said. "It's to keep me from wandering into traffic."

Bill laughed, "Yep, that's true!" He jabbed Stan's shoulder with a finger (harder than necessary, he thought). "This guy's cataracts are so bad, sometimes he asks us if he's dying because all he a see is a white light in a dark tunnel! And the way his mind's going, woof—"

Stan growled, "All right you don't have to lay it on so thick—"

"—he's so addled it's like he's completely forgotten the last century of technology, he'll just walk right off the curb and expect the horse-drawn carriages to stop for him—"

"Hahaaa, but we won't bore you with my medical history!" Stan jerked on the handcuffs. "C'mon, Goldie, you're gonna make me late to my heart doctor appointment. You don't want my life on your hands, do you?"

Bill murmured, "Don't threaten me with a good time."

"Hold on," Blubs said. "You can't see? Didn't we just see you get out of the driver's seat of your car?"

Stan and Bill exchanged a look. Stan said, "Goldie's giving me directions."

"Oh! That makes sense," Durland said.

"All right," Blubs said, "We'll let you get to your doctor's appointment. You folks have a nice day."

As the cops left, Bill called after them, "You too! Hey, I'll see you guys at Rainbow Club!"

"See you there!" Durland turned to Blubs. "Y'know, I think Goldie's a step up from that seeing-eye bear."

Bill and Stan eyed each other. "All right, you're not bad at improv," Bill said. "I can respect a decent actor."

"You too," Stan said grudgingly. Bill looked at Stan like he expected a little more than that; but Stan kept his mouth shut. Bill didn't need the encouragement.

####

Dr. Illing's "FREE CANDY" sign leaned hopefully near a gap in the fence around an overgrown lot by the barrel factory. The gap was large enough that a reasonably limber human could duck through with little difficulty; however, Stan was old and Bill was still controlling his alien body like a rookie puppeteer learning the marionette, so they circled halfway around the lot until they found a gate in the fence to push open. They trod across scraggly grass, a row of dying mushrooms, and years-old litter to reach an unmarked white van hooked up to a camper trailer.

The back hatch of the trailer was flipped up to serve as a makeshift metal awning, and inside, a tall, spindly man was snoring atop a military cot in his underwear, using a white lab coat like a blanket. Stan cleared his throat loudly, and when that didn't disrupt the snoring, knocked on the side of the trailer. "Hey! Doc!"

Dr. Illing jolted upright with a yelp, seized an enormous wireless power drill off the floor to point at them like a gun, lowered it slightly as he registered he wasn't under attack, then realized he was nearly naked and yelped again. He tumbled off the cot, flailed his way to his feet, and turned his back to them as he jerked on his coat and buttoned it. "Just—just a second!" He got on one sock, couldn't find the other, and gave up, pulling on his sneakers with one bare foot. "Sorry, so sorry, I must've—just—nodded off for a second, there—"

"Maybe we should have made an appointment," Bill said wryly. "He looks busy." Stan snorted.

Dr. Illing turned around, smoothing out his rumpled lab coat. He was a jumpy, twitchy man with heavy circles under his eyes, short badly-cut hair, and a 5 o'clock shadow that had evolved into a 25 o'clock shadow. His gaze darted nervously between their faces. "Sorry. Hi, hello, can I help you? Are you maybe here for a tooth extraction, or—or perhaps wisdom teeth removal...?" His gaze caught on Stan's face, and he started. "Stan Pines! I haven't seen you since I pulled your last tooth ten years ago! What are you doing here?" His brows creased in worry. "You're—you're not mad about that, are you—?"

"What? No! The dentures are—fine. They're actually lower maintenance than teeth. Sort of. In a way," Stan said. "No, I'm here to refer a new customer." He pointed at Bill.

Bill made a gesture like he was tipping an invisible hat. "Hi there!"

"A customer?" Dr. Illing said blankly. "Oh—yes! Of course, hold on—" He pulled a hospital curtain over the front half of the trailer to hide a dinette covered in laundry and old magazines, lifted one end of the military cot and slid a step stool under the legs to keep it raised, and tugged the arm of a dental light down from the ceiling to aim it at the chair.

Stan said, "So, do I get some kind of referral bonus, or..."

"Oh—sure, sure. Have a, uhh..." Dr. Illing opened a heavy yellow and black tool bag, pulled out a battered cookie tin, withdrew a gold coin, and offered it to Stan. "One of these or something, here."

"Huh." Stan inspected it. No idea what currency it was, but a gold coin was arguably cooler than actual cash.

The dentist batted aside the hospital curtain to grab a tiny stool from the dinette, shook a damp towel off the seat, placed the stool beside the cot, and sat. "Okay!" He clapped his hands. "New customer! What can I do you for?"

Bill had been gazing in naked longing at the bag hiding the gold coins; but at the question, he looked up with a grin. "I'm here for fillings!"

"Ah! Wonderful. No charge for fillings, of course." He started rummaging through his tool bag for supplies. "Do you know which teeth need them?"

"Whichever you think would look best with some," Bill said. "Driller's choice!"

Dr. Illing stopped rummaging to give Bill a perplexed look. "I—sorry, come again?"

"I said I'm leaving it in your hands." Bill climbed into the trailer and put his free hand on Dr. Illing' s shoulder. "I'll be straight with you, Frankie: all that matters is that my teeth do not currently have any gold in them, and I want that to change by the time I leave. I'm not too picky about the details beyond that."

The dentist stared at Bill, then glanced at Stan for confirmation. Stan shrugged and nodded. "Oh-kay!" Dr. Illing wasn't quite smiling, but there was a strange, eager gleam in his eye. "Super! This'll be fun!" He gestured for Bill to sit on the cot. "Let's see what I have to work with."

He ushered Stan in, and pulled the trailer's hatch shut.

####

"Your teeth are amazing," Dr. Illing said, voice hushed with awe. "Perfectly white. Who's your usual dental hygienist? Did you just get these cleaned?"

"Nope," Bill said, forgetting for the third time that humans keep their teeth and their voice in the same hole and he shouldn't talk with the dentist's fingers in his mouth. Dr. Illing quickly pulled his hand back. "Just basic toothpaste, floss, and dish soap."

Dr. Illing shook his head in disbelief. "Well, they look amazing. And no wear at all, remarkable... Have you ever considered having any of these pulled? Do you mind if I take a few pictures?"

Stan shuddered as the dentist pulled out an old film camera and started snapping photos. "Yeesh. I forgot how creepy you are. Kinda glad I ran out of teeth."

Dr. Illing straightened up, snapped off the dental light, and sighed. "Well, I'm sorry to say that all your teeth are pristine. Not a hint of cavities—not even plaque. It'd be a shame to drill such pretty specimens. You're sure you don't want one pulled...?"

Stan grimaced, but Bill pursed his lips thoughtfully, as if he were considering a perfectly normal question. "As fun as that sounds, I said I want to leave with gold today, and the whole extraction-and-implantation process for gold teeth takes ages. Unless you happen to have a little secret magic trick to speed up the process?" Bill laughed, fixing Dr. Illing with a piercing stare.

Dr. Illing looked nervous. "Er—no."

"Then just the fillings. But who knows, maybe I'll feel naughty and be back in a couple of weeks." Bill laughed again. "Just pick a couple of your least favorite teeth to drill into!"

"Okay, suit yourself." Dr. Illing shrugged and fished around in an overstuffed cardboard box under the dinette table. "Let's gas you up and get drilling."

"You can skip the sedative," Bill said. "I don't mind a little pain. I prefer it, actually! It adds some zest to the experience..." He trailed off as he caught sight of the label on the gas canister Dr. Illing had pulled out. He pointed at a word, "I thought that additive was illegal."

Dr. Illing flinched guiltily. "Not in the state where I got it."

"Oh, buddy. I didn't realize I'd climbed into the party van!" Bill settled back on the cot, laced his hands behind his head, and got comfortable. "You know this stuff has something like sixty percent odds of causing hallucinations? Most people get either haloes around lights, or spiders. Go ahead, gas me—I wanna find out which I am."

####

In five minutes, Bill was overjoyed to report that the dental light had a spider halo. He did not explain what this meant.

Since Stan had typically been under anesthesia himself whenever Dr. Illing operated on him, this was the first time he'd had an opportunity to watch the dentist at work. Stan discovered that when Dr. Illing drilled into a tooth, he didn't suck the resultant dust up with one of those little dental vacuums with a plastic tube Stan was more familiar with. Instead, when a bit of dust had accumulated, he reached in with what looked like a cotton swab, wiped up the tooth dust, and scraped it off into a Petri dish; and only then did he use the vacuum to suck out any saliva and continue. Was he saving the leftover tooth dust? He was an even bigger creep than Stan had thought.

By all appearances, Bill didn't handle the gas well. It wasn't that it made him sick, or that he wasn't having the time of his life. It just made him completely forget how to operate a human body. When Dr. Illing told him to hold his mouth open, he also held his eyes open until they watered; and whenever he lost the battle to keep them open, he automatically shut his mouth too, often to his own peril as Dr. Illing shouted about the drill jostling. Within ten minutes, Dr. Illing had given up on convincing Bill to keep his mouth open and instead started giving him blink breaks when he could shut his mouth.

It helped some, but they couldn't do anything about the fact that Bill had fully forgotten he couldn't talk while getting dental work done, and kept up a regular chatter—during which he cheerfully mentioned he'd died recently, attempted to explain that the entire universe was actually an elaborate hologram projecting from the "true" third dimension, and asked Dr. Illing all about the cruise to Panama he'd recently stowed away on (which the dentist hadn't mentioned). During one blink break, as Bill closed each eye separately, Dr. Illing leaned toward Stan and muttered, "So... what's her story?"

Stan tilted his head toward the Petri dish. "What's with the tooth shavings?"

Dr. Illing considered that, slowly nodded, and got back to work.

####

After several hours, Dr. Illing wiped his brow and sighed in relief. "All right, that should do it. You've got fillings on five teeth now." Under his breath, he muttered, "It would have been two, if you hadn't kept talking while I was drilling."

Stan shook his head in amazement. "Doesn't that hurt?" 

"Yes," Bill said. "I've never felt pain like that before. What a rush."

"If you do come back for a tooth extraction, I'm getting a dental gag to keep your jaws open." Dr. Illing finished pulling out the array of clamps and barriers around the filling sites and wearily dropped down onto his stool. "There. The rest of the sedative should wear off gradually over the next few hours. Usually I tell patients to wait three or four hours before eating to let the swelling go down, but..." He waved wearily. "You can do whatever you want."

"Admit it, you like having an enthusiastic patient!" Bill heaved himself off the military cot, forgot he couldn't float, and immediately collapsed to the floor.

"Whoa there—" Stan helped Bill back to his feet. The handcuffs prevented him from getting an arm around Bill's back, so instead he helped keep him upright by firmly squeezing his upper arm. "I don't know about you, but I'm eating as soon as we get home. You made me miss lunch—and for some reason, I feel like I barely had any breakfast." Bill inexplicably found this declaration hilarious. Probably the sedative, Stan reasoned.

Bill waved at the dentist as Stan tugged him out the trailer's hatch, chattering the whole way: "Thanks for the gold, the sock you were looking for is a bookmark in the March issue of Floss Girls, Atlantis is rising as we speak, you have less than seven years to prepare for the plague, tell the little lady I said hi! Byyye!"

Stan squeezed Bill's arm tighter and muttered, "Would you cut that out?

Bill stumbled across the uneven lot. "I made up the part about Atlantis."

"Okay just shut up and stop saying weird things."

Bill attempted to walk sideways all the way back to the car.

####

Stan gripped the steering wheel so tightly, his arms were trembling.

Bill was sprawled all over the front bench, the dashboard, the seatback, and Stan's shoulders.

On the radio, a hit 80's R&B song with a sexy saxophone was playing, "Babe, the sad things you've been through... I swear I'll make it up to you... If it takes a thousand years..."

Bill was singing at the top of his lungs directly in Stan's ear, "I'LL WIPE AWAY ALL YOUR TEARS, WOO!—sax solo!—BA DA-DA DA, BA DA-DAAA—"

Stan turned off his right hearing aid.

Every once in a while Bill attempted to grab the steering wheel and turn it in time to the song, like a kid playing in a toy car; Stan had given up telling him to stop and instead started just smacking his hand away every time he tried. After another smack, Bill draped his arm awkwardly over Stan again, and announced, "I can't feel my tongue at all! I bet I can chew it off!"

"Don't do that."

"The last time my mouth was this numb, my girlfriend had just gotten done with me, haha." Bill stuck his finger in his mouth to experimentally poke at his tongue. "I couldn' thee for the nex' hour from all the thporeth—"

"I swear if you don't shut up—"

Bill flopped his arm across Stan again. "I just realized I haven't gotten any action since I died. Wow. What's normal for humans, couple times a week until you start the slow lingering decline toward death?" He looked straight at Stan. Stan could feel that side of his face start to sweat. "This isn't a weird time to bring that up, is it?"

"Bill, if you say one more weird thing, you're riding home on the roof of the car."

Bill was quiet for three seconds. And then he started poking Stan's bicep. "Your arm's a lot meatier than Sixer's! What's your favorite flavor of cancer?"

####

Mabel asked, "Why are you on top of the car?"

Bill—eyes wide, hair disheveled, one arm hanging through the driver's door, sprawled out clinging to the roof like his life depended on it—replied, "I don't know, it's all a blur."

Stan opened the car door and jerked on the handcuffs. "All right, get off my car."

Bill shakily climbed off, lay in the dirt, and tried to catch his breath. "That was fun. We should do that more often."

"Not on your life."

Eyeing the handcuffs, Dipper said, "What were you doing, anyway?"

"Nothing!" Stan snapped. "Why? Who's asking? I wasn't sneaking the demon out to get a shady back-alley dental procedure!"

Mabel and Dipper stared up at him.

Stan pointed at them. "What are you doing?"

"Going camping," Dipper said, turning so Stan could see his stuffed backpack.

"Something's been stealing Pacifica's alpacas at night, so we're going on a stake-out," Mabel said. "They took Giorgio. It's personal now."

"We think aliens might be abducting them," Dipper said.

From the ground, Bill said, "It's not aliens."

"Ah, taking the law into your own hands. It builds character," Stan said approvingly. "You need firearms?"

They exchanged a glance. "We're good," Mabel said. "Grunkle Ford loaned us his freeze ray. It seems less lethal."

As the kids headed toward the road, Bill finally heaved himself up. "Well, that was fun!"

"No it wasn't," Stan said.

"Your opinion doesn't matter. Anyway—" He shook his cuffed wrist. "We're home, get me out of this thing. It makes you look like my ugly accessory and I want my hoodie."

"I elevate your whole look!" Stan protested. "And I don't have the key, it's with Soos."

Mabel turned back to shout at them, "Soos is out! He's got a dinner date with Melody!"

Stan grimaced. "Uh-oh."

Bill shrugged and said, with a confidence Stan didn't share, "He left the key behind."

####

"Oh man, sorry dudes," Soos said over the phone. "I totally forgot I still had it. Yeah, it's on my key ring. Is that, like, gonna be a problem, or...?"

"It's fine," Bill said, sitting atop Soos's office desk and leaning all the way across it to reach the phone. "Just pass it through the phone, we'll catch it."

"What?"

"Ignore him." Stan shoved Bill's face away. Bill gave him a dirty look as he straightened out his eyepatch, which he'd finally gotten to put on once they were home. Stan spun the desk chair away from Bill so he couldn't try to join the conversation again. "He's hopped up on psychedelic laughing gas. When are you gonna be back?"

"Uh..." Soos thought for several seconds. "Nooot for a while. Abuelita and I were talking about maybe kind of staying the night?"

"Well—pfff—can't you duck out and bring the key?"

"Uhhh. I would but, this is the first time Abuelita and I are having dinner with Melody's parents, and I'm really worried about impressing them parents, and the casserole's about to come out, and I think they might judge me if I leave, it would probably ruin dinner..."

"Okay, fine. What if we drive over to get the key?"

Far louder than necessary, Bill asked, "Stanley can I drive this time—!"

"Absolutely not!"

"Oh sure, that'd be fine," Soos said. "I'll give you directions, Melody's parents' place is in Portland. You got a pen?"

Stan frowned. "Portland."

"Yep."

"As in, outside the magic bubble trapping Bill in town."

Soos paused. "Oh, right."

Well, Stan wasn't about to make Soos look bad in front of his future in-laws. He'd never had in-laws, but he'd seen enough sitcoms to know how messy that could get. "Never mind. We'll figure something out. You kids enjoy dinner." Stan hung up the phone, sighed, and turned to face Bill. (Bill had plucked a figurine of a bulky robot in a cute girly pose off of Soos's desk, and was staring at it in wonder, like he'd never seen overpriced anime convention merch before.) "You got any other bright ideas?"

"We could still call Darryl and Edwin..."

"No way," Stan snapped. "I am not calling the cops for help! Never gonna happen. I'd rather wait for Soos to get back in the morning if I have to!"

"Oh would you." Bill laughed scornfully. "And what do you plan to do until then?"

####

They got TV dinners and grumpily watched Cash Wheel together.

####

(This entire chapter was just an extended excuse to annoy Stan and Bill as much as possible. But mostly Stan. Thanks for reading, and if you enjoyed I'd appreciate a comment or reblog!!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #grunkle stan #stanley pines #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher #(please pretend the first song sounds like Unchained Melody) #(please pretend the second song sounds like Careless Whisper)

[judasrpc]

LYRIC STARTERS BASED ON MY CURRENT "ON REPEAT" SONGS

aka, subtly exposing my music taste by slamming a bunch of songs onto one post, even if these probably exist as separate ones somewhere. the sections will be separated by the song titles & artists. this only includes my top 10, because we would be here forever if i included any more.

add context & change gendered language to your needs !! if multi, please specify which muse(s) !!

INVISIBLE - DURAN DURAN

" Living without choice is a life without a voice. "

" Has the memory gone? Are you feeling numb? "

" Will you say my name? "

" Hindsight is falling on my face. "

" When you don't hear a word I say […] "

" But a voiceless crowd isn't backing down. "

"Can you say my name? "

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

FLIGHT OF THE CROWS - JHARIAH

" I cannot help but think I've overstayed my welcome. "

" The company's quite nice on crimson nights like these. "

" Well, I think that I've gotta go, and I don't know why. "

" I need you to promise that you won't cry. "

" Let those old memories go. "

" Please understand that I will find a brand new life. "

" So just let me out of your mind. "

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

BLOOD UPON THE SNOW - HOZIER & BEAR MCCREARY

" Nature offers a violence. "

" The world that hardens as the harsher winter holds. "

" The ground walked here is a wonder. "

" And all things nature's given; she takes all things back from the living. "

" I've walked the earth, and there are so few here that know. "

" It's not my arms that will fail me. "

" This world takes more strength than it gave me. "

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

RISK, RISK, RISK - JHARIAH

" We would've never worked out together. "

" Wager all you've got, and run me all that shit. "

" I can't take another day! I need some change. "

" There's things you just can't see with such precautious eyes. "

" I don't think I need to tell you; you'll see me when I do. "

" Better bite your tongue! "

"I don't second-guess a vision. "

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

EAT YOUR YOUNG - HOZIER

" Let me wrap my teeth around the world. "

" I want to feel the edges start to burn. "

" If there's something to be gained, there's money to be made. "

" Throw enough rope until the legs have swung. "

" You can't buy this fineness. "

" If there's something still to take, there is ground to break. "

" Putting food on the table selling bombs and guns. "

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

CARELESS WHISPER - GEORGE MICHAEL

" I feel so unsure. "

" Something in your eyes calls to mind a silver screen, and all its sad goodbyes. "

" Though it's easy to pretend, I know you're not a fool. "

" To the heart and mind, ignorance is kind. "

" But there's no comfort in the truth, pain is all you'll find. "

" I wish that we could lose this crowd. "

" We could have been so good together. "

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

APOCALYPTICISM - MOON WALKER

" We fight fire with silence and pray somebody hears. "

" No one said the world can't change in just a couple nights. "

" We want a revolution, but only with condition. "

" He came baring the heart of a liar; wearing the face of an honest man. "

" Start feeding the dogs of war. "

" We're in your head and hiding in plain sight. "

" But I don't see any difference, they both look the same to me. "

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

DIGITAL SILENCE - PETER MCPOLAND

" I won't ask a question; I'll state the truth. "

" This is the way that it is. "

" Something you love turns to something you miss. "

" This is the way that I know. "

" I feel it inside me like a pulse; it's starting to slow and the meter dips. "

" This is the sound of the truth. "

" There is nothing you can do. "

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

KINGSLAYER - BRING ME THE HORIZON & BABYMETAL

" Are you looking for the other side? "

" I need to know where your loyalties lie. Tell me, are you gonna bark, or bite? "

" Wipe the system and back the fuck up. "

" You are modified. "

" You're a puppet! When they cut your strings off, don't come crawling back. "

" You're on your own. "

" I'll fight for you until I die. "

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

I'M AFRAID I'LL GO TO HEAVEN - MOON WALKER

" I don't wanna live forever, 'cause I don't want what's coming next. "

" Don't think we stand taller together, 'cause half of us ain't got no spine. "

" My biggest fear ain't no red Devil, it's being near you people all the time. "

" I'll be fine as long as you go somewhere else. "

" They tell you truth is what you make it. "

" It's like we don't even gotta try no more. "

" I'm sure your god would love to keep it white, but I think that me and mine will be alright. "

#rp memes #rp meme #rp prompts #rp prompt #roleplay prompts #writing prompts #ask box meme #askbox meme #rph #rpc #judasrpc #// can i say as an aside: i love that these vastly different songs have similar thematic elements #// that when stripping the lyrics down. you get such similar messages? #// i'm sure that says smth about me BUT--

[peakgenko]

Songs the Haikyuu boys would slow dance with you to...

CW; suggestive sexual themes

N/A, my heart nutted while writing this tbh

not proofread!!

© All content belongs to damnihateithere.

Kei Tsukishima

Dream A Little Dream of Me- The Mamas & The Papas

I don’t even know how i made this connection but i feel like tsukishima hums a lot of old songs and so this would be one of them

Or slow dancing in the dark by joji. it’s his favourite song. because of you.

Yuu Nishinoya

So Good At Being in Trouble- Unknown Mortal Orchestra

You’d rock back and fourth with him slowly while his lips press against the back of your hand— his eyes staring intently while he hums the lyrics

Shoyo Hinata

I’m Yours- Jason Mraz

So it’s not really something you can slow dance to but this is definitely his song for you. He sings this to you in the showers, during pillow talk, or drum the rhythm with his fingers against a Tupperware when he’s cooking something for you.

He’ll pull you in by the waist and nuzzle his head up against your back with a grin.

At this point it’s his favourite song because it always gets him in the mood. But that’s only because he thinks of you when he hums it.

Rintarō Suna

Versace On The Floor- Bruno Mars

OMG

okay so I imagine the two of you on some dance floor. Like at a club. I head canon that he’s good at dancing. Effortlessly too.

