#and the chains leather pants boots really just. reminding me that he CAN dress

[hurt-you]

guys i’m not doing ok

#i’m actually going to start yelling #he looks SO pretty with the purple. and he’s a UNIT in the sweater like ok king we get it you’ve been working out #and the chains leather pants boots really just. reminding me that he CAN dress #absolutely breathtaking #chris motionless #miw #motionless in white #she speaks

[urfictional]

𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐜𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 – 𝐤𝐚𝐳 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐤𝐤𝐞𝐫

pairing: kaz brekker x fem!reader

summary: there's a new face in ketterdam and kaz will be forced to strike a deal with the devil in order to get what he desires

warnings: blood, blood, and again blood, mentions of torturing, did I mention blood? my bad writing

A/N: I'd like to say that this is my first time writing a fic but then I would be kind of lying because a while ago I started to write a Kaz Brekker fanfiction on Wattpad. BUT. this is my first time writing a short fic, so we'll see how it goes.

also, English is not my first language so bear with the mistakes (I'm sure that there are some)

It’s hard to earn a name for yourself in the Barrel. You essentially start from nothing and then slowly brick by brick you start to grow your empire. You spill sweat and blood to achieve the goal and from then it only takes so little to remain at the top. It’s simple. One just needs to show the power that they hold. And Y/N has power.

Kaz Brekker was wondering. Standing in a dark room with fancy furniture, his Crows, Inej and Jesper, behind him. He was wondering from where she came from. The girl, approximately his age. Just a few months ago, the Barrel practically swarmed with rumors about a girl that Ketterdam hadn’t seen yet. No one knows from where she came from, or who she is. If Kaz has to think, he even doesn’t know her name.

She has many names but none of them is her real one. At least Kaz thinks that the girl that is sitting in front of him couldn’t possibly be called the Executioner. On the other hand, who knows this is the Barrel. A perfect place for weird people.

“You surprise me Kaz Brekker.” Even her voice sounded mysterious. It was confident, powerful and Kaz caught himself thinking that he could listen to her voice till death finally takes him. “You came to my house, walk through my corridors and now your dirty boots are staining my Persian rug and the only thing that you tell me is that you want to strike a deal that would make us acquaintances.”

Kaz didn’t utter a word. He watched the girl and the girl watched him. Her feet were resting on her desk and she comfortably leaned into the chair. She smirked.

While the Y/H/C haired girl was staring at Kaz, Jesper let his eyes closely inspect the girl. In a weird way, she reminded him of Kaz. Perfectly tailored clothes, black dress shirt, and grey west. Dress pants and heeled boots on her feet that laid crossed at her ankles on the desk’s surface. Her Y/H/C hair made into a tight knot at the back of her head. The only thing missing was leather gloves and cane.

“People who hold power in the Barrel should have acquaintances who do the same.” Kaz would be lying if he said that he wasn’t nervous about this meeting. He has heard stories about this girl, stories that possibly are nasty rumors, yet you never know. This is the Barrel after all.

She let out an amused laugh.

“And you count yourself as one?” She raised her eyebrows, an amused smile present on her face. “An acquaintance who holds power in the Barrel?” Y/N waited for Kaz to say something, to defend his honor yet he stayed quiet. She smirked while standing up. “Congratulations, you just passed the first test.”

Y/N needed to know if Kaz Brekker really is the Dirtyhands, the Bastard of the Barrel. She won’t let the boy know all her secrets and ways how she works if he isn’t half of what Ketterdam claims him to be.

“Though I have to ask.” She stopped millimeters away from him. Y/N could feel the ragged breath of his that made her furrow her eyebrows and tilt her head a little. She looked into his eyes and stepped one step away from him. “If you claim that people who hold power in the Barrel need to, say, familiarize with others. What about Pekka Rollins? Hmm?” She watched how Kaz visibly stiffened upon that name. She smirked. Y/N got what she wanted. “I hope you will pass the next test, for I would be glad to make you an acquaintance.” With that Y/N walked past the trio towards the door. “Follow me.”

From outside, the building seemed to look like any other building on this street. Yet when the group made the turns for what seemed like a thousand times, they realized that the exterior is just an illusion. The Crows followed the girl down the steps and judging by the fact that there were no windows, and the air was a tad humid, they were in a basement.

They walked down a corridor. Kaz noted that there were doors every few meters on the left side. It looked awfully like a prison down here. Y/N walked past one door but then stopped causing the group to halt. She walked back towards the doors she just passed and opened the latch in the door. A small window with bars allowed to see inside the room yet the group couldn’t see anything from the position where they were standing.

They could hear a chain rattling and groaning which forced Kaz to think that there was someone in there.

“Well, have you changed your mind?” Her tone was demanding. Kaz observed her side profile. Sharp eyes and clenched jaw, he wondered if this is how he looked when he demanded something and didn’t accept no for an answer. The group heard more chain rattling and louder groan that sounded awfully like no with a couple of colorful words that were no doubt directed towards the girl. Y/N smirked. “As you wish.”

She went to close the latch when she glanced at the group on her left. Then without closing it moved forward along the corridor. Y/N purposely left the window open, she wanted Kaz to see with what kind of devil he is making the deal.

While walking past the doors Kaz glanced inside and visibly gulped. A man in his late thirties was hanging by his hands from the ceiling, his feet barely touching the ground. He was bleeding from, well, everywhere, and by the looks of it, he has been here for a long time. He was barely alive, and it seemed hasn’t eaten for weeks. Kaz wondered if behind all those doors were hanging men or even women.

“Do they even get food or water?” Inej was troubled by the scene that she saw behind the doors and couldn’t help but to be a tad concerned.

Y/N glanced behind her before turning to face the front again.

“When I remember, they do.” She nonchalantly shrugged her shoulders. They turned a corner and continued to walk along another hallway. The girl turned to throw a smirk towards the Suli girl. “I am a tad forgetful; you know. Can’t always remember all those poor souls that need feeding.”

So, then there were more people down here. Kaz suddenly wondered how many of them were still alive and how many were just hanging dead.

The group reached the end of the corridor. They were met with a man who was undoubtedly guarding the doors. With one nod from the girl in front of them, the guard opened the doors and let them inside.

This room was bigger than the previous cell that they saw. The walls were lined with cabinets that contained things, starting from various kinds of weapons to bottles of different sizes and colorful liquids.

“How’s our guest feeling today?” The Crows turned to where Y/N was standing in front of a man who, much like the previous prisoner, was hanged by his hands from the ceiling. The only difference was that there were also chains on his feet and he was hovering above the ground. Kaz observed the room and noticed three men standing on the sides. More guards. “Did the acid did its work?”

The Y/H/C-haired girl walked towards the table on her left. She was slowly unrolling the sleeves of her shirt up to her elbows. After she was done Y/N picked up a bottle inspecting it.

“The man at the market said that it's pretty effective.” Only now Kaz noticed the burn marks on the prisoner’s body. One of the guards stepped forward.

“He didn’t utter a word.”

Y/N tsked while shaking her head in disappointment. She then turned to the hanging man.

“This is not how we work, darling, you know that.” The mock concern in the girl’s voice caused Kaz to shiver slightly. “Such a pretty face ruined for nothing. I can give you one more chance.”

The prisoner raised his head and looked at the girl in front of him. Y/N could easily live without the information that this man could give her but then it wouldn’t be interesting anymore. Any kind of information even the smallest one about the people of Ketterdam could turn out to be useful. You just need to find the right way, the right place and time.

“I am bound by an oath, I won’t tell you anything. Even if I’ll have-”

“-have to die, yeah, yeah don’t I know it.” Y/n interrupted the man by rolling her eyes. “You’re pathetic.”

The Crows braced themselves after what came next. The hanging man mustered all the strength that was in him and spit the blood that was in his mouth right into her face. The guards launched forwards, but Y/N raised her hand halting them in their steps.

Kaz watched how the girl was trying to calm her breathing the muscles of her back stiffened. He admired the control that this girl possessed. Not many people that Kaz knew would have such a perfect grip of themselves. Hell, even Kaz himself sometimes dropped the controlled behavior behind and acted a little reckless.

Y/N slowly turned around and the group of three could see the specks of blood on her face mixed with spit.

“Alright, if this is how you want to play. Let’s play.” She pulled out a cloth from her vest pocket and walked to her left where a small mirror was hanged on the wall.

When she was done cleaning her face, she walked back to stand in front of the prisoner. One of the guards walked beside her and handed something that reminded Kaz of a sheathed sword. Y/n took the handle and pulled out a long shiny sword. It was very long, it even was longer than Jesper’s arm. It looked heavy but she held it like it was light as a feather.

“I have always admired the old weapons.” She turned to face the Crows. “All those revolvers, pistols, and bombs, they are boring.” The girl extended her arm and pointed her sword at Kaz while smirking. “There is something about swords and weapons that have sharp and pointy things that excite me.” She glanced at the Suli girl on Kaz’s right. “Wouldn’t you agree with me?”

Inej couldn’t get anything past her lips, so she opted with just a nod.

Y/N lowered the sword and Kaz dared to breathe again. He didn’t even notice that he was holding his breath.

“There is nothing more exciting than feeling the sword digging in the flesh. Feeling the muscles breaking when you turn the sword-” She suddenly looked up at the group and offered a half-embarrassed smile. “Sorry.”

Then the smile disappeared, and she turned to walk closer to the hanged man.

“Let’s play a game. Heads or tails, Kaz Brekker?” Kaz looked up startled and watched how the girl turned to face him, any sign of the embarrassed smile long gone. Two steely eyes were staring into his soul waiting for his answer. “Heads or tails?”

“Tails.”

Kaz knew that it was something to do with the way how the girl is going to kill the man. There was no point in trying to get away from that. The man is going to die anyway. With or without Kaz’s answer.

“Tails.” She smirked while turning to the hanged man. “This is your lucky day. You’ll be able to see me perfectly in the last seconds of your life.” Then she turned to face the Crows once more. “I have many names, yet only one of them is true. I am an Executioner.”

Kaz watched how she turned her head and raised her sword. With one swing sideways, the sword cut through the hanged man detaching the top half from the bottom separating him just above the waist. Kaz could hear Jesper cursing from his left and Inej taking in a sharp breath from his right. But Kaz did not let his eyes wander from the girl whose arm was still extended with the sword. The blood dripping from the weapon and the top half of the dead man.

“This part is my favorite.” Y/N lowered the sword and grasped the hilt in both hands, she supported the tip of the sword against the ground like a cane. Now the only thing missing is leather gloves. Jesper thought while watching the girl who yet again looked exactly like Kaz. “His brain hasn’t fully comprehended the pain and the fact that half of him is missing. Last seconds before he dies, he sees my face and wishes he had done otherwise.” Kaz couldn’t see her face, but he imagined a contented smile resting on her face. “The silent art. What could be more beautiful than this?”

Y/N turned around to face the Crows. One of the guards walked closer with the empty sheath. She cleaned the sword before taking the sheath and putting the sword in it. With the sheathed weapon in one hand, Y/N walked closer to the group of three. She stopped before Kaz and squinted her eyes while inspecting him. Satisfied with whatever she saw, the girl smirked.

“Congratulations. You managed to keep everything inside. So did your friends.” She looked from Inej to Jesper then back at Kaz with a cheeky smile. “Some people have the need to display their previous meals. I’m not a fan of those people.” She then pointed at the guards behind her. “Nor are they. Because, well, they are the ones that are cleaning everything.”

Kaz forced himself to not look at the hanging body behind the girl, not a second longer, otherwise, he too will have the need to display the meal he had earlier this day. He was surprised how Jesper managed to hold himself together. Kaz took a mental note to ask him that after they will be done here.

Soon they left the basement and followed the girl back upstairs. They arrived in the room they previously were in. Y/N walked to the cabinet on the left and placed the sheathed sword on a stand. Then she walked to the front of the desk and her hands crossed on her chest leaned against it.

“Well? You still want to make the deal?”

Kaz knew that there is a possibility that he will regret the decision but there was one thing that forced him to not think about this possibility. There was a reason she mentioned Pekka Rollins. And that reason was simple, she wanted him gone just as much as he. If that wouldn’t be the case, she wouldn’t have bothered with all this play. Therefore, Kaz firmly nodded his head forcing a smirk to appear on the girl’s face.

She stood straight and extended her hand, waiting for Kaz to shake it.

For a moment he hesitated, but then slowly extended his hand and felt her fingers wrap around his leather-clad hand.

And so, the devil made deal with the devil.

A/N: aight let me know what you think. ;))

#kaz brekker #six of crows #kazzle dazzle #kaz brekker x reader #six of crows imagines #six of crows imagine #kaz brekker imagines #shadow and bone #jesper fahey #inej ghafa #kaz brekker imagine #shadow and bone x reader #grishaverse #shadow and bone imagines

[misterghostfrog]

[IMAGE ID; a digital drawing of Martin Blackwood carrying Jonathan Sims from The Magnus Archives. Martin is a fat freckled white man with curly ginger hair that is shaved close at the sides. He has a pair of round framed glasses in a bright red, under the glasses he is wearing eyeliner, and a navy eyeshadow. He has black lipstick, two black snakebite piercings under his lip, and a small black nostril piercing. His ear has a large black piercing that cuffs a chain to a small black piercing higher up his ear, and one final black piercing in the middle. He has a black choker, and then a looser chain necklace with an eye ornament on it. He has a studded lather jacket on that is covered in multiple patches and pins, mostly hidden by Jon: of the visible pins there is a trans flag patch on his chest, and on his shoulder is a large dark colored patch that has A-C-A-B on it in white. Under the Jacket is a black shirt that he has partly tucked into his pants, the shirt has a large anarchy symbol drawn on it in red. Under that he is wearing jeans that are significantly ripped as far as we can see. On his right hand he has several black rings, and his nails are painted black. Jon is a skinny Jordanian man with brown eyes and shoulder-length grey-streaked dark brown hair pulled back into a messy ponytail at the base of his neck. He has a beard beginning to grow that appears to be the product of forgetting to shave. He is covered in a series of small round scars that vary in exact size. He is wearing a pair of rectangle-framed glasses, a plain t-shirt, a pair of jeans that are ripped at the knee, and converse. Martin is carrying Jon bridal style in his arms, and is looking away, he is blushing, though his expression is concerned and appears to be speaking. Jon has his arms wrapped around Martins neck, his cheeks are darkened and he is staring at hte ground with an expression somewhere between fear and the face one makes when they’re having to retrace every step they’ve taken to get here. END ID]

Punk Martin but make it Jonmartin.

Also I wrote a lil thing to go along with this under the cut, its only barely edited because it was mostly for fun so be warned its a big ol mess! But its s2 jonmartin nonsense with Martin being very cool and attractive and Jon being seven layers deep in denial (Also I may have written Jon as a touch autistic because its projection hours tonight i’m too sleepy to mask and that goes for writing too babey)

(Mentions of worms, past injuries, and Jon dealing with some internalised ableism and general foolishness)

Jon forgot his cane.

It’s a relatively regular occurrence, for a multitude of reasons. For one thing it’s something of a recent addition to the list of things he needs to keep track of when he leaves the house. Another lovely parting gift from Prentiss, a worm in his left leg that went just quick enough to start burrowing into the bone before it was removed. 

For another, he really has other things to worry about. And if it doesn’t hurt, it shouldn’t matter. Most days he can get by just fine without it- it hurts of course. But not so much he can’t support himself, and really, does he need it otherwise?

Martin and Tim don’t seem to agree, though Sasha has kept respectfully to herself on the whole business. Martin, of course, he trusts. Albeit only recently. But that doesn’t make him right, his priorities are warped. Naturally. He doesn’t see the bigger picture.

(or at least that’s what Jon tells himself)

Which is what leads to this moment, sitting on a bench outside the shop, single grocery bag by his feet. He’d only run out to get a few things, but somewhere between the his flat the the shop his barely visible limp had become more pronounced as his hip began to throb, then he was halfway through the frozens when he realized he wasn’t going to be able to finish the trip. After that he’d barely made it through checkout to the nearest seat before all but collapsing into it.

And now he’s sitting, stuck. An insurmountable walk from home, without his stupid cane. Which, he notes, he wouldn’t need if he’d brought in the first place. Funny how that works.

“Jon?” A familiar voice jolts him out of his thoughts. Jon jolts upright. Martin. 

He knows Martin lives in the area, a side effect of his... investigations. Though he was unaware he used the same shop. He looks up, a greeting or perhaps a question on his lips that dies as soon as he actually lays eyes on Martin.

Martin is wearing a leather jacket. Not just a leather jacket of course, but that’s the first thing Jon can process. He’s wearing a studded leather jacket covered in various patches that advertise various opinions and identities that Jon doesn’t have time to think about. His  jeans are about as much rip as they are Jean, and he’s got piercings- and eyeliner. he’s dressed like he should be riding a motorcycle, not the beat-up red bike he’s got beside him.

“Are you alright?” Martin says, and Jon realizes he’s been staring.

“Are you going to a costume party?” Jon blurts instead of answering. A costume party would make sense, of course. Martin doesn’t dress like this, he dresses like- like-

It occurs to him dimly that he’s never encountered Martin outside of work, at least never in a scenario that would allow him to change out of his work clothes. And some part of him has always assumed that sweaters and khakis were simply how he dressed. It suited him, really. Or Jon had assumed, but then again he assumed anything familiar is suiting.

“Wh- A- no?” Martin answers, looking vaguely offended. Jon flushes.

“I- sorry, I just- I’ve... I didn’t think you seemed the type to dress... like that...?” Jon fumbles, pathetically trying to salvage the conversation. Judging by Martins expression, he’s failing.

Martin opens his mouth to say something, and Jon realizes there’s likely no coming back from this particular mortification. He snatches the bag by his feet and moves to stand. Some excuse already tumbling out when the reason for his sit-down, which had dulled to a shockingly forgettable throb, decides to remind him of his place in the world.

He lets out a cry of pain, and crumples. Only stopped from hitting the ground by a pair of arms that wrap around his chest and under his shoulder. 

“Oh my god, Jon. Are you alright- what- is it your leg? Where’s your cane-” Martin babbles, Gently replacing Jon on his bench as Jon breathes through gritted teeth.

“It’s fine- i’m fine Martin I-” he sighs, studiously avoiding Martins gaze. “My cane is at home.” He tries not to sound chastised as he says the last part- he shouldn’t have to after all. He’s still Martins boss. He shouldn’t be looking away like he’s been caught at something.

“Jon” Martin sounds exasperated, and Jon crosses his arms. Once again, nothing like someone being scolded. He’s not being scolded. He’s an adult. “How long have you been sitting here like this?”

“I...” Jon begins before trailing off, he’s not actually sure. The period between sitting on the bench and the pain dulling enough for him to think through the fog is something is a blur. He is pretty sure someone asked if he was alright at some point. His lack of answer seems to be enough for Martin though.

“Just give me a moment.” He says, stepping away from Jon over to his bike- which has fallen over onto the ground -pulling it upright and over to Jon on the bench. He pushes down the rusted kickstand with a hearty kick- and Jon briefly notes he’s wearing steel-toed boots -and sets the bike gently upright.

“Okay, so! If you sit on the bike I can push it, and you can get home and rest that leg without jostling it too much by trying to walk without your cane.” He says pointedly. Jon makes a face,

“This... this really isn’t necessary Martin- I’m perfectly capable-” He grumbles, waving a hand dismissively. But a glance at Martins expression shuts him up quick. 

“Do you think you can stand?” He asks. Jon pauses, the memory of the white-hot flash of pain still fresh in his mind. He grimaces, shaking his head. Martin hums thoughtfully. “Alright, would you be alright if I picked you up? Just for a moment to get you on the bike” He asks carefully.

Jon hesitates, looking between Martin and the bike. And weighs his options. After several seconds he nods. Martin smiles, and Jon feels something in his chest flutter. Anxiety at his decision most likely. Or perhaps nerves in relation to sitting on a bike, he’s never ridden one- of course Martin will be doing all the work but surely there’s some sort of balance required isn’t there? Really he shouldn’t be riding a bike like this-

Those thoughts are all swept away at the feeling of large warm hands gently scooping him off the bench. He instinctively throws his arms around Martins neck for support as he’s lifted into the air. 

He can feel Martins chest warm against his side as Martin holds him close, one hand on his shoulder and the other supporting his legs. He’s being cradled by his subordinate, carefully as so not to jostle his leg. And all he can think about is how warm Martin is. He’s large and soft despite all the sharper accessories and he smells a bit like leather and tea on top of whatever soap he uses. Probably something that Jon wouldn’t be able to name with a gun to his head. And Jon can see the freckles on Martins cheeks and neck close enough to count if he wanted to even as he looks away, saying something Jon can’t quite parse because he’s too busy reeling from the realization he’d be happy to sit in Martins arms like this for the rest of his life.

His face goes hot and he forces himself to look down at the ground. The pain is clearly messing with his head, or perhaps the sleep deprivation. Or perhaps he’s still riding the high from that moment of realization that Martin isn’t trying to kill him, that he can trust him. 

Either way he’s not thinking straight, which is why he’s dissapointed instead of relieved when Martin gently places him on the bike with the exact amount of care he took in picking him up. Which shouldn’t make him feel so oddly jittery but it does.

The ride is quiet, aside from awkward instructions from Jon on where to turn as Martin guides them carefully along the sidewalk. They miss a turn once because Jons too preoccupied with the feeling of Martins arm bumping against his shoulder as he guides the bike.

And then they’re at Jons flat, and Jon once again feels that misplaced disappointment. He wonders if perhaps Martin will carry him up to his flat, and his face burns again as the silliness of the thought hits him.

Martin does very, very briefly lift him to help him off the bike when he stumbles. But his leg has recovered enough that he can make it up to his flat without assistance, or so he tells Martin. Who looks unconvinced.

“Let me at least walk with you, yea? That way I know for sure you got home safe.” He insists, and Jon forced himself to be displeased with the situation.

It ends up being a good thing Martin came along though, a partway up the steps the railing is no longer enough to support Jon, and he ends up half-carried the rest of the way. Martins arm under his shoulder, his own loops around Martins back, gripping the jacket for support. He can feel his head drifting at the contact- Martin is just so damned warm and safe and Martin it’s impossible not to get distacted.

He forces himself to think about something else, anything else. The jacket- he can feel the leather under his fingertips and it’s as good distraction as any.

It’s a nice jacket, really. Clearly well-worn. And it does suit Martin, in an odd sort-of way.

Jon winces internally, remembering the conversation from earlier. He hadn’t meant to come off so... well. It doesn’t matter. Except that it does, even though it doesn’t, but it does.

Once they reach Jons door, he pushes off of Martin to lean on the wall while he fumbles for his keys. Martin lingers as he does so, twiddling his thumbs awkwardly in the silence.