The music stops and and they choose a slow song to end the evening

You’re wearing a dress that cuts off mid thigh. And he’s in a little suit. His blazers loose and his collared shirt is buttoned down since it got a little heated in the midst of sweaty bodies practically grinding up against eachother

Underneath the red and purple spotlights, specks of iridescent lights from the disco ball hanging from the ceiling arrange themselves on your faces.

He’s singing the lyrics wholeheartedly with a fox like grin while his hands roam down to your ass. Although it’s intent was far from sexual.

Atsumu Miya

Corduroy Dreams- Rex Orange County

LOVE LOVES WHISTLING IT TO YOU

Definitely does kiss you in the shower for a couple hours.

He’s fresh out of the shower and he’s wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants. Drops of water race down to his feet as they roll down his bare chest. You have your towel wrapped around your chest

One hand laced with his, he leads you in a slowing pace around the room with a chirpy smile.

Osamu Miya

Blessed- Daniel Caeser

i’m not sure how i made this conclusion but i’m gonna go with it

He has the prettiest voice when he sings along.

It’s not really dancing though. He has your back facing his chest while his arms enveloped on top of your collar bones and shoulders. He’s pecking gentle kisses against your cheek while rocking back and fourth to the song while you two prepare breakfast.

Keishin Ukai

Fly Love- Jamie Foxx

I imagine you two on some sort of resort of beach. You two are soaked of water but this song just happens to pop up so you stand there in his arms while he teasingly blows a cloud of smoke into your face.

Keiji Akaashi

HENTAI BY CIGARETTES AFTER SEX!!!!

okay for those of you who don’t know that song i know by the title of the song it looks sus and trust me he was definitely skeptic of it as well but give it a listen because now you’re all he ever thinks about when he hears this song.

he swears he’ll dance to this with you in his arms on your wedding day.

if you’re feeling angsty, he’d definitely hold you close and dance with you to the swan by camille saint-saëns

Wakatoshi Ushijima

I Hear A Symphony- Cody Fry

He loves how classy it sounds and it perfectly describes how he feels about you. hell it may even be his favourite song.

He felt like volleyball was his only purpose and for a while he was more than okay with that. until he met you and now he strives for more in life. Hence the whole “I used to hear a simple song” verse. loves putting emphasis in his tone when singing “perfection is so quick to bore...you are my beautiful by far” (only to himself of course) homeboy gets a little embarrassed when it comes to singing.

Daichi Sawamura

Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby- Cigarettes After Sex

I don’t even need to have a scenario for this like he just radiates this energy:((

Like imagine his cheek pressed against yours while his hand weaves through your hair

Tadashi Yamaguchi

You say I’m in love- Banes World!!!!!!!!

Head empty just you and yams dancing to this song underneath LEDs and a ceiling projector

you’re all he thinks about when he sings this song

and bubblegum by clairo- he’d tell you not to focus on the lyrics but instead the instrumental portion. he says the comforting mellow beat reminds him of you.

Kenma Kozume

Nothing- Bruno Major.

Sings the lyrics to you

You’d think he’d be too shy and youre right but it’s because he does it subconsciously.

BRO THIS WOULD LITERALLY BE HIS SONG IN A RELATIONSHIP

Aran Ojiro

Ugotme- Omar Apollo

Such a good singer as well

When the two of you dance, you two dance.

His ability to dance is almost mesmerizing along with his singing.

Sings while covering your neck and collarbones with kisses

Satori Tendou

How Deep Is Your Love- Bee Gees

Also dramatically lip syncs the lyrics to you

Lifts you up into the air and into his arm almost five times mid dance.

He’ll shake his head with his lips pressed up against your neck while his hands trail upwards and toy with the hem of your shirt, his hands hungry with anticipation to just rip it off.

and you scold him when you feel his lips contort into a devilish grin.

Kotaro Bokuto

Hopelessly Devoted To You- Olivia Newton John

hear me out. He only knows this song because akaashi made him watch grease bc he says bokuto should be exposed to the “classics” and since watching it at age 12 with akaashi and bo’s two sisters, he’s prayed that one day he’d meet someone that’d make him feel the way that song did.

He does now and everytime that songs on he’s practically carrying you in his arms.

Tobio Kageyama

Love Me Please- OCTAVIO

this is the only song he knows with the exception of old kanye west because he considers his music grind music but you definitely put him on this song.

He’s literally a psychopath who doesn’t listen to anything EXCEPT like popular rap songs from 2017-2018. And even then he’ll only tolerate it when he needs to work out.

And then he meets you. Now he listens to music in a different aspect.

He knows he’s not the most romantic guy out there but he’s trying his best and you tell him that’s more than enough. He loves you so much.

Koushi Sugawara

This Side of Paradise- Coyote Theory

he’s dragging you out of the house to dance with you to this song. bonus points if it’s raining

he’s also the type to scream-sing to love songs.

There aren’t any cars in the vicinity due to the pouring rain so the two of you make your way to the road.

Your hand in his, he twirls you underneath the storm and into his arms.

Toru Oikawa

Pretty Boy- The Neighborhood

He’ll put so much emphasis in his tone on the “Even if the earth starts shaking, you’re the only thing worth taking- with me. Even if the sky’s on fire, got you here it’s alright.” verse

You’re literally everything to him

he won’t let you go even for a second until this song is finished even then he’ll have trouble parting.

Hajime Iwaizumi

Baby I’m Yours- Arctic Monkeys cover

It’s not even dancing at this point, it’s just you two cuddling and him pretending like he hates it even though he’s the one who refuses to let go of you.

Ryonusuke Tanaka

Knockin’ Da Boots- H-town

if he’s not dancing to this with you in his arms he’s definitely ironically grinding on the floor to this with a fuck boy face.

Hitoka Yachi

two queens in a king sized bed- girl in red

I just imagine the most “call me by your name” scenery type shit.

Or maybe like a field of flowers? You just have her in your arms on some sort of picnic date she planned for the two of you

Semi Eita-

I Wanna Be Yours- Arctic Monkeys

your arms wrap around his neck and his lips press onto yours while the two of you sway back and fourth underneath red led lights.

don’t be surprised if things get sexual.

Tetsuro Kuroo

Careless Whisper- George Michael

okay first he played this song when you were over once and he had it on so that he could initiate a little make out sess with you but when you could tell how nervous he was on making a move on you you told him that there was no pressure on anything and he sort of just danced with you instead. he ended up unironically really liking this song because of that.

(bonus: if it’s fanon kuroo he likes to dance to sway by Michael Bublé with you and the whole time he’s just eyeing you down with a sly grin)

Kiyoomi Sakusa

Beach Baby- Bon Iver

Space Song- Beach House

I imagine it’s raining horribly outside to the point where the thunder outside is retro boomin

but the windows are open because both you and Sakusa love the sound of rain pouring

he has this song playing from his record player while he hums against your neck.

#haikyuu!! #haikyu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu oneshot #tsukishima x reader #nishinoya x reader #sugawara x reader #atsumu x reader #hinata x reader #suna rintarō x reader #suna x reader #osamu x reader #ukai x reader #akaashi x reader #ushijima x reader #daichi x reader #kageyama x reader #yamaguchi x reader #haikyuu kenma #kenma x reader #aran x reader #tendou x reader #bokuto x reader #oikawa x reader #iwaizumi x reader #tanaka x reader #yachi x reader #semi x reader #kuroo x reader #sakusa x reader

[iam-kenough]

Will you ever notice me? (Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character)

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 16

- I can't believe you are getting married, Marston. It's like pigs could fly - Iris chuckled, fixing John's tie. She should help at bride's tent but it was wild place to be since Mrs Grimshaw scolded everyone around, like it was matter of life and death, not happiest day of someone's life. So she decided to give an emotional support for groom, who was alone.

- Thank you for cheering me up - his voice was raspy - I am nervous as shit.

- Why? After all those years you are nervous to marry Abigail? - Iris threw him surprised look. She rested on clothes trunk, waving her legs in the air.

- She...she can still say no, right?

- You kidding me?! - Iris scoffed- You are made for each other! And I am happy to say I see you like this, it gives me hopes I'm gonna leave and marry someone properly.

- You mean Morgan? - he chuckled, 'cause it sounded ridiculous.

- Arthur? He would never marry someone, especially me! - Iris got the idea of what he was laughing about and smirked too.

- And where is he anyway?

- He said something about staying away from him so I won't spoil the surprise, he doesn't know what I'm gonna wear today.  Just like you don't know with Abigail!

- Oh God, just when I forgot for a second - he groaned, burrying face in hands.

- It looks like Reverend Swanson is ready - Iris said peeking out of the tent.

- S-should I go? - John gulped, getting up like he was about to faint and get back on the floor.

- Go and get her - Iris patted John's arm to encourage him.

She slipped out of tent and looked around. It was almost like mother nature knew it's gonna be wedding tonight. Air was warm and smelled like pines, there were decorations made from white roses (it took girls ages to accomplish something like this) and lanterns, giving their camp look almost like from fairy tale. They moved their tents and wagons to make room on the grass for drinking and sitting around campfire and dancing.

Iris was wearing very pretty and very atypical dress. When all Ladies of Van Der Linge gang went downtown to search for dresses they found this small Parisian shop they would never go to if it wasn't meant to be for Abigail's wedding sake. At first, when she saw that dress Iris wasn't sure if it was right for her but it fitted like glove. The top was tight and had straps crossing on her exposed back, when the bottom half was A shaped, giving her this princess look as it was going down to the ground, fabric folding nicely. It had dark rich green colour. Iris's hair was braided in crown around her head and she was wearing bold, red lips. Even if she felt in this dress like a fool at first, lady in the shop convinced her that if someone should try it out, as a new fashion trend, it was meant for Iris and her sweet arms to try.

Right after ceremony took place she tried to search for Arthur but she couldn't see him. Guess he got bored with me for today, she thought. But the evening with friends still seemed fun. After few drinks and toasts she started feeling urge to have a cigarette, so when she spotted Dutch sneaking out for one, she followed, bumping into him right after one of wagons.

- Evening, can I have one please? - she giggled, balancing herself with drink in hand.

- Sure, help yourself - Dutch gave her thoughtful smile. Iris joined him, leaning against the wagon.

- What a beautiful night. Makes me feel like I was normal or something - she smirked, lighting cig up.

- Aren't you? You probably coming next - Dutch pushed her a little using shoulder, with friendly manner.

- I don't think so. No one would have me, I talk to much making men roll their eyes back into their heads with boredom and irritation.

- Forgive me my being nosey but Arthur and you..? - Dutch mocked her.

- You must be joking and not knowing man you raised to think he would ever marry some crazy brat. I guess his just having fun with me, even if I thought it's love at first. No strings attached.

- I was almost sure you are basically living together so I assumed things - Dutch rolled his eyes.

- Look, I can tell you the difference. There is John, cuddling with his wife and having a beer together. And then there I am, having a cigarette with you, Dutch when Arthur is nowhere around me since the start of this party. That's difference between love and fun.

- I think you were hopeless romantic by the books you read and songs you are humming all days..? - he dragged onto his cigarette.

- It's just books - she waved it away - Life isn't like this, especially ours! I am no good girl who's gonna get the best husband picked by her daddy. So I am holding onto something what makes me happy, even if it's silly.

- I really misjudged you then - Dutch said with mysterious smile playing on his lips as he left her to have the rest of cigarette alone. Iris was making small circles with smoke, looking into starry sky. She kinda felt dumb for thinking that Arthur would care about some stupid romance when it was his brother's wedding day. Because that what it was, silly. She started humming a song she overheard from campfire and her legs were tapping a rythm. She wasn't even thinking about being alone in the dark while others had fun.

- Hey, you - Arthur appeared from nowhere, which made Iris jump up with fear. He was wearing suit, and was clean shaved. It made Iris's heart skip a beat too.

- Jesus, I think it's heart attack - she hissed, hand agaist her chest.

- You hiding away from me? - he murmured into her ear and purred slightly - How dare you hide away when you look like this?

Arthur wasn't waiting long to drag her to the tent. He kicked apart her ankles and pulled dress up, just to soon after that rock her brain, pinning her doggy style against the trunks, pulling out successful quicky with her without being noticed as gone or disappeared.  After all happened, Arthur turned Iris around and kissed on the temple, like he always did after rough sex.

- I-I love you - she exclaimed as she paced, burrowed in his arms. Iris was almost sure she never said it out loud before, she was just thinking this deep inside. Girl blushed, hiding face away from him, burrying it in the croock of Arthur's neck. So it was kind of confession in this crazy relationship.

- 'Fcourse you do, you are the most naive and pure creature I had met - he caressed her cheek with dark chuckle - No one else would be crazy enough to fall in love with me.

He didn't say he loves her back, Iris thought. That's sad.

- You are just lovable, I think it's that - she blushed briefly.

- Lovable? - he bursted into laugh, which made Iris head vibrate when her temple rested against his skin - I would never let myself fall in love with someone who's careless and cold like me.

Iris bursted into laugh too, he was kind of right. Arthur was an outlaw, dangerous and ruthless one, who was risking his life actively almost everyday for last 20 years or so. What he was saying made sense, but Iris felt little pin poking her heart, because that meant she also isn't on the best page in his records. She was cold and careless too.

- I think we should go - she whispered, trying to hold chuckle so she won't be looking like hurt idiot she just were - I'm sure everyone around noticed we're not there.

As they left the tent she noticed people are dancing in pairs, or thirds, laughing and fooling around. Iris decided to push her luck and ask Arthur if he would consider dancing with her a little. He was never much of a dancer and she usually were turned down by Arthur, even when Dutch's phonograph was playing something nice and slow, so they could just cuddle and rock to the tact. Iris turned around to say something but he weren't there, she bumped into someone instead.

-

I was searching for you everywhere - Mary-Beth squeezed her tight, amortising bump - I kind of fancy a dance with my little friend.

- Oh, that's very nice proposition! - Iris let Mary-Beth kiss her hand, pretending she's a man inviting her friend to dance.

- M'lady - Mary-Beth chuckled. She was beautiful tonight, Iris thought. Romantic dress in baby blue color suited her blond, curly hair and rosy complexion. Real lady.

They were dancing together, giggling and throwing each other looks like they tried to seduce each other. Mary-Beth was nice and warm and for short amount of time Iris was thinking that she wouldn't mind being with a woman somehow. Then they heard a gunshot and everyone froze in place.

It was matter of seconds as Iris understood what just happened. They were attacked, someone had to snitch camp was having a party tonight to hit at the moment they were most vunurable, drunk and dressed well, not fitting for a fight. Mary-Beth suddenly felt heavier in girl's arms and when she noticed hole between her eyes she screamed in panic. That bullet was meant for Iris and that was more than sure. Another gunshot and bullet flying above her head. She felt to the ground.

The terror begin, everyone throw themselves behind trunks, barrels and wagons. Iris stayed on the ground, crawling towards nearest cover, Mary-Beth's blood dripping down her face as it was on Iris's cheek. She crawled inside her tent and started grabing the most necessary things. It was mostly money, 'cause in this situation Iris considered that there might be an option that tonight she's gonna lose all her belongings. Part of them were on horse, guns attached to saddle, she had there winter clothes too.

Iris smelled burning wood and she bursted out of tent, with revolver in her hands. Pinkertons set they things on fire and her tent was the closest one to start burning. Iris was running around the camp, ditching bullets. Arthur, where was he?

- Arthur! Arthur Morgan! - she screamed at the top of their lungs. Suddenly she felt grip around her neck, as one of Pinkertons started choking her. She knocked him out by smashing his nose with back of her head. She felt like dress on her was ripping apart with her every move, not being very suitable for fighting man.

- Arthur! - she yelled in histeria, not sure if anyone heard her. Then she jumped in place as in front of her someone threw fire bottle and it cut her ways out, splashing oil leaving small marks on her skin. It was burning on her flesh.

Iris looked around, not being sure what to do. All she wanted was to feel Arthur's calloused hand and hear his furious voice. But life chosed for her, as all she could do was jump on her horse, which was neighing in terror and run, saving them both, or get shot burning in flammable oil at the same time. She tripped over her dress, tearing it completely and made her choice. With mad tears in her eyes she started galloping through the night. She's gonna find him tomorrow, it was better than get killed and not seeing him anymore again.

***

After hours of running away and taking random paths just to keep lawman off her back Iris was wrecked. She couldn't collect her head yet to analyse what just happened. If there was time she would look around the people faces. Snitch obviously wasn't there with them at time ambushed happened. Iris rested her head against horses mane and begin to sob. All she knew that she's parted from everyone she knew and it wasn't even sure they are still alive. Iris brushed it off, Arthur would never die such stupid death, girl knew him. Tomorrow she will run back and search for him under every rock on her path. She suddenly heard voices coming from the distance and galloping horses. On the road nearby there were lawmen, searching through area. Iris wasn't far enough, she thought. There is half state after her even if she paid her bounties on time. So she stirred up her horse and continued on galloping, in hope this night the hounds won't find the foxes.

Going north was here only choice. No one was crazy enough to go to far out there, as the snow was deep and avalanches could kill one just like that. But after all Iris was growing up there. She could handle it, right?

#red dead redemption arthur #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan #angst #arthur morgan angst #Arthur Morgan fluff #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x original femal character #arthur morgan x original character #Arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan romance #rdr2 #arthur morgan fanfiction

[damienthepious]

needed some catharsis. mind them tags.

Wait For Yours To Interlock

[ao3]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Injury, Bedside Vigils, Injured!Damien, (im deep in my feelings. my friends said this was catharsis so it's fine. it's fine)

Summary: Rilla once said that she knew, someday, she would probably need to bury Damien with a talon through his heart. On rare occasion, that lurking future brushes too close for comfort.

Notes: I said i wouldn't get something out this week because. Reasons. And i wouldn't have for sure if it weren't for tumblr user @shorter-than-her-tbr-pile and tumblr user @pinkpuffballdude . Thank you thank you thank you, i love you both so much! Title from the song Don't Give Up On Me by Andy Grammer.

~

It takes a long time for Arum to convince Amaryllis to go to bed.

Of course it does.

It's impossible for her not to feel like this is her responsibility, but there is nothing more she can do at the moment. There is nothing more either of them can do, at the moment, and she has been awake for days. It takes a long time, and a lot of convincing, and an argument that would have been a screaming match if it weren't for-

(He will not wake, even if they scream. It would be far too painful to prove this fact, to shout above him and-)

But Arum manages, eventually. So now, Amaryllis is asleep, and Arum…

Arum leans against the wall, and stares at the cot in her exam room.

He stares, and for quite a long time, nothing changes.

"Foolish little honeysuckle," he hisses.

There is no answer, of course.

"Always so careless with yourself. Thoughtless. What did you think would happen? What did you think would happen, Damien, if you continued to throw yourself at-"

He straightens from the wall, and begins to pace, stalking back and forth. He cannot continue to stare at the bed, but his eyes keep drawing back to the stillness of the form there. His mind demands the reminder: he is still breathing.

He is still breathing.

"How dare you," Arum mutters, and he did not intend to say those words, but- "How dare you. How dare you do this to Amaryllis. Can you not see how she worries for you? Can you not see how much effort she expends? Patching up every injury, every cut, every broken bone? Every foolish little-" he clenches his teeth hard, hisses through them, tries again. "Has she not done enough already? Has she not wasted enough bandages on you, because you cannot keep your foolish self safe? How dare you do this to her-"

Arum feels that he should be shouting. His voice is, instead, coming in a hoarse, whispered sort of scream. It feels like it scrapes up his windpipe as it goes, but-

He cannot seem to control the words. Perhaps this is how Damien feels, under more ordinary circumstances.

Arum continues to pace. Damien continues to lie perfectly still.

He still breathes. He still breathes. Arum can still hear his heart, can still hear it beating, even if it sounds- not quite right. There is something off about the rhythm, something off about the pace, perhaps. It does not sound as it usually does when Damien sleeps.

But Damien still breathes.

("All we can do is- wait," Rilla says, her voice cracking down the middle. "All we can do is wait, now.")

"How dare you make her worry like this," he growls, and then he pauses for a long, long time, holding his breath without meaning to.

Damien. Still, and quiet. It is unnatural.

"How dare you do this," he repeats, his voice growing weaker with the repetition, and he pretends not to notice the tightness in his throat, the way he chokes as he continues, "I do not see you speaking your heart now, honeysuckle-"

He has to stop, digging the claws of his toes into the wood of the floor, his posture hunching as he hisses a breath through his teeth. His limbs tremble with the tension of how tightly he is holding himself still, his teeth clenched so hard that his jaw hurts.

After a long pause, during which Damien neither moves nor speaks nor stirs, Arum gives a strange breath of laughter.

"How… how does she do this, Damien?" he keens, helpless, and then he takes a hesitant step closer to the bed. "How does she endure, watching you careen from one danger to the next?" Another slow step, and Damien still does not wake. "How does she- I… I cannot bear it. I cannot bear this. How am I meant t-to-"

He chokes another strange laugh, takes another small step. "I did not need to fear such hurt as this when… when it was only myself and my Keep. Death would only be death, then, honeysuckle. My own would be survived by my Keep, and if I failed my Keep enough that it fell, I would fall with it. Now- now-" He searches for the words, creeps closer, flicks his tongue and scents the sterile blank smell of this room, obscuring the more familiar scent of Damien's skin, the more unwelcome scent of the blood.

"Now… there is so much more at stake. I cannot bear the thought of yourself and Amaryllis being torn from me, but- what can I do against it? Your knighthood, her work, the war- my own very nature. I cannot… I cannot protect you, I cannot do anything but endure the terror of your loss and- and I do not know how. I do not know how to bear it. It would be- it would be easier if I cared not at all for you, little human. If I could see you so waylaid and feel- nothing."

Another step. Arum looms over the bed, and he feels so large and so out of place, even here in Amaryllis' hut where he knows himself welcome. He looks down at Sir Damien, and he feels so much that he fears it will crack his ribs open to escape the too-small vessel of his body.

"I was not meant to care for any but myself and my Keep," he says, his voice very small. "It would be so much easier if I could return to that feeling. If I could go home to my Keep, if I could bury my affection in the greenhouse and forget this pain, forget this terror. It would be so much easier, Damien," he keens. "But-"

Damien breathes.

"I cannot forget. I cannot excise you from my heart. And- and I wouldn't dare, even if I could."

Damien breathes, perfectly still.

"Honeysuckle… honeysuckle… wake up. Please." He swallows roughly, and Damien's slack face mocks the waver in his voice. "I know you cannot hear me. This is- mere foolishness, I know. I know… I am not helping. I am not… blessed with Amaryllis' talents. There is nothing I can do for you, not now, and my words- my own words pale beside yours. I would cut my tongue out to hear you speak them now, honeysuckle. To hear you speak at all, I would- please. Please."

His legs shake. His hands twitch with the deep desire to touch his poet. Before his limbs can betray him entirely, Arum relents, and sinks to kneel by the bedside.

"Foolishness," he says again, gazing up into Damien's beautiful, terribly still face. He reaches out, but he does not touch Damien's skin. He wishes so badly to brush the curls from Damien's brow, but his position feels so precarious. Damien looks so fragile. Arum does not feel his own touch would be safe.

"Honeysuckle, wake up. Honeysuckle, come back. Please… please, don't-" he sucks in a breath. "Don't do this to her. She has expended so much effort, so much worry and care in patching your sorry hide together. Wake up. Just wake up."

Damien does not answer. Arum knew he wouldn't. His insides still feel curdled with the hurt of it.

"Don't do this to her," he repeats, his voice lower. "Don't do this to- don't do this to us, honeysuckle, please don't-"

("And if he wakes up-"

"If?"

"W-when, I meant when, Arum, don't-")

Arum shakes his head, pulls his hands back to press to his own chest, holding in the throbbing of his heart, his pain.

"The Universe prefers- the Universe desires a good story. An interesting story, at the least," he mutters, clenching his claws against his own scales. "I- I know- this world is better with you alive. All is brighter, more vibrant for your presence. Surely the Universe knows…"

He inhales, forcing himself steady, and he makes himself sway closer. Makes himself lift his hand out again.

"I… I don't know what I would do if we lost you," he whispers, and then he clenches his teeth. "I- I refuse to- to contemplate it. That is not how your story ends, honeysuckle. Not here. Not yet. We don't lose you like this. I refuse."

Damien does not wake. Arum did not expect him to. He scowls, fierce, and settles his palm down over the back of Damien's hand at last.

"I love you, Damien. I love you, and I will stay as long as I need to. I will be here when you wake. That is how this story goes."

~

Damien wakes bleary and confused, but the morning light calls to him as it always does, pouring honey-soft through the warm curtains, birdsong and the distant, early bells from the Gate of Tranquility pouring in with it.

All of it pouring in, through the open windows of Rilla's examination room. Why… why would he be…

Damien remembers.

The pain comes a moment after the memory: a vicious sharpness in his ribs, the muddy thudding ache in his head resolving to something he can understand, the wobbly, shaky sense of disconnection from his limbs.

… Disconnection from most of his limbs. There is a pressure on his left hand, vaguely warm, familiar, pleasant. He can feel that sensation perfectly well.

It takes a rather frustrating level of effort to tip his head to the side enough to see the source of the pressure. He blinks, bleary, against that warm morning light, and when his vision resolves he sees Arum.

The monster is half-draped on the bed, his snout buried in the sheets, two arms clinging loosely to the cot, one hanging down out of sight over the edge, and the fourth hand curled, careful and delicate, around the back of Damien's hand.

Damien can piece together the vague shape of what occurred in his unconsciousness well enough. The lizard looks exhausted even in sleep, and he looks anything but comfortable, half-supported by the cot, twisted vaguely sideways with his shoulder against the bedside table. He must not have meant to fall asleep. Damien feels his mouth curl despite the fogginess in his head, because the idea of it, this attempted vigil succumbing to the drain of sleep-

Damien loves this monster with a brightness that still shocks him. He wants to turn his hand, to press his palm to Arum's, but- well. Just at the moment, he can barely manage to twitch his thumb. He blinks a bit more of the light from his eyes, looking more closely at his lily instead.

There's a blanket draped over Arum's shoulders, as well. A familiar blanket, one that usually finds its home on Rilla's bed, and Damien can imagine as well how the cloth must have ended up settled there. He exhales, something that would be a laugh if he had just an ounce more breath to give, and he hears a scuffing noise across the room.

"Damien," Rilla says, her voice thick and exhausted and raw. "You're awake-"

Damien manages to tilt his head enough to see her as she stands, as she darts to the side of the cot opposite from Arum to touch his face, to check his pupils, and he cannot help but smile at her touch.

"Hello, my flower," he whispers, and his own voice is cracked and dry, and as she moves his head so gently and checks him over, he contemplates her words again in his somewhat muddied mind. "Was… was there concern, then, that I would not?"

Rilla does not answer, does not meet his eye, but her jaw tightens, her brow dips, and Damien's heart pulses with sympathy, with guilt.

"I'm-"

"Don't you apologize, Damien," she says in a firm murmur, angling his head so she can inspect the wound he can feel near his temple. "You're a knight," she says simply, and then she shrugs. "We both know it comes with the territory."

Damien closes his eyes and purses his lips, and he thinks briefly of the ream of now-crumpled paper from the one letter he cannot seem to write. "Hm," he manages. "I suppose that is… I suppose."

"Just- relax and let me do my job."

Damien does as she says, pretending for a moment that he is blessed with Rilla's touch for a less worrying reason as she inspects his injuries more fully.

"I expect that the blanket upon our lily was your doing, my love," he says eventually, quietly, and Rilla snorts a low laugh.

"Yeah, well. He wanted me to sleep, but he was still gonna worry himself sick all night in here with you. I just- waited until he stopped talking. I knew he was exhausted too."

"You- you slept in here as well?"

"Slept is a strong word," she hedges, shrugging.

"Rilla," Damien says, but his voice is too weak to carry the gentle chiding he wants it to.

"You sure as hell wouldn't sleep if you didn't know if I was gonna-" she cuts herself off, pressing her lips together tight, and then she gives a wobbly sort of smile. "I couldn't, okay? I just- couldn't."

"Oh," Damien whispers. "Oh, love-"

"You sound like you spent a week in a desert," Rilla mutters, rubbing one eye absently. "Hush." She reaches a hand out again, this time only to brush his hair away from his forehead. "I'm gonna go get you some water, okay? Don't- just don't. Don't move, don't talk, don't do anything stupid, yeah?"

Damien ducks his head, entirely unable to bury his gentle smile. "I wouldn't dream of it, my love."

"Hush," she says again, firmly, and then she puts her hand very carefully on his shoulder, leans down, and presses a light kiss to his hair. "I'll be right back."

Damien sighs, still smiling, and his eyelids are too heavy to hold open as he hears Rilla tiptoe from the room.

When that noise fades, he is left only with what woke him in the first place. Sunlight, soft through his eyelids, and birdsong and distant bells, and-

Much closer by, the slow sleeping breath of Lord Arum.

Damien opens his eyes again, tipping his head to see his monster again, and Damien's muscles twitch with yearning to pull Arum up, to gather him closer, to embrace him on this too-small bed. He huffs out a breath, his lip curling wryly at his own current limitations, and then he focuses on his hand instead. Surely that cannot be too difficult to manage.

It takes far more effort than it should. Damien has fought battles more difficult than the simple turning of his hand (more difficult- but very few that mattered to him more). The weakness of his body can be overcome. He has done so countless times before.

He is patient, though his arm aches with even this simple motion. He is patient, and like a key in a very old lock, his hand turns, and he exhales a sigh when he can at last press his palm up into Arum's. He curls his fingers, slow, and he squeezes with what strength remains.

Violet eyes slit open in the golden morning light, and Arum blinks, staring at their joined hands for a breathless moment.

Then the breath shakes out of him, and he looks up.

"Honeysuckle," Arum whispers, and there is more relief in his voice than the word can hold. "I knew- I knew you wouldn't-"

He reaches out, and draws his claws down Damien's cheek as gentle as falling petals.

Damien feels the smile on his face like an entire garden in bloom, and Arum's violet eyes are so bright, so wide, as safe as home.

"Good morning, my love," he whispers, and when Arum's breath hitches, Damien squeezes his hand again. "Thank you for watching over me."

#the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #lord arum #sir damien #amaryllis of exile #angstttttt #(with a happy ending)

[geralehane]

Hiii. So these two songs called “false god” and “so it goes” by taylor swift really remind me of your writing. Do you think you can write some clexa on any one of those or both together or anyway you like??? Thankyou!

thank you for the prompt yay! i listened to false god (which i love btw) while writing this and... this may or may not be based on some real-life scenarios and wistful thinking but... yeah. idk. here it is. it’s a little confusing but i hope you like it. ***

Once again, they find themselves back here – a dark bedroom bathed in purple hues from the sign across the street, and bodies scattered with marks of pretend belonging.

Lexa’s always the first to lean in and she’s always the first to get up. Always patient, always wordless. Clarke only watches her from the bed, careful not to let her fingers curl around the sheets still carrying Lexa’s warmth, careful not to let her eyes linger on hers for too long.

“It’s late,” Lexa murmurs if Clarke takes too long to leave while she’s in the bathroom. She’s only done it once before, and she’s learned her lesson since. It’s late echoed in her ears the entire ride home, followed her up to her own empty apartment and her empty bed, silently trickled down her cheeks once she allowed herself to succumb to its real meaning.

It’s late – and I don’t want you anymore.

So she sighs, and rolls over, and quietly slips away, and every night is supposed to be the same – but hearts can only take this much pain. Even the broken ones.

Lexa’s green eyes are guarded when they find her still in the room as she emerges from the bathroom. “It’s late.”

“I know.” She stands up. Careful, always careful, because she’s been careless with Lexa’s heart more than once and this is where it got her. “Tomorrow’s Sunday.” When Lexa doesn’t reply, she tries again. “Pancakes every Sunday, remember?” she doesn’t mean to sound like a poorly written romance novel, but then again, she’s never meant for so many things to happen, either.

Lexa’s gaze hardens, and just like that, she shuts down. “I’m not doing this.”

“I’m not asking to do anything,” Clarke replies quickly. She’s acutely aware of her own nakedness, but she thinks wrapping a sheet around herself now would be worse. “I just want to talk.”

“And I don’t.” Lexa rubs her face, and suddenly she looks tired to the point of exhaustion, and – I made her like this. “This… doesn’t mean anything.”

She closes her eyes, swallowing the bitter lump in her throat. Thinks back to almost a year ago. To Lexa’s eyes, earnest and kind, and then glistening and desperate, to her hands grasping her own, begging for answers she couldn’t give her back then. “Tell me I mean something. Tell me I mean… anything.”

“It’s late,” Lexa says in the present, and they both know she’s not talking about the time. And Clarke knows she should leave it alone and leave Lexa in peace, but truth is she’s always been selfish, and peace was out of the question the second they started this.

“Pancakes every Sunday and avocado toast every Wednesday,” she whispers, forcing herself to watch Lexa as her usually stoic façade cracks. “That’s what you told me.”

“I did,” Lexa seemingly accepted she’s not getting out of this without at least some words exchanged, and Clarke knows it’s not going to be pretty. She wonders if she’s ready for this. Ready for Lexa’s hurt already bleeding through her words. “I did, and then you broke my heart, and I can’t trust you with it again.”

Or ever, Clarke thinks what Lexa still can’t bring herself to say. “I know. And now it’s late.”

Lexa doesn’t answer. Only nods, and Clarke wants to scream, because this is so, so unfair, and all she wants is to crumble in her arms and that’s the only thing she can’t do. So she does the only thing she’s got left. She talks. “Do you know why I agreed to this?”

“We don’t need to do this,” Lexa murmurs, and Clarke only lets out a broken please, and tries to tell herself she shouldn’t hope when Lexa gives in with another tiny nod. “I – fine.” She crosses the room and sits on the corner of her bed, not looking at Clarke. “Actually, let me guess. You’d rather have me like this than not have me at all?”

She scoffs. “I know, entirely too terrible and entirely too cliché.” Lexa doesn’t flinch when she sits next to her. “Still true. I know you don’t believe me.”

“I believe you’re lonely,” Lexa tells her. “And I believe you need me, but Clarke – you don’t want me. Don’t confuse yourself. It only ends in heartache, and we both had enough.”

She’s thought that’s what she’d hear, but she doesn’t expect the actual physical pain imploding in her chest, and she barely manages not to gasp. “No, Lexa…”

Of course, she springs to her feet at that. “It’s late,” she repeats herself, and she’s still not looking at her. “You should go home, Clarke. Please.” And she knows – she knows nothing will come of it tonight. Lexa won’t listen to her. Not right now. Not for many days. But she’s ready for this. She’s finally ready for this.

And she gets up, and gathers her things, and leaves – but not before lingering, and gently brushing her fingers against Lexa’s cheek so she just looks at her; and not before leaning into her for the first real hug they’ve had in a goddamn year. “I just need one chance,” she whispers as she clings to her, and damn near cries when Lexa’s arms wrap around her, hesitant and clumsy. “One talk, one shot at this, whatever you might want this to be. That’s all I ask. Can I… Can I see you tomorrow?”

And in that moment, Lexa’s quiet okay has got to be the best thing she’s ever heard.

#clexa #wlw drabble #clexa au #prompts #gera writes things

[sunyoonandstars]

BTS One Shot || 𝓓𝓸𝓷’𝓽 𝓛𝓮𝓪𝓮 𝓜𝓮 𝓝𝓸𝔀 || You x Yoongi

↳ You’ve had enough. Of the silence. The distance. The unanswered texts. The calls he never makes. 

So you decide to give Yoongi one last chance to make it right. But things don’t go quite as planned ... 

〖 Requested 〗

Prompt 3 "Please, don't walk out of that door."

angst, fluff

Word Count 2.276

A/N: This is not what you think. Read till the end. Trust me on this. 

❝ Wow." You struggled to keep your voice steady. "Wow, Min Yoongi. I'm – Wow. You really outdid yourself this time."

A frozen smile stretching your lips, you started clapping your hands together, not feeling anything. Your limbs were numb, as was your face.So, this is what they call an out-of-body experience, you couldn't help but think to yourself as you watched Yoongi staring back at you, his soft features twisted into an ugly, bitter scowl.

"You can be so mean."

Your voice was barely more than a breathless whisper.

You hated how small it sounded in the silence of the studio.

"I know," was all Yoongi said, his face bare of any expression. ❞

𝓓𝓸𝓷’𝓽 𝓛𝓮𝓪𝓮 𝓜𝓮 𝓝𝓸𝔀

Text you when I can.

Those were the last words Yoongi had sent you. Six whole days ago. Ever since then: Radio silence. No calls. No texts. No sign of life. Just a tweet on BTS' official Twitter account, spoiling a new track he was apparently working on two nights ago.

Granted. The song sounded like it was going to be yet another masterpiece, born from the mind of the incredibly talented composer he was, and you loved it instantly. The tune was catchy, touching, melancholic, rich with emotion, Yoongi's burning passion for his work seeping out of every beat. And you could guess it was coming from a dark place, that he had fallen into one of those bottomless and lonely pits of self-doubt and hopeless despair yet again. That Yoongi's mind was spinning in circles, working around the clock to convince him that he was not enough, unworthy of the fame and affection he so much deserved. And you wanted nothing more than to be with him in this time of hardship, to show him that he was not alone, that you could see his pain, that it was valid and that you would leave nothing untried to alleviate it and show him the beautiful, lovable man you saw every single time you looked at him. You also knew, however, that he wouldn't let you. You had tried often enough. In the state Yoongi was in, he would only reject your affection and try to push you away even further to prove to you and himself that he was not the one for you in the first place. That you deserved ‘better’.

And you tried to be understanding, having been there before. After all, you yourself were no stranger to the Great Sadness and the conflicts of the heart it often entailed. And, from time to time, it still paid you a visit. But you fought it with all you had. Every. Single. Time. Because you refused to let it take away from you once more what you held dearest.

Yoongi, on the other hand, didn't seem to put up much of a fight recently. And you knew all too well that you couldn't make him. Nobody could. It was a decision he had to make by himself. Whether or not he would give in to his self-destructive tendencies and allow them to suffocate your love. And even though it pained you to admit this truth, you could feel yourself tiring out from fighting for the both of you. He didn't even talk to you, the one person he was supposed to be closest to. The one person he swore to always be honest with. Instead, Yoongi shut you out entirely.

And tonight, you were going to give him one last chance. One shot at fixing the damage he had done.

So you stood there, knocking on the door to his studio that he reportedly had not left in over twenty hours.

"Yoongi, please open up. It's me, y/n. Your girlfriend. Today is our two year anniversary, in case you forgot."

Silence. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.

You involuntarily held your breath.

Finally, the lock clicked open.

"Of course, I didn't forget," Yoongi grumbled in opening the door for you. His hair was tousled, his eyes puffy, his shirt crinkled. He didn't even spare you a single glance when you slipped past him into the studio.

"How could I?" He went on, kicking aside a few empty cans of beer and Red Bull. "I set a stupid reminder on my phone. Woke me up at eight in the fucking morning. Never gonna do that again."

His careless words hurt you more than you should have allowed them to.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that this day is as meaningful to you as it is to me."

"What's with the tone?" he blinked at you, blinded by the harsh white lighting.

"Yoongi, what the hell is going on with you? When's the last time you took a shower? Or ate something?"

"I had a bag of Bugles just the other night."

"Something real. A healthy meal."

"What does that even mean? Healthy? Do you think those stupid diets you're always on are healthy? Or binge-drinking with your so-called work friends? That guy? What's his name? The one you always smoke with? Do you think that's healthy? We both know you’re no saint. You might be better at pretending, but you’re not above those self-destructive patterns you condemn. And that you're really the last person to lecture me."

You stood there, paralyzed, mouth open, gasping for air, merely staring at Yoongi, your cheeks burning, eyes watery.

"Wow." You struggled to keep your voice steady. "Wow, Min Yoongi. I'm – Wow. You really outdid yourself this time."

A frozen smile on your lips, you started clapping your hands together, not feeling anything. Your limbs were numb, as was your face.

So, this is what they call an out-of-body experience, you couldn't help but think to yourself as you watched Yoongi staring back at you, his soft features twisted into an ugly, bitter scowl.

"You can be so mean."

Your voice was barely more than a breathless whisper.

You hated how small it sounded in the silence of the studio.

"I know," was all Yoongi said, his face bare of any expression.

"You know, I was going to give you one last chance to make this right." At this point, tears were streaming down your face, melting your paralysis, allowing the pain to leak in through the cracks they left. It hit you in smothering waves. "And it's not like I expected you to come crawling back to me on your knees, begging for forgiveness or anything. But I thought – I really thought there was some part left of you that still loved me. Enough to be the bigger man. Guess I was wrong."

You turned around without leaving Yoongi time to respond. Because you knew that, right now, in your state, you wouldn’t be able to take his sarcastic retorts and half-hearted excuses. Not again. Not this time. 

"Crawling back to you? Why should I? Why would I have to?" he asks. And you freeze with your hand already on the door handle. "Back to you? Did we split up? Did I miss something?"

"Think about it, and you'll know."

"Well, I'm too tired to think. So enlighten me, please."

Your lips pressed together to keep your teeth from shattering, you turned back around even though you had sworn to yourself you wouldn't. Despite everything, Min Yoongi was still your greatest weakness.

"I really can't take this anymore. Just tell me to leave and I will."

"Leave?" He seemed confused.

"Yeah. For good. Just tell me to go now, and I swear I won't come back. I won't bother you anymore. I'll leave, and you can finally brood in peace. Isn't that what you want?"

For a few seconds, Yoongi only looked at you, lips parted slightly, moving but not making a sound. But you were tired of waiting.

With one last shake of your head, you turned to go, prepared to leave for real this time.

But three words, spoken in a low voice, held you back.

"I love you." He paused. "Y/n. Please, don't walk out of that door. Unless you really want to. Because I don't. I don't want you to leave. I mean it when I say I can't lose you."

Words. Nothing but empty words.

Or so you tried to make yourself believe as you pushed down the door handle, the cold metal slipping from your trembling hand.

"Please, y/n. Don't leave me now."

You swallowed hard, choking on your tears.

Your choice was made.

When suddenly, a song started playing.

You had heard this tune before. Two nights ago. On Twitter. And when Yoongi now began rapping softly, his voice so tender and soothing, you could feel it enclose your heart like molten amber. Warm. Soothing. Taking all your pain away, and with it your doubts.

"Whenever I get lost

You are the one who finds me

My brilliant searchlight

Solid as a rock

Your love

That taught me how to trust."

Listening to the melody, wonderfully bittersweet, felt like drowning in molasses.

"I know I hurt you once before

And I will cut your heart again

I hate myself for hurting you

But I love you more than that

So I will keep fighting

Fighting my nature

To be your searchlight

Whenever you get lost

Your bastion of calm

When the storms get too loud."

When you turned around, Yoongi was just standing there in the middle of his studio, softly swaying his body to the cadence of the song. Barefooted, surrounded by squashed soda cans and crumpled-up post-its, hands dangling by his sides, his chin resting on his chest, head hanging low, a curtain of unkempt hair hiding his face from your view. But you could still see his chapped lips, soundlessly mouthing the words coming from the high-end speakers.

"I promise I'll be there for you

In the end, I will be there

Because my soul

Will never stop loving yours

Until the day I die."

For another minute or two, you listened to the song and let it sink in, unable to raise your voice even when it was long over. Until Yoongi's eyes found yours, his gaze searching yours expectantly.

"Wow. Pretty corny, if you're asking me," you snickered eventually, watching Yoongi's lips curve into a smile, your vision blurred by tears.

"Yeah, I know. Not really my style. But Bang PD seemed to like it." He fell silent for a few seconds, his expression suddenly serious again. "It will be on our new album, you know. And I asked his permission to dedicate it to a special person."

"You – What!?" you gasped, your heart racing.

"Y/n, this song will officially be dedicated to no other than you. First name and last. Because I know now." Slowly, Yoongi made his way towards you, until your bodies were mere inches apart. "That I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

"Yoongi – I –"

He silenced you, gently pressing his index finger to your quivering lips.

"Now it's my turn to talk."

Eyes closed, Yoongi rested his forehead against yours before continuing.

"Y/n, I know I'm messed up. We both are. And I guess things will never be easy. We're not perfect, and neither is our relationship. But nothing is, really. And I don't even want perfect, anyway. I want you. Us. I know, I can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but so can you, babe. I admit, what I said earlier, and the way I acted these past few days, leaving you hanging like that – I was being an absolute asshole. And I sincerely apologize. But I only did that because I was scared. Of doing this."

Before you could entirely grasp what was going on, Yoongi was already down on one knee, holding up a silver ring, pristine in its immaculate simplicity.

"Will you, Y/l/n Y/n, marry this idiot and help him become the man he knows he can only be for you?"

Panting for breath, your hand shot up to cover your mouth, agape with astonishment.

You had expected a bitter breakup, maybe even a heartfelt apology. But not this. Never this. And yet, it seemed to be the only most sensible thing. To your heart, it felt right. So you didn't hesitate another second before holding out your finger, allowing Yoongi to put on the ring.

"Yes. Yes! Yes! Yes!" You boisterously laughed through tears, still in disbelief.

"Yes," you mumbled once more against Yoongi's lips, now pressed onto yours for a deep kiss as he swept you up off the ground and into his embrace. "Yes. Yes. Yes. Always, yes."

"Glad you think so," Yoongi whispered, winded. "Because they're already printing the lyrics for the new album. And that dedication would have made me look like a fool if you had broken up with me today."

"Lucky you, then," you giggled, adrenaline still rushing through your veins. "But, now that this happened, how about we get you into a shower? And a little toothpaste wouldn't hurt, either."

"Ouch."

"Well, we're basically a married couple now, so we might as well act like on."