Jon finds his keys and sighs in relief as the door swings open.

He nearly wanders inside and shuts the door before remembering basic human etiquette. He pauses in the doorway, turning to Martin. Who smiles awkwardly.

“Thank you.” He says stiffly, still leaning heavily on the doorframe. “That was... very kind. Of you.” Martin shakes his head.

“It’s nothing, really. Couldn’t exactly just leave you there, could I?” 

Jon shifts awkwardly, wincing at the brief weight on his leg. He’s right of course, morally at least. If not logically.

“I... I suppose not.” He says, hesitating before adding “I’m sorry.”

“Look, Jon. I already said it’s fine-”

“No-” Jon grimaces “not for that. I- I meant... for what I said. About your clothes. They don’t... I just- I didn’t expect it, and I may have come off as... rude.” He mutters

“Oh.” Martin says flatly, Jons sure he’d forgotten about that until just now, and he wishes he could have kept it that way.

“they do suit you, though.” He says, after an awkward pause. “Your clothes, I mean. It looks- you look nice.” he finishes as genuinely as he can- he does mean it. Of course, he just doesn’t know how to make it sound like he does.

“Oh” Martin says again, brightening slightly, his cheeks going blotchy red in a blush. “I- er- thank you...? I suppose?”

“Yes. Well. Your welcome, I suppose.” There’s another awkward pause, Martin isn’t quite smiling at Jon, but there’s something soft in his expression Jon can’t quite parse. “ Have a good day, Martin.” He says finally, after a long pause. Martins cheeks redden again.

“Oh- yeah, er. You too Jon- and take care of yourself. Alright?”

Jon nods, and Martin smiles. And Jon thinks he’d like to see Martin smile a bit more.

He waves as Martin heads down the stairs, he can hear Martin humming as he goes.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jmart #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #punk martin #fic #art #fanfic #fanart #ghostly doodle #ghostly doodles #Jons a mess! #and Martin has cool fashions #ghostly scribbles

[dropsofletters]

avenue of tears

— summary: listening to the latest album of the living daydream that is the drummer jeon wonwoo isn’t quite the best idea when, supposedly, it’s written about an ex. missing him to bits, she decides to plug in her earphones, and get lost in the words written by him, for her, perfectly put together to describe what was once broken…but can now be healed.

— title: avenue of tears — pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader — genre: drummer!au ; podcast host!au ; friends to exes to strangers to lovers!au — type: fluff ; angst ; drama ; humor ; suggestive ; romance — word count: 19,796

For the first time in her life, she can say she is happy while having a sore-throat.

Well, there have been other good times in her life that have included such a symptom—the after-effects of a concert, the times in which she really believed the vocalists of the bands she loved would end up looking at her and falling in love, or when she screamed out of joy, whether on amusement park rides or from pure happiness. Having a voice is enough of a gift; saying and speaking out our thoughts, the most divine of talents that one can possess. Using that voice for the first time in her own podcast is a blessing.

Though, no amount of throat-clearing can get the staff backstage to open up some space for her to walk in. In some parts of her life, being talkative does not compare to being loud, and this is one of those moments she wishes her throat wasn’t dry and in the need for tea, simply to shout to the slow walker in front of her just so she can get to her boyfriend faster. Perhaps, feel the roughness of his calloused fingertips rub against her palm when they hold hands, and he gives her one of those lazy smiles that beg for her to give him a kiss.

The room has gray walls, and around four bands have gathered in the same space. She smells everyone’s deodorants mingling together, and she doesn’t know if the stench is favorable or she’d rather not smell anyone at all, even if it’s not an unpleasant smell. Masculinity exudes from every band, lacking the female character that should exist in rock by now, but someone’s bleached blonde strands of hair, long enough to reach that person’s waist, remind her that there is a representative of female power in this giant gig for small bands.

The vocalist of Wonwoo’s band.

The chopped strands of her hair are, thankfully, long enough to welcome the rotten pair of scissors she uses before every show, not standing split ends, and also not standing the way she calls out her real name. You see, one year ago, the vocalist would’ve been called Eunkyung, with pretty straight hair in chocolate brown, curves covered in small sprinkles of ink, sporting a little black dress of a nice day, but that’s far from the case. Now, Eunkyung has taken up the name Love, an ode to what she hates the most, cutting her hair like she cuts the men out of her life, sporting leather pants and chains falling from her shoulders, cheeks hollowed in absolute distaste of the place she finds herself in, but quite enjoying the bottle of beer she brings up to her mouth.

“Eunkyung!” She calls out again, waving her hand in the air but not getting a reaction. Instead, she stops on her tracks, the sole of her boots barely lifting from the ground as her eyes scan the room. Eunkyung stands out because of her hair, but it’d be difficult to find Wonwoo’s dark head of hair. “Love!”

With the bottle of beer perched up between her rosy lips, Love lifts her hand in the air to greet her, trying to call her over only to stop her ministrations. The little ounces of oxygen left in her lungs ask to remain on her chest before she passes out, her white boots probably dusty by the amount of people who have stepped on her.

Love moves in between the groups of people, pushing people away with a force that could barely be contained in her tall body, never once letting a single droplet of beer fall on the floor. Just when she reaches her, Love wraps her fingertips around her wrist, tutting her name out in a raspy tone, perfect for the edgy tune in the new band. “Shit, what are you doing just standing there? Could’ve gotten your shit stolen.”

Her hand absentmindedly cradles the back pocket of her jeans. Her phone is still there, thankfully. “Sorry, didn’t know I was dealing with prisoners and not with rock enthusiasts.”

Love chuckles at that, now much different from the person she used to be, tattooed up to her neck, flowers blooming on the thin skin. If she looks from close enough, she believes her jugular palpitates against the dark ink. “Here, they’re about the same.”

Once they reach the corner the band had taken up, she finally gets a glimpse of people she has met. In Wonwoo’s apartment last year, for example, when a list of names had been written on a whiteboard and each sounded worst than the last. A man with a burgundy and green beanie sits with his bass on his lap, thin legs parted and yet, seemingly thicker because of his baggy pants. His head is thrown back, as if the chatter around him doesn’t distract him from his thoughts, looking ahead at the ceiling as if there’s something interesting on there. She really does look up, just in case Hansol has found the secret to life in that damned white ceiling.

The bassist doesn’t seem to be paying attention when she directs the question towards Love. “What did he smoke?”

Love finishes her beer in one go, patting her hand against Hansol’s leg before taking a seat on it. The two childhood friends had been the ones to start this whole band ordeal—and to be quite honest, it’s all thanks to them that Wonwoo got the guts to be in a band. Love’s Midnight may not be doing quite well right now, but it will someday. “Vernon didn’t smoke a thing. If anything, I’m the one looking for a smoke.”

“Weed’s bad.” Hansol, or by his stage name Vernon, says from his spot as he finally concentrates on the conversation at hand. His brown eyes seem gentle, even when his dark eyebrows join in a frown. “You’re gonna fuck up your voice.”

“So what?” Love asks.

“We don’t have a vocalist, then.” Hansol continues, pushing her off his lap to put his bass back inside its case, rubbing his sweaty palms against his black pants. “And we don’t have anyone to back you up. My singing is not as good. Andy’s singing is shit and Wonwoo sounds mysterious when he sings, but put him on the front of the stage and he’s going to black out.”

At the mention of her boyfriend, she can’t help but feel a smile creep up her face. Wonwoo was supposed to only be her little cousin’s drum teacher, a little part-time job he had to keep the dream alive, but one of those times her aunt couldn’t make it, she was asked to drive the little boy to class. There, Wonwoo captured her attention, and just before she left with regrets, she had slipped a paper with her number onto his palm.

And he had called.

And now, seven months later, they’re there. Coexisting in the same world, uniting their loose threads, and living out of it.

Well, he’s not there.

“Where’s Wonwoo?” She asks, resting her hands inside the pockets of her jeans, and a little grin appears on Hansol’s face at the mention of his name.

“He’s—”

Hansol’s deep and tranquil voice cuts short when an interruption comes through in the shape of the shortest of the band, purple hair done a mess and yet, matching with the hickeys trailing up his neck, doing his best to conceal it with the thick choker around his neck. Andy, the band’s guitarist, whose innocent features bring him just about any lover to his side, thinking he understands them, listens to them…but he’s a player.

And a damn good one, too. “Twenty bucks and I’ll tell you where he is.”

“Twenty bucks and you shut up.” Her tongue is witty enough to reply, and the sound of familiar laughter stirs her heart alive. When her hands spread on top of Andy’s shoulders, pushing him to the side to look for Wonwoo, she sees him nearing them, perhaps accompanying Andy in the process, black hair falling upon his forehead in sweaty strands, framing his elongated face, rounded ears, enigmatic eyes and tender, thin lips.

He gets closer, enough to wrap an arm around her and make her feel the coldness of the chains on his leather jacket, as dark as the rest of his outfit, but she knows the red shirt underneath is the tank top she bought him not too long ago. “Don’t give him your money. He’s a scam.”

“Girls don’t say that.” Andy shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest and gently rubbing the hickeys on his neck.

“I doubt they get to tell you anything at all.” She answers, twirling on Wonwoo’s arms until he’s hugging her completely, his taut chest breathing in and out, meeting hers in the middle. “There’s only so much you can know about someone while having sex.”

“Listen—”

Love stands up from her spot to wrap her arm entirely around Andy’s shoulder, smiling wickedly at the people in front of her. “Instead of arguing with our two lovebirds and the reason why our love songs are good, why don’t we look for a blunt?”

“Be careful out there.” Wonwoo conquers, lifting one of his eyebrows as if to question Love’s actions. The woman simply chuckles, already dragging Andy away for her.

“The only difference between a cigarette and a blunt is social norms, Wonwoo.” Love complies, clearly talking about the smell of cigarettes that breathes out in the aftertaste of the cologne and mint in him. He picked it up not too long ago, and hasn’t been able to get away from nicotine since then.

Hansol, once again too lost in his own world, doesn’t seem to notice—or mind—when her lips meet his in one of those brief dances of excitement, a smile barely able to conceal itself on her face when she looks into his glistening eyes. “How was the gig?”

“Tiring.” He answers, tugging at the collar of his leather jacket. “Love insists we have to look edgy, but this make me sweat buckets.”

“It makes you look hot.”

A tinge of pink creeps up his ears, smiling widely when he moves her from side to side. “What’s with all the love today? You’re awfully happy.”

How not to be so when she’s with him? Awakening to the sound of his fingers pattering against the counter of his kitchen, mumbling out the lyrics of the songs he is always writing. Wonwoo is not only a dreamer but a dream, a sight to look at and a potion inside her stomach. If she could, she’d throw up hearts at the mere mention of him, but the impossibility only further explains her infatuation for him. Love, love is this.

“Well…” She trails her voice, just at the same time that her hands take place by his abdomen, toying with the fabric there. “Did you listen to the podcast today? First episode early in the morning. Not a lot of people tuned in, but twenty is more than nothing, right?”

His black hair covers the darkness that looms over his eyes, lips faltering that smile to instead part delicately. Even his body moves away at the mention of the podcast, little droplets of sweat intensifying on his neck. “T-The podcast was today?”

A sigh leaves her before she could stop it. Forgetfulness is not his thing, but it seems to be today. “Yeah. I told you today before you went out to practice.”

“Shit, sorry.” Wonwoo lets his hand hover on her cheek, lips leaning forward to join hers, but she can’t even purse her own to meet him, leaving him with her blank expression instead. “I went to the gym after practice, and then I was too busy to actually listen—”

“You decided to go to the gym instead of listening to the podcast I have been working so hard on?” Nights spent listening to her favorite albums, preparing topics and asking Minghao to help her achieve the best quality in sound. Publicity done just about everywhere, asking her close friends and family to listen. Twenty people had listened, and none of them was Wonwoo. Her boyfriend.

“It was a mistake.” He whispers, like the boyfriend he is, not forgetting to pour all his emotions out in the pout of his lips. Giving her another kiss, she wants to stay angry, let the pits of hell stay inside her, but his eyes glimmer as if he means it when he promises: “Maybe, next time I will listen, okay?”

Maybe. A relationship should not be gray; it’s either black or white, it’s yes or no, never an in-between. Never a maybe.

But she takes it, because Wonwoo is just the type to say things without thinking. His ‘maybe’ may mean ‘certainly’.

His ‘maybe’ may mean ‘I’m sorry’.

Or it just is meaningless. Not ‘maybe’ at all.

###

Pen to paper. Cigarettes to lips. A mess done person, or a person done a mess.

The press has met the man that she has loved for over eleven months, and yet, she feels like each article that gets out about Love’s Midnight just makes her know the people in the band a lot less. This thought crosses her as her feet come in contact with empty bottles of soda, thrown across the floor of the hotel room they rented for their first real gig. Wonwoo’s cigarettes have been his lover for the night, as well as his lyricism notebook, but Andy seems to be having other ideas in the cheap room next door. It may be just some hooker, but something in her gut tells her that the lack of Love on the afterparty gives her an indicator of who it may be…

The reaction is long gone when she closes the door behind her, sporting her best dress—the one Wonwoo always talked about, the one that had his eyes lingering on her legs a lot longer than necessary, unable to keep his hands off her waist whenever she used it. The attention from him was well received, and yet, it was lacking tonight. The lonesome yellow of the lightbulb in front of them flickers, her heels click against the tiles on the floor, and he doesn’t even pull away from his notebook, humming out the notes to the song he is writing. At least, he’s not the one with the hooker.

But, what kind of thought is that?

It’s not the kind of idea she’d normally have about Wonwoo. Her Wonwoo, all rock songs but soft heartened words. Yet, with each passing month of his newfound stardom, she sees him less. Feels him less. Talks to him in ways that feels as though he is a stranger, and not the kind that wants to meet her. Definitely not the interested strangers they were in the past, the reason as to why they fell in love.

The lighter in between his fingers basks the cream walls in a faint light, the first smoke of the cigarettes leaving his lips and then, he keeps his hand up, a little bit twisted to keep the ashes away from his notebook. She moves closer, the back of her thighs meeting the edge of the bed when she calls out his name. Nothing. Wonwoo feels like nothing these days.

There, in a pretty dress, and yet not of his liking, pushing the pink fabric to fit more of her body, like a woman in her honeymoon. Insecurity latches to each portion of her uncovered skin, clearing her throat to catch his attention as she rests her extended palm on his back.

The toned muscles seem to welcome her touch, but his face remains stoic, hair standing out in various spots, dark eyes packing worries inside his heart. “Wonwoo?”

“Baby, I’m busy.” Annoyance exists in his tone, though it’s almost imperceptible. These days, all his feelings seem to be this way—happiness is the same as sadness, as annoyance and worry. Wonwoo is just a blank canvas, and she can’t seem to paint him. “Can’t seem to finish writing this song.”

“Maybe, it’s just not a good song.” The words don’t come out in the way that normally would. He has been talking about this song for three days, maybe it’s about time he drops it. Maybe, it’s time for them to drop this strange silent treatment between them—

“What?” Finally, he looks over his shoulder, his lips barely wrapping around the cigarette before each blow of smoke is thrown her way with his words. “What do you mean the song is not good? You haven’t even heard it.”

“If you can’t write it, it’s because you’re not inspired for it.”

His eyebrows raise up at that, taking his notebook in between his finger and stomping his cigarette against the bedside table, perhaps leaving it for later. He turns on his back, on the verge of becoming silent again, when he stops tapping his pen against the notebook. “What do you know about music anyways? It’s not that easy to write a song.”

A laugh escapes her nose, because she’s not half happy at the man in front of her. “The podcast I have, the one you don’t listen to, talks about music and I have a minor in something music-related. Isn’t that enough for you?”

“I listen to your podcast.” Wonwoo defends, letting the notebook rest on his taut abdomen as he lifts his hands to rub at his eyes. “I just don’t have enough time to listen to you talk for more than an hour—”

Her legs can’t seem to stay still then, standing up from her spot on the bed and making sure to pull her dress as far as possible. Somehow, being looked at by Wonwoo at this moment feels absolutely horrendous. Earlier this afternoon, she would’ve loved to have his hands all over her, his lips mouthing the things he loves the most about her. Right now, he’s impossible. “Isn’t that what a boyfriend should do? Listen to his motherfucking girlfriend?”

“I listen to you, oh my God!” He throws his head back, covering his face with his hands before sighing. “Babe, you’re being irrational. You come in here and tell me my song sucks, and now you’re making this about our relationship?”

“Well, you were the one that told me I didn’t know anything about music.”

Wonwoo stops for a moment, uncovering his face to look at her with what seems to be despair. “Then, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Her heels click harshly with each step she takes towards him. “You can’t just say sorry like you’re bored. Saying sorry has to be meaningful.”

“That’s just how my voice sounds.” But she knows that’s not the case. Deep, tranquil, that’s his voice, but that doesn’t mean it’s not meaningful. That doesn’t mean he can talk to her in a way that feels as though he has never loved her.

“No, that’s not how your voice sounds—”

“Babe—”

“Wonwoo.” She closes her eyes tightly, kneeling to take the empty bottles of soda in between her hands. “Who are you and what did you do to the man I fell in love with?” The question is rhetorical and not meant to be answered as she continues: “You’re messy and uninterested, this is not—”

“Maybe, if you let me speak, I’d be able to tell you what’s wrong with me.”

“Oh, so there’s really something wrong?” Far too entranced in her anger, she crosses her arms over her chest. “Is it me? Am I the wrong thing in your life?”

“When you get like this, maybe.” Wonwoo conquers, standing up and taking the resting empty bottles of soda before sighing. “Hey—”

“No. Repeat that.”

“Give me a break.”

She takes him by his arms, then, his tank top moving with the motion as she makes him turn towards her. Tired eyes to tired soul. One for him. One for her. “You really want me to give you a break? Because I could totally leave you if that means you being happy.”

Wonwoo has always been a selectively silent man. His lips don’t part unless necessary. He loves being a listener, not a talker. She wishes he would’ve stayed silent that night, but he didn’t, instead frowning deeply as he pushed his body away from her. “I can’t be with someone who doesn’t listen to me. So, maybe, it’s better if we give each other a break, don’t you think?”

She has to scoff, pulling her dress further down her thighs as it had ridden up, yet not once breaking eye contact with him. “Why call it a break? Why don’t we just break up and that’s it? Call it fucking quits so you can go fuck some other chick that actually listens to you, baby boy?”

“Don’t talk to me like that.” He answers, shoulders rising and falling as he gets closer to her. “Don’t talk to me at all if you’re going to be like that.”

“Well, tough luck. That’s just how I am.” Her voice drops a few octaves, pushing at his chest to get him away from her. His eyes seem to change, then, ever so present in his feelings, burning through him when he calls his name and tries to reach for her, but she is halfway through the room when his skin barely grazes her.

“Baby—”

“Don’t you fucking touch me. Don’t you talk to me. Don’t look for me. Don’t…” Her voice breaks then, breathing out slowly when her hand comes in contact with the handle of the door. “Don’t, Wonwoo. Just don’t.”

“Hey, sorry, you know I love y—”

“Don’t.” She whispers, loud enough for him to hear when she opens the door. Why is that, even when the air in the corridor feels fresher than the one basked in cigarettes in this room, she feels more suffocated when she leaves?

Right, because she never listened to him.

And he never got to talk honestly to her.

###

“Listen, you’re a podcast host. I think you should really leave the coffee aside and go for tea and honey.”

One of the biggest wonders in this world is how in hell Minghao’s blonde strands of hair seem to be soft even when he dyes it continuously. The other wonder is how such a sweet voice like his seems to have the pointiest of remarks just at the tip of his tongue. Perhaps, that’s why Minghao is the tech of her podcast, and not a host to be exact. He’d be far too honest about the newest releases in music. What she’d call ‘something different yet not tasteful’, he’d call it ‘absolute garbage taken out of the trash, eaten by a dog, and then thrown up onto the floor’.

But hey, that’s just Xu Minghao.

Twirling on his chair, he writes something down on their shared document for this week’s podcast, two years on the run and yet, doing better than ever. Thousands of listeners check up each week, either on YouTube or on Spotify, to tune in and talk about the newest music dropped into the world. Mostly rock, but she doesn’t forget some other genres if they catch her attention enough.

He runs his fingers through his hair, leaning back on his seat and parting his jean cladded legs, fixing the plain yet expensive t-shirt resting on his slender body before she responds. “Get on with your life, Hao. If I don’t drink coffee, I could totally die.”

“Stubborn as ever, I see.” Minghao tuts, lifting his cat-like eyes from the screen just as he clears his throat. “Your kidneys are the ones dying.”

“As long as it’s not my vocal cords, we’re fine.”

“You’re not going to die because of lack of caffeine. That’s just stupid.” Yet, his eyes keep concentrating on the screen, organizing both good and bad albums to talk about, maybe a sprinkle of singles here and there as not to make the podcast too long. However, just as the straw of her iced coffee meets her lips, Minghao’s face stands out in their office setup, widening his eyes at what he sees on the screen. “You’re going to die because of this, though.”

Exaggerations are not his thing. That’s why he is so poised even when the audio cuts off, or when her voice breaks. Nothing impresses him, nothing leaves an imprint on him, so her body moves to his side before he could completely finish his sentence. “Why? Why? Why? Why would I die?”

Minghao doesn’t let her look at the screen of his laptop, instead reading out the title of the article he read online for her. “Love’s Midnight has released a new album after their one-year hiatus. The drummer, Jeon Wonwoo, surprises with his songwriting skills in their new project: Valentine. The release date is next week and…” Minghao turns to her then, eyebrows lifted as he inspects her features. “Apparently, it’s an ode to a past lover.”

It’s been two years since she opted to never hear those names again. Love’s Midnight. Jeon Wonwoo. Even Eunkyung, Hansol and Andy had been completely eradicated from her thoughts.

Valentine, perhaps because they had gotten together on February, but what are the odds of Wonwoo actually writing a song about her? An album, at that? He had never reached out, not by hand, not by text, not by a single call. Wonwoo had dissipated after a few missed calls, as if he had given up, and it was for a cause.

“Well, we’re not talking about their album next week.”

Minghao shakes his head harshly enough for a few strands of his hair to jump at the motion. “We have to. Love’s Midnight has been huge for the past two years,” The lack of her in their lives must have been the reason of their success. All friends of hers, now nothing in comparison. “And with the departure of Andy and the entrance of lady-killer Hoshi into the team, we better have all the fangirls tuning in for our podcast.”

Andy. The innocent features, short height, the banter in between them. She had not even gotten to know he had left. “Why did Andy leave?”