"Touché."

As he gently set you down, a broad grin spread across Yoongi's face. You could imagine all too well what he was thinking.

"What's with that smile?" you asked nonetheless, equally scared of and excited for what his response would be.

"Care to join me? For a shower? I hear that's how married couples do it."

"Oh, you wish."

"Don't think you have much of a choice, actually.”

With those words, he effortlessly picked you up and swung you across his shoulder.

"Get ready to get wet, Mrs. Min," he called out as he carried you out of his studio and down the hallway towards the bathroom.

"Ewww, Hyung, seriously," you could hear Jungkook groan from the common space.

"Not what you think, Kook!" you shouted back.

"What makes you say that?" Yoongi cooed. You could basically hear his smug smirk.

"Wait, Mrs. Min!?" Jimin and Jungkook echoed in unison.

They were in such a hurry to race down the hallway and after the pair of you, they almost stumbled over their own feet.

"Does that mean –?"

"– she said yes?!?" Jimin completed Jungkook's sentence.

Smiling, you exchanged a quick look with Yoongi, his brown orbs flooded with utter glee.

"You bet I did."

Whoever requested this, I had so much fun writing it and hope you enjoyed the read. And that it wasn’t too cringe-worthy. Lol. 

XO, Ana 💙

None of the GIFs are mine. Credit goes to the initial creators. Thank you for your hard work and dedication. 

#bts #bts one shot #bts drabble #yoongi #yoongi drabble #yoongi angst #yoongi hurt #yoongi fluff #bts angst #bts hurt #bts fluff #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts x reader #yoongi scenario #yoongi imagine #yoongi one shot #yoongi os #yoongi fic #min yoongi #suga #suga angst #suga fluff #bts fic #bts writing #bts writer #bts request #bts prompt #yoongi request #yoongi prompt

[stcrmys]

god !! i hate that i had to rush this but i promise i am so beyond excited to write with all of you ! stormy , thanks kylie jenner for the name idea hehe , is a brand new muse and i am so excited to explore her and see where she goes !! i love plotting, like i find it so fun and am a hoe for angst and drama and friendships ! god if i dont get a cute bff plot you will see me pouting until the end of my days !! asdfg . basically though my point was if you want to plot please just like this ?? message me ? i have to switch to mobile but ill still be here !! also i still have to figure out my tags and finish my plot so i repeat do not desktop my good sis’s blog . anyway please let me shut up !! 

*  lawless  paparazzi  flashed  photos  of  a  2019  ,  zenvo st1  pulling  into  the  sparkling  gates  of  quincy  park  ,  indicating  that  stormy  of  the  prosperous  villeneuve  lineage  has  returned  home  .  college  ended  for  the female  in  2018 ,  but  they’re  already  flourishing  in  their  field  , proclaiming  that  their  bachelor's  degree  in  music  production   is  being  put  to  prolific  use  .  the  general  public  may  be  unworldly  enough  to  believe  that  her accomplishments  were  earned  honestly  ,  but  the  people  of  new  york  city  are  painstakingly  aware  that  it's  impossible  to  snag  a  top  paying  position  as  a  music artist  right  out  of  university  .  the  family’s  been  tormented  with  a  well  -  known  rumor  that  they buy out every record company to eliminate their competition and when that goes south they have a tendency of releasing career damaging scandals to the public to ruin the company’s reputation and their talents career’s  for  years  ,  so  it  was  news  to  no  one  when  the  villeneuve’s made  local  headlines  claiming  the  only  reason  their  obstreperous  progeny’s  career  is  what  it  is  is  because  her father paid spotify, billboard, and apple million of dollars to make sure that her first album went number one and stayed number one .  tempest has  done  a  splendid  job  of  keeping  the  bloodline’s  furtive  truths  confidential  ,  but  their  reputation  of  being  effervescent  &  gaining  a  postgrad  inheritance  of  724.8m  hasn’t  been  enough  to  cease  the  counter  blast  from  new  york’s  angry  civilians  .  if  they’re  not  heedful  ,  not  even  quincy  park’s  sturdy  golden  gates  will  be  capable  of  keeping  out  the  city’s  vengeance  .  (  madison beer  ,  twenty one ,  the skookum  /   )

  ‧  *   i.   ╱   stats    .

name : stormy avania genevieve villeneuve

nickname(s) : storm , storm - storm, little villeneuve, honeybee. 

age : twenty one .

birthday : november sixteenth .

zodiac : scorpio .

gender ╱ pronouns : cisfemale , she and her.

sexual orientation : heterosexual 

romantic orientation : heteroromantic 

languages : english, french, italian.

occupation : music artist 

 voiceclaim : madison beer.

 ‧  *   i.   ╱   summary    .

hazel  hues  dipped  in  virescent ,  locks  of  chocolate  that  sits  on  honeyed  skin  .  the  tempest . boisterous .  captivating .  a  goddess  true  to  the  name  that  carved  itself  into  her  flesh ,  stormy .  her  arrival  itself  being  chaotic  winds  and  whispers  of  a  mistress  who  had  set  themselves  out  to  tear  apart  a  home .   a  concept  twisted  and  concealed  by  the  hands  of  the  villeneuve’s . sob  stories  and  apologizes  along  with  the  preaching  of  “ i’m becoming a better man everyday, “ clinging  to  the  ears  of  the  media  , and soon  the  world . expected . andres   villeneuve  could  do  not  wrong . a  powerful  man  within  the  world  of  music . respected  and  adored . someone  whom  inherited  the   ability  to  make  the  world  drop  to  their  knees  and  worship  mediocre  musicians .  why  would  they  stone  him  for  one  single  mistake  ?  or  at  least  , why  would  they  stone  him  for  one  single  mistake  for  the  rest  of  his  life .  they  forgive  him  in  the  name  of  everyone . and  soon ,  the  villeneuve  became  a  family  of  seven .  

she  was  privileged  . her  tiny  feet  walked  on  thousand  dollar  carpets  ,  the  fabric  that  clung  to  her  body  should  have  been  carved  from  the  hands  of  an  angel  at  what  they  were  cost . private  school .  tutors  .  cheerleading  and  then  volleyball  and  then  soccer  and  then  back  to  cheerleading  . the piano  .  the  saxophone  .  the  drums  .  the guitar  .  her  childhood  consisted  of  experiencing  everything  there  was  to  experience .  sports .  music .  art .  learning  at   two  languages  by  the  time  she  reached  ten .  she  was  raised  to  be  intelligent  . athletic .  talented .  she  had  to  be  talented .  within  the  arts ,  if  she  was  not  picking  up  an instrument  or  holding  a  note  her  dad  grew  bored  and  annoyed .  something  that  the  small  brunette  learned  quick . and  so  like  most  children ,  she  impressed . she  really impressed .  she  was  polite  and  respectful  .  well  mannered . the  strictness  of  her  father  and  step  mother  weighing  on  her  shoulders  .   they  wanted  perfection  . 

being  with  her  father  and  his  wife  and  kids  was  almost  as  if  she  stepped  into  a  dream . flashing  lights ,  luxuriousness . and  while  her  mom  had  a  status  of  her  own , her  dad  was  shaped  and  formed  different  .  the  fame . the  respect .  it  was  everything  to  him . bouncing  back  and  forth , stormy  felt  like  two  different  people . with  her  father  ,  she  was  all  work  no  play . and  her  mother ?  she  was  play  and  whatever  she  wanted  to  do .  her  mom  taught  her  the  importance  in  life  was  not  the  cars  and  the  houses  and  the  clothes  ( “although they are nice.. reallly fucking nice )  but  the  character  behind  the  objects .  and  she  refused  to  let  the  vibrant  child  of  hers  be  locked  into  a  box  of  running  to  fame  like  it  was  the  only  thing  that  would  make  her  life  and  her  impact  important . her  mother ?  she  was  all laughs  and  giggles . jokes  and  shopping  days  . sky diving  in  greece  and  pretend  music  videos  in   italy . the  one  that  mostly  shaped  stormy  into  who  she  is  now . 

for  the  last  twenty  one  years  is  one  person  that  reflects  a  childhood  split  into  two  .  the  ambitious  sometimes  selfish  sometimes  ruthless “ ill  pretend  im  stone  cold  if  that  what  it   takes “ and  the  vibrant  boisterous  life  of  the  party   and  the  light  of  your  life  .  the  twenty  one  year  old  girl  who  has  heard  be  yourself  and  be  better  from  two  different  voices  and  is  still  trying  to  decide  who  she  even  is  underneath  the   all  the  expectations . 

‧  *   ii.   ╱   personality    .

she  is  an  animated  laugh  escaping  parted  lips  ,  affectionate  hands  reaching  out  to  pull  you into  her  embrace  .  she’s  the  sound  of  her  own  heart  beating    in  her  ears  as  her  foot  is  on  the  gas  or  her  hues  pear  out  at  the  sky  of  blue  she’s  about  to  jump  in .  she  is  tired  eyes  in  result  of  not  sleeping  and  instead  writing  song  after  song .  she  is  one  am  studio  sessions  and  three  am  shots .  she  is  the  small  girl  who  pears  up  at  her  daddy  and  just  wants  to  feel  like  she  is   more  then  just  another  way  to  benefit  him  . she  is  the  desire  to  be  wanted  .  to  be  loved . she’s  spontaneous  trips  to  tropical  islands  and  dramatic  scenes  .   she  is  harmless  teasing  and  a  goofy  smile . day  dreaming  about  falling  in  love .  she’s  the  whisper  in  your  ear  that  she  loves  you  but  the  coldness  in  your  bed  as  you  reach  out  and  realize  that  she’s  no  longer  there . she’s  not  thinking  about  consequences .  the  honeyed  dipped  voice  that  tells  you  to  do  it . she’s  gentle  kisses  against  your  skin .  she’s  feeling  everything  all  the  time  and  feeling  it  deeply . she’s  the  girl  you  just  cannot  take  your  eyes  off  of .  she  talks  to  you  and  suddenly  you  feel  as  though  the  world  revolves  around  you . she’s  scattered  thoughts  and  rosy  lips  that  never  stop  moving . a  broken  heart  that  never  knows  if  it  wants  to  grow  cold  or  have  someone  come  and  fix  it  . 

‧  *   iii.   ╱   headcanons ??   .

asdj she’s a mess? basically that’s all i got for her.

she’s the second youngest out of five. 

is an artist under her dad’s label, and while she loves making music she does not love him having a say in her creative process.

she’s such a light !! 

affectionate, playful, ambitious, careless, boisterous, hard to control, talkative, an adrenaline junkie! jealous and petty, vehement. 

is such a different person around her dad? basically blocks him from seeing her true personality.

truth is she still fears his rejection. 

she has a journal that she carries everywhere. 

craves feeling important to people? if she doesnt feel like her bond with you is meaningful she gets all weird and annoying!

is hot and cold in romantic relations.

but so god damn affectionate! with everyone! let her hold your hand or lay her head against your shoulder or run her fingers up and down your arm !!!

is the ultimate adventure buddy .

needs excitement twenty four seven sorry. 

will give you a nickname, she doesnt care if your name is cat. its not just c ! asdfg.

i have so much more but ill add later, im kind of rushing asdfg !! 

‧  *   iii.   ╱   connections    .

best friend, platonic soulmate, ex best friends, group of friends preferably all girls, family friends, childhood friends, other clients who are signed to her father, first love, ex lovers, toxic relationship, toxic friendship, on and off relationship, confidants, partner in crime, the mom friend who always moms her, rivals, friends who drifted apart, friends with benefits, ex friends with benefits, one sided friendship, one sided relationship, unlikely friends, cousins, hardly related cousins, love hate relationship, forbidden romance or friendship??? 

#york.intro #this is so ugly #forgive me pls #and love stormy anyway #i hope this is small and sup because thats what its saying but #its showing up on my dash all big and annoying #my loudest sigh ever

[ckret2]

would you mind explaining "Careless whisper" "I will always love you" and "Friend please"? no pressure though!

Oh god you chose two of the meme-iest songs! Both in one post! I can’t believe it!

Okay.

This took me forever to write because I wrote half of it and then got distracted for weeks and didn’t get back to it until I got a fresh ask today with some more songs and I was like, crap, I should finish this one.

So the first three paragraphs in this post still apply here, I’m not gonna copy paste them, go read those paragraphs if you haven’t yet. tl;dr i’m answering questions about why i included songs on my radiosnake spotify playlist because i like rambling for thousands of words at a time, also the playlist is based on a fic i wrote.

Feel free to keep sending me questions about more songs on the playlist. Explanations under the read more, assuming the read more works, which I make no guarantee of because this is tumblr.

Careless Whisper (Lyrics)

… except, the jazzy version.

So lemme tell you a story about how “Careless Whisper” came up and then I’ll explain why it actually belongs on the playlist.

The only way I can outline a story is by sitting down with another person and rambling the plotline at them, copy pasting it into another document, and bam that’s an outline.

Right now, in the disjointed process of outlining a sequel to Cold Day In Hell, I’m sort of chunking random ideas at a couple friends to see what sticks. One idea is that, when Alastor is drunk, he’s 90% worse at pretending he totally doesn’t care about Sir Pentious at all. If they’re ever drunk at the same social event, he will subtly (not subtly at all) follow him around all night like a puppy and hang on to his every word, automatically playing this sort of nonsense in the background.

One of my friends announced sadness that it didn’t start off with “Careless Whisper,” so I checked Postmodern Jukebox (the fastest/easiest/most common way to translate a modern song into Alastor Aesthetic) to see if they had made a jazz cover (they had), and I reassured my friend that the PMH cover definitely played every second song while drunk!Alastor was mooning over (and/or looming over) Sir Pentious.

And then I went oh goddammit the lyrics actually fit, dammit, now I’ve gotta put it on the playlist.

So I put it on the playlist.

Here’s the great thing about song lyrics. Even if everyone knows that the lyrics mean one thing, language is inherently ambiguous and you can totally just decide to read the lyrics a slightly different way if you really really want to and the exact wording doesn’t make it impossible. Everyone KNOWS that “Careless Whisper” is about cheating, but it never SAYS it’s about cheating (like, it says “cheat a friend,” but like the singer could’ve cheated their friend at cards? it doesn’t say), so you can just decide that it’s about any other kind of betrayal in a relationship! Like, say, blowing up your ally’s steampunk airship fleet. The song never says it ISN’T about a steampunk airship fleet.

So let’s just establish right now that this song is no longer about cheating. That’s out the window.

In the original song, “dancing” is probably intended as a metaphor for having sex. In THIS context, it is literally dancing. The emotional core of CDIH, the moment around which the rest of the story rotates, is the night that Alastor and Sir Pentious dance together. And although Alastor no doubt dances plenty of times after leaving Sir Pent, he’s certainly never going to dance like that again—like he’s with a lover, like he wants to be touching his dance partner, rather than either alone or while distastefully putting up with physical contact with someone who doesn’t matter to him.

The interpretation of the line “careless whispers of a good friend” that I think is probably Most Common is that a friend of the singer’s lover warned the lover that the singer is cheating on them, and the singer thinks that the fact that the lover now knows is worse than not knowing at all, because now that the lover knows they can never go back to normal, hence why the friend was being careless. Aside from any questions of, like, whether or not that’s a sound opinion at all—I’ve always interpreted that line differently. Since the singer refers to their lover as a “friend” (“should have known better than to cheat a friend”), I’ve always assumed that the singer would refer to themself as their lover’s friend, and so the “careless whispers of a good friend” were the whispers that the singer themself made that started whatever affair it is they had.

And so that assumption—that the “good friend” that said something they shouldn’t have is the singer—is the interpretation I’m carrying into the song’s inclusion in the playlist. In this case, it’s Alastor’s decision to lie to Sir Pent about how he feels about him (claiming that he never cared & that he was just screwing around with his emotions) before running off that are the “careless whispers” because, although not exactly whispery, they do have the same effect as in the song: ever since he said them, there’s been an unmendable rift between Alastor and Sir Pent (which was, like, his objective, but he’s still not happy about it)—and, more than that, it was very careless. Alastor had intended for his actions to just push Sir Pent away, not to effectively ruin Sir Pent’s ambitions to rule hell completely. But, that’s what happened. Because he didn’t think anything through. He just said and did the very first things he could think of to push Sir Pent away. Extremely careless.

And, of course, the specific version that got included was chosen because it sounds jazzy. Yay for PMJ, making all sorts of songs Alastor-ready.

I Will Always Love You (Lyrics)

… except, the super dark version.

So I figured out at some point that the easiest way I was gonna find Alastor music was through jazz-style covers of songs a la Postmodern Jukebox, 1) because PMJ has been actually mentioned as among the limited varieties of modern music that Alastor would listen to by virtue of the fact that they do covers that sound like what he used to listen to, and 2) because Puff here isn’t actually a fan of jazz and it’s a lot easier for me to slowly wade into the water via jazzy covers of songs I already know than it is for me to fling myself into the deep end like “appreciate Jelly Roll Morton! Appreciate Jelly Roll Morton NOW!!!”

(I am slowly and laboriously training myself to be a fan of jazz, because Alastor is a RADIO HOST from NEW ORLEANS in the ROARING TWENTIES AND A LITTLE BIT OF THE THIRTIES, i will NOT be writing him while in complete ignorance of a subject that probably occupied a huge portion of his life.)

So due to the fact that I was looking for PMJ-esque genre-switching covers of songs, I drifted over to other genre-switching song cover acts like Chase Holfelder to go through the songs and go “hm wonder of any of these work." This song is an exception to the genres I’m looking for for Alastor, but it still makes the list because like, the vibe is just right.

Have y'all ever actually listened to/read the lyrics to "I Will Always Love You” before? Not just the AAAND IIIIIIIII-IIII-IIIIIII WILL ALWAAAYS LOVE YOOOOO-OO-OOOU bit but the actual lyrics. They’re sad. The lyrics are “I deeply love you but if I stayed with you I would only hold you back so i’m going to leave you because it’s for the best but i’m super sad about it and i always will be.”

Now, that doesn’t 100% line up with Alastor’s situation. Because, like, obviously, he was doing the exact opposite of holding Sir Pent back when they were together, and fearing holding Sir Pent back was not the reason he left.

But it is among the reasons he avoids the hell out of him now. The primary reasons, of course, are still “being in love is scary and i do not want to do that so maybe if i avoid him i can continue pretending that i am not in love?” and “lmao he justifiably hates me now so why try"—but #3 on his list is the recognition that, since they broke up, Alastor’s actions have caused a constant cascade of events that have held Sir Pent back ever since. (And Alastor also suspects that there might actually be some kind of legitimate curse or fate or something going on here—that part of Alastor’s role in hell is playing the part of Sir Pent’s personal hellish divine punishment.) So he didn’t leave because he’s sabotaging Sir Pent’s ambitions; but he sabotaged Sir Pent’s ambitions because he left.

And therefore, as a consequence, he should stay away from Sir Pent now. He shouldn’t beg forgiveness and a second chance—because he doesn’t deserve them, and because he might make it worse.

This particular cover of the song really kicks the anguish up into high gear. The most common Whitney Houston version is like, okay she’s brokenhearted, but also somehow somewhat empowered by the brokenheartedness—like even though she’s leaving sad and bitter, in her heart she knows that the decision she’s making is for the best for her beloved, and she can draw strength from that. There is no drawing strength from the decision in the Chase Holfelder version—just using it up. It’s like he’s burning through all of his reserves of strength to push his loved one away. When Whitney hits the big note, she’s pulling power into herself to belt that out. When Chase hits the big note, he’s pouring out every last bit of power left inside his body. You can imagine Whitney walking away from this song with her head held high and her back straight but Chase is just gonna collapse to his knees with his shoulders hunched and head bowed—completely empty, a husk. That’s the vibe I want with Alastor—that every single day of his self-imposed exile he’s losing a little piece of himself, hollowing himself out. He can’t draw strength from it.

Typically, when I’m picking songs for this playlist, I don’t pay much attention to the gender of the singer (my only main priority on this playlist is that by the time it’s done I want the genders of the singers to be roughly balanced on both Sir Pent’s part and Alastor’s part), but in this case I think the fact that the singer is male contributes to it working for Alastor the way another version with a female singer wouldn’t. Not entirely sure why—maybe because, even though the voice doesn’t sound anything like his, it’s easier to actively imagine Alastor singing the song when it’s got a male voice? Maybe because, thanks to Sexism In Society, a woman saying "I’m leaving you because I’d get in the way of your dreams” more easily comes across as “Oh… I am simply not good enough for you… I’d hold you back…” while a man saying “I’m leaving you because I’d get in the way of your dreams” more easily comes across as “I wouldn’t hold you back, I’d push you down. I’m dangerous for you.” And the latter fits Alastor better.

(But hey, if any of you know of any versions of “I Will Always Love You” with a female singer that makes her sound dangerous as hell, feel free to recommend them to me. Not because I’m looking to replace the version I’ve already got but just because I’d really like to hear it.)

Currently, it’s listed as the last song on the Alastor portion of the playlist. I recently reorganized it so that the Sir Pent portions and Alastor portions each flow from the shallowest/most surface emotions down to the deeper/truer/more hidden emotions, and even before I did that reorganization, “I Will Always Love You” has been the closing song on Alastor’s side since it was added to the playlist. That feels like the right note to leave it on: after everything else has been said, once every other layer and lie has been stripped away, the deepest and truest and last thing Alastor would have to say to Sir Pent is “I hope life treats you kind and I hope you have all you’ve dreamed of” and an anguished screaming declaration of love.

Friend Please https://genius.com/Twenty-one-pilots-friend-please-lyrics

So remember when I said that language is inherently ambiguous and if you want you can totally just choose to read words differently if the wording doesn’t actually prevent that interpretation? This song is clearly about suicide. I have decided for the purposes of this playlist it is not about suicide anymore! It’s still about depression but not about suicide! When the singer was like “Please don’t take your life away from me” what he meant is “Please don’t take your life, and also, I am emphasizing that if you do so you are removing yourself from my life to try to show you how much you mean to me,” but how I have decided to interpret it for this playlist is “literally do not remove your life from my life, as in, like, don’t run away and stop talking to me.”

So. As I mentioned in my last song meta post, there’s sort of two—not genres, but like, musical aesthetics that I’m drawing from for Sir Pent: Victorian-ish/steampunk-ish sounds, and emo stuff because Vivz said that’s what he actually listens to. Twenty One Pilots fits the criteria for emo for me—idk and idc if other people consider them emo, they toured with Fall Out Boy and Panic! At The Disco, they count as far as I’m concerned—so they’re actually among the bands I’ve been intending to specifically look at for potential Sir Pent Songs.

For the most part, they’re, like, too good at the sad millennial vibe. But that song works.

“Friend, Please” comes low on Sir Pent’s portion because it’s deep in the more genuine emotions—I’ve actually considered putting it last and may still do so, it would make a nice counterpoint to “I Will Always Love You"—actually I’m gonna go do that, gonna go shuffle the playlist, there, good—and it’s also something that he couldn’t/wouldn’t say until after he knows about Alastor’s deep thoughts. Reinterpreted so that it’s not about suicide, it becomes about a friend who’s still depressed, but the focus of the song becomes about the friend’s self-isolation—a self-isolation that’s fueled by denial and self-delusion, the friend convincing themself that they’re alone, always will be, and can’t/won’t have anyone else in their life again that they can depend upon.

Which, although he doesn’t necessarily seem to be depressed, is certainly the vibe Alastor gives off in the show—that despite his overly-friendly overly-familiar attitude, he probably keeps everyone else at a great emotional distance. In canon he might be okay with that. In fic, he’s doing that at the expense of pushing away a person he loves very much—and then pushing away anyone that could help him cope with that loss. Leaving him very alone and perpetually disguising himself as fine with that. Maybe, when he can go years without having to see Sir Pent, he can be fine with that.

But I have Big Plans for that sequel and you know item #1 on the list is "stick Alastor and Sir Pent in a position where they’ll have to cross paths all the time so that it’s like threading a giant needle with barbed wire, stabbing the needle into Alastor’s heart, and slowly dragging the barbed wire straight through.”

And after that? Living like a ghost, claiming he’s fine when he’s been completely emotionally drained, is gonna be a pretty accurate description of his mental state.

Right now, Sir Pent is in no way close enough to Alastor to know that—and in no way sympathetic enough toward him to care even if he did know. He still hates Alastor for completely ruining his life. But there’s still that part of him that used to care about Alastor and still could come to care about him again. And if that part gets revived, and if he gets close enough to Alastor to see how miserable he’s made himself by trying to push everyone away and denying that he’s pushed his own mental state into as bad a state as it’s currently in, his reaction would be “you absolute dumbass” followed by trying to shout some sense into Alastor by pointing out that every one of his problems is caused not by external factors, but by his own damn screwed-up perception of the world. Like, every one of his problems he made himself, and he can unmake them. He’s just got to uncover his eyes first.

It’s easy for fandom to just, like, characterize Sir Pent as an all-around dumbass—strategically, socially, emotionally, etc. Until and unless we see otherwise—and see it so firmly that even I can’t find ways to headcanon around it, and believe you me, I can headcanon my way around a lot of things—I choose to believe that the only areas he’s definitely a dumbass in are “understanding modern slang” and “remembering NOT to charge into battle without considering the odds the second he sees somebody he hates.” This means that I like to believe he also has a reasonable level of emotional intelligence, and a healthy level of compassion that he can deploy, when he so chooses, on someone he considers worthy of that compassion. He’s evil, yes, but self-professed evil, which means self-aware evil; which means that even though there’s gotta be something fucked up with his worldview for him to choose to be evil, it is a choice he’s making, not something he’s doing specifically because he believes it’s right/necessary. And he can turn it off when he decides he’s with someone that deserves it.

Now, is Alastor on that list? Not currently, hell no. But there’s potential for him to make it on the list—that potential for Sir Pent to care about him again, to want to see him throw off the things that he’s using to hold himself back, to want to see him become better and happier, to want him back in Sir Pent’s life—buried somewhere deep beneath Sir Pent’s burned emotions and decades of resentment.

#(i've got asks for five and a half other songs on the playlist) #(i'll get to them uhhh... soonish) #mementomori #ask #music #about my writing #(sorta?? my writing comes up) #meta #hazbin hotel #headcanons #radiosnake

[belshka]

Complex // JJK (1)

January 16 2019

(y/n)’s POV

The clock strikes 7:00 PM. The soundcheck raffle announcement will be out soon. Why am I so excited? I must have saved the entire planet in my previous life if I got the soundcheck pass. Who am I kidding, the chance is 1 out of what, 35000? This is insane. No, this is madness. This is BTS.

It pops! The announcement post is here! My hands are cold. I saw my section, and.

And my ticket number.

My ticket number.

Should I scream? Shout? Faint? No, I take a seat on my couch. Just sit there, for 5 minutes straight, before I am able to call my friend, to break the news.

January 19 2019

This is it.

I walk into the venue, I can see the stage, and the Love Yourself World Tour banner. This is so unreal. This is massive. In just a matter of minutes I will finally see them! My heart hurts, my stomach hurts, my head hurts, yet I’m numb?

Fuck! I can hear Namjoon says hello from the stage followed by all the screams. As they walk to the extended stage where most of the soundcheck will be, I can’t help but to be mesmerized by every one of them. They’re legit god. Any arguments are invalid. I don’t know how long I’ve been zoning out until a hand shakes my shoulder from behind. “Hey are you okay? Do you need water? The security have water, I can ask for you?” Says a girl behind me. “Oh! Yes yes I’m totally fine, thanks though!” I smile back at her and bring my eyes back to the stage. Have I told you how good Jimin looks? Cause boy he looks so damn good, I actually forgot that my baby is Jungkook. They’re all my babies don’t get me wrong, even when I’m younger than the youngest but they’re still my babies. It’s been all fun and crazy how I’m able to see them like this, without make up, without the fancy clothes (although their casual clothes are still fancy). Until I notice HIM. Jungkook, with his huge ass camera, right in my direction. I -

Wait, why there is a sound of bell ringing? Am I being delusional?

Wow, I think Jungkook’s camera caught my confused and shooked face. I surely will be a meme in the BTS group chat. I try to push the weird feelings aside. You see this is weird, there is no such thing as soulmate bells or red string stuffs, or matching tattoos. I have been reading too much of fan fiction this is driving me crazy. The soundcheck ends and we are all being ushered to get back to our actual queue for the actual concert. I am so so speechless because come on, I just saw BTS! And probably gotta end up being a meme in their group chat. As I walk to find my friends, all I can think of is to call my sister, she’s also queueing but kinda far from me and my friends. “Hello?” “Oh my god, hahaha the stage is super super huge, and fuck!!! They are all so hot, sis omg, this is so unreal, I cant even believe my own eyes!” (I can’t believe my ears either) “Hahaha you had fun?” “Yes! Of course, where are you? Queuing already?” “Yup” “Okay then, I’ll see you inside!” The call ended as I spot my friends. I tell them everything, except my delulu self that heard the bell rings.

Jungkook’s POV

Another concert, another fun day. I can’t wait to see ARMY! Although I am tired from all the practices and flights, but I live for this, for the thrill, most importantly for those smiles. That I surely know are made for us, and because of us. In just a couple minutes I have to go up the stage for a short soundcheck, this is my favorite part of all because I can see them very clearly, the soundcheck was our idea, it is more intimate, although it seems unfair for those who’re not here, but this is the least we can do to get closer to our lovely ARMY. As Namjoon Hyung says hello, the crowd screams back, and I can already feel my lips forming a huge huge smile just knowing that they are here for us. I have my camera with me during every soundcheck, I feel like I have to capture every moment so I wont forget any details. The soundcheck goes well as usual, Hoseok hyung is having a little talk with ARMY as I shoot a video of him, then I move my camera to the crowd. I -

I hear the sound of bell ringing! What?! I cannot help but to find those eyes, and I finally found them, looking straight into my direction. She looks so confused, yet so beautiful. I bet she knows, I just hope she won’t go crazy. But, she closes her eyes and shakes her head. As if she does not want to believe it. I keep my eyes on her for awhile, my camera still recording her area, but I know for sure I have it zoomed in to her. She looks away first. She doesn’t believe in soulmates. I can see her head down for awhile, but I try my best not to look so obvious because I have been taught how to act if by any craziest chance I will find my soulmate like this. Which is to pretend it did not happened. To stay normal. But is it normal to ignore the existence of your soulmate? How soulmate works is weird, I don’t think the world notice it but when it comes to soulmate, you’ll never know. Every body has one, but the process is different, I don’t know about others, but surely mine is the bell.

We’re back at the waiting room, to get everything done, the make up, the script, the hair, outfits, and all. But I am still stuck. Starstruck? Is that the word? I never thought that my soulmate will be a foreigner? And an ARMY? Yes, ARMY. It feels like I’m living the best life. But also the saddest and tragic one, because I can do nothing. In this line of work, I have to stay like this. To give the best out of me. To sacrifice things. I hope in the end it will be worth the wait and sacrifice. “Jungkookieeeeeeeeeeee, why are you so saddddd?” Jin hyung asks from the couch while having his food. “Nothing hyunggggggg, just sleepy” I say as I walk into his direction and take a seat beside him. “Yah, be honest. Are you really sleepy or you found the one?” Jin hyung whispers. I can only look him in his eyes and hoping that he can read me. “Ayeeee I knew it. Which section?” He asks again. “Right side.” “Our right side or their right side?” “Ours.”

During the opening speech I try so hard to spot her, but I cant. The lights are blinding, and the size of the venue is not helping at all. I keep taking off my in ear just to talk to Jin hyung, praying that maybe he can help me spot her. As we’re about to sing Magic Shop, this is my chance to actually look for her in the pit so I walk slowly to the right stage while scanning the crowd, and I almost burst out laughing because I can see her running from nowhere into the back barricade. She’s something else. I look at her few seconds and I can see her very clearly because she is just by the barricade with her Army Bomb and her phone obviously recording ME. So I took my chance to go a little closer and I can see her friend slaps her right arm and screams something that I can’t really hear. But she’s unbothered. She’s so focus that I can tell her phone is not recording properly. Gosh she’s so funny, I can’t help but let a small giggle out while I shake my head, and walk back to the main stage. I can see her during Euphoria, I can’t really focus. She does not has her phone, I don’t know if she’s crying or not but she is standing in between her friends who are hugging her. It’s a beautiful view. Euphoria is the last time I saw her. Jin hyung spotted her during medley and Run. I’m so desperate to see her, this is my last chance. I keep on getting to the right side of the stage just to find her, until Anpanman, I can see her! I CAN SEE HER! I am so excited I can not contain my smile, I keep on dancing and hanging around the area. Last, it hits me during the closing, Answer : Love Myself, I have my in ear off and just so sad that this may be my last time seeing her. I try fight back my tears, I don’t think I sing properly, I hope no one notice. As we all walk back to the main stage, I look everywhere in her section hoping that I can see her for the last last time, shit I can’t see her. After the final bow I still give it a try, I walk a little bit to the extended stage but I still can not find her. I give up, giving my last smile before I walk off stage. And there my tears fall freely, I sit by the stairs to calm myself down because this is all too much, I have to fly to another country, leaving her, without any information. Without her knowing that I am her soulmate. My heart breaks even more, until Jimin hyung come to me and comfort me. He is truly the fairy. “Its okay Jungkookieeee, the chance will come sooner or later. You are soulmate, you’ll end up with each other. So don’t worry okay, you’ll find her. We will find her. Okay? Don’t cry, besides you did very good today!”  All I can do is to let out some sniffles as we both walk back to the waiting room to meet the others for concert photo.

(y/n)’s POV

The pit is crazy, I decided to stay at the back so it will be easier for me to run around to wherever Jungkook is heading. Bitch be running wherever her bias is heading, that bitch is me. Oh fuck, this is my song. Magic Shop, I literally scream each and every word out of my lungs. When I realize where Jungkook is heading, I literally run for my life to the back barricade and thank God it’s still empty. His legs ugh, he is sweating like crazy it makes him glow even more. I have my useless Army Bomb with me, and my phone, trying to record and capture Jungkook as much as I can because who knows, this may be my first and last. But luck was not on my side, I forgot to press record. I cannot scream, but Jungkook is too close, he is too close and my friend fucking slapped my arm. I could not careless all I see is him, too close, too close. Jesus bless my pure soul cause Jungkook just giggled? Why is he so funny.

Before the concert, days before the concert. I did my research very well, I know the whole setlist and where will they perform it. The stage and all so I know right after Just Dance, will be Euphoria at the main stage. I kinda make my way towards the stage with my two friends. “hey (y/f/n), can you please record the whole performance because I don’t think I can record it..” With that being said, the lights dim a little and I can hear the intro. I got goosebumps all over my body, I can’t believe that I finally able to see it live. Woah my body will collapse soon, my tears start to fall very quick. My friends notice and laugh but they have me in between them. Most of the time I stay at the back because I want to focus on the performance, plus I’m super tired I have not eaten anything yet today so I was at the back with water from the security. But I gained my energy back during medley and encore. Anpanman! Oh my god, I can see Jungkook again! Very clear because he is always on our side. I recorded his little cute dance. The 2 hours concert feels like a minute, they are at the extended stage for Answer : Love Myself, but boy is holding back tears. I feel a pang in my heart, and my lungs are lacking of oxygen. It hurts, my eyes are burning. I know this song will always have that effect on me but I don’t know that it will be like this. They walk back to the main stage for the final final bow, I smile through my tears and when the lights bout to turn off, Jungkook walk back a little for another goodbye while scanning through the crowd. This boy, he loves army that much. He smiles before it turns completely dark and the lights back without the boys on stage. I stay for some pictures with my friends, and my sister.

I say nothing about my weird feelings and the sound of the bell cause what kind of a crazy and delusional fan am I. So while waiting for the crowd to die down a little, I sit on the grass outside the venue while looking through my videos briefly, talking about the concert. The crowd somewhere goes crazy because apparently BTS is leaving for their hotel, but I could not careless because heck I’ve spent my entire day standing and waiting, I need to sit and rest my legs. And my crazy heart.

January 20 2019

Jungkook’s POV

Today is my last day here and I have no chance to explore because I have to fly back to Seoul.

(y/n)’s POV

Today is my last day here, I explore and shop a bit at the city before heading to the airport because I have to fly back home. Thank you (country), for the unforgettable night.

#complex #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #bts #bangtansonyeondan #bulletproof boy scout #kim namjoon #bts rm #kim seokjin #bts jin #min yoongi #bts suga #jung hoseok #bts jhope #park jimin #bts jimin #kim taehyung #bts v #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #bts angst #jungkook angst #bts lockscreen #jungkook lockscreen #jungkook edit #jungkook gif

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “Lady Silence” Part 1

Frost’s younger sister came to live with him 6 months ago; one could say Y/N is a bit of an oddball because she doesn’t talk and she doesn’t like to be touched. The Joker allowed her to help the crew from time to time without knowing that the only reason for the woman’s presence amidst them was actually him.

You could say you were lucky enough when your brother almost ruined everything with his carelessness; he didn’t do it on purpose, but it could have had very unpleasant consequences at that point.

You were working at one of The Joker’s warehouses when Frost noticed Richard behind you:  Y/N was busy sorting out ammunition from a shipment received the previous evening and perfectly aware of his presence, still she decided not to react.

Jonny took Richard’s gesture as insolence when in fact the guy was debating if he should tap your arm or not; after calling your name and being ignored, he was kind of out of options.

Your brother charged towards the clueless henchman and dragged him away from you, slamming his body against the nearest wall.

“Nobody makes fun of my sister, do you understand?!” the usually calm Frost lost his composure.

Richard was completely taken by surprise and immediately apologized for a mistake he didn’t have a chance to commit:

“I wasn’t making fun of Y/N, I swear!”

“Were you trying to mock her?” Jonny got in his face, panting with indignation. “She doesn’t like to be touched and all of you jerks know it!”

“I wasn’t, I really wasn’t!” Richard defended his actions because it was rare to see Frost in such a state and dangerous to mess with him once aggravated. The goon’s hands went up in surrender since he didn’t want any trouble. “I wasn’t mocking her, ok?”

The Joker saw the altercation from across the storage room and yelled:

“Frost, chill!” and Jonny muttered thru his clenched teeth, wishing for nothing more than to break Richard’s neck:

“Do you know who my sister is?!”

“I said chill!!” J repeated and your sibling didn’t have to look your way to realize you were unhappy with his comment. He wasn’t thinking straight and blurred out a sentence that wasn’t meant for anybody’s ears. At least not yet.

Thankfully, The Joker was too far to hear the dialogue and Richard too preoccupied with his own safety in order to analyze words said in anger by an outraged brother.

“Hey Silence, are you done there?” The King of Gotham shouted because help was needed outside to unload the trucks; he often liked to use the nickname since you didn’t talk.

You nodded a yes and stepped away from the finished chore, ready to take on the new task.

“What’s going on?” J growled as you passed by him, already in a very bad disposition. Three days earlier he dislocated his left shoulder and had to keep the whole arm in a sling; it was bothersome and certainly didn’t improve the mood.

You innocently blinked, pretending to be oblivious to the question.

“Move it faster!” he lost his patience with the quiet woman, opening the heavy metal door so she can get out. Straining himself with the injured arm wasn’t the best idea and the stiff muscles became even tighter. “Shit…” The Joker took a deep breath, the paralyzing ache making him see dark spots.

“Sir, are you alright?” someone close by asked.

“Boss, you OK?” another henchman inquired.

“Mind your own business!!” J barked and dragged his feet towards the office he frequently used as a bedroom too.

You discretely signaled Frost and you both followed The Clown Prince of Crime in his quarters; he was lying in bed and moaned in pain when he had to lift his head up to see who dared bothering him.

“What do you want?” he sneered at Jonny and his sister.

“Mister Joker, if you’re uncomfortable Y/N could make you feel better,” your older brother explained and The Joker sarcastically smirked:

“How? Is she a doctor?”

“No sir.”

“Good, because I don’t need a doctor! Get the hell out and let me rest! Make yourselves useful and aid with unloading the cargo!” he raised his voice and you approached the bed anyway. “Are you deaf, Silence?! Beat it!” The Joker pointed his finger towards the exit, aggravated you were still there. He was starting to sweat from the soreness and you knew that being feverish was an indication of things worsening for him in the next minutes.

Your sibling got out of the room first and you were preparing to do the same when J’s physical discomfort made him mumble:

“So what is it you can do to make me feel better, hm?”

You closed the door and signaled the left arm should be out of the sling. The Joker rolled his eyes and made an effort to indulge your instructions, then scoffed when he figured out the shirt had to go also.

“Do I have to be totally naked?”  

You nodded a no and ignored the sassiness, gesturing for the crabby employer to roll on his abdomen.

Once J did what you required, he sensed your hands gently massaging his shoulder blade. “Lemme get this straight, Silence: you don’t like to be touched; how come you’re touching me?”

No sounds came out of the woman that was patiently searching for a certain pressure point under his skin in order to alleviate the throbbing ache.

“Did I answer my own dilemma?” The Joker frowned.

He sure did: you touching him was different than him touching you.

“Stuck up like your brother!” he admonished, pissed Y/N was calm and didn’t seem to care about his bickering. Suddenly, The Joker felt such a sharp pain in his shoulder he thought you stabbed him. He wanted to move but couldn’t: he was completely numb, courtesy of Y/N manipulating the pressure point she found. Before J could complain some more, your thumb unlocked the pinched nerves and his erratic breathing intensified before gradually returning to normal.

The tense muscles finally relaxed, your fingers giving the body necessary relief. 

“Where did you learn to do that?” he groaned, actually enjoying the soft back rub.

Of course there was no acknowledgement from your part and he buried his face in the pillows, not understanding why he was so drained. You faintly pinched the skin on The Joker’s neck and his eyelids closed; by the time you got the third pressure point he was already asleep, yet you used it to make sure he will be out until morning time.

Frost was waiting for you in front of the room, impatiently biting on his lip.

“Did you see the birthmark on his hip?” your sibling whispered.

“Yes,” you confirmed in a low tone.

“Is it him?”

“It’s him,” you reassured and walked alongside Jonny.

“Are you 100% sure?”

“U-hum,” his sister underlined before taking a separate hallway that led outside to the south part of the warehouse while your brother paced in the opposite direction.

Once in the woods, you carefully listened to the noises: you knew they were there. Y/N walked into the darkness and the wind carried over hushed words:

“Mistress, do you need anything?”

One of your men emerged from the shadows and bowed, his black attire making him almost invisible in the murkiness.

“Master Shiro sends his love,” he clearly enunciated and you widely smiled because a confirmation wasn’t necessary anyway. 

“Next week… at the club,” you gave out the information and the man was quick to pull out his sword when one of The Joker’s henchmen patrolling the perimeter yelled:

“Who’s there?”

40 more swords came out of sheaths in the same time but Y/N raised her hand and they all went down obeying her command.

The woman emerged from behind the trees, revealing herself to a goon freaking out for nothing.

“Jesus Y/N, you scared the crap out of me! I thought it was a wild animal or something!”

You just passed by him and headed back inside, pleased that half a year of infiltrating The Joker’s gang and numerous years of research were lastly bearing a fruitful outcome.

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

One week later

The music at the club was deafening and Antoine Mercier was enjoying the strip show; the French smuggler had no business being there after the negotiations ended, yet The King of Gotham allowed him to stay nevertheless.  

“Oh my God Mister Joker, where do you find these girls?!” Antoine got J’s attention, lustfully staring at the twins leaving the stage in a hurry. The song changed and he anticipated the next vixen gracing the runway with her presence.

The Joker was bored and quite irritated with the guest that asked the same dumb question every time he liked a stripper.

“Oohhhh!” the smuggler grinned when a girl wearing a short kimono style robe appeared on the stage, seductively walking her way up towards the two guys present in the Red Room. The Joker was texting on his phone and didn’t pay attention, too busy setting up another meeting for the next day; it could have easily made him about 2 million dollars richer.

The woman hopped off the stage and Antoine tried to pull her in his embrace but she dodged his touch.

“Come’ere sweetheart, I want a lap dance!” he reached for the cute mask covering the girl’s face; she eluded him again. “I love being teased,” he winked and scratched his crotch, ogling the mysterious creature in front of him. She bent over and the smuggler couldn’t take it anymore: he tried to get up while she pushed him back on the chair, allowing him to untie her robe. A second later she slapped his hand away and her attention switched towards the green haired man.

“Not now, sugar!” J snarled when her legs popped under his nose. The girl took something out of her pocket and he still didn’t look up from his cell. “I said…NOT.NOW!”

She held the piece of plastic in front of his eyes and he couldn’t avoid glancing at it: an FBI legitimation with Antoine’s picture, the name “Frank Johnson - Special Forces Unit” printed right under.

The Joker sucked on his teeth and placed the phone on the table near him. He yanked the ID out of the dancer’s hand, his bad shoulder acting up since he didn’t keep it in a sling anymore. The woman went back to Antoine, distracting him for a few moments.

The undercover agent had no clue about the item and was wondering about it when the girl unexpectedly straddled his lap. She started grinding against him and he lost concentration, his mouth sliding down towards her lacy bra.

“How much for a night, honey?”  Antoine groped her and immediately sensed his throat being pierced by something sharp. He struggled to throw the girl on the floor without success; the knife went out and back in his flesh again, both her hands twisting his neck to the left with such ferocity it snapped.

Everything happened so fast J barely saw the short blade she took out of her messy bun; he jumped off his seat and she got up also, the limp corpse collapsing to the ground with a muffled thud.

“What the fuck is going on?”

The woman didn’t seem startled by the loaded gun pointed at her and she slowly took off her mask.

The Joker forcefully exhaled, barely containing his surprise and managed to utter:

“What’s the meaning of this, Silence?”