“Ooh, messy stuff.” Minghao conquers, not one for gossip, but one for knowing it all. “Love and Andy were dating since the start, right?” Now, that’s not the story she knows—Andy and Love were pals for lust, but they were never really a serious thing. “They broke up. Andy departed because of how difficult it was to be around her, and that was it for them. That’s why the hiatus happened, but now Hoshi joined them.”

“Who’s that Hoshi dude?”

The tech turns to his laptop, writing down the name quickly on the search before an image popped up in front of them. Pierced ears, rounded cheeks and sharp eyes, all highlighted by makeup on his cheeks to make him glisten like the sun, the thick eyeliner matching his leather jacket and his pushed back hair full of gel. He seems to be blonde in that picture, but in the one next to it, his hair is darker, playing guitar on stage with Love, who’s singing in the microphone. Skinnier than ever, with her eyes hollowed out and yet, the smile never leaves her face.

“I see,” She starts, pushing her body away when she sees a glimpse of Wonwoo with his hands up in the air in the back, ready to smack his drums again. “We’re not talking about them, though. I don’t care about anything Jeon Wonwoo can write.”

But her heart picks up just at the mere sight of him. Would he be alright? His health, fine? His lungs still working perfectly or is he still in the way to addiction to nicotine? Does the loneliness still haunt him at times in the middle of the night, or has he found someone else already?

“Don’t be like that,” Minghao states, rolling his eyes at her. “It’s just an album, and you haven’t listened to their music in a while. It was two years ago, I’m sure it will be fine.”

“What if it is about me?”

The question haunts her, makes her feel insecure in a way that she hasn’t felt in a while. Maybe, she fears to know what he really wanted to say—the regrets or the acceptance, the things he felt. If it made him happier or sadder. If he, to this day, hasn’t been able to love someone equally as much as her, because she knows she can’t. No man can compare to the fluttering feeling that came with him. “It’s just a few songs. I think not all of them are about you. Besides, it can be any past lover…and I’m sure you weren’t Wonwoo’s first girlfriend.”

Not his first love, and definitely not his last. A sigh leaves her lips as she crosses her arms over her chest. If she spoke about his album, maybe she’d prove to herself that he was wrong. Music exists in her blood, she acknowledges it as part of her, and he can’t tell her that she doesn’t know what she’s talking about anymore.

“I’ll give it a listen once it drops out.”

With a dizzy smile on his features, Minghao claps his hands in excitement. “Well, look who made you agree to something for the first time in his life.” Sending his two thumbs his way, he chuckles. “This guy.”

###

Being the center of attention has never been of his liking. It’s not the thing Jeon Wonwoo is known for, but it’s the thing their publicist wants him to do.

Flashing lights end up all over him, makeup-less and yet, not caring that he is showing every imperfection on his skin. He cares about what he has to say, though, to take out the buried memories of a past love just for the sake of an album, or for healing. The documentary they’re doing about Love’s Midnight, however, is another ordeal he can’t seem to understand. Not quite feeling connected to the camera in front of him, the white background, the staff that gather as if they want to listen to him. They don’t.

Hansol is somewhere by the corner, getting his makeup taken off for his own interview—people want it to be realistic, or so they say. Somewhere around the room, Love is singing at the top of her lungs—not reaching those notes that had once been the point of her knowledge, but still sounding like an angel sent from heaven. Hoshi is the only one nearby, seated with his legs crossed, looking at Wonwoo in understanding. Not equally as introverted, but somehow capturing the essence of dread in Wonwoo’s soul.

He shrinks into himself, each curvature of his muscles hidden by his posture, though the tank top on him does nothing to conceal what he knows will get him compliments, but never too meaningful. He sends a smile to one of the staff members that passes by him, fixing the lights one last time and asking him to take off his glasses. He does, never the type to say no.

“So, Wonwoo…” The cameraman says from his spot, learning his questions like the palm of his hand, and no amount of preparation and knowledge could’ve prepared him for the question thrown his way. His mind knew it was going to happen, but much like a teenage student in high school, he didn’t prepare. “What’s this album about?”

Her.

It’s not a ‘what’, it’s a ‘who’.

It’s his February 21st, his little memory in a pink dress, his ode to the drums, the reason why he sometimes touches the piano in hopes of composing a song. The only smile he can’t seem to remember perfectly, from the shade of her lipstick to the way her lips felt against his. The little smile she gave him after their first kiss, the way she called out his name, the only ode he has been able to give to the world…his memories of her.

“It’s about love, heartbreak, healing. All of the like.” He says, clearing his throat soon after, only to watch the cameraman move his hands, instructing him to say more. His eyes close for a second, letting out a breath that mingles with an uncomfortable laugh. “It’s about someone I loved dearly. Someone I don’t want to forget.”

“What did you love about them?”

“Pardon?”

“What did you love about them?” The cameraman asks, and Wonwoo has to lean back on his seat to capture the gasp that was about to leave his lips. He was never one to say it much—those three words that would have otherwise made her feel better. She’s talkative, he’s not.

What did he love about her?

Was it the love that she made him feel? Was it the movement of her hips, the shape of her lips, the way she spoke about her issues as if the world was falling down on her? Was it her enthusiasm, her happiness—?

“That everything about her made me want to be a better person.” His head nods once, twice, trying to further convince himself that it’s okay that he doesn’t have her. She’ll always exist in his music, in his rhymes, in his handwriting as he gives another poem to her—another melody to cherish her. “She was the only woman I ever imagined myself loving for a long time.”

Yet, he can’t clean up the mess they made. Can’t return to the avenue they left abandoned because it had taken too long to get to their goal. With one last breath, he hears another question:

“Care to explain some songs to us?”

But the words never come to him. They didn’t back then, they don’t now.

###

Okay, an album. She has listened to thousands of those, maybe even millions. It shouldn’t be an issue for her to sit down in front of her computer, plug in her earphones, and just let the melody of Love’s Midnight songs fill her eardrums with absolute bullshit. Cheesy love bullshit that never happens.

But this is not yet another album.

This is an album about her.

Minghao could be right, though. What are the odds of Wonwoo actually remembering her, much more in the form of lyricism? This thought is what has her pushing her earphones inside the laptop, sighing deeply as she presses play. The introduction shouldn’t be that difficult to listen to, and the artwork is simplistic, something of the like of a sunset merging into artwork in its abstract form. It feels romantic, but it isn’t about her.

The first song changes it all.

The first track of nine has Love’s strong vocals, reaching her high notes like they are part of her voice, slow and steady with that edge of slow rock, a plea for a lover to trust them even when they don’t seem to be showcasing their truest intention. A fool, the song speaks about over and over again, blaming themselves for not being able to point out their realest feelings to their lover.

The bass is heavy on the second track, and Hansol—Vernon, in this case—hasn’t lost a single ounce of his talent to fame. Metaphors speak about Wonwoo’s growing love for literature, grieving the end of a relationship and cladding it in pride. A man who can’t seem to understand the finalization of his relationship, covering it with more wrongdoings, and yet, begging for another yesterday, another chance. Something that has her tightening her hand against her heart, listening to Love’s voice dragging feelings through the pits of hell.

The third track is the one she likes the least, and it’s the one that seems to be the most about her. Talking about smiles, laughter, reminiscent of times much happier and yet, mixing a sound that she would’ve never imagined from Wonwoo’s band. It feels like she is walking on the streets of Madrid, waiting for a lover, letting the Spanish guitar pull her in only to dizzy her. Far too happy. Far too difficult to understand with their bitter ending.

The fourth track feels like him, enough for her fingers to hover over the space bar to pause it a few times. Slow, steady, and the pain of the break-up is felt through every single note. Loneliness haunting, drowning and drowning him into this pit of nonexistence. Love’s voice seems to fit every feeling, and she wonders if it’s just her amazing way of portraying sentiments, or it’s common for people to go through so much pain.

Fifth track, and the echo of it makes her feel even lonelier in her room, leaning back on her gray bed and fluffy pillows to close her eyes lightly. Drunken feelings, it speaks about, a man in the middle of a party with the smell of smoke clinging to him, speaking his feelings into the microphone as if they come directly from his heart, remembering how his life seemed to be easier, much easier when it was simpler. The minimalistic whisper coming from Love’s voice indicating: “I’m good, what about you?” in such a broken tone has her sending a weak smile to the air.

She’s not half as good as he is.

Insecurities seep through the sixth track, and her back cracks by the time she moves again, wanting to hear this from up close. This past lover comes haunt him in his dreams, and he only wonders if they’re happy. The sixth track is far more commercial than the rest, reason as to why it doesn’t surprise her it’s the one, they dropped with a music video she has yet to see. The allegories indicate that this lover, maybe, has found someone else, and the thought alone makes them sleepless. Insomniac. Saddened.

Huh, wouldn’t even surprise her if Wonwoo was the one that found someone else. Each of her dates have ended in her going home without a single kiss, not wanting to have anyone but him.

The seventh track shows Wonwoo’s talent by the drums perfectly, upbeat and coming directly from the 80’s, Love doing her best to portray the meeting of two lovers and the immediate chemistry between the two. A pink dress is mentioned, and the only thing she can do is purse her lips together.

Fuck Xu Minghao.

Fuck him for making her listen to this motherfucking album.

Fuck that pink dress that she keeps in her closet.

The piano on the eighth track takes her breath away, far more heartfelt than anything they have ever done—far more mature than anything she would have imagined from Wonwoo’s little band. The fear of losing someone, one last goodbye, the speech through a break-up. It speaks about turning and twisting, about running out of things to say and saying the worst ones. Tears gather by her vision when she hears that female voice speaking all the pain, she has gathered in her heart for only four minutes. It feels like a lifetime.

Getting Wonwoo to sing for her was difficult. It’d have to come after long conversations, when he was really tired, or when she couldn’t sleep. His voice in the last track was unexpected, so much that she wouldn’t even be able to recognize his voice if only she had not listened to it for almost a year of her life, every single day. His deep tone breathes out words of wanting someone back, but not knowing if he should trust his heart or his brain. Starting slow and then building up to a pop beat, it’s a nice song to snap fingers to, yet, she can’t bring herself to do anything but stare at the screen.

He’d still try for her, he says. In some point of his life, or when he wrote this song, he wanted her back.

He’ll always want her back with him.

And it’s with that thought that she closes her laptop, breathing out harshly at the same time that she texts Minghao.

To: Hao.

I hate you for making me listen to this album.

Track number three sucks ass.

Yet, her fingers hover over the search bar, letting the line tickle the write surface with its glow before she is writing down his name. Jeon Wonwoo, but with an addition—girlfriend, she wants to know who this could be about if it’s not about her—

The first pictures that pop out break her heart in a million pieces only to deliver it across the world as a souvenir. Wonwoo is getting out of a party with some model by his side, long dark hair cascading down her back, a little black dress cladding her elongated body, shiny legs in display as a shy smile creeps up her red lips.

Want you back my ass.

Maybe, it’s this model he is missing.

###

Blue lights bathe his skin in its sinful glow, seated by the entrance of a bar. Their usual spot packs people as if they’re the box of cigarettes on his coat’s pocket, one long stick of nicotine dangling from his lips only to be lit up by someone else. Some of the people gathering around him, perhaps, or the femme voice that has been asking him personal questions for the past hour. Short answers have escaped him, but seeing how risqué they are getting and how uncomfortable he is, he can’t bring himself to care.

Tonight, he’s supposed to celebrate the release of Valentine, his newest album. The happiest night of his life, it must be, but it’s far from that. Droplets of champagne pour from the ceiling, cheers being heard as yet another electronic song plays in the background. Eunkyung is lost in God-knows-where, Hansol has embarked in a conversation about the universe with a group of college students, and Soonyoung is dancing as if he doesn’t have a care in this world. He probably doesn’t, and that’s the dream.

It feels weird. Earning money and success from his sentiments should make him feel better—narcissistic in a way that fuels his ego, but only makes him feel as though the headlines are eating him alive. With each person that nears him, he feels more faux. A product, nothing more, nothing less, enough to be dismissed when he stands up from his spot, blowing out smoke into the condensed air. Some bump his side, staining the expensive leather of his coat, but the conceptualization passes him by quickly. At least, he gets to feel something.

Footsteps are heard beside him by the time he opens the door to the bar. If he’s lucky, he may get to go to his apartment, smoke another cigarette, and head to bed quickly. However, just when the black, sleek door slides from his fingertips to close it down, the flashes of cameras attack his features. Each regret is highlighted by yet another paparazzi throwing themselves at him as they ask the same old questions. The only thing that people seem to wonder about him.

“Who was Valentine about? Please, tell us the details!” One of them screams directly to his face, the microphone grazing his bottom lip and making him stumble back. He tries to smile, but the beam falls down by his fakeness.

“Wonwoo, over here!” One of the shortest interviewers says, waving his hand in the air to capture his attention. “Was it about Eunji?”

Right, Eunji. His publicist would love if he simply said it was about her.

The woman comes in the shape of a goddess, and the tremor of her voice brought a distraction for one night. A distraction, compliments that are void, words that did not have to have meaning, and the frustration of not being able to move on. Eunji said she understood—she, too, had been going through some kind of heartbreak and the relief was needed, but each text that came after said events went directly through his head and towards the deleted pile. One night was enough.

Blowing the air of his cigarette in the air, his mind desires to give the paparazzi what they want. Be the good boy he has always been in a band of people who have stood out for their unique qualities, but tonight, when it’s about her and the success tastes like blood and iron on his tongue, he doesn’t want to be who he used to be.

Jeon Wonwoo, did everything to be one of the most well-known drummers of the year, and ended up alone in the process.

“It’s just for someone, let me be.” He whispers, pushing through the seas of people with his bodyguard trailing right behind him. One good thing comes from fame, but just as he is getting away from the bar, the clicking of cameras still following along with the words from the paparazzi, he hears a lively voice cut through the air with worry.

“Wonwoo, what do you think you’re doing? That’s bad publicity.” Soonyoung speaks quickly, brushing his blonde hair away from his face to showcase his reddened face. The honesty must come from being a bit tipsy.

“Sorry.” It’s the only thing he can bring himself to say, because he knows it’s bad publicity, but isn’t it bad enough that people have been speculating about the muse behind his album? And none of the suppositions are right.

“Stop smoking and look at me for once.” Soonyoung indicates, and Wonwoo parts the cigarette from his lips for a second, quirking one of his eyebrows as they walk together. “What is going on with you?”

“I’m about to become a million seller by exploiting my past relationship and I’ve been getting more attention than usual in the process.” The night seems to swallow each and every single one of his worries, leaving him with a sigh. “I think I’ve just had enough.”

“That’s what happens, dude!” Soonyoung conquers, as if trying to make him feel better. His arm wraps around his shoulder, moving him from side to side. “You’ve done something great for our band, and you’ve been able to let go of all those pent feelings.”

Ha. That’s something he hasn’t done at all. How stupid does he have to be to be in love with her when it all ended so wrongly? Besides, it’s not like she would’ve waited for him—he was a dick, and she has all the reasons to find someone much better. The thought has him putting the cigarette up to his lips again.

“I suppose.” He shrugs, watching a limousine pull up not too far away from them. Since when did he forget about the existence of taxis and started to be too rich for his own good?

“The publicists are going to be so mad at you.”

Wonwoo stops at that, looking ahead and back, ahead and back, not knowing if he should move forward and drag himself to the past. Was it easier when no one cared? Is it easier now that he has all he ever wanted?

Was this all he ever wanted at all?

“Soonyoung…” He says those words into the air, playing a smile into his features as if he feels it. He doesn’t. “Can’t we just get in the car and not talk about this for a second? Let’s talk about any other band but Love’s Midnight.”

Something in the blonde man switches, opening the door to the limousine as he nods with uncertainty. He doesn’t like being looked at like that—as if he doesn’t know what he’s doing with his life…

Because it’s damn right.

But hey, at least he’s almost a million copies seller, right?

###

“Huh, I listened to an album this week,” Her voice drags with the continuation of her sentence, eyes trailing up until she meets Minghao’s, far too concentrated on the sound of her microphone, on stopping the echoes and making sure that those who tune in live do get to hear her properly. She has to muffle a laugh. Nervousness makes her sound stupid. “Well, duh, of course, I always talk about music and listen to albums…but I listened to a weekly favorite just last week.”

Each day has been worse than the last. The headache doesn’t leave her, finding herself humming the tunes to Love’s Midnight songs—that one song, the last track, keeps playing in her head as if she had been the one who composed it. Whatever. It happens. I’m sure most of the women in music who had songs written about them felt the same way. Maybe, Courtney Love felt like this. Could’ve been worse, at least Wonwoo didn’t pull a Lennon and wrote a song along the lines of “Dear Yoko”.

She fixes the beanie on her head, staring forward at the white doors of her office, the coldness seeping through her sweater, a shiver going down her spine. “It’s Love’s Midnight latest album, Valentine. You guys were recommending it a lot this week, wanted me to talk about it and all…” Her fingers start to play with the straw of her drink, trying her hardest not to take too many pauses. The podcast is live for some, after all. “And it’s here. I’ll talk about it.”

With the last ounce of sanity left inside her body, she takes a long sip of her drink, smacks her lips and starts pouring out her thoughts into professionalism.

“Track number three sucks. Sorry to anyone who is a fan, but track number three is the corniest, stupidest thing I’ve ever heard from them. No hate, just truth.” She lifts her hands in the air, watching Minghao lift his gaze to mouth something to her. Don’t, he says, and she remembers that was the last word she told Wonwoo. Fuck. “In all honesty, though, I liked the conceptualization of the album. I think that…uh…they could’ve added some spice here and there. Everything felt like a pile of heartbreak—”

The screen by her side lights up, showing up the live chat and the viewers speaking about the album.

Jeon Wonwoo wrote it for a past lover. He must be heartbroken.

Track number three is the best, though.

Finally, you’re talking about Love’s Midnight. Favorite band.

“But yeah, Love did amazingly with her vocals, contrary to what one would believe. She went to high highs and low lows, exquisite in her vibratos, that raspy tone of hers still captures everyone who listens.” Looking up at the ceiling, she swallows thickly. So much to say about nine tracks about her, and still the words don’t come out. “H—Vernon, he’s very good with the bass. You know, maybe our tech Minghao will agree with me on this, but Vernon is the one who makes the songs feel profitable, like it can be heard in a club, can be heard in the car, both adults and teens can like his sound. Definitely one of the pillars of the band, I think.”

Minghao nods his head from the booth, and she feels a little bit of warmth in the room. She’s not alone—if she fucks up, she’s not alone.

“Hoshi. Didn’t even know Hoshi was in the band until our tech told me, haven’t been really up to date with Love’s Midnight…” Because watching him play would only bring back the memories of the first time they met, the feeling of his skin tattered in tattoos under the weight of her hands, the tremble of his voice, the tender way he held her. Like she meant something. Like her words meant something. Until they didn’t. “God, his solos? He’s—I think in this era, in this generation of musicians, it’s impossible to stand out as a guitarist because there’s hundreds, thousands, millions of good guitarists. Haven’t seen Hoshi live, but I’m looking forward for the acoustic sets with his talent. Just from listening to him, I feel like he has real talent.”

Her eyes divert towards the screen, shaking a bit when she reads a question on her opinion about Wonwoo’s songwriting skills. There, she can imagine him sprawled on his bed, his notebook covering most of his face as he looks at her from the corner of his eye, sending a shy smile her way before venturing into a new world, writing her in it as if he cared.

Did he ever care?

“Ah…what I think about Jeon Wonwoo’s songwriting skills?” Saying his name out loud has her scrunching up her features. If she closes her eyes, he’s there, so she keeps them wide open. His voice calls her out—baby, baby, I didn’t forget you. “I think they could be better.”

It’s at this time that Minghao scoffs from his spot, shaking his head as he places his hands behind it. Liar, his pretty lips mouth at her.

“Wonwoo, whoever this album is about,” Me, she thinks, it’s about me and my stupid dumb smile when around him. My insecurities. My world. “I don’t know, it feels fake. Maybe, it’s just me…” Her voice trails for a second, shaking her thoughts out before sighing. “They’re good, they’re just not…you know, they’re not ‘album of the year’ worthy. He seems to be stuck in the same topic and I can’t judge his range if he’s only written about…one thing…you know, like—” Shit, she’s really digging her own grave right here. What is she supposed to say? That she liked it? “Like, yeah, we get it, you’re heartbroken…but, I mean, judging from what he has written in the album…he fucked up, too, you know?”

Maybe, she should just read some comments. Reassure herself that she’s not sounding like the one who had an entire album written about her.

Emo boy energy, doesn’t surprise me. Very Jeon Wonwoo-esque. One of them writes.

The drums were sick, though. Say hi to me, host!

People say it’s about Song Eunji.

Song Eunji. Model. Wonwoo’s latest known lover. The pictures flash before her eyes as she thinks about it. Maybe, it’s really about Eunji and not about her…

Why does the thought make her sadder?

“So, yeah, I’d give it an eight point seven out of ten. Favorite track is track number nine. Hoshi is the backbone of this band to me now. That’s it.”

Regret clings to her like a leech. Song Eunji. Jeon Wonwoo. An album. Failed dates. A broken relationship. Why is love always extra difficult for her?

###

“Come on, babe, lighten up.”

With rosy cheeks, her friend, Jade, speaks those words like there is enough space in this party for her to feel free. There isn’t, quite clearly, but Jade is on the brink of her youth, ready to mess up her long hair, get on some tables and drunkenly sing to the world, albeit a bit messily. Her family, all consisting of enormous classic musicians, rooted from the most intricate and exclusive of schools, would shake their heads at the sight of Jade, already rid of her shirt and practically dragging her body towards her to wrap an arm around her shoulder and keep herself steady. The bottle of champagne Jade had been drinking from is brought up to her lips, and she has to take a sip if she doesn’t want Jade to start whining in a high tone, able to break through the bass-boosted music in this club.

It’s Jade’s birthday, and Minghao is nowhere to be seen. He probably left early—her fault for trying to play matchmaker between Jade and Minghao over a year ago, but her apologies had never been enough for the awkward blind date she had set up for the two of them. If there’s one thing Minghao can’t stand is lying, and much more if it’s about his romantic life.

To be quite honest, she thought it’d be a match. Stylishly rich guitarist of a local band, Jade, and stylishly average tech of her podcast, Minghao.

Maybe, she was wrong.

“Shit, Jade—” She’s already taking off her jacket from her shoulders to drape it across Jade’s chest, who simply looks down at the fabric with a scrunch of her nose. “You’re on your bra.”

Jade chuckles sweetly, because inherently, she’s dulcet. The kind of girl that wipes your tears after a break up, lends you some powder after you throw up in a bar’s bathroom, and the one that just wants everyone to have a good time. Everyone including her. “Babe, it’s Victoria’s Secret. I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Everyone is going to see your nipples.”

“You know, it’s better for me to have two very healthy nipples than not have them at all. So, whoever wants to see, can see.” With that, her jacket is given once again to her, staring at Jade who brings up the bottle of champagne up to her lips, the pink liquid trailing down her cheeks and her chin. “Why are you here all alone?”

Because the music is shitty, Minghao is nowhere to be in sight, and Jade was playing a game of body shots not too long ago. College has been long dead for her since a while ago—and she doesn’t think she’d be confident enough to have someone drinking directly from her body.

Props to Jade, of course.

“Ah, maybe because I wanted to leave soon?” She asks, rubbing the back of her head to play with her messy ponytail. It had been sleek once, but being around this amount of people, dancing against one another, and trying to move through them while also avoiding anyone getting too close to her, was a difficult task that ended up getting her a bit riled up.

“Shut up!” Jade screeches, wrapping her arm around her once again and resting her cheek against hers. “Shut up, babe! You’re not leaving…anywhere…no.”

That’s the drag of her voice, the clear sign that Jade will be too drunk tomorrow, drunk enough for her not to remember if she leaves her alone here—

But shit, she can’t leave Jade alone. She’s shirtless, meaning that her Versace shirt must be somewhere on the floor, or covered in vomit, and she’s drunk. God knows what could happen if she leaves her alone.

“I’m not leaving you, don’t worry.”

“Yay!”

“But I should clean you up, you’re all sticky from the alcohol, Jade.” She replies, already making her way through the masses of people to find the bathroom. It must be by one of the corners, but she’s not too sure in this club. “Why did you drink so much?”

“Because—”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Just because.”

When the bathroom’s door is only a few meters away, she sees him. The song that is playing in the background is too robotic for anyone’s taste, but the one that plays inside her head is the one she mumbled to him before they fell asleep once.

‘Love of my Life’ by Queen.

Because if there’s someone that she loved in this world, in this hellish world that they dare call real life, it’s Jeon Wonwoo.

Closed eyes, head tilted back enough for his Adam’s apple to bob when he takes another drag of his cigarette. Nicotine is his lover for the night, while Love seems to tell him something angrily, fingers threading through her bleached blonde hair, dying at the number of products she puts on it, fried at this point. Wonwoo looks like himself, but he also doesn’t. She knows those black strands of hair, and how they curled against her fingertips when she tightened her hold on them after a kiss. Her mind recognizes those lips, now pink yet chapped, but when they wrap into an answer that blows the smoke into the air, he doesn’t seem like her Wonwoo. His eyes open, he stares at Love as he speaks to her, but Love’s eyes are already looking at someone else.

Eunkyung is calling out her name and there is nothing that seems to stop her as she stumbles away from her seat.

It’s at nights like these that she wishes to be forgotten. Get on a car, preferably old, drive until her feet hurt or until the gas runs low, wearing a thin jacket as she listens to classics. She’s tired of this new version of her life that she can’t seem to get used to. People that she thought she knew seem to be far too different now, with Eunkyung not existing when she reaches her and Jade. This is Love, the vocalist of Wonwoo’s band, with eyes so hollow she almost feels dead, and a mouth that wraps up in a smile that begs for a second chance.

Because everyone wants to go back.

But no one can.

“It’s been so long since I last saw you!” Love’s arms wrap around her to take her away from Jade, but her friend doesn’t seem to mind as she giggles mindlessly. Love’s hold is strong, calloused hands meeting her spine as she cages her face on her shoulder. There are tears there, an unspoken word, perhaps the need to feel like herself again. This is not Eunkyung. “Where have you been?”

“Somewhere. Always here.” She replies, pulling away and yet, capturing Wonwoo’s gaze in a single second. His eyes are already on her, twinkling heavenly in the pits of hell, and she has to give a step back to deny the gravity in between the two.

“Wonwoo’s over there. Let me call him over—!”

Little by little, she loved him.

And little by little, she shall erase the memory of him.

“No, sorry. Me and my friend are going back home.” She replies, wrapping her hand around Jade’s wrist, pulling farther and farther away from the people she had known the most. Yet, she doesn’t know them now. These people on world tours, selling millions of copies of their albums, making money out of their past…those are not people she had known.

And she doesn’t want to know them again.

Her feet bring her out of the club, and she swears she feels someone behind her, but with rushed steps the feeling becomes barely a ghost. Then, nonexistent. Finally, in the car she starts to think about it.

May the stars only know if it was him going after her.

###

With him, it always feels like one of both said something wrong. Or, rather, didn’t say anything at all.

What’s with her, this feeling of talking too much and saying too little? What’s the regret that overtakes her when her head leans back on her seat, listening to the song Minghao has put on per her request, played for their viewers and yet, not quite admitting to her most intricate of desires even on a verse? Her eyes stare at the ceiling, imagine him in front of his drums—imagine him calling her beautiful, holding her head, longing for her. All things she wants now, all equally as impossible.

A week since she last saw him, and she likes to believe Wonwoo went trailing after her. It’s the only thing that keeps her up at night—the questioning of reality and a dream. Maybe, he was never behind her—it could’ve been one of the partygoers, one of those drunken people that don’t know where to step, or it could’ve been him. Why does she feel her lungs relax against its own confines when she imagines him?

Because this is Wonwoo. The one who writes songs about her. The only man that she can’t seem to get over. Memories that come back all the time, because he’s in every single one of them. Wonwoo’s name spill from her tongue without knowing, his songs come to her in the shower without meaning to, and his scent is felt on every portion of her bed. He hasn’t been there in years, but it’s almost like he left only yesterday.

It was two years ago.

Two years, and she really should get over him.

Her eyes divert towards her computer screen, watching the messages pop in slowly before she sees a collection of digits. It’s a date—the date in which everything ended, continued by a text that has her mouth drying up.

I want to see you again.

It has to be a coincidence; it really has to be so. It could be that someone’s important date was two years ago, in that night in which everything ended. She sighs deeply, clearing her throat when the song finishes itself and she has to talk again.

“Well, now we have to talk about that album—”

Another message pops up, but it’s impossible. Wonwoo rarely listened to her podcast, and when he did, he never said anything.

Love’s Midnight album is about who you think it is about.

Please, let me see you again.

She wants to see him again, too. It’s that feeling that keeps her up at night—knowing he could be close, but never close enough.

“Ah, in case anyone comes across a bunch of messages in the chat about seeing me again. It’s just some ex.” She tries to chuckle, but her voice has long gone left for something duller, stranger, as if she can’t get used to talking when it’s about him. “Already seeing someone dude, sorry.”

Seeing who?!

Minghao lifts his gaze, his hat doing nothing to conceal the disappointment on his face. What can she do? Admit that she feels jealous whenever she hears those rumors about who the album is about? That she has looked at pictures of his possible lovers and yet, the feeling never quite settles well with her?

The last man she saw was a man of wealth—son of a record label owner, very much into music, yet not quite in a band or participating anywhere as a solo artist. Mingyu was a nice date; the kind that made her laugh, ate a lot with her, drank a good glass of burgundy colored wine with her…but he wasn’t a forever. Wasn’t even a kiss. Mingyu became a friend after, and then, she didn’t want to date again.

But it’s what she has to do. If Wonwoo can go date some Eunji, and possibly write one or two songs about her, she can date whoever…

Right?

Right?!

###

The documentary didn’t show exactly how Love’s Midnight came to be what they are today.

People love a good story. Movies are a profitable job because of that, and books keep on fueling fantasies for those who can’t live in a better world for the same reason. What happens is, if something is boring, people don’t care. There has to be sentimentalism; enough to move anyone to tears, or make them feel inspired. Everyone who has been legendary has gone through a story of pain, only to reach their best spot. There’s a downfall in between, but the point of union always brings the grand finale to life.

In reality, Love’s Midnight happened because of Hansol. Eunkyung, who now can’t seem to stand anyone calling her that name instead of Love, worked part-time in some bar downtown. The place was ratchet, with hidden call-people expecting someone to capture them for the night, some drunkards that got a little bit too loud, and the owner, who’d always thank Eunkyung’s presence, calling it Love’s Midnight whenever clients gathered around…because her drinks were that good.

Hansol said, as he happened to be sitting down in Wonwoo’s couch, that it sounded like a band’s name. Andy was there, too, partly rubbing the skin of his arm after getting his first tattoo, and also hardly listening—but it seemed to be fitting for him, to join their forces and make a group. Originally, Eunkyung was supposed to be a guitarist, but Wonwoo would not even dare step in front of masses of people to sing a goddamned song about love.

What did people who watched the documentary believe now? That it was because of Andy’s nickname to Eunkyung. Love, when they were lovers, and the midnights they spent together. It earns them more money, yes, but it’s also heavily exaggerated to have people asking for more. Andy and Love were one of the biggest couples years ago, after all, and people thirsted more and more for their little interactions, even if they were nonexistent at this point.

Luckily, Hoshi is now with them.

But people are now even more interested in the band, and the arenas for the concerts of their world tours have been selling like hot bread. The problem is that being in a van with his three bandmates gets more tiring with each and every day that they spend pretending to be people they are not. They have to be cool, edgy, attend parties when they are told to, drink alcohol like it’s water, talk like they think of themselves as the most mysterious in this world. He can’t even call Hansol his real fucking name without having one of their managers tug him by the arm and correct him to Vernon.

The news outlet displays itself on the television screen. Hoshi keeps strumming on his guitar, and Vernon doesn’t seem to mind as he lays sleepily on his bed, ready to knock off. Love is somewhere in the back with someone she met in the afterparty of the concert—some groupie that she can’t seem to get her hands off of. The worst part is that he can’t seem to continue writing this song for the next album, because a picture of him is displayed on the screen.

“Who do you think Valentine is about, Rose?” One of the hosts asks, moving her short hair away from her sturdy shoulders to look at her taller counterpart.

Rose plays with the strands of her bubblegum pink hair, smacking her lips together before she speaks up. “People say it’s about Eunji Song, but I think there’s a line of girls that say it’s about her.”

“Wonwoo’s totally a womanizer.” Another host says, fashionable in the way he dresses, one leg crossed over the other. “We have fourteen idols who have been linked with him, three models, one entrepreneur and all in the last two years. We don’t even know who could’ve slipped the public eye.”

Rose takes a sharp breath, her teeth clattering in a way that has Wonwoo closing his eyes tightly. Two models, and that was about it. Neither lasting more than a week. Neither meant to be more to him. Just two people that he happened to come across with, and helped him forget. Well, tried to, at least. “He has even more lovers than Vernon!”

“Vernon’s been with the same girl for a while. Maybe, he could learn a thing or two about a committed relationship.”

The first host chuckles at their words, shaking her head in the process. “Everyone’s into drummers. I think he just likes the attention.”

The lonesome tune of Hoshi’s old guitar stops playing in the background, and Vernon’s soft snores mix with the cars passing by. His fingers reach for the remote, turning off the TV before those words stain his heart even further.

“Want to talk about it?” The bleached blonde man in the room asks, resting his cheek against his guitar to pay his utmost attention to him. “Vernon knows. Love does, too. But you’ve never told me what happened with your Valentine.”

Maybe, Hoshi seems like the kind who doesn’t take anything seriously—but he does. His eyes glaze over as he quietly speaks into the night, but Wonwoo can only stand up from his seat, eager to lock himself in his own room and think of what exactly happened. He doesn’t know what’s going on inside his head. “It’s nothing special,” But it is. Wonwoo believed in a lot of things—that Van Gogh was the best artist of his generation, that knowledge is the best form of revenge, and that she was his person. The only individual in this world that could see him for who he was and still, gauged him to be better. “Just what happens to everyone.” He fixes his jeans then, hanging low on his hips when Hoshi scoffs.

“What happens to everyone?”

“…Just, falling in love and never being able to make it work.”

“That’s not your fault.”

He stops in front of the door that leads to his room, and he wants to believe what Hoshi says. Maybe, if she had understood him as an artist, they’d be together. Perhaps, if he had just listened to her, he wouldn’t have written an entire album about heartbreak. It was not inherently his fault, but partly, like DNA that splits in two and creates the atrocity of what they were. The beauty in the fallout. “I’m heading to sleep.”

A hand wraps around his thigh, caging him in his spot when Hoshi, with a widened gaze, asks: “Who is it about?” The gossip must’ve gotten to him, too. Secrecy at its finest made an entire festival for the world to enjoy. “Like, who out of all the women they say it’s about…the album is actually written for.”

“None of them.” Wonwoo conquers, pushing his body away from him with a dizzied smile on his face. “…And that’s all I’m saying.”

“Wonwoo—!”

“I’m not saying who it is about.”

“…Damn it.” Hoshi adds, finally leaning back on his seat and returning to his guitar, soon after playing a tune with a few invented lyrics: “Jeon Wonwoo has a stick up his ass…”

The door closes behind him with a swoosh, all thoughts of rationality building themselves down out of pure impotence. The room is far too tiny, and Hoshi will join him sooner than later when he finishes his little guitar rendezvous, but that’s far from the point now. With each step he takes towards his bed, the more he notices his phone. Changed it like four times in the past two years because of crazy groupies, obsessed people sending him threats and just because he could do so. He wanted change so much that he doesn’t need it anymore.

The bed welcomes his weight as if he had never left, molding to his every curve, bouncing at his mere presence. His fingers subtly reach for his phone, lurking through his contacts like a man searching for answers.

His past lover is taken, and he’s stupid enough to press down on her contact even when he’s not drunk. Not an ounce of alcohol clads his vision, his stance, and that only makes it more pathetic.

But, how could she be taken? If love’s not as easy to get rid of for him, it should be difficult for her, too.

The ringing stops, and someone picks up, though the voice that welcomes him is old, a femme to be exact, but definitely over her sixties. “Hello?” She asks on the voice, and Wonwoo closes his eyes tightly out of embarrassment. “Who is calling this late?”

Right, a sixty-something-year-old woman is probably not used to two in the morning calls.

But who is, actually?

Out of embarrassment, his thumb presses down on the red button and he’s once again left with his silence. This has to mean that he should stop—calling his ex-girlfriend, who said was taken, is not the worst thing he has done, but it’s outright pathetic. For a second, he thinks of texting someone else—a friend, a model, a singer, someone who clearly wants to pay attention to him, who wouldn’t mind having the star of the year talking to them about anything and everything but her.

Yet, his mind can only think about an old friend, and it’s not even a friend to start with. Calling him would earn him a few insults, so he opts to text the only direct line he has to what he wants to get back. The thread that could move him closer to getting an answer.

To: Xu Minghao.

Hello, Minghao. This is Wonwoo.

Jeon Wonwoo from Love’s Midnight.

Minghao probably recognizes him more as his friend’s ex-boyfriend, but hey, he doesn’t know what to say.

Still, he mentions her name.

To: Xu Minghao.

Do you have her number?

I really need to talk to her.

For a few seconds, he wishes he could dissipate. Of course, Xu Minghao probably has made his life, twirled in his bedsheets and perhaps, with a lover that fits him better than he ever fit his ex. He’ll probably get insulted nonetheless, knowing just how protective he is over the podcast host. It’s two in the fucking morning, Wonwoo’s not drunk, but he really wishes he was so he could have an excuse for being…

Stupid.

A dick.

From: Xu Minghao.

Are you drunk?

To: Xu Minghao.

No.

From: Xu Minghao.

Are you planning on getting drunk?

To: Xu Minghao.

No.

Her number is linked soon after, not without forgetting to add something else.

From: Xu Minghao.

Anything you say can and will be held against you.

I’ll know if you do something stupid.

Don’t fuck it up, dude.

The thing is that Wonwoo is a thinker. Immature at times, or most of the time, but really an overthinker. His dad always told him that going through life as if he’s in a game of chess would help him make right decisions. Count every movement as a step forward, but also a step closer to either winning or losing. Each and every action could cause the fallout of others, of himself, or absolute success. He doesn’t know where he stands as the phone rings and he awaits her response.

“Hello?”

That groggy tone, he has heard before. Whenever someone wakes her up from a nap or a deep night of sleep, her voice seems to be eerily quiet. It’s the only time he has heard her something far from perfect, not as knowledgeable as she is. Love-filled confessions were given at the peak of the night, when Wonwoo’s fingers would ghost over the delicate spot on her waist and she’d grasp his hand with her warm ones and say: I love you.

Muffled, silent, followed by sleep, and yet so meaningful.

“What do you mean you’re taken?” Wonwoo wants to say a million things. Say hi, and indicate that her podcast has only gotten better. That he’s sorry for not believing in her, or rather, not knowing how to show it. However, his mind is clouded with the image of her, holding hands with someone else, kissing someone else, being in absolute love with someone that is not him—and making it work. Egotistic as it can be, he is.

The bed ruffles, and for a moment, she’s silent. Too unlike her until she breathes out, much more awake now, surprised even. “Wonwoo, why are you calling me?”

The only time he has heard that surprised tone was after their first kiss. One would think that someone as beautiful as her would’ve kissed him with little to no reaction after, but his collarbones can almost feel the weight of her face at the memory. Her features hid away from him, the dumbest of smiles accompanied with a few giggles of her own. It was as if she had been waiting for him, and he had taken too long.

It’s not that different now.

“I—Uh, I needed to hear you. Hear from you.” Wonwoo doesn’t know what to say, straightening up his position on the bed and taking his pillow to slot his fingertips against the fabric. “I told you what I really felt and what I did, and all you do is ignore me.”

“I’m not friends with my exes, sorry.” She replies, and Wonwoo is about to retaliate, but the words have come back to her. Angry. Burning. Scalding. “And why in all the fucking hell would I have to tell you why I’m taken?”

“Because—” He wants to be honest for the first time in a while. With himself and with her. “Because we used to be friends before we were lovers, and I still care about the kind of person you’re seeing—”

“Do you really care?” The scoff that leaves her lips brings a frown to his face. “Go ask one of your models, or Song Eunji, about who they’re seeing and what they’re doing with their romantic lives. You don’t need to protect me from anything.”

Oh, so she knew about Eunji. “I’m not with any of them.”

“And you’re not with me, either.”

Wonwoo has to run his fingers through his messy black hair in order to grasp onto something else, or organize his thoughts before he goes absolutely insane. “I’m not.”

Silence. “So, why are you calling?”

“Because I can’t stand the thought of you loving someone else.” He breathes out, and before she could interrupt him with one of her pointy, correct, honest speeches, he bares his heart and soul. “…I’ve only been yours, I’m still yours. I want to know who it is that made you not want to be mine again.”

Again must not be in her vocabulary, and if he listens close enough, he can hear the change in her breathing, as if she starts to live life slower. “So, you date some model and I’m supposed to stay single?”

Fuck.

“I didn’t date her.”

“Then, you slept with her. Or various women, I don’t know.”

He can only stay silent.

“I know we broke up, and it’s totally okay for you to do that, but why would you ask me to stay waiting for you, when you didn’t wait for me either?”

“Okay, shit, sorry.” Wonwoo tries to reorganize his thoughts. He’s stupid. She wasn’t wrong when she said most men are stupid in the past, and now he has entered the spectrum. “I did it because it just…I just…I needed to get you out of my head.”

“By sleeping with other women?”

“Two.”

“Oh, two.” She releases, sarcasm thick in her voice. “What would you do if I said I have had more than two?”

Wonwoo closes his eyes, imagining her going on dates or perhaps, simply looking for someone in a bar. For men to sweeten her lips with a taste of their own, before treating her like less than what she deserves. It’s not what he wants for her, but it’s the same medicine he took. “It’d suck, but it’d be acceptable. We are not together.”

“Exactly.”

“…But who is it?”

“Who?”

“Who is the person you’re seeing right now? Out of your repertoire of people.”

She remains silent for a few seconds, as if she’s thinking too deeply, and yet, Wonwoo can’t keep his mouth from running. For the first time in his life, he wants to say a lot instead of saying nothing at all.

“No one.” She whispers into the dark night, the lullaby of his dreams coming directly from his lips. He wants to call it a second chance, but it just means solitude. “…Because unlike you, I wasn’t able to move on as easily.”

“I didn’t, fuck, I didn’t move on.” Wonwoo replies, laying on his stomach as he hides his face on the sheets. “I was just stupid. I don’t know how to explain myself.”

“Do so or I’ll hang up. Last chance to hear my voice—”

“I wanted to get over you, and I thought I’d do what most rockstars do. I’d just sleep with someone and feel powerful, like I don’t care…” His voice trails, eyes glistening when he lifts his gaze. “But I do care. I care about you.”

“…I don’t know if I should trust you.” The insecurity is palpable through her voice, as if she’s a star in this sky and she’s only getting farther away from him. Tiny, miniscule for her; big and bright for him. “Wonwoo, we didn’t understand each other then, when we were barely starting to be the people we wanted to be. How would we understand each other now that my podcast is doing the best it has ever done, and you have about every woman in this damned country wanting to throw their wet panties at you?”

Looking up at the ceiling, Wonwoo wants to say the truth. What he has always regret not telling her. “I’ll always try my hardest for you. I didn’t do it then, but I’d go back and do it differently if I could.”

The line cuts short after she hangs up, leaving him with no more than a sharp intake of breath.  

###

The chocolate on the man’s ice-cream cracks under the force of his teeth, sliced nuts meeting the white substance in between—vanilla ice-cream, most likely, with a few lines of caramel. She had forgotten just how much Mingyu seemed to enjoy life, lips forever petrified in a smile as he looked around in the ice cream shop. Her delight has disappeared into the depths of her stomach, but Mingyu is on his second ice cream. Not a care in this world. Not a single wrinkle on his face to indicate he is feeling the weather a little bit strongly. He’s just eating, living, existing, breathing.

Jade tagged along, because something about her being in his father’s label and Mingyu absolutely needing guitar classes means that they had to ask her to come to their little ‘not a date’. Judging by the way Jade’s cheeks stain pink, and how she continuously play with the strands of hair, becoming a shy version of herself she had rarely gotten to see—unless they went to a concert and got to meet the artists backstage—, she thinks there is a reason why everything felt so inherently wrong with Mingyu, and with her setting up date for Minghao and Jade.

The young woman’s eyes glaze over when Mingyu smiles at her, and her fingertips reach for his lips to rub the chocolate away. Those stares, in between shyness and comfort, in the stage of not knowing what to say and yet, doing everything all at once—she lived that with Wonwoo, and she knows they’re probably less than a month away from calling it the truth.

So, she stands up, because if she can do something right in this life it’s making two people get together, even if she has to fake a few actions in the process. “I’m getting another ice cream. Want one, Jade?”

“We’ll share.” Mingyu adds, already putting his newly bitten chocolate ice cream up to Jade’s lips, and he barely ignores Jade’s widened eyes as she wraps her lips around the sweet and bites on the chocolate.

“Okay…” She whispers, lifting her hands in the air with her phone dinging in between her fingertips. “I’ll be right back.”