The silky robe glided off your frame, exposing Y/N to a confused Clown Prince of Crime. You span on your high heels and the sight of the tattoo covering your whole back made him gasp: two dragons with intertwined tails, surrounded by cherry blossoms. The ink was a work of art and also the mark of the highest rank in the Ozunu clan: the Japanese mafia owned more than half of the major cities in the country and The Joker stayed away from them. Not because he didn’t want to do business with them but because they’ve never given him a sign they would be interested in a partnership so he gave up.

And now they were at his doorsteps.

You heard the beads moving and you knew J was gone without looking.

“Sir!” the henchmen waiting outside the Red Room gathered around their boss, thinking he has important instructions. Instead he rushed by them, fuming at the thought that the man in charge of his security took him for a full: Jonny Frost was The Joker’s target and he intended to get some answers before blowing his brains out.

Y/N stayed behind in the Red Room for a few moments and soon after another woman joined; she grabbed the robe from the floor and placed it around your shoulders. You tilted your head as a thank you and she asked:

“Mistress, are we following?”

You nodded a yes and she continued:

“Are you going to change in the van? Master Shiro is already there; we can take the shortcut.”

You agreed and couldn’t deny the feeling building up in your heart: it wasn’t anxiety or distress, more like relief after almost losing hope that you’ll ever find him again.

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

The Joker kicked the door opened, mad beyond control; he was so angry he didn’t notice it wasn’t locked.

Jonny was in the middle of the living room at his house, sipping on whiskey and waiting for his boss. Like it was hard to guess knowing the lovely temper he possessed.

“You son of a bitch!” J barged in, panting with indignation. “You Goddamn traitor!” he took the gun out from his holster and Frost replied:

“I’m not a traitor, sir.”

“You’re not?! Then how do you explain your sister has the symbol of the Ozunu clan tattooed on her back?” The Joker shrieked while your brother serenely admitted:

“She’s married to their leader sir.”

J was so furious his ears started ringing:

“Is that an insignificant detail you forgot to mention??!!” he yelled and took the safety off his pistol, done with the interrogation.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, sir,” your sibling took another sip of whiskey which prompted more outrage from a very worked up Joker.

“Are you threatening me Frost?!”

“I’m not the threat sir,” the truthful response accompanied someone’s voice coming from behind The King of Gotham:

“Mister Joker, please don’t point your gun at my brother-in-law.”

J instantly noticed a lot of movement and realized he was surrounded by a lot of people dressed in black, their faces covered in the same fabric; only the eyes were visible from behind the dark veils.

The Joker lowered his arm and turned around, facing the man that stood by Y/N; maybe in his late thirties/early forties, dressed in a traditional Japanese kimono that matched yours.

“Mister Joker, we finally meet,” your husband smirked. “My name is Shiro Ozunu and I believe you’re already acquainted with my better half,” he introduced himself while emphasizing who the woman was. “I’m sorry it took us quite some time before answering your proposal; one can’t be too careful these days.”

J was debating on the whole charade, skeptical about the unexpected encounter.

“That’s why you sent your wife and her brother to spy on me?” the spiteful tone made Shiro cut it short: he had no patience for anybody else’s outbursts except his wife’s.

“Like I said, one can’t be too careful these days! I’m here now: would you like to talk or not?”

The Joker puckered his lips, sick and tired of his shitty day:

“Maybe,” he resentfully grumbled.

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

After four months, Monday - 6pm

“This way Mister Joker,” Frost leads the way towards the main residence belonging to the Ozunu family.

Located 3 hours away from Gotham on the outskirts of New York, the gated property is huge. It actually resembles a small village: the houses are built in the Japanese style and the sculptures decorating the vast gardens remind of the Meiji Era.

The Joker is here for the first time under the pretext of a business meeting: Shiro and his wife want him close for different reasons, not that J is aware yet.

Jonny takes a right on the path leading towards the terrace, when the sound of some kind of turmoil makes your brother shrug and the familiar noise causes him to quicken the pace.

The green haired guest is silent, mostly because he’s still irritated about his trusted henchman’s stunt. He keeps up with Frost though and when the row of decorative shrubs ends, they both see something that’s worrisome to your brother and puzzling to J: you and Shiro are engaged in a sword fight, relentlessly attacking each other.

“What are they doing?” The Joker finally bothers to articulate a sentence out of pure curiosity.

“They’re having a disagreement sir,” Jonny gulps, more and more nervous. “When they fight they don’t verbally argue; they do this.”

“Are those things sharp?”

“Very,” the short clarification makes J more interested.

Such display of skills The King of Gotham has only seen in movies; you could say he’s fortunate enough to witness a very different domestic dispute - courtesy of Shiro Ozunu and his spouse.

Your blade whooshes in the stillness and before your husband can dodge, you intentionally cut a piece of his sleeve, triumphantly snickering when it lands on the grass.

“This…this is my favorite kimono!” Shiro pants, vexed you did such a thing. He prepares to charge but he gets interrupted by a distressed Frost that can’t take it anymore:

“Shiro-san! Y/N! Mister Joker is here!”

The couple gazes at the two men, trying to regain composure; after exchanging mean looks, you put the sword down first and your husband does the same.

“Apologies Mister Joker,” your husband growls, “we weren’t expecting you this early.”

“It was a smooth drive,” J lifts his nonexistent eyebrows, bummed the spectacle is over.

“Welcome,” he is greeted by the host and you acknowledge him with a faint bow before stomping in front of the small group. Your brother runs and catches up with you, closely followed by Shiro and The Joker.

“Trouble in Paradise?” J blurs out since he’s not a sensible person.

Your husband laughs at the bold question, deeming it to be amusing instead of rude:

“Not even close. We just had a small quarrel; marriage can be stressful sometimes and you have to let out steam.”

“Is it because you’re jealous I saw your wife at the club in a skimpy bra and panties?” The Joker nonchalantly mentions as a payback for the past and Shiro pretends to brush it off.

“Careful Mister Joker; at one point I might not find your remarks funny.”

“Just saying,” J grins and has to persist with his inconsiderate observations. “I’m sure you’re afraid another man might steal her from you.”

Shiro doesn’t lose his cool but lashes out in the most elegant way possible; he’s amazing like that.

“Steal her from me?! Y/N is not an object for someone to steal Mister Joker. And I really pity the man that would dare such an affront not because what I might do, but because she would take it as unforgivable insult and she’s far more despicable than I am.”

J huffs, vexed he can’t initiate trouble while Shiro purposely stirs the conversation in a different direction:

“I trust my wife more than I trust myself, Mister Joker” and he pauses for a second. ”Did you know we grew up together?”

“Did ya’?” the visitor seems surprised.

“Yes. Her father worked for mine and they lived here. When her parents divorced, Jonny went to stay with their mother and Y/N remained here with her dad. There weren’t a lot of children for me to play with; I was the only heir to the fortune and my father kept me under strict lockdown. When we were kids, she used to come to my house or in same rare instances, I was permitted to go over to her house. As we grew up, we became pretty much inseparable. One night when we were teenagers, she didn’t make it home.”

The Joker snorts, fully aware what it means and Shiro smiles at the cherished memory.

“I’ve been in love with her since I was old enough to know what it meant. Such a shame my father didn’t understand…When he found out about us he chased her away simply because he couldn’t accept an outsider as a suitable partner for his son.”

“An outsider?” J repeats, not getting the idea.

“Y/N is not Japanese Mister Joker and my father was an old fashioned traditionalist,” your husband recalls the ordeal. “He even had an arranged marriage in mind for me. Can you imagine in this day and age to be told whom you should love?!”

The Joker lifts his shoulders up, ignorant about the subject. What would he know about love anyway? Probably nothing.

Shiro reprises his story, upset the details are making him remember the struggle:

“Y/N’s dad continued to work for my father and she was forced to move with her mother 60 miles away. It wasn’t far, yet I was under surveillance 24/7 and couldn’t escape. After a month of being apart, she showed up at the gates, begging for the security to let her in; she walked all the way here because she missed me. One of the guards went and told my father and you know what he did? He sent 6 experienced fighters to teach her a lesson which translated into beating her to death. Who would do such a thing?! Unleash a group of assassins against a defenseless 19 years old girl that just wanted to see the boy she loved…”

Your husband dwells on his thoughts and J is surprisingly immersed in the topic:

“Obviously she survived,” he gives a hint he’s waiting for Shiro to reprise the dialogue.  

“Not thanks to me,” the leader of the Ozunu clan gathers his long hair together and brings it to front on the left side of his body. The wind blows it back over his shoulder again and he sights, frustrated. “A friend of mine, and like I said I didn’t have too many due to my imposed social status, came to tell me Y/N was here and that my father ordered her demise. He knew he will get in big trouble, but he still risked his life and told me. He also helped me sneaked outside the property and I ran away with Y/N. My dad was mad beyond control and disowned me; I really didn’t give a damn since I had what I wanted,” Shiro proudly states. “The next five years weren’t easy, but Y/N’s mom took as in. My father sent messengers on a monthly basis, promising that if I abandon my stupid ambition it will all be forgiven. Since when loving someone is stupid ambition anyway?!”

The Joker doesn’t answer the rhetorical question and ascends the steps leading to the covered terrace where dinner awaits.

“When I was 26 and Y/N 25, we got married. Later that year I received the news of my parent being severely ill. I was an outcast, yet the thought of leaving everything to someone else besides his own flesh and blood made him reconsider his decision regarding the estranged son. I suppose him being a traditionalist led to something good for once… First, Y/N wasn’t part of the deal: he wanted me to divorce in exchange of the empire. But given the situation, I twisted his arm and got what I wanted: I was allowed to come home with my bride. Please take a sit Mister Joker,” Shiro encourages J since they reached their destination.

A small table is set under the canopy with several dishes, chopsticks and regular dinnerware next to the plates.

“I hope you like the food Mister Joker,” your brother makes small talk and his employer groans:

“I like Asian food or did you forget that?”

You start picking shrimp from your platter and move it over to Shiro’s since that’s his favorite. He might be on your shit list for the moment but you still love him.

The chat resumes and you quietly listen when suddenly Shiro’s chopsticks pop up in front of your mouth: an oyster for his wife, which happens to be her favorite. You accept the peace offer and chew on the morsel, still not looking his way.

The Joker keeps on eating and scans the furniture scattered around the patio, inspecting the various framed pictures.

“Is that you?” he gestures towards the image closest to him depicting two young men and a girl.

“Yes, I’m the one with the blue kimono and the girl is Y/N. The other guy is the friend I told you about earlier: an orphan my father took in and used as a currier. After he told me Y/N was here to see me, he disappeared. Over the years we tried to find him but he just vanished from the face of the earth; I’m certain my father did something to him.”

“He’s probably dead then. Why are you still searching?” J yawns, rather exhausted after the long drive.

“My wife is alive because of him and we are together because of him; I wish I could repay his loyalty,” Shiro explains. “He knew he would be severely punished but he still helped us.”

“Hm,” J puffs. “Good luck then.”

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

The Joker is spending the night and after finishing dinner he was taken to the guest house near the main Ozunu residence.

You just took a shower and crawled in bed by your husband, debating if you should say anything.

“…Shiro… are you awake?”

He wiggles a bit and switches his position so he can face you, not having any objections when you take a strand of his long hair and twist it around your fingers.

“…I’m sorry I ruined your favorite kimono…” you apologize for what you did a few hours ago.

Shiro scoots over towards you and pulls you in his arms, pouting.

“It’s ok, I have so many…”

“But that was your absolute favorite…” the regret in your voice makes him cringe. You caress his face and whisper:

“He didn’t recognize us…”

Your husband kisses you and frowns:

“Do you think he’s faking it?”

“No, he’s not faking it. He doesn’t remember anything…” you sulk and the teary eyes disturb your spouse more than it should. What better way to improve the mood than using a silly request?

“Hey Y/N, you know what? Will take everything as it comes, but in the meantime you should seriously think about how to compensate me: either we make out and then we make love or we make out and make love in the same time.”

You burst out laughing at his antiques, having a difficult time choosing:

“Take your pick !”

While the couple is reconciling from the fight they had earlier, The Joker is getting ready to go to sleep. He drags his feet on the carpet, studying the exquisite decorative items adorning the bedroom. He stops in front of the picture placed on top of the fireplace, recognizing a duplicate copy of the image he asked Shiro about at dinner time.

J glares at the frame, still not realizing that the 20 years old young man that joined Shiro and Y/N for a group picture almost two decades ago is actually him.

Part 2: diyunho(.)tumblr(.)com/post/183207279431/the-joker-x-reader-lady-silence-part-2

Part 3: diyunho(.)tumblr(.)com/post/183762832056/the-joker-x-reader-lady-silence-part-3

Also read: MASTERLIST

diyunho.tumblr(.)com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

#the joker x reader #the joker fanfiction #the joker imagine #the joker #the joker jared leto #joker #joker fanfiction #joker suicide squad #the joker suicide squad #mister j #Mistah J #Mr.J #dc #DC comics #dcu

[shewhowasbornlucky]

Drifting

My entry for the first day of the Fire Family Week. 

I hope you enjoy this! i promise I didn’t intend to write angst, it simply happened, rip. 

@idonthatemaiko

“You’ll marry again,” said Princess Kumiko, lying still on her bed. Her husband took her trembling hand, and covered it in small kisses that reminded her of a butterfly’s touch. She was going to miss the spring so, so much. “Lu Ten needs a mother”, she grasped for breath. Keeping her eyes open had never been this hard.

Kumiko was only grateful she could not see Iroh’s tears.  Farewells were hard on themselves; she needed not to see her own pain mirrored in the man she came to love.

The sun was setting.

She wished she could have been a better firebender. She wishef her flame had been as bright as her husband’s. She wished Iroh had felt the kind of warmth that overcame her whenever he was near –the kind of warmth that she yearned for when he was away. She wished she had been a better fighter, and that she had fought harder – she wished she didn’t have to die.

They should have had more time.

“He already has you,” he whispered back, trying and failing to keep his voice as stoic as that of a General. He was wearing a mask, through it was drifting with every passing moment. He could pretend all he wanted, but she knew him like the palm of her hand. Like her very soul. “There’s no need –“ he choked, and furrowed his brows. He was trying and failing, and Kumiko hated to see him in such a way. A small puff of fire escaped his mouth, and she wanted to capture the picture – how powerful and alive her husband is – to keep it always on her memory. “He already has you,” he said, and it resembles a caress.

Kumiko wished – but there was nothing left for her to do. She had no strength left, yet she tried to give his hand a squeeze. She was trying and failing. The princess was cold as ice, no matter how hard Iroh was trying to warm her up. “You will be alright,” he promised. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

She could almost believe him, for the way his voice was carrying the words. For the way his eyes gleamed with flames. She could almost believe him, and she pretended she did. Kumiko could not stand to disappoint her husband anymore. Perhaps his pain would be bearable if he thought that she parted painlessly – that she went as softly as she came. Tranquil. Fearless. Full of life. But Kumiko was in so much pain she felt herself drifting to unconsciousness, so she spoke and made sure to lock her eyes with his, for a last time. For old time’s sake. For the tranquility of her soul.

“My prince…” she called, and she made an attempt at caressing his face. He didn’t flinch. She felt the roughness of his bread, and could almost feel tears burning at her eyes. Fate and time were cruel jokesters, and she wanted nothing but to see them both burn. “I’m so, so sorry.”

She sounded so ashamed and so frustrated and oh so broken Iroh wanted to throw up. No, no, no. His wife could not possibly be serious. The sages had predicted she would live a long life! That she would make a fair Fire Lady, and she would always be by his side. An heir – only an heir would be born from her womb, but that was more than enough if Iroh had her. More than enough.

He was trying and failing to keep his mask from falling. Trying and failing to be the man she married – a courageous General and a witty prince – but he was afraid. Afraid their time has ended. Afraid there is nothing left to do. Afraid he was going to miss her with his very soul. So he hid his face on her hands, and warmed them with his tears. If princess Kumiko had any complaints – if she could still feel them – she said nothing.

“Take care of him. Please.”

He seemed taken aback at the very suggestion that he would not do that on his own accord. “You need not to ask me such a thing, Princess Kumiko. Your son is my very sun.”

She tried and failed to smile in a reassuring fashion, so she kissed his hands – and it resembled a ghost. “Do not… Please don’t allow him on the batterfield. Please.”

Iroh could not answer. He knew in the depths of his heart that he could not keep a prince from his royal duties – that he himself did not want the horrors of war to fall on his young, careless, loving child. Iroh tried and failed to find his voice, so Princess Kumiko pushed back just as vehemently. “Promise me, my prince. Promise me you won’t allow any harm to fall on him.”

A promise is a promise as long as there is life, Iroh remembered it being one of his father’s favorite quotes. The thought came to him as a block of ice.

“I promise you, my dear.” Words burned his tongue, and he kept his eyes tightly shut. He never could lie to her face, and she knew it.

Princess Kumiko trembled with a sob that was muffled, and Iroh left a dozen kisses on her cold, icy hands. “Do not cry for me, Iroh. I forbid you to shed a single tear on my name.”

“I wish we had more time.”

“We will,” she said, sounding like a promise, “someday.”

He tried and failed to believe her, but he gave her tiny hand a tight squeeze, and nodded anyway. “Anything I can do to make your passing more… bearable?”

“I can’t stand the cold. Please, make it go away. Make it—“ but she never got to speak again, and Iroh knew as soon as her hand fell from his face that she was not to wake up. Not a single word was spoken as the princess laid there, in a deep slumber. She did not tremble anymore, for Iroh made sure that the fire burned at all hours and that her bed was warm.

Servants and doctors came and go as they pleased, but Iroh never spared them a second glance. Lu Ten cried and hugged his father, and the Crown Prince wished he had the strength to hug him back just as tight. Fire Lady Ilah came the second day, alongside Ozai.

“Her suffering will end,” she promised him. Iroh knew that to be true, yet could not help but wish his could see a finish, too.

“It is all for the best,” his little brother said – and he didn’t say much, really. Iroh knew that for all of Ozai’s resentfulness he loved him, and hated himself for it. Those words were as close as a condolence Ozai would offer; still Iroh couldn’t find the strength to reply – to keep his eyes from the woman he loved with his life. “You’re not alone.” Iroh could only nod.

Princess Kumiko fought death with her claws and teeth two more days. She drifted away to her eternal sleep on the morning of the third day, as the sun was coming out of his hiding place in the mountains.

Fifteen years later Lu Ten was riding alongside his father, eager eyes as bright as the sun. A battalion rode behind them, singing aloud a song about their latest conquest. An hymn that was composed in honor of the Dragon of the West.

“Promise me we’ll see each other at the other side, Father,” Lu Ten said, and he kept his eyes locked on his father’s frame.

Iroh knew a promise was a promise as long as there was life, and there was never a reason not to think his beautiful boy wouldn't live a long and happy one so he answered with fire in his voice and hope in his heart: “I promise you, my loyal son.”

“Take care, General.”

“You as well, soldier.”

Lu Ten smiled at him that soft smile of his, and he made a reverence.

“Little soldier boy, comes marching home,” the young prince sang under his breath, and his ostrich horse followed his lead.

Prince Lu Ten disappeared with the sun and a singing troop. Iroh followed his frame until the shadows swallowed him, “Until the end of the war.”

A promise is a promise as long as there is life, and a life was lost at the gigantic walls of Ba Sing Se. An entire troop fell to its doom in the harsh depths of the earth, trapped and breathless – not a sun ray to lull them softly to their end. There was a song, though, as Lu Ten felt himself drifting to a kingdom never known before; fearful, and trembling, and shaking with the utter desperation of a fallen man –a song about a soldier that was coming home – a mocking of the destiny that was taken from him; a reminder of his life, or absence of it.

#uncle iroh #lu ten #atla #avatar: the last airbender #avatar fanfiction

[darveyfics]

COuld you please write a 7.12 fic related please plaease im sorry for bothering you

So this is the scene of the two of them drinking together and listening to his father’s records. The one piece of context somebody might not know is that during a flashback to Harvey’s childhood in this episode Gordon’s band is playing a song called “Boppin’ with Donna”.

Sometimes I like to write a fic that starts on nothing and goes nowhere, you know, like the show. I hope it’s not too bad - Maria

Reticent

“Rememberwhen-”

“Ido.”

“Youdidn’t let me finish.”

Shechuckles, looks over at him with an eyebrow raised cockily “Really?”

Hersmugness stirs something beneath his chest, a warmth, a momentum only she canprovoke. It makes him feel guilty, the intimacy and precision in the way sheaffects him, dangerous. He swallows it down, dry and thick. Feigns indifferencehe figures she sees right through.

He rollshis eyes, “Sure, what was I saying?”

“Youwere going to ask if I remember another time we heard this song,” there’s notease in it but perhaps a little nostalgia, she understands his resistance tospar, she always understands.

Henods unspoken gratitude even though their agreements are supposed to beentirely elusive. A tired sighs pours out of him feeling the weight of theirrecent misunderstandings then, like fifty pounds sitting on his chest, stealinghis breath. He forces himself to shake it off “With my dad,” he meant todistract from the choking way he thinks about her now, in these increasinglyrare moments, like the two of them, as a unit, are fading, but it outs in awhisper like it is holy. In some ways, he figures it is.

“Withyour dad,” She agrees quietly, lovingly, a reflection of the sanctity in hisvoice refracted and divided like light into purer, more colorful sentiment.

Shehas always been better at this than he, better at feeling his feelings.

Therecord gasps and stops, saddling them with imperfect silence, the hum of thecity, ghosts and blurred edges. Harvey reaches over and lifts the needle beforeit can sing again.

Heleans back into the cushions, rolls his wrist until the amber in his tumblerspirals like a drain. His mind swirls and sinks with it, struck by a memory.

“Firsttime you heard it, right?” He asks almost sweetly; halting the swirl by rollingthe glass the other way he turns to her slowly.

Pastblends into present, he blames the scotch for seeing two of her overlapped. Oneexists minus ten years with longer hair and brighter clothes, bangs and a lotless complication; the other has been wearing black for the last week andhasn’t made him coffee in a year.

Hewonders who he would pick, fleetingly; knows without a doubt he would chooseher now, whenever now is. The most important thing has always been that she stays.

Donnasmiles, “Yeah, and he had the brass to say it was for me,” She reminisces,leaning forward. She pours herself another dose. The crystalline sound of thebottle touching the edge of glass ricochets across empty space prettily; theirtheme song.

“Itis your name in the title,” Harvey argues with faux gravity, still seeingdouble. In his mind’s eye, her dress is purple and his father’s voice ischarming, he never missed a beat with her.

“Itjust happens to precede my arrival by a couple of decades,” She counters.

Harveyscoffs, “Your arrival?”

Shenods “Yes, the amazing, life changing day, you met me,” she declares grandly.

He agreesbut cannot agree, “Seriously?”

Sheputs one hand on her chest, mouth agape, the picture of over-dramatic outrage“Oh, I’m sorry, we just established I was prophesied.”

“Inever said that.”

“Ithink you did.”

“No,I didn’t.”

Donnastraightens herself, crossing her legs and resting her hands on top of eachother on her knee, she stares him down seriously “Your honor, I think thedefendant is aiming for a perjury indictment.”

Harveysnorts a laugh, surprised as she sparks to life the old routine, there’sdelight but also an ache to it as they flex muscles they haven’t used forlonger than he had realized, “I believe the prosecution is distorting theevents,” he rebuttals setting down his glass to focus.

Donna narrows hereyes, pretends to look down at imaginary papers and push up glasses she doesn’tneed, “Mr. Specter, do you deny the day you met me was life changing?”

Harvey rolls hiseyes, “Really?” He whines.

“Plead the fifth?”She offers defiantly.

“Coward’s move andyou know it,” he chastises.

“If the shoe fits,”she says, reaching for her glass and taking a sip that does not break eyecontact. He watches the glimmer of humor in her hazel eyes and only marginallyremembers this is exactly what he was supposed to be avoiding.

“Whether you did ordidn’t is not the point, the point is I never said it,” he argues smugly.

“Well, well,” Donnastarts, leaning back with poise and pride, resting her forearms on the arms ofthe chair and drumming her fingers on the edges reflexively, “I see we havelowered ourselves to technicalities. Cheap.”

Harvey smiles, “Aslong as it gets results.”

“No honor,” she nods disapprovingly,though a laugh is edging behind her lips.

It is something elsehe has not seen in a while, this specific expression, he wonders if they reallyhave been fading or if he just hasn’t been paying attention. Which reminds him.

“My father did writea song for you,” he blurts out.

Donna lets the laughfly, he has heard it plenty but it is still welcoming warm familiarity, “No, hedidn’t,” She tells him like it is sure and obvious, like he has had too much todrink.

“He did,” Harveyinsists, wondering how he could forget, though maybe he is stretching thetruth, “He kinda did,” He corrects himself.

Donna raises aneyebrow, sustaining her suspicion “Kinda?”

“He never recorded it.It was a draft,” he reveals, “He said he got inspired out of the blue one day,”Harvey sinks into the memory, he himself only heard it once.

It was at his father’sapartment during a damp New York summer afternoon and they had run out of otherthings to talk about. Gordon hesitated to play him the song, kept explaining himself.Harvey mostly thought it was funny, “He asked me not to tell you,” He hadn’tand then it had never come up again, “I’m sorry, I forgot,” he apologizes and turnsto find her eyes, they’re glossed over with unshed tears. He blinks andrealizes so were his when wet warmth rolls down his cheeks.

“Did he write itdown?” It moves the very ground he stands on that that is the first thing sheasks, that she misses his father too.

It hurts all the moreto have to answer, “If he did, I never found it.”

She sighs, “If you do,it’s mine,” assertive but kind.

He sees the purple dressagain and bright red hair cascading over it as she throws her head back tolaugh at Gordon’s blunt flirting, “Of course,” he whispers so gravely it feelsmore binding than any contract. He could not deny her most things, much lessthis.

Donna nods, takes adeep breath and lets it out slowly, “You really killed the casual mood,” shejabs.

Harvey smiles, shakeshis head, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, I wantedto know, I just wish you hadn’t done the job halfway,” she says it between asmile, it is a joke, an absolution, but he can see the edge of disappointmentin her eyes. He cannot read them as perfectly but that is a look he has alwaysbeen afraid of and paradoxically only grown more familiar with. He needs to dissolveher ache.

“Hey,” he whispers,reaching for one of her hands and stopping short of touching, they have kissedand hugged but he doesn’t know where they draw this new line, if meaning it toomuch violates its borders, “I am sorry,” he tells it from his core and watchesher drink it into hers.

“It’s okay,” sheanswers, her fingers tremble, itching to bridge the gap between them, insteadshe recoils not wanting the blame for breaking them again just for trying toinch closer, “It’s okay.”

They are too tangled,metaphorically, sometimes he wonders if he can even shake her off withouthollowing himself out, wonders if she feels the same. He is selfish enough towish she does, it would mean some kind of barrier from the searing pain ofbeing left. He is selfless enough to also wish she doesn’t for a chance tonever hurt her again with his careless needs.

He should not be thinkingabout any of that, “We finished the bottle,” he points out flatly, stealing aglance at the half inch of scotch left inside the glass.

She follows his gaze,“We almost did,” Donna says andreaches for the neck, downs the rest in one gulp, “There, now it’s done,” Hewatches with bemused surprise as she sets the empty Macallan back on his centretable, turns it between her fingers to ponder the label, “At least it was justa 12 year.”

“You say that like itmakes us less drunk,” he remarks, covering her hand on the bottle with hiswithout thinking, without pretense, just to turn it to him so he can also read.Hers falls away a second later, he wonders if it means she is afraid to touchhim now, hopes not.

“It doesn’t,” sheagrees, “I think I’m tired,” she says and points it with a yawn.

“You think?” Harveysmiles affectionately, “Are you brewing a hangover?” He asks, mildly worried.He knows scotch can upset her stomach and that she hates to vomit, he alsoknows she has some secret hangover cure she never told him about because itwould ‘encourage his bad habits’. How the tables have turned; he is barelydizzy.

“Are you asking thatas my boss or my friend?” She interrogates, side eyeing him suspiciously.

“Both,” because he isboth, needs her there tomorrow morning but also cares if she will be miserablethe entire night.

“I’ll be late, butI’ll be fine,” she bargains.

His eyebrows knighttogether, “You don’t have to come in,” the complacency is immediate, so muchfor thinking he can accept her misery.

One corner of herlips pulls up, she wants to say that is not the business-wise decision “I’ll behere,” she reassures him instead. She is a little disappointed in herself forbeing so averse to letting him down even in small ways.

Donna smoothes outthe skirt of her dress and stands on surer legs than the half bottle she drank wouldhave anyone guess.

“Already?Lightweight,” He teases, sneaking a glance at his watch, a quarter to midnight.

“I thought you had tobe home an hour ago,” She bites back, the implication is a double-edged sword,reminds him he has someone waiting; reminds her that she does not.

Harvey presses hislips together and watches his hands intently. She sighs, taking pity on him,like always.

“Sorry, I need Advil,”she breathes out tiredly.

He nods, “You’reright,” he says without meeting her eyes, “Good night.”

Donna considers him,them. She is tired and dizzy and has a headache brewing behind her eyes; it isnot her job to heal him, it never really was, “You know, I was wondering,” Shestarts and waits until he looks at her again, “Would I make a good lawyer?” ahand outstretched, it isn’t her job,she volunteers to save him.

Harvey allows himselfa small smile, “Thinking about going to law school?”

She scoffs, “God no.”

His eyebrows shootup,”Excuse me?”

She rolls her eyes,“You know what I mean.”

He does. He takes apause to think on it “You wouldn’t,” he answers earnestly.

She is mildlysurprised; Donna narrows her eyes at him, “Not smart enough?” As if, she isfishing and he knows it, she wants him to know it.

Harvey snorts alaugh, “You’d overachieve I’m sure,” it is what she wanted to hear, theexpected, but he isn’t done “Too good,” He adds, “You’re… too good,” headmits softly, with candid admiration.

Her breath hitches,he can do that sometimes, when it’s almost midnight and he knows she will dohim the courtesy of not bringing it up in the morning.

“You’re a goodperson, Harvey,” their lives might be easier if she could not read him sofluently.

He presses his lipstogether and shifts his eyes to the floor, index anxiously thrumming the glassstill in his hand, “Not always,” he made a lot of mistakes, can’t tell whichone is knocking on his conscience the loudest right now, “Not like you.”

“Well,” she startsgood-naturedly, “Nobody is like me,” Donna brags jokingly.

Harvey smiles andshakes his head “I’ll drink to that,” he announces and empties his tumbler.

She watches and sighs,feeling the prickle of the headache intensify, “Now it’s good night.”

He nods, “It is,” heagrees without looking.

She can feel histhoughts, his regrets, makes it hard to detach, “Are you okay enough toremember your address?” She teases, hanging back, a subtle way to ask if he isokay.

He snorts, “Sharp asa razor, I just…” he lingers, deciding if he wants to keep her “I think I’lllisten to a few more,” He admits, “Since nobody else will from now on.”

He hardly ever makesit easy on her.

Donna sighs, crossinghis office to pour herself a glass of water. She takes a pill from her bag nextto it and swallows it down with one sip, then moves to the window where therecords are stacked and lifts two of her favorites, “Which one?”

Harvey almost offersher an out, but there is no point in pretending he does not still need herthere, that he didn’t choose the words to make her stay “Left,” he picks andshifts on his seat, reaching for it.

She pulls the vinyloff the sleeve and hands it to him, waits until he gently trades the one on therecord player for it before going back to her seat. Once she’s settled Harveylets the needle drop and his office fills with his father’s music.

“I miss him,” hewhispers like he is trying to hide the confession in between the notes.

Donna closes hereyes, leans her head back until she’s facing the ceiling and breathes it in, “Iknow,” she answers.

They don’t speakagain except to mumble simple goodbyes an hour later, giving life permission togo on unhinged at dawn.

Being understood isenough.

#darvey #suits usa #dailydarvey #donna x harvey #darvey fic #author: Maria #can ya'll believe im not dead #reply would ya #i need fuel to finish a fic about their dance and one about his mom

[i-see-you-mendes]

The Good Days (Tears Blurb)

A/N: This probably will be deleted in the next few days or so, I haven’t decided. I’m still not quite comfortable with my writing again, but tonight it gave me exactly what I needed. Very Unedited 

You completely ignore Shawn’s text telling you he’s on his way up to the apartment. Instead you’re thrown into a heavily annoyed scramble, grabbing papers, untangling yourself from the blanket you’d been using, grabbing your phone from the charger on the wall, and slamming your laptop shut as you rush to get to the guest bedroom. 

You make it down the hall just in time, can hear him opening the front door as you close the one behind you tightly. You consider locking it but decided against it knowing that that would be a tad bit over dramatic. You sigh, shutting your eyes, trying to just breathe even though you know it’s probably useless. You’re so worked up, so far in your own head, that you can already tell it was going to take more than one night’s sleep to shake this. 

You can hear Shawn humming from the other room, his happy little noises drift through the apartment and fill it with a cheerful front. It makes you want to wind up and punch him in the face. Hard. You shove your headphones back in your ears and climb on the bed, opening your laptop and trying to clear your head enough to finish these last few assignments. For the last 48 hours it felt like you were continuously blinking back tears, no doubt a build up of the last few weeks, months maybe, and you knew tonight it was all gonna go to hell. Could feel the last few strands of your self restraint snapping. You wanted nothing more than to throw your laptop at the wall, and scream it out until your throat was raw. Just wanted to give up, to take the failing grades and focus on your own mental stability, but that’s not how things worked, not the way your mind worked either. The world didn’t just stop because you had a bad day, or a handful of bad days for that matter.  You just had to get these submissions in and then you could let yourself fall apart 

You have 7 questions left when you get stuck, can’t figure out the solution you’re working on, but are still too stubborn to move past it. You really needed the highest score you could manage on this last set of questions, and it felt like life was mocking you. This was one of the only things you had control over, and you still couldn’t get it right. A tear streaks down your face every once in a while, and you’re not quite sure when the dam broke, but you don’t have time to stop and try and patch it up right now. You just push through. The sooner you finished the sooner you could let it consume you. You snort bitterly at yourself, amused by how depressing of the thought that was, but you had learnt by now that sometimes the only way to beat this was to give in and then claw your way back from the bottom.

It’s as you finally finish the problem that your phone goes off again. You sigh and glance at it, seeing it’s another message from Shawn. 

Mendes 😍 : You are home, yeah? 

He knew you were home, and you knew he knew it. This was just his way of checking up on you without scaring you off or making you anymore defensive than you already were. The thought of breaking your focus and replying made your eye twitch, but none the less you reached for your phone. You had been holed up for a solid 40 minutes and the least the boy deserved was a response. Your fingers are careless as they type, you miss the letter h in the word ‘yeah’, and normally the mistake wold have made you cringe, but to say you couldn’t care about anything less would be a massive understatement. You send the message through and throw your phone across the bed for good measure. You’re not sure what’s worse anymore, pretending to be happy for him or admitting that you’re not alright and watching his happiness crumble for you.

Your breathing has picked up again, and you have to pause and calm yourself down. You swallow thickly, opening your eyes back up reluctantly, 6 more, 6 more, you tell yourself, 6 more and then I can break. All of a sudden there’s bass ripping through the sound-system, turned up loud enough that you knew the neighbors would be pissed despite the promise of “fairly soundproof walls”. You tear your earbuds out, a scream of frustration building up from somewhere deep inside you, but before it can escape the lyrics of a familiar song quiet you down. 

Your shoulders sag, and you let out a thwarted chuckle as your go-to power song continues to blare through the speakers. You want to be annoyed, want to whip a shoe at the door and scream for him to turn it off, but you can’t because despite everything, even if it was just for half a second, he had managed to make you smile. You crack your knuckles and finish the rest of the problems, and as you shove your laptop to the bedside table it’s a mixture of laughter and sobs that rack through your body. It kind of scares you not even knowing if you’re relieved or overwhelmed anymore. 

You don’t try and hide the heaves, don’t turn your face into the pillow or bite your lip to keep it down. You continue to bawl as the mixed-tape Shawn made for you plays in the background, your soundtrack, that’s what he called it. You let your body shake, the sadness take over.  Your chest shudders with each breath you just manage to force into your lungs and your head pounds with each snivel, but you don’t struggle, don’t fight it, just let it run it’s course. The playlist repeats twice, as the smell of your favorite blackberry and sage tea wafts through the air. The choking sobs eventually turn to quieter ones which fade to softened mewls, and in time give way to little whimpers. Just like everything else in life, it passes. 

You’re lying sideways on the bed, knees bent, head hanging just barely over the edge, sniffling tiredly, dried tears on your cheeks, when Shawn walks in. He had turned the music down a while ago, and you can’t figure out if he had turned it on earlier so that you could cry without feeling embarrassed, or if it was his way of holding you when he knew you just wanted to be alone. Either way you are grateful. No matter what you were always gonna be so fucking grateful for him. 

“Hey babes,” he says softly, coming to stand over you so that you’re looking up at him with those sad eyes though your dark eyelashes. He resists the urge to reach out and swipe his thumb across you cheeks. He doesn’t bring the tea in with him, doesn’t ask you what’s wrong, doesn’t offer to rock you to sleep. He doesn’t make it feel it’s some big job of his to fix you, he just makes you feel like you’re a little more capable of fixing yourself.

You nod slowly, letting him know that you’re okay without him having to ask. He puffs out a breath and his shoulders relax a little. He gives you a warn smile and before you know what’s happening a giggle slips out. His eyes widen a bit, surprised by your actions, and his worried smile turns into a little smirk. 

“Watcha doing?” he asks lightly, his voice taking on a vaguely sing-songy tone. 

You shrug, face screwing up into a defeated grin, the catharsis of tears finally taking full effect, “Waiting for the good days.” 

He clucks his tongue and shakes his head softly, the curls spilling into his eyes. “Can I wait with you?” he asks. 

You reach up a hand and he leans down into it, pressing his cheek against your palm, before kissing it quickly. 

“Yeah,” you whisper sorely. “Yes please.” 

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn imagine #shawn peter raul mendes #mendes army #mendes

[joohoneyhoe]

I’m Sorry.

You took away my stars at night, 

my sun at day

Only leaving me with the darkness

of a single cold cloud.

[song inspiration: BTS - Let Me Know]

Info: park jimin x oc x featuring jeon jungkook genre: angst word count: 1.7k a/n: this is inspired by all the teasers released this week. It gave me a lot of inspiration to write something a little more angsty. It’ll be a lot more on the narrative side of things than actual dialog.

Three years ago today, my world and the world of seven young men came crashing down around me. Jimin and I had been fighting, I left in a rage and sorrow filled rush. I couldn’t see Jungkook walking across the dark street to their practice building through my tear filled eyes, so blurry it was hard to see. I didn’t mean to hit him, I would never dream of hurting that beautiful, innocent boy. I was stupid for even getting into my car when I was that emotionally unstable, judgement too clouded to think straight. I should have known there would be consequences for my actions.There were and they were taken out on Jeon Jungkook that night and the six men I loved more than I loved myself.

I remember it like it was yesterday, leaping from the drivers seat and finding him covered in blood and bruises already. I cried out for someone to help, all six of the boys had raced down after they heard the screeching of the tires and the loud thud against the front fender. I sat with his head in my lap, wiping the blood from his nose and brow, sobbing as the headlights of my car shone brightly on the two of us on that rainy Tuesday night. Yoongi was the first to make it to us, his face instantly going white with shock. I still remember the words that left his lips, anger spilling from every syllable.

“Ollie, what the fuck have you done?! How did you not see him?! How could you be so fucking blind?!”

Jin had to drag Yoongi away from me that night, kicking and screaming the whole way while Namjoon called 911 and the rest of the boys removed him from the already bloodstained pavement. I sat on the cold wet ground, unable to move, unable to speak. In my haste to flee from my problems instead of facing them, I hurt someone else, someone I cared for as if he was my own brother. 

I drove off that night and deleted all seven of their contact information in my phone. Every picture, every video, every bit of evidence that they were ever apart of my life. I couldn’t deal with what I had done, nor could I ever face them for it. I went back to my home in America, running away from my problems once again. I quit dancing. I quit singing. I quite writing. I gave up everything that had ever reminded me of the seven men who made my life as bright as the sun in the sky. I pretended they had never existed as best as I knew how. Though, they always came back in my dreams.

But, here I was at the exact same time, back on the same exact street I had desperately been trying to erase from my memory for so long. The skid marks from my tires long gone now as the rain pelted that very spot I had sat all those years ago. It was like deja vu for me, the scene playing out in my minds eye as if it was happening all over again. Except this time, the building that had once been filled with laughter and the sound of shoes scuffing the dance floor, was now empty and desolate. 

I don’t know why I just stood there in the middle of the street, rain soaking me to my very core. My wet clothes stuck to my athletic frame, long emerald green hair clinging to any skin it could find as the feeling in my toes began to leave me. I took a step, a car suddenly appearing in front of me, missing me by mere centimeters. The air bolted from my lungs, heart leaping into my throat as I sprinted to the building and pushed my back flush against it. 

Panic raced through me, my chest heaving while I tried to catch my breath as my hands gripped my tangled locks. Tears poured from my eyes, mingling with the water droplets that had gathered on my pale skin. I sunk down onto the sidewalk, sobbing uncontrollably, my face in my hands. I don’t know how long I stayed that way, body rocking back and forth. Finally, I pushed myself up and found the door to the abandoned building, forcing my way inside. 

I ran up those all too familiar stairs, tears making an endless path down my cheeks. I finally reached the top of the steps, stumbling into the door and falling into the empty room that I had spent so many hours in years before. I looked up at the mirrors lining the wall, all having been broken a long time ago. Puddles were scattered across the dirty dance space, the roof collapsing from decay in a few places. 

I picked myself up, not bothering to wipe the blood seeping from the deep gash in my knee and on my palm. Approaching the mirror, I saw myself behind all the cracks and broken glass. A reflection of who I was now, cracked and broken. I carefully pulled my phone from my back pocket, pushing play on the only song I ever listened to by the seven men my world had once revolved around. 

Let Me Know filled the deathly silent building, my body beginning to move on it’s own in front of the shattered mirrors. It felt like the sky was weeping with me, droplets of water landing on me as I moved to the song. I cried through the pain that constricted my heart, pulled at my very soul as I remembered that fateful day. When Namjoon’s part came up, my ankle gave out and I fell to the floor on all fours, body shaking as I cried. Blood and tears mixing into the puddles under my hands and knees.

I jerked myself back up to my feet, eyes dragging slowly upward only to find Park Jimin standing there in front of me. His dark hair dripping in his eyes, plump lips slightly parted as he looked down at me. We didn’t speak, just stared at each other in shock. As Namjoon’s lines came to an end, he held his hand out to me and I found myself taking it without a second thought. 

The beat dropped and Jimin spun me to him, then spun me away, letting his fingers slip from mine. He danced right alongside of me, like we had before I completely vanished from his world. I knew every single movement of the routine, even though I had never once danced to it or even seen it. It was like my heart knew every step without ever having to see it. Jimin mirrored me on every single step, his eyes never leaving mine and mine never leaving his. 

He reached his hand back out, pulling me back to him as the song began to end and wrapped his arms around me protectively. I began to sob into the cold skin of his damp neck, arms gripping the back of his shirt. He placed a hand on the back of my head, his lips kissing the crown of my head over and over as I felt his tears land on my already wet hair. We cried together, everything that should have been said three years ago, coming to the surface in our tears.

“I came back every year at the same time, hoping one day you’d be here.”

“I’m sorry.” I choked out, not daring to pull away and look him in the eyes.

“I don’t want you to be sorry, I just want you.” he whispered, voice trembling as he spoke.

I finally lifted my eyes to meet his, those chocolate orbs entrancing me all over again. The tears stung my raw cheeks, my eyes becoming blurry, just like they had that night. His palm came up to cup my cheek as the other moved to the back of my neck. He leaned in, pressing the soft petals of his lips against mine for the first time in three long years. I melted into him, my body melding to his as he kissed me deeply. 

“I’m sorry, Jimin.” I repeated, our foreheads pressed together after I had reluctantly pulled myself away from his intoxicating kiss.

“It was an accident, Ollie. We never blamed you. Not even Jungkook.” he replied, his eyes seemingly boring into my broken soul.

“I could never blame you for what happened, Ollie.” my head shot behind me, Jungkook and all five of the other men standing close behind him. A gasp escaped my throat at the sight of them, hand flying to my mouth as I steadily approached Jungkook. My fingers reached out to caress his cheek carefully, afraid if I wasn’t cautious enough that he’d disappear from my sight forever. He leaned into my touch, his large hand catching my wrist and holding it. 

That night, I didn’t know whether Jungkook had lived or not, or if I had crippled him for the rest of his life. I ran so far and so fast away from them all, that I didn’t dare find out. I couldn’t. But here he was, alive and well, standing on his two feet in front of me. The sweet boy I had known now gone, replaced with a gentle man whose eyes were filled with sympathy for the woman in front of him. The woman who had almost destroyed his life, almost taken it away completely in her carelessness. 

“I’m glad you’re back, Ollie. Please stay. We miss you. All of us.” he pleaded, his fingers still wrapped around my wrist as his black eyes searched my face. I closed mine tightly, trying to stop the tears that had been flowing from my eyes for what seemed like hours. 

“Please…” he reiterated again, tears slipping from his own eyes. I took my wrist back and swiftly flung my arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. He returned the hug, lifting me up and hugging me as close as he could. After he put me down, I stepped back, my hands on his broad shoulders as I looked him over.

“Jungkook I-” he cut me off, index finger over his lips.

“I don’t want you to say I’m sorry anymore. Just promise me you won’t leave again. Promise for Jimin, for all of us, for me. We need you.” I bit my lip, eyes darting back to look at Jimin who had a small smile on his beautiful face, tears still falling from those eyes that could have held galaxies.