She doesn’t miss the way that Jade whispers ‘take your time’, before Mingyu joins her with sweet laughter.

Ugh, love.

It’s so motherfucking annoying when you don’t have it.

But, let’s admit it—it’s cute in its early stages.

To: Hao.

So, when I set you up with Jade…

From: Hao.

You mean: Worst idea you’ve ever had?

To: Hao.

Yeah.

Did you hate me for it because Jade’s not your type, or because you knew she’d be a better match for Mingyu?

From: Hao.

Jade denies it, but she’s always had a thing for Mingyu.

To: Hao.

Oh, tea?

From: Hao.

I guess.

She drunkenly admitted it to me once.

Well, initially she said she wanted Mingyu to tie her to a ceiling fan and make her spin.

But I continued to talk her out of it and she admitted that she thought he was cute.

And I’ve been working on building up her crush on him for a year straight.

To: Hao.

Trust Xu Minghao on finding the love of your life.

Upon approaching the counter to order her ice cream, she hears someone softly calling out her name. It’s a delicate voice, definitely not used a lot, as if the air could take away the words in one single swish. Locking her phone as she turns to the side, she sees a smaller young woman by her side. Probably on her teens, with black hair and red highlights, a band t-shirt representing the pinnacle of her youth. Long ago, before Jeon Wonwoo even existed in her life, she may have looked like this.

“It’s you.”

But she wouldn’t have said that to a complete stranger, lowering her voice to a deep whisper as she clings onto her backpack. The pins read Love’s Midnight name and logo, making her swallow harshly.

“Sorry, I don’t know you—”

The teen fan gets her phone out of her pocket, lurking through her pictures as she speaks. “You’re the woman Valentine was written about,” The lisp on her tone is ever-present, clinging to her every syllable as she shows the device to her, pictures with Wonwoo displayed one by one, moved by her finger to show even more proof. Her face behind important pictures of their first few gigs, a few messages in social media that she was sure she deleted before— “Fans have been going crazy trying to find who it was about, but I saw you in the pictures and decided to look you up.”

She has to take a step back. Fear overtakes her. A young fan could do anything they wanted with this information, and if she was able to find all that…this is not the normal kind of fan. With shaking fingertips, she clasps her phone against her chest. “Did you follow me here, kid?”

“No. This is dad’s ice cream shop.” A smack of her bubblegum fills the air, twirling her finger against the straps of her backpack. “…I just saw you here and I thought it was destiny.”

“It’s not destiny.” She speaks, curt and clear. “And also, I’m not the woman you’re looking for. Sorry.”

“You’re in all his pictures from the past—”

“We were friends.” And she doesn’t know why she’s explaining this to a teenager, instead of actually calling her father and telling him that her daughter is batshit crazy. “And it’s none of your business, ain’t it? If you really like a celebrity, you need to learn how to respect their privacy.”

“Everyone is looking for his Valentine, and if I am right with my assumptions, we’ll finally get to know—”

“What do you earn from it?” Turning around, she spares one glance at Mingyu and Jade, with Mingyu looking at them with a frown on their features. Confusion, definitely. “Whoever it is, that’s the drummer’s issue.”

“It’s you! It’s so you!” The teenager says, a smile on her face as she jumps on her spot. “The blog’s so gonna love this!”

Grasping her hand with force on top of the teenager’s, she sighs deeply. “Don’t do that. That’s wrong.” She starts, eyes raking over the room before clearing her throat. “One day, you’re going to be older, and you’re going to realize those people you look up to are as normal as you are. You don’t need to make them more important than they already are, for you or for anyone. Don’t let being a fan of someone take over your life.”

The teen looks down at their joined hands, eyelashes fluttering with the heavy mascara, chest going up and down with each breath she takes, deeper than the last. “Okay, sorry…” She whispers, pulling away from her. “I must’ve gotten it wrong.”

“Don’t worry, I was also a fan of some people in my time.” She shrugs, returning her gaze to her friends to give them a tight smile. Everything’s alright. “Thank you for understanding.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“Alright, thank you.”

The problem is that only that night when she gets home, Minghao links her straight to an article, written fresh from the oven and reading:

Forty Women (+1 Unexpected Guest) That Can Be The Inspiration Behind Love’s Midnight’s Valentine!

Scrolling down with shaking fingertips, she prays to the heaven for her to not be in that list—for it to be another rumor, another person that has been wanting to be thought of by Jeon Wonwoo, but once she reaches spot number forty-one, her heart feels like it has fallen out of her chest.

Her name is on the forty-first spot.

41. Podcast Host, Communication Major, Music Minor: This one is the most unexpected, yet the newest guess. Fans were able to compile pictures of two or three years ago of Jeon Wonwoo and this podcast host. Not only that, but she seemed to be close friends with Vernon, Love and Andy! Ouch!

Personal pictures were attached under the small paragraph, tugging at her heart strings.

Isn’t that the pink dress Wonwoo always talked about? Or could it be Song Eunji’s favorite color?

As if things couldn’t get any harder…

###

This is Eunkyung’s little dream. Her tea party filled with reporters, cameras, flashes, cigarettes and bodyguards. Everyone says that what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger—and he feels like he has become a weightlifter with how much he has coped with, leaning back on his seat as the reporters in front of them beg to eat them alive. Each question pointier than the other, each silence dragging on for longer than the last. The center of attention is not the album, not Hoshi’s guitar solos or Vernon’s enigmatic bass skills. The center of attention is that Jeon Wonwoo had fallen in love, and couldn’t seem to get his old lover back.

His friends are different, and so is he. It should make him feel better that the evolution is ever-present in their lives, but it isn’t. The man he sees projected on the glass of water in front of him is exactly who he would’ve never thought he’d become. His black hair is pushed away, forehead is full display, not a single imperfection left for the world to see as he’s covered in makeup. The red leather jacket makes him sweaty, but he still wears it. It’s a gift from Versace and there’s only two of them in the entire world; he just has to wear it, according to his stylist.

One of the reporters stands up from his seat, fixing the blue sweater atop his toned body. The long strands of his black hair give him a bohemian look, but the preppy outfit and the glasses make him look somewhat nerdy. He could definitely be a reporter in music, but Wonwoo doesn’t really give a shit, does he?

“Wonwoo, excuse me—” The man starts, voice as nasal as ever as he brings his recorder up to his lips. “Forty-one women have been linked to be your muse for the latest album, but only one of them stands out.” He already knows the answer. Song Eunji. If rolling his eyes was an option, he’d do it, but he’s been staring at the cameras flashing for too long and his eyes feel like they may give up on him at any moment.

“Sorry, uh, we said no questions about that.” Wonwoo leans forward on his microphone, offering a brief smile in order to keep it at peace. The least he wants is drama for being an absolute diva.

The reporter doesn’t listen, calling out her name as if he knew her. As if they had shared cups of coffee, mornings where conversations merged into memories, nights in which her tears couldn’t be stopped with memories of either really good or really bad times. “…Podcast host and communication graduate, whose connection with you was clarified by your fans after finding pictures from two years ago, seemingly in a relationship with you.”

Fuck.

Where was his publicist when he needed her the most?

He didn’t know that his fans were able to find such things. Each trace of his past with her had been deleted—for the sake of his band, and for the sake of forgetting her. “I won’t make any statements.”

“So, you do admit that you were in a relationship with her?”

“I said,” He presses his lips to the microphone, lifting his eyebrows in the process. “No statements. Meaning, no comment.”

“Ignoring my question is a confirmation, Wonwoo.”

This time around, Vernon is the one who takes place in the interview. “Ignoring his complaints about not wanting to answer is a confirmation of your lack of knowledge in reporting, sir.”

The masses in front of them go crazy, each asking questions louder than the last, penetrating his ears with absolute hatred. Wonwoo stumbles backwards by the time his body leaves his seat, shaking his head when his manager tries to reach out for him, make him sit down before he absolutely ruins his career. Yet, the only person he can think about is her. His fans had found her, the reporters knew about her, too. A life void of privacy simply because of him.

Once backstage, his shoulders tense, cradling his phone in between his hands and bringing it up to his ear. The phone rings a few times, but she always hangs up. Each and every call is ignored exactly in its beginning.

From: Jeon Wonwoo.

I didn’t tell anyone about us.

Tell me you’re alright, please.

Please, answer the phone.

Are you okay?

Why aren’t you answering?

I’m sorry for everything.

Regret bites at him, slices him to bits as he sits down on the sofa, hearing the commotion outside and yet, doing nothing to conceal it. Love would hate him for this, tension rising between them ever since he became the center of attention—but he never asked for this. If he could take it back to the time in which he had her, and Love’s Midnight only played small gigs in some bars downtown, he would.

And he’s been meaning to.

To: Jeon Wonwoo.

I know you didn’t tell anyone.

I’m alright.

I just need time to think of what I’m going to do.

From: Jeon Wonwoo.

I could book a hotel for you so you feel safer.

Paparazzi are going to look for you.

To: Jeon Wonwoo.

I’m staying at Minghao’s, don’t worry.

From: Jeon Wonwoo.

Fine, but take care of yourself.

To: Jeon Wonwoo.

Wonwoo?

He can imagine her, calling out his name softly as if she had never left him, as if everything was alright—

From: Jeon Wonwoo.

Tell me.

To: Jeon Wonwoo.

I need you to take care, as well.

I don’t want you to stress out over this.

From: Jeon Wonwoo.

I’ll take care, baby.

Before he could regret what he said last, she left him on read. As if she had heard him too, but decided not to listen.

###  

The only beverage Minghao’s going to give her while staying at his place is lukewarm tea with honey. No matter how hard she tries to get him to give her coffee, it doesn’t happen.

The cars pass by the windows, stuffed by her breath that fans upon the clear glass. Her heart can’t stay still, much like her hands, fiddling against the other, waiting for the bad news. They have arrived—the world knows her, and past the comfort of Minghao’s place, she knows there are cameras flashing in front of her house. They had captured her before she got here, and after endless twists from Minghao, they managed to get to his apartment safe, sound and unnoticed.

Each and every insecurity is highlighted by the cameras. The fact that there had been someone else after her mocks her—tells her that people are just going to end up comparing her to those after her, or even before her. Ghosts that never existed in Wonwoo’s life, too. Some may be taller, some more petite. Some may have a clearer tone of voice, others may be unable to speak in anything other than profanities. Some may kill it on the guitar, and some may kill for a guitar. Everyone in Wonwoo’s life has been so different and yet, she’s the only one with an entire album written about her.

It’s winning the feeling of feeling unique that makes her feel less like shit. Wonwoo cared enough about her to write a million apologies in the form of notes, for him to pour his entire heart out in a guitar, a set of drums, a piano, a voice, the bass—all inspired by her, they rotate around her like the constellations around the universe. The smile she misses had dissipated with the memories of them, and she wants to bring them back. Fuck two years, more than six hundred days, because time is just a concept we don’t understand.

“Hey,” Minghao’s hair is not disheveled, put-together like he’s about to go over the runway with the newest pajama collection from, probably, Louis Vuitton. His body leans against the doorframe, wood against his soft skin, looking at her with worry as she sits on the bed of the room in Minghao’s apartment that he doesn’t use. “There has to be some good to this.”

“Yeah?” She asks, tilting her head far enough for her forehead to rest against the window. “Tell me what it is.”

The tech moves closer until he is in front of her, delicately kneeling in front of her before patting her leg. “This could bring potential listeners to our podcast—”

“Or girls that will hate me because I’m dating their rocker fantasy. Minghao, get real.” Her voice isn’t meant to sound so sharp, but it does. Her world shatters while Minghao can only see from up close, first row, even.

“Don’t think about them. Think about you.”

“What am I supposed to think about?”

“What you want out of this. If this is only a sign from the world to just get in contact with Wonwoo and clear things up. His career, yours, your relationship—” Minghao is speaking too fast, fingers fiddling with his own hair before sighing. “And if you’re not going to do it, I am. I can’t keep seeing you haltering your life because a relationship didn’t work. You are the one that needs to get real.”

She pushes his hand away then, crossing her arms over her chest to shelter herself. “Well, hear me out, you haven’t been in love, but I have. It’s damn fucking annoying when it doesn’t work, and you think that’s the only man that will ever get you, know you, feel you like he does. It’s not the same when you imagined your entire life with a man and he’s suddenly taken away from you. He changes. Twists. He’s not the same anymore, but you know that deep within him, there’s that man you love.” Her chest shakes with every breath she takes, and Minghao takes this time to step away from her. “And you wait for him. Wait for the day he realizes that you never meant to make him feel bad, and hope that he never meant to say the words he said to you. You don’t know what regret is, but I do—”

“Just mend it.”

She wishes it could be that easy. “And then, what?”

“Why do you always have to think about the future?” Her eyes inspect Minghao’s features, as if pulling away every thread of his enigma.

“Because the future is always happier than the present, ain’t it?”

His hand hovers over her shoulder, as if he wants to touch her, shelter her, but he doesn’t. Instead, Minghao smacks his hand against his side, looking for his phone before speaking up. “It’s up to us to make our present happy, too.”

The only response he gets is the sound of her sipping on her tea. Bland tea that Minghao loves, but doesn’t keep him in the room as he closes the door behind him with a thud.

For some moments, she can only look ahead. The cameras follow her, and it wouldn’t surprise her if she closes her eyes, only to awaken to the world trying to get information about her—a picture where something sags in her body, or her pimples are visible, or the stress marks around her face become wrinkles. However, even sleep seems to be out of town today, and she can’t do much but watch some movies on TV. Let the world decide for her again. The Notebook. Then, she couldn’t quite look at the screen without tears on her face.

When sleep welcomes her, it doesn’t stay for long.

It’s like the culprit that opens the door to the room, closing it behind him with an accidental bang—like the way he left. When her eyes can finally clearly see the outline of him in the dark, Wonwoo becomes a living being after years of trying to erase him. Dark hair pushed away from his face thanks to the droplets of rain that had coated both his leather jacket and his black t-shirt. His boots squeak against the flooring when he moves, stopping whatever force brings him closer to her. Eddie The Eagle plays in the background, but no star has ever been as bright as him. As the twinkle in his eyes when he breathes out his name as if he had never forgotten the lullaby in it. As if, for some reason, she’d always have a taste of that tongue and those lips, even when they are nowhere near or over hers.

Proof that love exists beneath him, over him, in him, is when he asks: “Are you alright?”

She could say no, or even just confirm it. Her words could turn into lies or truths, but they decide to stay in between. With him, saying too little or too much is granted to be a loss. “…I could be worse.”

Wonwoo lets the jacket fall on the floor with a thud, and before he could part his lips to say anything else as he nears her, she asks:

“How did you get in?”

“I was hiding in some hotel downtown, when I realized I just couldn’t leave you alone through this.” His voice is gentle, barely above a whisper when the wind keeps blowing on the windows, rain pattering like droplets of paint. “So, I called Minghao, and he told me he’d leave the door open and I just could get in.”

“No one followed you, right?” Worry piles in her expression when mirrored in his starry eyes. The music of their love has lulled to a weak piano tune. They fell, lifted themselves up, only to be pushed to the ground again.

“I made sure no one did.” And the weight of him falls on the edge of the bed, the gray bedsheets wrinkling under his wet presence, leaving an imprint of him. A memory as strong as the ones she holds of him. “I’m sorry this is the way we ended up meeting again.”

Chances, figures in percentages that we don’t expect. We hope for them, and rarely get them. The chance of meeting Wonwoo again was lost thanks to his lack of privacy, but it would a lie if she said she hadn’t been worrying about him all night. In the edge of the bed, biting at her nails, wanting nothing more than to reach out for him.

Who loves you now, Wonwoo?

Who loves you more than I do?

Is it the world? Your fans? Your bandmates? Is it someone else?

Have you been loved at all while I have been gone?

“It had to happen someday,” She whispers into the night, bringing her knees up her chest, taking her coat off and tossing it his way. The cotton material meets his hands quickly, draping it over his body as if the tears that had been dropped in the same garment manage to warm him up. “Not the way I expected it to happen—”

His lips quirk up in a shy smile, shivering with happiness and glee, or perhaps from the coldness of the room. “You expected it to happen?”

It’s her time to shut her mouth for a second, thinking of the next step. “…It’s one of those vague daydreams I have. What would happen if we met again?”

“And what did you think was going to happen?”

“…That I’d try to run away.” She replies, and his smile falls at that moment. Yet, she doesn’t want to lie to him. “But if you got close enough, I’d start thinking of your hands around my waist, or the little kisses you used to press to my hands when you held them, and I wouldn’t be able to keep myself away from you.”

Wonwoo gets closer, like a wanderer trying to land on his preferred island. Swimming through their insecurities, the issues that pulled them away— “I like that.”

“You do?” She asks. “I think I sound stupid.”

“…Love’s like that.” He shrugs. “I took the stupid decision to write an entire album about you, but here’s the thing: I don’t regret it.” His words condense every single bit of coldness inside her chest, letting the tremble of his voice awaken the senses that never left her, loving him to death. “If writing a song about you is a sin, take me to hell.”

Kicking him softly on the leg, she chuckles. “Metaphorical as ever.”

“I like to read.”

“I know, you liked reading more than talking to me.” There, one of the issues of their relationship arises.

“And you don’t know how many books I have wished to un-read just to hear you talking again.” He replies, sighing soon after as he plays with one of the threads of the blanket. “But that’s life. I make bad decisions, they bite me in the ass, and then, I try to mend it.”

“And how are you planning to mend it?”

His arms extend at that moment, taut muscles contracting against the wet shirt. “I offer a hug for the night, if that’s alright.”

She wants to say no, but her body welcomes his embrace, feeling his strong chest pressed against hers, the curve of his spine, the way his scent always seems to be there—so warm, so his, so memorable, and yet, unable to feel as strong as a perfume. It is as though the scent of him drenched in rain makes her feel better, not quite as cold as in that bed alone, even when her skin clads itself in goosebumps. Her heart thumps with so much force that he probably feels it against his waist, in the way he leans back and cocoons her into place. She can’t look at him, just because she knows herself, and she’s one centimeter away from falling.

“It’s what I need.”

“Good.”

Zero point five centimeters away from falling.

Then, his breathing becomes tranquil, and his lips rest atop her hair.

Zero point twenty-five centimeters away from falling…

Zero point seventeen…

Fallen.

###

She knows he is still in that apartment when she hears his fingertips drumming against the counter.

You know, that’s also one of the issues of their relationship…the one they had two years ago. Waking up to the sound of Wonwoo playing whatever ACDC song on their kitchen counter wasn’t a pleasant noise in the past. When she’d go to the bathroom, phone perched in between her fingertips, she’d feel the rhythm thrumming through the tiles, interrupting her precious time of privacy. He’d do it before going to sleep, when bored, when watching a show but on her legs. It’s one of those things she’d ask him to stop doing, but as her eyes open and she comes face to face with the opened door, she feels safe.

Because Wonwoo is there, and that’s more than she could ask at this moment where her name is imprinted in every magazine. Her hand looks for her phone, and for a moment, she wants to stop. God knows what most of the pages she follows on her Instagram page must have written about her—gossip sites that she is not proud of following, but does it to have topics to talk about in her podcast. Whatever. She’s a nobody, there is surely one or two things about her—

But when the light of her phone casts down on her with horrid pictures of her going through the seas of paparazzi to get out of there as soon as possible, she feels shallow.

She’s not a podcast host.

Not Wonwoo’s ex-girlfriend.

But Song Eunji’s rival.

Comparisons, one after the other, from physical appearance to the ultimate statement coming directly from Eunji. Some messages that could be understood as a simple song lyric, if it wasn’t from Wonwoo’s song itself, displayed on a throwback picture of the two of them. Finished, with of course, as much class as the model can have on an apparent drunken night, when she writes down on her caption—

Shout out to the man who writes an entire album about me and yet, can’t last more than four minutes in bed. Love you, Woo.

The laughing emojis after surely don’t settle well in her stomach.

She has to put the phone to the side to think about what bothers her—Wonwoo being with Eunji could be it, but it could also be Eunji taking the spotlight that does it. Maybe, it’s just the fact that she’s involved in all of this, covers thrown away from her body as she goes towards the kitchen, only to watch her best friend and ex-boyfriend seated face to face. Minghao, peacefully drinking from a cup of warm tea, and Wonwoo making conversation as he plays whatever difficult song he can’t seem to get out of his head.

It’s the fact that she hates it—this feeling that tells her she’s proud of being his muse, but in secret. It’s the fact that, all this time, she’d rather have him than anyone else—words be forgotten, actions be damned, only at this moment when his eyes meet hers again, and he dares say:

“Good morning. Slept well?”

How not to think of the fact that, after pushing him to the bathroom to get him to change into warmer, drier clothes from Minghao’s closet, she ended up falling sleep on his arms? That being in silence felt comfortable when around him? That healing is not quite complete when she can’t have him?

“Better than I expected.” She whispers, moving over until she is closer to him, inspecting his features before breathing out softly. “Eunji said the album is about her. People are going crazy over it.”

Wonwoo’s features soften for a second, head thrown back when a groan escapes his lips. “It’s not—”

“I need you to tell me why you wrote an entire album about me.” Her eyes don’t close, honesty overtaking her when her hands ball to her sides, breathing controlled, world stopping just for her to listen to him.

Wonwoo’s brown eyes shake, looking over to Minghao as the dullest shade of pink takes over his face, bathing him in an enchanting glow. “To forget about you,” He says, though he laughs at his antics a bit soon after. “Didn’t work out.”

“Why did you want to forget about me?”

“I thought you’d never come back.”

“And did you want me to come back?”

“From the moment you left that hotel room.”

“Why?”

“…I’m going to leave.” Minghao announces softly, already parting ways to go to his room with his mug of tea, but she can’t keep her eyes away from Wonwoo much longer. The question lingers in the air, just in time for him to connect his hands with hers.

“Why, Wonwoo? Why write about me, think about me, when you could’ve just let go?”

“It’s not that easy when it’s about you.” He says, a small smile playing on his features when he pulls her closer, not all at once but step by step. Slowly, she falls in between his legs, looks into his eyes when he lets sincerity live within his words. “I got everything I could ever wish for, and I still wanted you.”

“…Oh, God.” Her smile can’t hide itself when she wraps her arms around his shoulders, head resting on his chest as she chuckles. “Why do I like that so much?”

“Maybe, because you wanted me back, too?” The hope lingers on his voice, and she has to pull away for a second, looking up and down his features as she licks his lips.

“Let’s fix this entire mess first.”

“I’ll deny you are my album’s muse if that makes you feel better.”

For a moment, she feels the weight falling off her shoulders, but instead, she perks up, spine straightening when she says: “And why not confirm it instead?”

“Would you want to? This world I live in, it’s not good—”

“If I have to confirm a past relationship just to have you again, I will. I would.”

“…I won’t do that to you.” Wonwoo whispers, lips pressing to her knuckles like they used to at the earliest stages of their relationship. “You know what I want to do? Mend the lost time with you. Think and heal together. Talk to each other. I don’t want anyone else but us having a say on what we are…not stardom, not the band, not anyone.”

When she looks into his eyes, it feels like the old Wonwoo is back. Not the rockstar drummer that everyone has fallen for, but Jeon Wonwoo who’d laugh at the idea of ever being famous.

And it’s nice to think the world is different today, that they’re alone and there are not a thousand pictures of her online.

“Let them talk,” He finishes. “The only person I want to listen to is you, anyways.”

An avenue of tears has welcomed a sweet lake, and when she has seen her reflection in the water, she captures Wonwoo’s figure beside her. Maybe, they can get through this together. Perhaps, music united them, separated them, and now it has brought them back together again.

That’s the magic of love, isn’t it? Trusting again.

“…And you’ll hear me talk a lot about the past two years, Jeon Wonwoo.”

With a smile, he answers. “And I’ll gladly listen.”

Though, the only sound she gets to hear is the small intake of breath from his lips when she leans forward and tastes the early morning cigarettes in him. Everything she has ever wanted exists in him, so imperfect and yet, so fitting for her.

#wonwoo scenarios #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo #seventeen #kpop scenarios #writing #wonwoo au #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo angst #seventeen au #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #drummer!au #yea i wrote about wonwoo bc whenever i have wifi i have binge watched gose lemme be #also SUPER inspired by one of those ask games i did and hehehehehe i'm excited

[skzfairies]

deja vu

time: mama 2020

pairing: yuri + ateez

summary: while preparing for their mama performance, yuri gets a sudden wave of deja vu of her first mama while getting ready, getting emotional in the gist.

a/n: yes i wrote this while listening to deja vu.

warnings: mentions of ateez getting hate

yuri was in the dressing room, putting on her outfit for their performance for mama. today she would be wearing a black leather corset crop top, black leather pants with a fluffy black jacket. she wore it with black platform combat boots, of course. while looking into the mirror, she felt a sudden wave of deja vu rush over her, she remembered their first time at mama, that being a year ago now.

she remembered how powerful she felt on that stage, showcasing her body for millions to see. she remembered the hateful articles shaming her, and she remembered fans going crazy over it for weeks.

that was such a hard time in her life, but she overcame it, and she was proud of herself. yuri always tried her hardest to not give up, and not to let others effect her. she had came a long way, and she was so glad she made it this far. the blood sweat and tears were worth it, she would do it a hundred times over if it meant she could be an idol and be in ateez forever.

she exited the dressing room, and sat next to seonghwa, who was already changed.

“do you remember when i came out of this dressing room last year, and all of you were shocked when i came out.” yuri chuckled, looking over to seonghwa.

“yes, i was shocked, in a good way. i think it’s one of your most iconic moments.”

yuri laughed, it defiantly was on of her best moments. she often goes back to watch the performance, and the cheers always make her suprised. they were so loud, but now they wouldn’t have the thousands of fans cheering them on.

“it’s sad, we did our first mama with atiny, but they won’t be here for the second.” yuri pouted, it was going to be such a different performance from last year.

“what do you mean they won’t be there? they are still in our hearts.” yunho said as he exited the changing rooms, causing yuri to giggle. he was right, atiny would always be with her in her heart, and that’s all that matters.

“yuri, you should be wearing wings, that way you can have a shocking outfit again.” yeosang said, sitting infront of her and leaning against her legs.

“the stylist said they were going to give me some cool makeup, but my outfit is still cool. i really like this corset.” yuri hummed, she loved the corset trended that was going on, and was happy she could finally wear one on stage.

“yuri, come here.” one of the stylists said, and yuri got up and walked between seonghwa and yeosang, and stood infront of her stylist.

“change of plans, we have a new outfit for you. i was looking through my suitcase and i found this, go put it on.” yuri took the outfit and went back to the dressing room.

she put on the outfit that the stylist handed her, and looked back in the mirror. now this, was definitely a yuri mama outfit.

it was another black corset top, but this time it had buttons on it, and black ribbon as the straps. she had black shorts on, with a black skirt with a silt in the middle wrapped around it. she also had on a turtle neck long sleeved shirt, with the front and back missing to it with chains on it. (refrence: mina’s cry for me outfit for mama 2020)

yuri walked back out, and felt tears rise into her eyes, she felt the same way she felt a year ago, confident, powerful, and ready for an amazing performance.

“why are you crying, don’t cry don’t cry.” seonghwa said, rushing up to hug her.

“i wasn’t even crying yet, but now your going to make me cry!” yuri groaned, feeling the first tear escape from her eye. seonghwa released her and whispered an apology.

“you can change back if you want.” the stylist said, looking guilty.

“no, i love the outfit. that’s why i’m crying, i just feel so much, deja vu. being here again, and wearing beautiful outfits again that i’m sure people will go crazy over, is just making me emotional. i’m thinking about all the stuff we had to go through to get here, and all of the hate we got.” yuri sighed, smiling at her boys, being in the same spot she was last time too. the stylist laughed and smiled.

“yeah, i felt that way a bit too. i remember when you came up to me, asking me about the outfit. you were so nervous and it’s crazy to see how much you have grown in under a year, all of you too.” the stylist said, gasping when yuri ran and hugged her.

“thank you so much for making all of us look amazing on stage. we wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for any of you.” yuri said, looking around the room at the staff.

“and we wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you all.” another staff member said, making everyone clap.

“now, ateez. you all show them who you are again, and give them a firm reminder to not mess with you again.” one of their managers, jiwoo, said.

yuri smiled, she was going to try her very hardest that people remembered their name, and never forgot it.

#ateez extra member #aesocnet #ateez fanfic #ateez oc #ateez oc member #ateez x oc #ateez #ateez 9th member #ateez 9th memeber au #ateez hongjoong #ateez jongho #ateez san #ateez wooyoung #ateez seonghwa #ateez mingi #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #ateez au #kpop #kpop au #kpop oc #kpopidol #kpop idol oc #ateez female member #ateez female addition #ateez girl member #kpop extra member #ateez ninth member au #ateez ninth member #ateez fluff

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 1-3: 命运的拐点 Destiny’s Turning Point Translation

“Destiny is like a gust of wind… Red leaves flutter, flying away in the face of it.  And it is when the winds pick up ― That you meet once more…”

“And just where are you running off to now? “

*Light and Night Master-list *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *Main story tag will be #For Light and Night

Police: Name?

Cindy: My name’s Cindy. My earrings are gone! I’ve spent an entire week on them. Please, you must help me find them!

The girl who was desperate to the brink of tears was none other than Cindy, the oldest contestant amongst us all.

Half an hour ago, Cindy had suggested reporting this to the police seeing as how many of the designers had their accessories go missing. Now, she was the first one to undergo questioning by the police.

Police: Earrings, you say? Alright, I’ve noted it down. Has anyone else lost anything?

Designer A: Me. I lost an Emerald hairpin.

Designer B: My pearl ring is gone too.

MC: I’m (Y/n), my brooch has also gone missing.

Police: I’ve gotten the gist of the situation here. All of your items were found lost after less than half an hour after having been left here.

Police: My colleague went to check the surveillance tapes. There was no one suspicious who entered and left the room during that time frame.

Cindy: How can that be…

Police: But there are blind spots where the surveillance cameras cannot reach. Plus, things don’t simply disappear for no reason at all.

Police: So, I’m asking everyone to think carefully about it again. Did any of you see anyone who was acting suspicious?

MC: A suspicious looking person…

The image of the figure dressed in black and wearing a mask flashed into my mind along with his skull pendant and flickering silver chains.

MC: I saw someone that I didn’t recognize walk out of the room, but I thought that he was a model…

MC: But now that I think about it, no model would come here.

Police: What did this person look like?

MC: He’s very tall and looks to be around 185cm. He wasn’t wearing a staff uniform.

Police: Can you give me a detailed description of his appearance and how he was dressed?

I nodded, trying my hardest to remember what I’d seen in that split-second.

MC: I couldn’t make out his features since he wore a black mask, but I remember his clothes…!

MC: He wore a black leather jacket paired with light grey jeans and a pair of studded boots.

MC: He had a long silver necklace with a skull pendant hanging from it along with a few silver chains hanging from his waist.

MC: His countenance is hard to describe. He appears to give off a very mysterious vibe, but honestly, the design of the pants he wore needs to be optimized…

I continued prattling on, unaware of how the policeman who’d been recording my descriptions down stopped short.

Police: Optimized?

Suddenly realizing what I’d just said, my face flushed in embarrassment.

MC: Sorry, but that’s pretty much all I saw…

Police: Alright. We’ll look further into the matter with this information.

Police: However, considering the large number of people here, the vastness of the venue and the small number of missing items, it’ll be quite difficult to find them.

Police: You’d best be prepared.

Everyone lapsed into collective silence after the police left. The solemness of the atmosphere in here was tangible, like a heavy cloud that hung over all of our heads.

Cindy had already succumbed to despair. She silently squatted down; head buried into the crook of her arm.

★Night Choice: Settle your own problems 

Even though I want to comfort Cindy, I know very well that whatever I do or say will only pale in comparison to how she feels right now.

Why don't we just spend the time to think our next step through, instead of being overwhelmed by negative emotions?

Most of the contestants around her have already recovered from the brief turn of events, returning to their tasks at hand.

The contest was just this cruel. Everyone couldn’t afford to be distracted in this race against time as they all raced to the finish line where the ultimate goal laid.

MC: How about just making another one since the chance of finding it is so slim?

MC: But there are only 3 days left… What if I can't finish it in time…

I subconsciously glanced out the window. The huge poster screen of Sariel greeting my wandering eyes once more.

MC: There's no time to be pondering over this.

MC: If it were Sariel in my shoes, he wouldn’t waste time worrying over things that may or may not happen.

The perplexing feeling of loss and the sadness I felt over this incident disappeared almost immediately as I immersed myself into re-making it. The light of the sunset shines through the glass window, bringing about a tinge of warmth.

☆Light Choice: Comfort Her

I walked up to her, gently patting her back.

MC: Don’t worry, I’m sure the police will be able to help us all find our missing accessories.

Cindy: You guys are all young and talented… you’ll have other things to fall back on if you fail here, so of course you wouldn’t be too worried about it… but such a thing doesn’t exist for me…

Her soft voice was distorted by her sniffling, so much that I could barely distinguish what she was trying to say between sobs.

I’d overheard the others talking about her before. Cindy was originally a white-collar worker who’d eventually resigned and got a loan to study design overseas. It was a do-or-die situation for her, in a way.

I didn’t know what I should say to comfort her, for everything I say right now would only pale in comparison to what she was going through. All I could do was to gently pat her back.

Cindy: Why did this have to happen now…? It took me such painstaking efforts to get this far…

All the doom and gloom that she exuded was contagious, and I soon felt my heart drop along with her worsening mood.

???: What are you crying about?

Wu Yue: Those who whinge and always feel sorry for themselves but do nothing to fix it will never succeed.

This was the first time I’ve ever heard her speak off-stage.

I couldn’t help but to be surprised at the look of dead seriousness on her face.

MC: There’s still another 3 days before the competition, so let’s hurry and start re-doing what we’ve lost.

Gao Cheng: I… I can help everyone fetch the materials they need. You can also ask me for help if any of you need an extra hand…

Designer A: I’ve already long since wanted to change my hairpin design! I’m sure the new one this time will turn out a hundred times better! You guys better watch out!

More contestants started inputting, and the gloomy atmosphere soon dissipated. Cindy had also stopped crying, vigorously rubbing at her eyes.

Cindy: You guys are right. I cannot give up here…

Despite all of us not knowing what results awaited us 3 days later, and despite all of us being fellow competitors, we were all teammates now, working hard with the same goal in mind.

After getting our moods in check, everyone returned to their own working space, making the best out of the remaining time left to continue with their respective creations.

❖☆———————————★❖

The hands on the clock had already moved past the 8 PM mark by the time if gotten up for a good stretch.

MC: The gown’s pretty much good to go, and I’ve also finished drawing out the new brooch design. Everything’s turning out pretty well~

Gao Cheng: Your design’s inspired by the starry skies, right? It’s really pretty…

Gao Cheng’s faze lingered on the draft of my design for a while before he seemingly snapped out of it. He raised his head, frantically waving his hands in front of him with a flustered look on his face.

Gao Cheng: S-Sorry, it wasn’t my intention to peek at your design. I just happened to get attracted to it when I walked past…

MC: Don’t worry about it, you came at a great time. Could you tell me what you think about it?

Gao Cheng: Is the brooch meant to represent the brightest star in the sky?

MC: Yup, it represents the north star.

Gao Cheng: But Polaris isn’t actually all that bright. It shines at 2nd magnitude, so you can use a darker gemstone to represent it.

It was as if he were an entirely different person when it came to the topic of stars. He gushed enthusiastically about it with unrivalled passion and seriousness.

Gao Cheng: Ah, I just like astronomy, so I know about it a little more than others. Please don’t get mad at me…

MC: Why would I be mad? I’m actually extremely thankful for your input!

I’d previously searched up pictures of the starry sky up on the internet to use as reference pictures, but what Gao Cheng said reminded me once again that even though the pictures captured by a camera’s lens turn out beautiful, it still isn’t as real as the real thing.

Nothing beats seeing it with your own eyes and ascertaining it for yourself after all.

MC: Maybe I should go up to the rooftop and check the stars out.

❖☆———————————★❖

The cold air of the night greets me as I push open the doors to the rooftop. The vast night sky was spread out before my eyes, the many little red dots beneath it denoting lights of the thousands of households below.

I held onto the railing with both hands raising my head to inhale deeply.

It was then that my phone rang to life as messages from An'an came pouring in one line after another.

An'an (SMS): I’ve gotten my hands on the guest list!

An'an (SMS): You won’t believe how elaborate this guest line-up is! Osborn’s actually coming, you know!? His club’s going to be collaborating with the Warson Group!

MC: …Osborn?

An'an (SMS): Please tell me you still remember him. I’ve shown you a picture of him before! He’s my favourite R1 racer who has won 4 consecutive championships!

I hadn’t yet had the chance to truly think back on it when I suddenly heard a faint noise. It was the familiar sound of metallic chains clinking against each other.

There had been no one here when I came up to the rooftop.

My heart leapt to my throat as I unwittingly headed towards the direction of the sound.

There was someone hidden within the shadows, standing silently in one of the corners where the moonlight never reached.

Seemingly having noticed my gaze, the person moved forwards, stepping out of the shadows.

❖☆———————————★❖

I finally managed to vaguely make out his appearance. He was tall and intimidating even from a distance away. He wore a black jacket across his shoulders, the moonlight glinting off the skull necklace that rested upon his chest.

MC: That’s the guy I saw back in the corridor!

I hadn’t yet recovered from the initial surprise of seeing him here when I suddenly noticed that he was holding a red earring between his fingers.

Cindy’s Earrings! So, he really WAS the thief!

The clouds blocked off the moonlight, darkening the skies as my heart raced, pounding loudly in my ears. Did I interrupt him in the middle of something? Am I going to be “silenced”?

All hesitation flew out the window the moment my thoughts stopped there. I immediately turned and made a dash for the exit.

However, just as I was about to pull the door open and make my escape, a well-defined hand pressed against the door, blocking off my escape.

??: And just where are you running off to now?

❖☆————— ⊹ For Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Chapter 1-1) | Next Part: (Chapter 1-5)

#光与夜之恋 #Light and Night #Otome #Translations #Tencent #萧逸 #Osborn #齐司礼 #Sariel #陆沉 #Evan #查理苏 #Charlie #夏鸣星 #Jesse #For Light and Night

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Queen of Masks ~ Alfie Solomons

Life as a woman, in any country really, isn’t the best, unless you score a jackpot with the most gentle, sweetest man and you become his housewife and agree to be some kind of baby factory and a maid, should he not have enough to provide for one, and a chef, nonetheless.

However, there are enough ambitious women who have enough spite in their veins to trample over anyone standing in their path of success, and would spit on graves and crush cadavers under their heeled boots that they wear with much pride and conviction.

That is exactly the case of Y/N, a gorgeous woman who won against all odds and became a Veterinary Physician in London, Camden, to be precise, and had to work under an older man who had a clinic - But it was fine, she got to learn loads, and interacting with animals on a daily basis was enough to keep her going and not to answer to any provocation from her male colleague who was far inferior to her, intellectually and intuitively speaking.

And one day, after tending to a gorgeous black race stallion, a tall and broad man walked in with a Bullmastiff boy who, upon seeing her, managed to snatch away his chain leash and jumped on her, trampling her to the ground and licking her all over her face.

The man jumped in shock, trying to pry away his pet from the poor woman, only to notice she was laughing and that he face was bright like the sun, as she tried to wipe away all the slobber from her face.

“I’m so sorry, aye, he’s never done somethin’ like this before. Here, let me help you up, right.” the man extended his hand for her to take, helping raise her up, then reprimanded his dog. “Don’t worry, mister, it’s quite alright. I kinda like when animals act so affectionate, it makes it feel as if I’m doing something right. What’s your name, darling? Let’s get you up on the table...Arghh...What a heavy baby...You’re gonna break every bone in my body...” the woman sweet talked the dog, struggling to hold him in her arms like a baby so she could put in on the table to examine. “He’s name’s Cyril, I got him last year. ‘S just a routine check up, but I think there’s a bump on his neck, yeah, right here.” the man explained, letting the girl palpate his dog and continuing to sweet talk him to calm him down. “Thyroid Carcinoma.” the male doctor spoke, which made the girl whip her head to him with a disturbed look. “Thyroid Cancer? Surely, you must be joking. Have you even been to Vet school?!” Y/N protested, shaking her head in protest at his sudden diagnosis. “What else could a bump in the thyroid area mean? Don’t play smart, just be humble and accept when you’re wrong.” the man rolled his eyes, not lifting his head from his papers. “First of all, even if it IS a tumour, it doesn’t HAVE to be cancer, it can still be completely harmless, thus, benign. Secondly, out of all tumours a dog can have, thyroid cancer is the least common one, the percentage going to maximum 2%. Therefore, NOT cancer! Besides, it could be hyperthyroidism, if you want to go over the top, but again, it could just be something the owner felt because something got stuck in his neck and-....Oh.” the girl then carefully touched the neck area, and smiled widely, looking down, nodding to herself. “What? You shut up ‘cause you finally realised I was right, despite your useless statistics?” the doctor grumbled in annoyance, not caring, obviously. “Wanna bet 100 pounds that it’s not cancer?” she asked, kissing Cyril’s head and playing with his floppy ears, action which made the dog bark playfully. “Ah, sorry, mister, I didn’t ask for your name and whether you find it insensitive or not for us to bet on a diagnosis.” she smiled awkwardly, extending her hand towards the bearded man who was watching the interaction carefully. “Alfie Solomons, lass, but call me just Alfie, right? So, yeah, ‘s fine, bet all you want, just make my boy better, eh?” Alfie shook the girl’s hand, seeing her cunningly going to the other doctor and spitting in her hand to shake and make the bet go through.  “Okay, Alfie, you might want to step to the side a bit...If you value your shoes, that it. They look pretty new.” she chuckled softly, signing him with her head to move to the side, and so he did, as she made the dog vomit, and thus, revealing a small ball. “Oi, I can’t believe it! You stupid dog, Cyril, aye, how could you manage to swallow your own toy, yeah?!” Alfie gasped, his brows furrowing from shock. “Weirdly enough, dogs, especially big ones, are prone to swallowing little things, just like human babies are. It was small enough to just make him cough, but it’s a good thing you got him here in time.” the girl started quickly cleaning up the floor as she explained everything, as the Jew was still staring in shock at the idiocy of some animals. “Well, lass, thank you for solving the mystery, yeah, of whatever the hell this was, right. So, then, tell me how much I have to pay you for this consult, aye.” Alfie asked, which made her snap her head upwards, looking up at him, her eyes wide in shock. “No, God, no, nothing, it’s on me! I mean, if it weren’t for you...” Y/N smirked, reminding Alfie of a vixen, as she twirled around and went to snatch away the hundred pounds banknotes from her employer’s hand, who was looking at her with anger and bitterness. “I wouldn’t have been paid more than I’m paid in 3 months in just one day! It’s the least I can do to thank you...And to also see Cyril again, because I think it’s a connection. Right, Cyril? You’re such a sweet baby boy-....ARGH, GODS, NO-...!” but before the girl could compose herself, Cyril jumped on her torso, knocking her down again, coating her face in yet another sleek coat of drool from the lickings. “Damn it, Cyril, you’re impossible! Let the poor lass live, eh? I know, I know, she’s pretty, but leave her alone, alright?” after he finally managed to pry away the canine, he helped the girl up, who, once again, was laughing. “Let me make it up to you, yeah, for all the trouble this prankster’s been giving you, right. I’ve this bakery, y’know, the one nearby, so, anything you want, yeah, anything, you ask for it, you say my name, right, you say Alfie owes you a favour, and it’s all on the house, eh. How’s that.” he spoke, and he could see that her overly confident and extra demeanour shattered in an instant, making her look down, her beautiful, long hair hiding her features, as she was most likely blushing and smiling. “O-Oh, then, if that’s your bakery, means I’ve heard of you, you’re THE Alfie Solomons. Yeah, I’d love that, if you’d have me, but I told you, you don’t have to. I used you to get money worth of about 3 months, or more, so really, I should be thanking you somehow, but I don’t really have anything else to offer, other than to pay for the consult myself.” her serious, boastful voice turned very soft and shy, as fast as the flick of her fingers, as she walked him out of the clinic, so only he would hear. “Your boss there...He seemed kinda...Angry, eh. Are you gonna be fine dealing with him, lass?” he asked, bending down a bit, speaking to her tone level. “I guess. What’s the worst he can do, anyway. Besides, I care more about this conversation right now, and...About this.” she smirked softly, showing off the rolled pounds from her coat’s chest pocket. “So, Mr. Gangster, is there any specific time you’d be okay with me coming by the bakery? Maybe...Under the pretext of yet another regular check up on Cyril? Or...The smell of freshly baked cookies just captured me enough to find myself senselessly walking into the place?” she asked, diving her hands into her pockets, waiting for an answer, too timid to look him in the eye. “Ahhh, I see you’ve heard of me. Well, lass, I guess I can’t pretend to be some ordinary man, right, but maybe we can still enjoy a nice chat once in a while, eh, it would be nice, right?” the corner of Alfie’s mouth turned upwards, extending his hand for her to shake. “Y/N L/N, it’s great meeting you, Alfie. And yeah, it would be great. I’ll be seeing you around, alright? Hope I’ll see you soon and maybe we can have a nice cup of tea and anything that you’ve baked. I’m looking forward to that.” she shook his hand, smiling brightly at him, gesture which he turned. “And I’ll be seeing you as well, sweetheart.” with that, she kissed Cyril’s head once again, before waving Alfie goodbye and walking back into the clinic. “And I’ll be seeing you too...Y/N.” the gangster muttered, grinning at his dog and praising him with a few pats on his head. “Cyril, my boy, you’re my lucky charm.”