“I promise.”

#kpoptrashtag #kreativewritersnet #noonanet #95line.net #thebtsnetwork #kwriterskollection #kpopwritingnet #jimin angst #jungkook angst #bts angst #park jimin #jimin #park jimin angst #jeon jeongguk angst #jeon jungkook angst #jeon jeongguk #jeongguk #bts jimin #bts jungkook #bts jimin angst #bts jungkook angst #oneshot #bts oneshot #bts love yourself #jungkook #bangtan boys angst #bangtan angst #jimin x oc

[sunyoonandstars]

✨Linked✨ || BTS Soulmate AU Series || You x !Soulmate! Yoongi | You x Jimin || Part 17

Text/Social Media/Narrative Series || Soulmate & College AU

Previous Part | Next Part

LINKED MASTERLIST

“According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves.”

― Plato, The Symposium

Credit goes to the incredible @789cream for creating this beautiful moodboard for my series. Thanks again!

Despite your efforts to keep him at a distance, following his instincts, Yoongi eventually approaches you from behind to carefully hold back your hair, just in case, and rub your back in soothing circles. Soon, he can feel your breathing slow down and your tense muscles relax.

“I’m — I’m sorry. This —”, you stutter, your voice shaky, heavy with tears.

“It’s okay, y/n. Just inhale and exhale. Inhale and exhale. Don’t think. Just breathe.”

Being this close to you, actually feeling your body press against his, feeling your warmth under his palm, is almost more than Yoongi can take. The tattoo on his wrist keeps burning relentlessly. Your relief, however, makes his pain seem insignificant. For you, he’d go through hell and still smile, he realizes as you let your head fall back and onto his shoulder. For you, he’d do anything and expect nothing in return.

Pairing You x !Soulmate! Yoongi You x Jimin

Word count 4.040

‘siblings’, according to age: Namjoon, Jimin, y/n, Taehyung (you grew up living in the same foster home as implied in earlier parts of this series)

fluff, angst, hints at/of smut

!Warning/s! mentions of suicide/suicidal thoughts 

Previously, on ‘Linked’…

Eventually, after years of successfully having avoided it, you have come across your soulmate. An ominous stranger of whom you know no more than the back of his head, his phone number and that he works as a part-time barista at your (former) favorite coffee shop.

Having been pressured by a friend into contacting him, things start to get complicated. Because your heart already belongs to another. And, haunted by the ghosts of your past, the last thing you want is for your soul to find its one, true, destined mate.

After texting back and forth for days with the man only known to you as your ‘Soulmate’, you are forced to break contact since he is starting to get too close and your boyfriend Jimin is anything but pleased with that. When your paths, however, cross, the ominous ‘Suga’, as he calls himself, refrains from revealing his true identity to you - which would mean an instant link of souls and the end of his torture -  and, instead, is set on making his way into your life the right way.

A fateful accident at your workplace is followed by a visit to the emergency room and a falling out with your boyfriend, Jimin, leading you to turn to a virtual stranger for comfort …

CHAPTER 17

Shaking your head, you step back from Suga’s fridge.

“What’s this? Did you win a lifetime supply of Red Bull or something?”, you laugh, grabbing two cans before you make your way back to him. 

“I wish”, he chuckles, his eyes following your every move as you, leaning against his desk, open both your drinks and hand him his. “I just hate wasting time on sleep, that’s all.” 

“Wow, that attitude can’t be healthy”, you note before you throw back your head to take a first sip of the ice-cold, almost sickeningly sweet liquid, pretending not to notice that Suga’s gaze still rests on you, the expression on his face absent. 

Somehow, knowing that he is watching you and his mere presence, the warmth emanating from his skin, Suga’s hot breath brushing past you, excite you in ways that your boyfriend doesn’t and hasn’t in a long time. It’s like every movement of his, howsoever small and casual, educes an immediate reaction from your body. It’s not even something you provoke consciously. You can’t control it. And you're not sure you like it. Because you know for a fact that Suga will never be yours to have, his soul having linked with that of another. And then there’s still Jimin. The man you thought you would spend the rest of your life with but from whom you’ve been, slowly but surely, growing further and further apart.

“What’s with that sigh?”, you hear Suga ask, the sound of his warm voice leading you to jolt out of your wandering thoughts. 

“Sigh? What sigh?”

“So you don’t even notice anymore, huh?”, he raises a brow at you, a fond grin playing on his lips. “You kept sighing like the weight of the freaking world rested on your shoulders.” 

“No, I didn’t”, you pout, hiding your embarrassment by emptying half of your Red Bull can in one go. Which was probably not your best idea. 

“You know what? I think it’s about time we get out of here. I think we need a break.” 

Surprised at Suga’s newly found enthusiasm, you watch him get up, a bright smile stretching across his handsome face.

“What the hell?”, you wonder out loud, eying him suspiciously. “Just a few minutes ago you could’ve been mistaken for a zombie. And now you’re … What? Willy Wonka? Where’s that energy coming from? You’re scaring me.”

“Who the fuck is Willy Wonka?”

“You didn’t just ask that”, you gasp, dramatically clutching your chest while Suga grabs his jacket and ushers you towards his studio’s door. 

“Afraid I did”, he shrugs nonchalantly.

“Oh, come on. You’re just pulling my leg. Right? Everyone knows —”

“Charlie and The Chocolate Factory? Yeah. I was kidding. I’m not as creepy as Willy Wonka, though, I swear.” 

“He’s not creepy!?”

“Oh, come on. The crazy eyes? The weird voice?”

“Well. Maybe a little bit. Just a tiny little bit creepy. God. Now that I think about it — Damn you.” You playfully punch him, your voice echoing throughout the dark corridor leading to the building’s lobby. “You just ruined one of my favorite childhood movies.” 

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” 

“No. You’re right. I’m not.” 

“At least you’re honest.”

“Always.” 

“Tsk”, you scoff, not even for a second doubting his words to be true, though. With Suga, there are no lies, no half-truths. With him, it’s all honesty. Something you had been craving for a while now. A reason not to pretend. And it felt like you could finally breathe fresh air again after having been locked in a suffocating dungeon for months or even years. 

“Where are we going anyway?”, you ask as the two of you step outside into the brisk night. You had no idea it was already this late. The hours with Suga, locked away in his studio, hiding from the cruel world outside of its four walls had passed far too quickly. 

“We’re going for a drive.” 

Sliding into the passenger seat of Suga’s old Kia feel surprisingly natural to you. Within no more than two days, this is the third time you ride his car, entrusting your safety and life to a man you barely know. Yet, there is no place you would rather be right now. And no person you’d rather be with. 

“Where are you taking me?”, you ask as the car picks up speed now that you left the campus’ parking lot to turn right and onto the main road. Street lights, dark house facades, and glinting neon signs keep rushing past you like a gloomy dreamscape. You encounter barely any other drivers at this time of night. The streets are almost abandoned, the peace and quiet giving the scenery a post-apocalyptic atmosphere. 

“I’m taking you to one of my favorite places. To clear our heads.” 

“Sounds vague.”

“Tsk.” 

“That’s it? That’s really all the info I’m gonna get?”

You watch him as Suga steers the broken up vehicle into a tunnel, the flickering lights tinting his smiling side profile a warm gold. 

“You could just as well be kidnapping me for all I know, driving me to a secluded spot where it should be easy to dispose of my cold dead body”, you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest in the hopes that he will take a look and take note of your demonstratively pursed lips. 

“Who knows”, he wiggles a brow without taking his eyes off the road. “Maybe that’s just what I’m about to do.” 

“Stop it”, you whine, realizing just how quickly that careless joke of you turned sour. “This is getting creepy.” 

“May I remind you that you started this?” 

“But I don’t like where it’s going.” 

Now, finally, Suga turns around to face you, his expression of sudden seriousness. 

“Do you actually believe I would or could do something like that? To you?”

You swallow hard as your eyes once more get lost in his pitch-black orbs. 

“No. To be honest. I don’t know why, but I trust you. More than I trust myself. Does that make sense?” Unable to withstand his boring gaze any longer, you avert your face, covering your burning cheeks with both your hands. “No. Of course, it doesn’t. Just forget what I said. I don’t even know where it came from. I’m sorry if I crossed a line.” 

“No. Don’t apologize. It’s okay.” He pauses. You can tell that he’s still looking at you. “No one has ever trusted me before, you know. I made sure of that. But I have to say it feels … good.”

Right in this moment, it takes all of your willpower not to give in to the strong urge to take a hold of Suga’s hand. Instead, you just look at him, dare yourself to meet his eyes. And the two of you spend the following minutes in telling silence, the air filling the space in between your bodies sizzling, every single atom vibrating with prickling electricity. The tension is palpable. You’re sure you’re not the only one who can tell. 

“Can I let down the window?”, you inquire,  your voice no more than a whisper, hesitant to break the quiet.

“Sure.” 

And so you wind down the window and poke your head out into the fresh breeze entangling itself in your loose hair, caressing your skin and drying a stray tear that had made its way down your cheek unnoticed. When now, suddenly, a familiar song starts sounding from the car’s speakers, your heart skips a beat. You would recognize this melody anywhere. A sound like that of another world. Magical. Unreal. Matching the moment’s ambiance oh so perfectly. 

How did he know?, you wonder. How did this strange man know to pick one of your very own favorite songs? How is it possible that Suga keeps on striking all the right chords in you? It isn’t. It shouldn’t be. 

“We’re here”, he unexpectedly announces. 

“Where?”

You turn around to look at Suga who’s eyes widen at the sight of your face. 

“Y/n, why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying. These are just tears. It’s not the same.” 

“It’s not?”

“No. Not to me. You know, when you’re always sad, you learn to tell the difference.” 

“Are you sad right now?”, he inquires, his tone soft. 

“Not really, no. That moment was just so perfect. The tears were happy ones. Because I forgot for a second.”

“Forgot what?” 

He stares at you as if he’s almost scared of your answer. 

“That I’m sad”, you reply, your lips smiling all by themselves. “And a little broken. You made me forget.” 

Yoongi can’t believe what he is looking at. How is it possible for you to become more gorgeous by the second? Is it really just the Link? He isn’t sure anymore. If he’s entirely honest with himself, he refuses to believe that what he feels for you is merely a matter of genetics. Not anymore at least. What you do to him can’t be explained by mere DNA analysis. It’s no longer just chromosomes that connect you. It’s bigger than that. When he looks into your shimmering eyes, still wet with tears, he can catch a glimpse of his very own soul. And for the first time in his life, he likes what he’s seeing. 

“I’m glad I could do that for you”, he says, taking in your smile, the saddest and most beautiful smile he has ever seen. “That I could help you forget about your sadness, even if it was only for a little while.”

“I’m glad you’re glad”, you reply without hesitation, immediately going on to shake your head at your own words, obviously embarrassed. “God, that sounded stupid.”

“No, it didn’t.�� He can’t help but grin, even your flushed face appearing endearing to him. You’re so cute, he almost can’t resist the longing to plant a kiss on your forehead. And maybe smell your hair … and … 

“So. You said we were there? Where you wanted to take me?”, you swiftly change the topic, making good use of this chance to break eye contact and direct your attention towards the cityscape passing you by. 

“Yes, we are. This bridge is special to me. For several reasons.” 

“Such as?”, you inquire, your averted face remaining hidden behind a curtain of hair. 

“Well. I mentioned this person, this woman I linked with.”

“Yes.” 

“Well, the day I linked with her, by accident, you might say, I was standing on this very bridge, ready to jump.” 

Eyes, wide with shock, hair flying, you whirl around to stare at him in disbelief. 

Afraid his face could betray him, Yoongi decides to keep his eyes fixed on the road ahead as he speaks up again. 

“That spot over there”, he points to the place where he climbed the banister no more than a week ago, about to fall to his death, his cold fingers desperately clutching his phone which seemed to be the last thread connecting him to a life he didn’t feel was worth living, his eyes eagerly following the lines a perfect stranger sent him. Even now he still remembers these painful seconds all too vividly, the memory sending an icy shiver down his spine. “That’s where I stood, prepared to end my existence once and for all. I was sure I was gonna go through with it this time. But then I linked with her. And it changed everything.” 

Yoongi is forced to pause when his vocal cords refuse their service. 

“I’m glad it happened. The Link. That you didn’t …”, you stammer, your voice no more than a breathed whisper. 

If you only knew. That it was you who saved his petty life. 

“I’ll be honest with you”, he eventually continues. “I was quite an asshole before the Link. I didn’t think I could ever love somebody. And, quite frankly, I didn’t want to. I didn’t let myself. I thought love was bullshit.” He shakes his head. The words just won’t come out right. Yoongi can feel his heart pound against his ribcage and your eyes still glued to his side profile. 

“No, actually, I was kinda afraid it could be real, to be honest. I shielded myself from love because I was a coward, scared shitless. I built walls around myself, too high for anyone to ever climb. And if someone tried, I was sure to push them away in any way possible. Time and again I had to prove to myself that I wasn’t lovable, I guess. That, in the end, every new person claiming to want me in their lives would leave me, just like everyone did before them. I hurt so many people, y/n, just so I wouldn’t get hurt. I slept around. Had meaningless affairs with women who didn’t know me. But the very second the Link was built all of that anger and emptiness and sadness inside of me suddenly just … disappeared. I felt at peace for the first time in as long as I can remember. Because, before her, you know, there was just no one worth taking the risk for. The risk of letting someone in and depending on them. But the moment the Link was built, I didn’t feel alone anymore. For the first time in my life I didn’t feel isolated by the person I am.  And life had meaning again. She gave me meaning. And she doesn’t even know.” 

Teeth clenched, Yoongi’s trembling hands close so tightly around the steering wheel, his knuckles turn white. 

“I’m sure she does.” He hears you say, and your words hurt him just as much as they heal him. “I’m sure she knows. She must.”

“I hope so.” 

With those words, a haunting quiet makes itself at home in the space between you, filling the inside of the car, Making it hard for him to breathe. Until you start talking again, the mere sound of your voice bringing him ease. 

“Part of me wishes to know what that feels like”, you mumble, more to yourself, one hand reaching out of the open window, your pale finger playing with the wind, glowing in the cold harsh light of the street lamps. Yoongi has to admit to himself that your vague words fan the spark of hope that has begun to settle in his heart. 

“But, don’t you have Jimin? Haven’t you been with him for a while now?” 

“So, what?”, you shrug, not taking your eyes off of the nocturnal city skyline. 

“Well, don’t you love him?” 

“To be honest, I’m not so sure if I ever loved him in the way I should’ve.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“I don’t know. Suga, could —” Eventually, you turn around to look at him, your face white as a sheet, lips trembling. “Could we maybe — Could you stop the car? I think I need to get out. To get some air. I — I —”

“Yes! Yes, of course!”, he cuts you off, pulling over immediately. 

As soon as the vehicle comes to a halt, you throw open the car door and stumble outside, towards the bridge’s railing, leaning over the banister, your shaking hands clutching the cold metal. 

Quickly, Yoongi rushes to your side, unsure of what to do or say, your concerning state instilling sheer terror in him.  

“Y/n? What is it? What’s wrong?”

You brush his word off with a gesture of your hand, indicating him to stay away as you cough and heave, your erratic breaths, now and then, being interrupted by broken sobs. 

Despite your efforts to keep him at a distance, following his instincts, Yoongi eventually approaches you from behind to carefully hold back your hair, just in case, and rub your back in soothing circles. Soon, he can feel your breathing slow down and your tense muscles relax. 

“I’m — I’m sorry. This —”, you stutter, your voice shaky, heavy with tears. 

“It’s okay, y/n. Just inhale and exhale. Inhale and exhale. Don’t think. Just breathe.” 

Being this close to you, actually feeling your body press against his, feeling your warmth under his palm, is almost more than Yoongi can take. The tattoo on his wrist keeps burning relentlessly. Your relief, however, makes his pain seem insignificant. For you, he’d go through hell and still smile, he realizes as you let your head fall back and onto his shoulder. For you, he’d do anything and expect nothing in return. 

“Are you feeling any better?”, he cautiously asks after minutes of silence, only filled by the sound of both your breathing, have passed with your head still resting on his shoulder. 

“Yes. I think.” 

Instantly, as if you had only now become aware of the situation, you straighten your posture and step back, bringing a good two feet between yourself and Yoongi, hiding your face from his view.  

“Sorry. I —”

“Stop apologizing already.” 

These words came out harsher than intended. Brows furrowed, you shoot him an astonished glance. 

“I’m sorry”, Yoongi mutters under his breath, one hand awkwardly massaging his neck. 

“Stop apologizing already”, you snap at him, imitating his tone, biting your lip so as to keep it from breaking into a smile. 

“You’re pretty cheeky for someone who almost fainted just now, you know that?” 

“Yeah, right?”, you giggle, throwing back your head to take another deep breath. 

“So, are you ready to go back?”

Your head tilted to one side, you look at him, your unexpectedly serious eyes taking in his features, an intensity to their gaze that leads his face to flush. 

“Yes. Take me back, please.”

“Are you sure?”

You nod your head as you step closer. So close he could effortlessly reach out and touch you. 

“Yes, I am. Everything is a little less scary down there. With you. In your studio. I feel safe there.” 

Yoongi has to actively remind himself to breathe at this point. 

“Okay. Let’s go back then.”

The drive back is spent in comfortable silence. For a few minutes you even doze off, your head abuts against the now-closed window. Yoongi can’t keep himself from smiling like an idiot while he watches you, calm now, soundly sleeping, your mouth agape, dark lashes fluttering. 

Back at the studio, you plop down onto his sofa with a sigh, apparently feeling quite at home already. An assumption that fills Yoongi with contentment and even pride. He is sorry to disturb the peace, but a question has been burning on the tip of his tongue ever since the incident on the bridge. And he has never been one to hold back when it comes to wiping the slate clean. 

“So, y/n, what happened back there? In the car?”

“I didn’t get carsick, if that’s what you were thinking”, you joke, not meeting his gaze. 

“Come on. Let’s be real here.” Taking a deep breath, he squats down before you. This is harder than he thought it would be. Yoongi hates himself for putting you in the position to face those unpleasant feelings again. But there are just things that can’t be left unsaid. 

“If something like that happens, I need to know why, y/n. Especially if it’s in my car. So I can react accordingly. You scared me, you know. And don’t you even think about apologizing again.” 

“Okay, I won’t then”, you scoff, burying your face in your hands, your elbows propped up on your knees. 

Seconds elapse, stretching into what feels like an eternity, before you reluctantly proceed. 

“What happened is — I realized something. And it made me sick. Literally. Because I’m like the biggest asshole on earth. And I can’t stand it. I can’t stand to — To hurt him like that. I disgust myself for having to.” 

“Him?” 

“I believe we both know who I’m talking about.” 

“What do you mean, hurt him? What did you realize?”

Yoongi has trouble containing his excitement. 

“You don’t have to tell me, of course”, he quickly adds. “Only if you want to. It’s not like you owe me any kind of explanation. I know what I needed to know. Anything else is —”

“I don’t love him”, you suddenly burst out, cutting him off in mid-sentence, finally lifting your head to reveal a tear-streaked face, eyes reddened. “I don’t love Jimin the way I should. And I’m not sure if I ever did. I’m afraid what we had was a lie. Sure, I needed him. We needed each other. At one point. And he probably still needs me. But I just — I just can’t keep up the charade any longer. I — I can’t keep playing a role I wasn’t cast for, you know!? I’m not what he deserves and he’s not what I need. It’s just — We’re just —”

He can tell your anxiety is setting in again. So, his instincts taking over once more, Yoongi cups your face with both his hands, forcing you to focus your attention on him. 

“I get it. Okay? It’s all right”, he enunciates, stressing each syllable. “Feelings change. People change. It’s nothing to hate yourself for. Do you hear me, y/n? It’s not your fault. You can’t force these things. You shouldn’t.” 

Reluctantly, you nod, blinking away another tear. 

“Not that I have any right to meddle in your relationship. But you shouldn't keep lying to yourself and especially not to him. You need to tell him. So he knows. How you really feel. Instead of raising false hopes in him.” 

“False hopes?”

“Well … Are you gonna get back together with him? Back to how things were?”, Yoongi asks as he pulls back from you, his hands dropping to his knees. 

“I — I don’t know. I —”

“Forget about it”, he interrupts you, afraid your next words could be the last straw. That they would very literally rip his heart apart. Because, slowly but surely, the growing pain in his chest is starting to make it almost impossible for him to breathe. “I shouldn’t have asked. This is none of my business.” 

Weak at the knees, the world starting to spin around him, Yoongi somehow manages to get up and step away before you can reach out for him, staggering towards his chair while a blinding brightness quickly closes in on him from all sides.  

The last thing he hears is your high-pitched voice calling out his name before he drops to the floor and a bottomless darkness takes over his consciousness. 

When he comes to, bright lights hinder Yoongi from immediately identifying his strange surroundings. 

Where is he? And most importantly, how did he get here? He can’t remember anything. Other than fainting. 

Only slowly he comes to realize that he is resting in a hospital bed. The air smells of disinfectant, a constant humming and beeping sound from various directions. 

Now that he slowly but surely regains full consciousness, another question comes to mind. 

Where are you? 

“Y/n!?”, he calls out, sitting up so quickly, another dizzy spell threatens to overpower him. 

“Shhh”, a nurse appears by his side out of nowhere. “You need to stay calm. Lie down. You’re in no condition to fuss about a girl right now.” 

“But — Where —?”

“Your friend left already. Seemed to be in a hurry.” With a warm smile, the middle-aged woman starts rummaging through her gown’s deep pockets. “She told me to give you this.”

With these words, she hands him a crumpled up piece of paper. Only hesitantly Yoongi extends his shaking hand to accept it.

“I didn’t peek if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

“No, thank you. It’s fine.”

With a nod of her head, the nurse leaves to attend to a groaning elderly. 

She seemed in a hurry. 

No. No way. She didn’t. She couldn’t.

His heart racing, Yoongi barely manages to unfurl the paper, his eyes widening as they follow your quickly scribbled words. 

Now it all makes sense. Why I felt so drawn to you. Why you knew me so well. Why you appeared when I was at my weakest. 

How could you?? When were you planning on telling me your birth name?? Once I broke up with Jimin?? Or would you even have waited that long?? 

Shit. I trusted you. I was so blind. I should’ve seen it coming. 

Don’t contact me. I really can’t have this right now. 

No. No. No. No. 

END OF CHAPTER 17 || TO BE CONTINUED

Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it so far and this chapter didn’t disappoint. 😌

Here you can find my Masterlist in case you feel like checking out more of my BTS fiction.

Also, if you have Spotify, you can listen to the ‘official’ 🎶 playlist 🎶 to the ‘Linked’ series here. It contains all the songs having been sent back and forth between Yoongi and the reader in the past and some more tunes fitting the series’ vibe.  

Take care and have a great day! ☺️💖

NONE of the GIFs used are mine. Credit goes to the initial creators. Thank you for your hard work and dedication.

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