A week passed, and Y/N walked into the bakery - However, it wasn’t the front up, the bakery shop that smelled heavenly - It meant the gangster warehouse where Alfie would usually conduct his business meetings. And, of course, it was shocking to him when heard the click of heels and saw a beautiful, slender woman, dressed in high-waisted pants, with a black turtleneck tucked in her pants, beautiful brown leather boots with heels and a black trench coat that elegantly, yet imposingly hung from her shoulders, as if she was some kind of mafia Queen - Elegant, but deadly.

“Hello, Alfie. I heard you have a job around this place. Not sure what it is...Medic? Secretary? Dog-walker? Maybe you could fill me in.” she asked, her hands in her pants, fidgeting in her spot. “Where’ve you heard about this...Supposed job, eh, lass? And why’d you quit your job from the clinic, eh?” he asked, his fingers intertwining as he leaned forward, elbows rested on his desk. “Ah, well...Y’know...I got my medical license pulled, so I need a way to make money, and you’re the only one that I trusted not to treat me like garbage, so here I am. I know there’s no job, but I had to try my luck and be comedic in a way. It’s probably about the only thing I’m good at, sort of. It’s fine if you don’t want to give me a job, I mean, you can’t trust me with your business info after just speaking to me once, I can imagine, and - “ she kept on ranting, until Alfie raised both his hands in the air to calm her down and stop her speaking, before he raised to his feet, getting in front of the desk and leaning back on it. “Well, I did owe you a favour, right, so, sure, you’re hired, right, I’ll find you something. While we’re at it, can you, yeah, can you fire a gun?” he asked, with a mix of seriousness and playfulness in his voice. “Is it...In the job requirements?” she asked, looking around the place with a fake kind of curiosity. “There’s no job seeking, yeah, so, therefore, no job requirements. I was just being curious, alright, y’know, I have to know what everyone around is capable of, okay.” he explained, which made her smirk and turn on her heel to look at him. “That’s only fair. After all, now that you know that I’m particularly incapable of defending myself against people in general, you’ll just have to be extra careful to keep me safe, right, Alfie? We wouldn’t want Cyril to grieve over me, would we?” she chuckled, extending her arms to her side in a dramatic manner. “Haha, yes, lass, I s’ppose you’re right. Can you handle more than one job, eh? I can hire you as a physician, right, but we don’t always have wounded men, yeah, so, you’re a smart woman, alright, I’m sure you are very capable of reading, writing, doing calculus and other stuff that involves using your head, right, so, I don’t know what name will this job have, but, maybe an assistant of sort, eh? Ollie here helps me out a lot, yeah, but he can’t do everything, he ain’t some God, y’know.” Alfie gesticulated, pointing towards Ollie, then tried to explain to her that things are serious, and not to be taken lightly. “Guess this is gonna be the thrill of my life, huh? I’m in, Alfie. At least I can get along with you without fearing having my license pulled-...Oh, wait, I have nothing to fear about anymore.” she chuckled in a self-deprecating way, making Alfie cross his arms to his chest. “You never told me what happened. Go on, tell me. I’m sure you didn’t kill a dog, or somethin’, you’re too smart a doctor to fuck up.” his curiosity got the better of him, as he saw her turning to look at him, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly agape, and he could almost see her brain gears moving, trying to think of a witty answer. “Didn’t you say something about freshly baked goodies and tea? I bet that’s gonna be a much more...Hospitable way of chatting with your new employee, wouldn’t it? Or better said, friendlier? I mean, this place is so...Ugly and humid...Only good for gangster business. The echo here, if you shout, can intimidate anyone, I’m sure. Come on, show me the actual bakery...And you better have a gramophone. I like music.” she smiled up at him, hooking her arm to his, pulling him in a random direction to urge him to guide her to the bakery, where the beautiful smell of bread and cookies mesmerised her, and she playfully swooned in her chair. “I see you’re enjoying this place very much, eh. Well, can’t say I expected you coming today, so I didn’t bake them myself, yeah, but I’ll make it up to you. Sure you want tea and not rum or somethin’?” Alfie asked, a bit awkward staying at the cute little table, with a cute, little cup of tea in his bear-like hands. “Yes, I’m quite sure, Alfie. But it’s fine, you don’t have to drink what I’m drinking, I won’t think of you any differently. In your home, you do as you please.” she chuckled at him, watching as he nodded solemnly, only to down that tea in one go, small droplets of liquid embedding themselves in his beard. “Right, right, I understand, y’er a people pleaser, you want everyone to like you, unless it goes against whatever scheme you have. You’re smart, alright. Very smart, and you’ve sharp eyes, and are cunning. I need someone like you around, yeah. But tell me, how’d you manage to lose your dream job in a week?” Alfie asked, extending his hand to gently grab her chin, pulling it so he could peer right into her gorgeous, vixen-like eyes. “Remember the bet I did when you came around with Cyril? Well, apparently that jerk got mad at me for, to quote, steal his money, so he filed a malpractice lawsuit to get his money back, 5 times more, and pulled away my license, to get revenge on me for humiliating him in front of a customer...Allegedly. Very petty, I know, but, as they say...C’est la vie. Not much to do about it, really. Now I’m seen as a con-artist thief who kills animals, so I have no way of getting a job anywhere anymore, hence why I’m here. Lovely, innit?” she snorted as she took a bit of the cookie, closing her eyes to savour it’s flavour. “And now, I think I died and went to heaven, ‘cause this is the best thing I’ve eaten in my life.” “You’re so hired, lass. Did ya pay the 500 pounds?” he asked, propping his jaw on his hand. “Yeah, thankfully. And by that, I mean I to sell my apartment so now I’m using my saving to stay at a cheap hotel, but, y’know, life’s life. At least I know I won and I was right. Maybe if I had the right connections, I could have won 10 times what I lost...But what do I know. I don’t really know how non-legal things go by.” she chuckled softly, scratching the back of her head in a playfully guilty manner. “Y’know, Y/N...I think we can solve that fairly quick, yeah. Tell me the name, and I’ll make sure things are sold. In the meantime, I’ve a nice, warm room where you can stay, right, and surely, Cyril’s gonna love your company.” Alfie smiled at her, signaling for her to follow him.

At that time, she had no idea this was actually his home, but when she did find out, she was more than grateful, if not, a bit awkward, for  having to rely so much on his kindness. However, just as he promised, Alfie managed to get that jerk of a doctor to pay her 10 times the money she paid him, and thus, she would have been able to get a very modern and luxurious place, only for herself, and even buy a dog, a cat, or hell, more of them.

But she refused, and asked to continue staying with him, if she wasn’t too much of a burden, since she really enjoyed spending time with him, and she had no idea, other than working 200% of her capabilities for her job, whatever that was, at the moment, and, of course, she would have missed Cyril too much.

It didn’t take long for Alfie’s people to realise the obvious chemistry between the two, and Ollie kept trying to convince him to ask her out, but things are always so difficult, aren’t they? Business and logics are much easier than subjective emotions.

It became sort of a routine for everyone around to see their boss writing and reading documents at his desk, while Y/N would sit on the desk, her legs resting on his chair’s back rest, as she would write on her clipboard whatever relevant things she thought were worth noting down, and would occasionally express her opinions regarding ideas that Alfie had, or some businesses that he was dealing with at the moment - All that, with, of course, the frequent witty comments they would exchange - And it was never anything hurtful, or reproachful jabs, only playful and domestic comments that always made her laugh.

“You never told me why you always look down when you interact with people, y’know, and by that, I don’t mean when you’re being some dramatic Queen, but when you’re being yourself. I mean, I haven’t seen women who let their hair so long these days, right, so I was curious about you. You do things much differently than most people, y’know that, don’t you?” Alfie asked, raising his head to look up at her, only to see, once again, trying to think of how to explain things that don’t rely on rational and objective behaviours. “Ah...Well...Uh...Y’know...I’m...My face is very expressive, y’know. So, like...I get embarrassed easily, or...Uhm...When I lie, or something, I tend to grin or laugh. I’m a messy failure who can’t do a pokerface, like, ever, so, since most people are taller than me, if I let my hair cover my face, they won’t see the truth. Or, well, y’know, at least that’s what I hope. I can’t look at them while hiding, so I’ve no way of telling whether it works or not. Contrary to me being flashy and dramatic, I’m kinda shy and terrible around people.” she chuckled awkwardly, looking away from him, bringing up her clipboard to cover half of her face. “Ahhh, I see, I see, so you go to real great lengths, yeah, to get what you want, and so far, you’ve done really well, eh. Is there anything you can’t do, lass? You’ve been doing this job for over a year, and business has improved with...Uh...Lemme see, how much did you say...Ah, yes, here, it says 23%.” he had his glasses on as his eyes scanned the documents on his desk. “I...Can’t socialise, I guess. And I can’t relax. I don’t know how to have fun. Uhm...I can’t human, I guess? I don’t know what to call it, but I think you get what I’m saying. Anyway, we have business work now, so read this paragraph here, I think we have to talk threaten Sabini a bit, he’s over his head now with power, someone has to humble him, give us a better percentage of his business, and -” Y/N tried to quickly redirect the conversation, hating when she had to talk about herself, but obviously, she couldn’t say no to the man who was always so kind and sweet with her, could she? “Nahhh, it’s fine, Y/N, let’s take a little break, right? We’ve been working since early morning, it’s evening now. Ollie, go make tea and bring those treats made today, eh. Now, lass, why don’t you tell me how did you get around to practicing medicine? I’ve always been curious by that, you know, you don’t see many women unafraid of stuff like that, yeah.” he pointed out, letting himself fall down on his chair’s seat, looking up at her. “Y’know, Y/N, you say you can hide your emotions when you hide your face from people taller than you, yeah? But what happens when they look at you from below? Gotta say, Y/N, sometimes, your worried face is rather pretty...Better now, let me look at you when you speak, yeah, we’re equals, when you go all meek on me, you make me feel like some kind o’ merciless boss or somethin’.” he chuckled, raising a bit to put her hair behind her ears, revealing a soft blush coating her cheeks, and god damn, he could feel his heart beating a bit faster. “Uhm...Okay, fine, sure, I owe you that much. Uhm...My dad was a medic too, so it became a family business for a while. And, uhm...Dad was recruited as a war medic, and went with my brother, while I and mum continued to take care of the people and animals from our city. When it was all over, I decided to get to London to practice properly, get more money and provide for my family better. They’re getting old and they need someone to take care of them, somehow.” she explained, but her eyes were darting around, and he could feel she was still hiding something because of her hesitance, but he wasn’t sure what exactly was it that she was trying to hide.

But before either of them could say anything about it anymore, a loud bang echoed through the warehouse, somewhere from the entrance, which made the girl jump in her place with a mouse-like squeak, slapping her hands over her ears.

It’s true, any person would get frightened by a gunshot that resounded so loudly through that place - And yet, this one looked like a panicked, scared fawn in the headlights - And Alfie, of course, noticed that and came to a few conclusions for himself.

However, before he could say anything, a man entered their field of vision, and he could feel Y/N tensing up, her face showing shock and disgust at the person who she clearly recognise. She turned her head to look at Alfie, and with pleading eyes, mouthing a few simple words that may or may not have shocked him.

“Let me kill him” she tried to say, but this mystery man spoke out faster than expected, and it was clear she was getting more and more angry and embarrassed by the moment. “Y/N, darling, what are you doing here? Whoring around with other men, getting into illicit business, thinking you’re superior to men just because you have some over the top ambitions that are completely unreachable, and now you think you can get rich by staying around wealthy old men, huh?” the man kept speaking, igniting an infernal fire into her eyes. “Alfie, I pride myself with my never ending patience, but I swear to God, if you don’t let me kill him...I don’t know what I’m gonna do.” Y/N muttered between her gritted teeth, shocking Alfie since he never saw her as the violent type. “I’m not doing any business with him, alright, do what you feel like doing, Y/N, he’s all yours.” Alfie sat back in his chair, his fingers intertwined over his stomach, watching with interest whatever she was going to do.

Y/N jumped off the desk and slowly prowled around it, her head hanging low, before she snapped it up, glaring lightnings at the man.

“Fuck off. Now. Or you’re dead. Do you understand this simple language, or do I need to put it in words that even a monkey would understand?” she crossed her arms, spitting poison at him. “What, can’t I be angry at my own girlfriend for being a bitch and leaving me alone? I mean, you really fucked up, y’know? You left me when I needed you the most, how tragic is that?!” he yelled at her, but she only rolled her eyes, scoffing. “Yeah, I left you ‘cause you were abusing me. The way I see it, you’re the one who sucks, not me. Now get the hell out of here. Before I do something you will regret.” her voice went an octave lower, threatening him the same way she learnt from Alfie over the time of business making. “Woaw, Y/N, woaw, that’s pathetic, even for you. You’ve never been able to even raise your voice at anyone. You were nothing more than a crybaby who couldn’t step up to anyone, and then you went to war, and what, you think you changed? You didn’t! Underneath this dumb, tough facade that you’re trying to pull in front of everyone else, you’re nothing more than the frightened little girl who needed to have everything in control and grasp a bit of power to feel superior to others after you got beaten up and had a gun pointed at your head by the Germa-” but he couldn’t continue speaking for, in the blink of an eye, she pulled out a gun for her trench coat and shot him in the head, his blood and brains shooting everywhere, all over her, on the walls and floor. “Well...Ask me anything and I will provide you with an answer that is completely honest this time. But, uhm...Take of your shirt, will you?” she had a solemn, pissed off expression as she threw off her coat before hurriedly taking off her shirt, nonchalantly cleaning up her face, then pulling it into a ball, throwing it on the cadaver, then stepped in front of a very shocked, yet impressed Alfie. “Go on, take off your shirt, will you? It’s clean. You promised I’ll never have to shoot a gun, and yet, I did, therefore I need a clean top, right? So, while I tell you the truth, don’t let me stay like this in front of you, okay?” extending her hand in front of her, while her other arm was over her chest, trying to cover her pretty white laced bra, it took a mirthful laugh out of the Jew for him to finally take off his shirt and put it around her, not caring that he was the topless one now. “Will you ever stop impressing and surprising me, lass?” Alfie asked, petting her head as a way to say she did well. “Once I stop shocking myself, sure. Until then...I believe you want to say something, don’t you?” she asked, slowly stepping in front of him, looking up at him as she properly put on his shirt that looked like a dress on her. “Yeah, lass, I think I did.”

With a gentle smile, he cupped her face, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on her lips, one hand stroking his fingers through her beautiful long hair, while the other caressed her soft visage. The tender look in his blue-green eyes felt like the safest, warmest haven she ever felt, and with an impulse decision that her heart made, she leaned forward, her arms slowly snaking around his torso, her head resting on his shoulder, and closing her eyes, she could finally feel her heart calming, for the first time in her life.

“It was you who went to war, wasn’t it?” Alfie muttered in her hair, holding her tightly. “Yeah. I don’t have a brother. It was me who went with my father to war, but he died, so I had to be the backbone of the troops. When I got home, my mum was devastated and she died of grief. I left that place to get rid of memories...And get rid of that fuckass. War left me with traumas, but it also made me strong enough to face up to who I am and stop taking everyone’s shit just because they think I’m lesser than them. Sometimes...When you talk about your time as a captain...I remember my time there...And...I realise how much I respect you...And also, how different you are from all the people I had contact with there.” she explained, her grip tightening around him, her heart quivering from the deep emotions she was feeling. “You’ve been through quite a lot in your life, haven’t you, lass? And you managed to make a life all for yourself, from the scratch, right, so, I think you’ve been doing great. France?” he asked, guiding her to a more private room, much warmer and cozier, while Ollie was to find him another shirt. “Yeah, France. Thing is...You went through all that, and it was worse for you, since you were a Captain, and you must have felt responsible for every death from your troops...And yet...Ever since we met, you’ve been sweeter than anyone has ever been, and that includes my own family. Don’t get me wrong, I loved them, but maybe...Maybe I’m just a bit softer than I let others think. And you managed to hit the right spot, in the good way, I mean. War changes everyone, and yet, you’re...I have no fitting word to describe how much I appreciate you, Alfie, but here...This thing here feels it, and I think you can feel what I’m feeling too.” she explained, resting her head on his shoulder once they sat down on the sofa, as he pulled her closer to his side, kissing her temple lovingly. “You know, Y/N...You’re not wrong. I tried not to think about my time there and the horrors I’ve seen, yeah, so, maybe it doesn’t come off as anything fantastic, and I still don’t think that being a decent person, right, to people who are close to me, is a big deal. But maybe sometimes we take things for granted, don’t we, so, maybe, you’re right. But that guy has no excuse for being a bastard. You’re safe now, Y/N, and when some day, when we’re done with this gangster mess...We can go to Margate and live a normal life there, eh. You, me and Cyril, and the sandy beach and the waves, right, and maybe, if we get bored, we can shoot those damned seagulls, yeah? They’re so annoying, I’m telling ya!” Alfie chuckled, which, in turn, made her grin at him lovingly. “I’d love to go to Margate with you, Alfie, and have seagull shooting contests together, and run barefoot on the shore, and if it’s enough light from the moon, we can swim a bit. Sounds like the perfect life if you ask me.” Y/N kissed his cheek, lovingly caressing his face before hugging his side. “That’s what I like to hear, lass. I’m sure Cyril would bark like a mad dog from happiness if he was hear, right. S’gonna be fun when we get home, eh.”

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons x reader #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders

[fullmarvelheart]

Crossing Lines (1/?)

Pairing: mob!Bucky x fbi!mob!Reader

Word Count: 3,322

Series summary: A sudden and unsettling event rocks the underworld, and Y/N is immediately called in to prepare for what’s to come. What she isn’t prepared for is James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, also known as the new head of the Brooklyn mafia clan. When these two get shoved into a world of danger and deceit, will they ever learn to trust each other? Or will they be doomed from the start?

Warnings: Blood, gore, violence, little bit of angst, slight swearing, slow burn (more to be added as the series progresses)

A/N: I’m finally able to post this today! I’ve been counting down until I could get this out😂 This is the first story that I have written and posted on my Tumblr account. I’m a bit nervous but very excited. I have not entirely proofread this story. Though, I would like to thank my beta reader, Lauren, for all the help and motivation she gave me. The GIF is not mine, credit to the original creator! And a big thank you to the @the-ss-horniest-book-club​ for hosting Mob!Bucky Appreciation Day and inspiring me to post this story.

Series Masterlist

The sharp clicking noise of my heels, followed by the dull thud of several boots, echo on the wooden stairs leading to the basement of my childhood home. I follow the along the long stretch of the twisting hallways until we reach a door that's muffling the slaps and punches behind it. 

One of the men that had met me in the foyer, and had followed me down, knocks twice on the door as I tuck my hand into the back pocket of the curve-hugging black jeans I wore for the day. Moments later, the steel door swings open with a low whine from the give of the rusted hinges. The scent of blood and sweat is the first thing I notice followed by the image of the room. 

Five men stand beyond the doorway. The man who opened the door stands near the edge of steel, gun hanging loosely at his side. Two bodyguards stand in adjacent corners of the room, making sure it’s possible to guard the others with in. Two others, the two most trusted of the household, including the right hand to the leader of the Manhattan Mafia Empire, stand imposingly in front of a man bound to a chair in the center. By the amount of fresh blood dripping onto the floor, this wasn't just some petty offense against the leader. Which draws my attention to the final man, leaning carelessly on a table filled with painful weapons. Nicholas J. Fury, the leader of this mafia clan, and my adopted father. 

"You summoned me from my apartment, Boss?" I say with a smirk while jutting out my hip. 

Phil Coulson, father's righthand, gives me a smirk in return while Maria Hill, his enforcer, just sends a half-hearted glare my way. However, father's face remains neutral.

"I did." He spares me a one-eyed glance. "Tell me what you see?"

I hum in thought to myself as I stalk my way around to see the captive's face. The top half of his once light-colored shirt is now hanging open from being cut by a knife or something similarly sharp. But it's cut open enough to view a tattoo resting on his right breast. 

A red skull surrounded by a halo of octopus tentacles. 

I grunt in distaste. "HYDRA scum."

The man lifts up his bloodied and beaten head to snarl at me. He twists his mouth before lobbing a spit ball at my feet. The glob of mixed spit and blood lands inches from my black, closed-toe heels. 

I scoff at the action and brush my hand into the waistline of my jeans. When I feel the slim metal hilt, I maneuver the object into my palm. With the push of a small button the knife of the switchblade extends before I quickly drive it into his thigh. He screams out in pain as I keep the blade firmly in place. When his screams turn into tired wails of agony, I turn towards my father. 

"Who is he?" I ask, motioning my head towards the man.

"We believe he's behind the hit on George Barnes. Or at least, is attempting to put the blame on us." He explains in his no-nonsense tone. 

My eyes widen in shock, my lips parting slightly. 

"George Barnes was shot at? Is this why I've been called in?" The prisoner painfully chuckles, quietly enough for only me to hear him. 

"He's dead, sweet cheeks." He whispers with a smirk of victory.

I growl at him before twisting my knife and yanking it out while I stand.

"So, why am I here? I assume it's not to attend the funeral because you know I can't. It was just a risk just to even come here." My father gives me a pointed look.  

"I need you to go with them to the warehouse with the prisoner while your siblings and I attend the funeral that's being held in a couple of hours. After the funeral, George's son and I will discuss some business about our alliance with the Brooklyn clan. I'll call you with the details." I nod at his instructions. 

"You know the FBI is going to have me all over this case once they receive word of Barnes’ death, right?" He nods. 

"I'm counting on it." 

"I'll be waiting by the van." I tell him before wiping my knife on the man’s already dirty shirt and tucking the now closed switchblade into the band of my jeans.  

I'm escorted back up the stairs towards the side of the house where the cars sit waiting in father's massive garage. Though the reason for the escort is now clear. My safety. My personal bodyguards, some of my father's most trusted men, meet back up with me to continue through the house. The sounds of nearing footsteps draw my attention to another hallway. My siblings, the twins, round the corner with their own group of bodyguards. 

Wanda, the youngest, according to her brother, is dressed in all black. Appropriate for a funeral. Her brown hair is in casual waves while her makeup is mostly minimally visible. Her natural eyeshadow pairs well with the red lip tint she chose. Her normal red leather jacket is replaced by a similar black one that's draped over a black dress which is cinched at the waist. Her normal array of colorful and seemingly mismatched jewelry has been changed into a long silver chain necklace and a simple dark color bracelet. And to top off the outfit, she put on a pair of high heeled ankle boots. A surprised gasp leaves her lips when she spots me and soon, she's running to me as fast as she can in those heels. Her brother, Pietro, follows not too far behind her. 

Pietro is dressed in a similar fashion. His silver dyed hair is brushed into gentle waves. A black leather jackets lays over a black dress shirt while matching pants and shoes. He also wears a small silver chain with a blue pendant on it. A gift from his twin.

Wanda pulls me into a tight hug with an excited squeal and I laugh, returning her hug with equal excitement.

"Y/N/N what are you doing here?!" She giggles as she pulls back. I laugh while Pietro pulls me into a similar hug. 

"What? Can't an older sister stop by and see her two favorite siblings?" I gasp in mock offense once I'm released from the hug.

"We're your only siblings." Pietro reminds with a roll of his eyes. 

"Besides, being undercover doesn't really allow time for social visits." Wanda points out. I only sigh. Sometimes she's too perceptive. 

"It has to do with Brooklyn doesn't it?" Pietro asks while crossing his arms. As the only male heir of our father, Pietro is often included or informed of current affairs. Again, I sigh in defeat, though I shouldn’t be surprised he knows.  

"Yeah, father called me in. This is a real shit show and I have a feeling this is just the beginning of it." I mutter distastefully.

They both nod in understanding, but Wanda looks equal parts sad and disappointed. But this is our life, we're used to it by now. Even though it's not always what we wish to have.

I gently smile before pulling them both into a big hug. 

"Promise me you two will be careful out there?" Wanda tightens her grip on me. 

"It's not us," She begins slowly. "Who you should be worried about." I chuckle dryly, knowing she's right, as I squeeze her back before pulling away from both of them.

"I suppose not. Still, I do. Now, I need to be going soon. I will see you both later." Pietro nods in acceptance, but Wanda let's her head droop slightly. I give her hand a tight squeeze before me and my bodyguards resume our way to where the cars are. 

I climb back into the car that I came here in, and wait patiently for the driver and everyone to clamber in. The car is started but we remain idling sitting. As a way to occupy myself, I reach into the side door and feel for what I hid in there before I went in. When my fingers brush over the leather holster, I grab it and attach it, and the gun it holds, to a pocket on the inside of my leather jacket. When it's secure, I fold the jacket back over my chest, concealing the firearm in the process. 

A muffled struggle echoes through the once silent garage.

"You want me to take care of that?" I ask the men who sit with me in the car, my fingers brushing over the spot in my jacket where my gun rests. 

"Nah, I'll go check it out." One of my bodyguards, Mackenzie, or Mack as he's called, replies from the passenger seat. 

"Of bloody course you'd be the first one of us lot to check it out." The driver, a Brit, by the name of Hunter scoffs.  

Mack just shakes his head before he opens the door and leaves. When there's a few moments of silence after the car door is shut, that’s when Hunter speaks again. 

"What are the odds of him bringing up something about needing that shotgun-axe again once he gets back in here?"

I chuckle and I see the shoulders of the person next to me move slightly. 

"High." May, the bodyguard next to me and the one that I trust with mostly everything, responds with a slight edge of humor in her voice. Then she turns to me. "Boss, I was going to wait until we cleared the property,-"

"A good idea, May. I don't know much as of now, I can tell you that, but I'll tell the rest once we’re on the move."

She nods and the front passenger door opens at the same time. 

"You'd think the men would know how to handle prisoners, like that one, by now." He grumbles as he settles into his seat. "I swear, one look at a shotgun-axe would scare the life out of those boys. Maybe they'd actually listen to simple instructions at that point."

We all the chuckle as the caravan of cars begins its trip out of the garage and to the warehouse. As we pull down the driveway, I reach into the pocket behind the passenger seat and pull out the object I stashed there and clip it inside my jacket, not too far from my gun. The gold of the badge reflects the light onto the side door while I begin to put on the mask that's essential for my survival out there in this scary world. The letters of F, B, and I revolve in my mind as I stare out the window at my former home. My life is a dangerous one and every aspect has a devastating risk with it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The warehouse is a dark place. Even if there is daylight present, streaming through the dirty frosted windows, a dark and dangerous feeling surrounds the place. It clings to it like the smell of a cigarette on clothes. For newcomers, like the prisoner that followed us in another van just a few behind our own, it's daunting. It's certain death. To me and my bodyguards, only our hairs stand on end in anticipation of what is to come.

I informed my guards of what I knew about the situation on the way here. A reverent silence filled the air at the mention of the late George Barnes' death. He treated his men well, was honest and loyal to his allies, and was a good man. Brooklyn and all of New York will miss him.

I stand in the empty warehouse floor, several paces in front of the unconscious prisoner, who's slumped against his restraints. Turns out the men are really in an impatient mood today. I cross my arms while I zone out observing him. Why did HYDRA do this? What did they gain? What's the bigger picture that I'm missing?  

The faint sound of gravel crunching under tires drags me from my head and has me turning towards the opened garage-looking doors. Three black vans drive in and come to a stop not too far from the entrance. Father and Coulson are the first to step out from the center van. My siblings then file out from the one on the right. The rest of the men who were in the cars climb out and seem to form a barrier between the front entrance and the four people headed straight for me.

"I thought I would be receiving a phone call first." I give father a weary glance, noticing his seriousness about something.

"Change of plans." He answers swiftly, and rather seriously. I begin to grow uncomfortable.

The sound of more approaching vehicles has my eyes widening as I turn my curious and nervous expression on my father who gives me a reassuring nod. 

"Fury." I hiss under my breath, not liking the idea of going into a situation blindly. He simply ignores me.

My focus is drawn back to the entrance as car doors closing harshly sound in my ears, though my gaze never wavers from my father's profile. A cadence of footsteps march across the unpaved driveway and into the warehouse, only pausing in front of the line of father's men. It's only when the footsteps draw nearer that I finally look at the party joining us.

My eyes widen, ever so slightly, at the sight of three imposing men nearing closer to where I stand. The man on my left is tall and broad-chested. His shiny blond hair reflects the dim light of the warehouse. His jawline is clean and sharp like a knife, adding to the dangerous air around him. The man in the center is just slightly shorter than the one on his left. A few strands of his long brown hair frame his face while, I assume, the rest is pulled back. However, the stubble on his face and those piercing blue eyes that I can see, even in the dim warehouse lighting, gives me an idea of who I’m dealing with. James “Bucky” Barnes. A man whose reputation for being a cold-blooded killer and a ladies’ man is very well known. However, any idea of seriousness is completely forgotten when I notice the man on my right, James’ left, who’s giving me a hard scowl. The familiar sight of the deep chocolate brown skin, hard eyes, and black hair puts me at ease. I could almost laugh at the situation.

“Samuel T. Wilson.” I chuckle when I see his eye twitch at the sound of his full name.

The trio stops not too far away from my father’s group and me. The sight of those two chocolate brown eyes, that look like they want to murder me, have me smirking.

“Special Agent Y/L/N of the FBI.” He growls, and I feel the tension in the room immediately spike. “I thought I saw the last of ya when I was let go.”

“You’re welcome for that, by the way.” Wilson scoffs and folds his arms across his chest. I also notice Barnes shifting in my periphery and sigh to myself as I think of how to reword things. “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have been let go so easily. There wasn’t any substantial evidence against you, but the other agents were going to keep you locked up to send a message. I let it slip to our boss, and he had a big problem with what they were doing. You were let free not too long after. So quit looking like you want to kill me, and maybe offer a ‘thank you’ instead.”

He goes to speak, but that’s when father decides to step in.

“Gentlemen, we came here to discuss a business transaction, not hash out the past. If you three would, follow me. Agent, you too. Son, keep the rest of our guests some company.” There are a series of soft grumbles and complaints, but ultimately, everyone listens.

When the three Brooklyn boys pass the now awake prisoner, his face turns a scary shade of white. And that’s considering the fact that he was already pale due to blood loss. I feel a shiver begin to creep down my spine, but I suppress it. I tell myself it’s because of the type of fear these men can instill, but deep down, I know that it was a low growl I heard somewhere over my shoulder.

Father takes us to one of the few offices in the warehouse and has me shut the door. Barnes sits in the chair across from Fury with both his men flanking either side of him. The only person at my father’s side is Coulson on the right, until I walk up to the vacant spot on my father’s left.

“I think proper introductions should be made before we begin talks.”

“I agree.” Barnes cuts in. “I didn’t realize this meeting would include a dirty Fed.”

I scoff but am interrupted before I can make any smart remark.

“This, gentlemen, is my eldest child. Y/N was the first I adopted and raised in this life. The only reason she is in the FBI is to help us deal with HYDRA.”

“HYDRA is everywhere.” I start explaining. “Like cockroaches in an old building. The only way to make sure every loose end has been tied up is to have all the information. There’s no better way to do it.”

“Hold up. I thought your last name was ‘Y/L/N’.” This time, Wilson interrupts.

“A cover, obviously. If the FBI learned of my ties to the Underworld or to my father, it would be worse than if they thought I was just corrupt.”

“The point is that Y/N will be passing on any information she learns about HYDRA and their plot.”

“I’ll also be keeping a very close eye on anything that may have to do with what happened to your father.” At the mention of him, I see James’ lips twitch slightly while the furrow of his brow deepens. “I am sorry for what happened to him. Your father was a great and very well-respected man.”

The only sign of acknowledgement I get from the new leader of the Brooklyn clan is a slight nod of his head, and I begin to grow uncomfortable in the silence that follows. Luckily, a phone ringing stops the awkwardness from becoming worse. However, it’s not just any phone. It’s my phone. I quickly snatch it from one of the pockets of my leather jacket and glance at the screen.

“It’s my boss.” I inform before answering. “This is Y/L/N. Yes, sir. I’ll be there as quickly as I can.” He hangs up. “I’m being called in. Send me the rest of the details later.” My father nods as he motions for me to leave. Before I do, I look over the three new faces and say in the most professional tone I can gather, “It was nice to properly meet you, gentlemen. I look forward to working with you.”

Without waiting for a reply from one of my father’s, hopefully, new allies to say anything, I hurry around the desk and out of the office. Once Hunter receives the word to get the car ready, I tuck my phone away again.

As I leave the warehouse, goosebumps prickle my skin. Not because it’s cold, or because I’m scared, but because of the pressure that’s suddenly fallen around my shoulders. This attack, this changes everything. HYDRA has always threatened the clans, carried out small or petty attacks, but they have never directly attacked the families. The death of George Barnes is only the catalyst. 

A war is coming, and blood will be spilled. But how prepared am I for what I expect to come?

Part 2

#hbc bucky barnes appreciation days #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #marvel #mob!bucky #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #mob!bucky x reader #bucky barnes series #bucky x female reader #mobster bucky #bucky barnes au

[astral-space-dragon]

Oh, Crepe! He’s in Love... Ch9

Almost there, babes! All comin together!

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tagging: @harlot-of-oblivion @novashine666 @legallblindgamer727 @vergol

Summary: Vergil gets ready for the "not date" by going out and getting some much needed "nice clothes". Nice clothes that are not torn and dirty. Will he find what he's looking for?

Meanwhile, you're "convinced" to go shopping with Lady and Trish for the "not date". Will the trip be fruitful? Or a total bust?

Vergil POV

Vergil stands outside the men's clothing store. Dante had told him of this store and said that he and Nero would meet up with him. Well… he's been standing outside this store for almost an hour. He's sure the working humans inside are starting to grow suspicious of him. Just as he's about to leave, he sees Dante and Nero walk from around the corner.

"Took you long enough…" he growls.

Dante waves his hand dismissively "We're here, aren't we?"

Vergil rolls his eyes as the three enter the store. An older employee greets them "Hello! How are you gentlemen doing, today?"

Dante roughly slaps Vergil's shoulder "My dear big brother has a date, tomorrow. Gonna find some things to spruce him up"

The man smiles and leaves them be.

Vergil zooms away from Dante and wanders up and down the store. As he wanders, Nero asks "You know what you're going to wear?"

Vergil hums thoughtfully "I'm not too sure. I don't want to overdress…"

Nero nods "Makes sense. No tux, but not a slob like Dante"

"I heard that!" Dante calls out from the other side of the store.

Vergil chuckles as he continues to look around.

-----------------

As he eyes the watches, he feels a tap on his shoulder. He looks up to see Nero.

"Dante said found a few things. Thinks you'll like them"

Vergil follows Nero to where Dante and a tailor are. Vergil crosses his arms "Show me"

Dante grins impishly as he shows his brother his pick: a dark navy dress shirt, black waistcoat, and a dark navy tie. All paired with black dress pants and black Oxford shoes.

Vergil eyed the outfit before humming in approval.

He takes the clothes and goes to change into them. He removes his coat and vest, then his boots and trousers. He eyes the scars that litter his body, reminders of his imprisonment and past sins. His fingers run along the long scar that's in the middle of his body, from his chest to his navel. He runs his hand over the star-like scar on his chest… right over his heart. He looks down to his hands. For a quick moment, he sees blood dripping from his hands. Crimson force dripping onto the concrete floor of the tower. Sullied hands quivering.

He's jolted from his thoughts when he hears a tap on the wall.

"Verge, you alright?" he hears Dante ask.

Vergil swallows the lump in his throat before answering with as much aloofness as he can muster "I'm fine, Dante"

He hears his brother leave. He sighs and shakes the dazed feeling from his head.

He slips on the trousers and smiles upon finding out how snug they feel. Then he puts the dress shirt on; he buttons it up before tucking it in. He slips on the shining black shoes. Perfect fit. Lastly, he puts the tie on. He looks at himself in the mirror as he folds his sleeves so that they were just below his elbows.

He steps out of the small changing stall. Nero stares… stunned. A smile grows on Dante's face "Looking good, bro!"

Vergil fights the blush as he goes to the tailor. He watches in the mirror as the young man makes quick adjustments to the clothes and shines the shoes. After a few minutes, everything was done.

The young tailor steps back "What do you think, sir?"

Vergil looks at every angle. He gives a curt nod "Perfect"

The tailor smiles widely "Very good! Go ahead and change so I can pack it for you"

------------------

After changing back to his clothes, Vergil gives the folded clothes to the tailor, who rushes to pack them up.

In his peripheral, Vergil notices Dante paying the older employees. Did he buy something for himself?

Dante waves at Vergil "You're stuff's all paid for, bro!"

Vergil's train of thought came to a screeching halt. Dante paid for the clothes? Why? His attention is diverted when the younger employee returns with his clothes, all packed and ready to go. Vergil nods in thanks as he returns to the front of the store where Dante and Nero waited.

As the three leave the clothing store, Vergil's mind drifts to you, wondering what you're going to wear tomorrow.

--------------------------

Normal POV

You try to resist as Lady and Trish drag you up and down the outdoor mall.

"Hold on! Why are we going all over? I can just work with what I have at home---"

Lady shoots down that suggestion immediately "Nope! This is your first date. You're getting gussied up!"

You groan "Come on, Lady…"

Lady ignores your pleas as she and Trish drag you into a store.

Lady seats you in a leather armchair "You sit here. Trish and I are going to pick out clothes for you"

"Now I'm really afraid" you say with a deadpan look.

Lady rolls her eyes with a chuckle "Have a little more faith in us, Y/N"

You snicker "Uh huh"

You wait in the armchair as Lady and Trish walk up and down the store, grabbing something as they go. Your eyes widen a fraction when you see Trish picking out what looks like… a leather dress? Oh no. Trish, why?

After sitting that chair for almost twenty minutes, Lady and Trish return to you, each carrying a stack of clothes. You gawk at the stacks as Lady says "Alright. Let's try these on!"

You internally groan as you're pulled to your feet.

---------------------------

For the next two hours, you try on the countless outfits that your two friends picked out for you. From rompers to snug-fitting dress. A small handful of dresses were promising, but none of them felt like you.

As you remove the tight leather dress that Trish had you try on, you can't help but feel dejected. Nothing felt right on you.

You exit the dressing room with a frown. Trish immediately asks "What's wrong?"

You sigh "None of these felt right on me… I didn't feel like myself" you look down at the floor as you mumble "I should just settle on a dress that felt okay"

Lady is quick to shoot that down "No, Y/N. If you settle on something, you're not going to be in a good mood during the date---"

You chuckle dryly "It's likely not a date, Lady… who am I kidding…"

Lady sags her shoulders. She pats your shoulder in comfort "How about we find another store? I think the problem with this place is the clothes are too hoity-toity"

You shrug "Maybe…"

The dark haired arsenal takes your hand and leads you up and down the outdoor mall, giving you time to look at each store.

Just as you're starting to lose hope, you stop in your tracks in front of a store. Curious, you walk inside and straight to a mannequin. On the mannequin, is a simple black dress. Just above the knee. A black strip of fabric wraps around the waist and is tied into a small bow in the back. On the upper back of the mannequin, the dress is wrapped around the shoulders and forms an 'X'. A simple dress, but beautiful. You immediately find an employee and ask for the dress in your size. The second you get the dress, you make a beeline for the dressing rooms.

After quickly changing, you step out into the room with a smile. Lady and Trish's eyes widen. Trish smile "Looks like you found something"

You nod, still smiling "All I need to find are shoes to go with this"

Lady asks "What about these?"

You look over to see her holding a pair of black flats with little cupcakes on the toes. You try them on and immediately fall in love with the shoes.

Once everything was paid for and bagged you, Lady and Trish walked you home.

When you return to the shop, you turn to Lady and Trish and bid them farewell.

Lady smirks "If the date turns out to be shit, call me. I'll kick Vergil's ass"

You giggle "I don't think that'll be necessary"

Lady hums "Maybe… thought I'd let you know either way"

Another giggle spills out of you "Alright, Lady" you open the front doors and wave "See you ladies whenever. Gotta make dinner for the two devils"

You close the doors and greet Dante, who is seated at the desk "Hey, Dante. Long day?"

Dante shrugs "Nah. Relatively easy day"

You nod with a hum "Alright. I'm going to put this away and start dinner"

Dante waves his hand in acknowledgement as you head to your room.You give Vergil a quick smile as you walk by his bedroom.

When you enter your bedroom, you are surprised to see Nero standing in front of your bureau.

"Nero?" you call out.

Nero jolts as he sharply turns around "Mom!" he exclaims nervously as he hides his hand behind his back "H-how was shopping with Lady and Trish?"

"It was lovely…" you say with uncertainty "Found a couple of things that I liked"

Nero clears his throat "T-that's good…"

You cock your head as you eye the arm behind his back "What have you got there?"

Nero's eyes dart all over the room. You honestly find it a bit adorable.

With a sideways smile, you raised an eyebrow "Nero… what do you have?"

With a red face, Nero holds out a small jewelry box "For you…" he squeaks.

Now, you're curious. You take the box and open it. You gasp softly as the contents inside. In the little box is a bracelet. A charm bracelet. Each charm was a type of bread and pastry; all on a simple silver chain.

"Nero…"

Nero scratched the back of his neck "I saw it when I was out today and… I thought you'd like it"

You smile softy "I love it, Nero"

Nero smiles at your words. You place the box on your bureau and wrap your arms tightly around the young hunter. Nero is quick to return the embrace. Still smiling, you stand on your toes and plant little kisses all over Nero's face.

"Mooooom…" the young quarter devil groans, though he makes no attempt to stop you.

You eventually pull away from Nero and ask "Would you like to help me with dinner?"

Nero quickly nods "Yeah!"

You giggle as you and Nero leave your room "Hope you're in the mood for rigatoni"

#my wirting #the quickest way to a devil's heart #devil may cry #vergil x reader

[the-mandalorian-clone-lover]

Aces in Spaces Chapter 26 pt. 1

Ok! I’ve actually decided to break the finale into three parts because its nearly 10 pages long on its own (I know I know) but I promise I’ll drop all three today!!

Warnings for excessive fluffiness, more fluff, and tooth rotting fluff

Tags: @rentskenobi @sunshinepascal @maybege @obaby-wan @princessxkenobi​ @agent-450​ 

Masterlist

They’re walking in a park, Butcher is a few steps behind, and its fall and it’s a little chilly and its everything about the season that Erica loves. She’s wearing that pair of black jeans she has that are just the right stretch; that she bought at some store four years ago that are just too comfy to let go of, a cream cable knit sweater that her mother gave her in high school and a camo print jacket that is reminiscent of a military blouse. Her combat boots from her marathon days are the finishing touch and she relishes in the utilitarian look she’s managed to cultivate. She’s added a beanie even though it isn’t quite that cold yet, but she’d wrap herself in the season if she could and Roman knows that by now so there’s no sense being ashamed. She’d managed to talk him out of his suit and he’s looking every bit a dreamboat in his dark wash jeans, a grey button down (that had been their compromise) and a black leather jacket that’s lined with wool (she’s certain Butch bought it, there’s no other way she hasn’t seen him wear it before).

They’re holding hands and every now and then Roman swings them with a little more vigor and it only takes about three random swings before Erica’s giggles turn into open laughter and his smile is getting bigger with every step. They’re practically newlyweds, she reminds herself. The service, though it was more of a random act of the stars aligning that got them married, (well that and Butch having the foresight to become an ordained minister) was only a month or so ago now, and for all everyone talked to her about coming out of the honeymoon phase, nothing has changed. His voice, and she can hear his smile in it, slips into the calm around them.

“I was thinking, we could take your jeans to the lovely woman who makes my suits. Knowing all she does, she could probably make you an identical pair with little fuss.”

Erica’s blushing again, she knows she is, and she’s about to answer before he speaks again.

“I don’t think you’d want her to break them in for you—but acquiring them is quite easy.”

The woman in question, well, she’s at least a foot shorter than Erica and probably a bit heavier, so the image he presents is quite humorous. Erica hides a giggle behind her free hand before looking to his face again.

“You needn’t love, I can attach myself to a new pair, I just haven’t worked myself up to it yet.”

“Exactly why you should let me, you already love these, and I love you in them.” His eyes leave the tree line, a painting of oranges, yellows, and brilliant reds, to find hers with a wink and smile as he finishes. She knows what he means, he’s always had a soft spot for her long legs and since they’re also her favorite part of herself she always indulges him.

“Very well, star shine, I’ll tag along on your next trip”

His eyebrows raise a little at this despite the fact her eyes have returned to the scenery, “that’s a new one.”

“Well, I’ve called you ‘husband’ so much lately I thought you might want me to mix it up.”

He stops walking and tugs her hand until she presses against him and threads her other hand with his as well, staring deeply into his eyes.

“If you never call me anything else, I’ll still never manage to grow tired of hearing it.” He sounds incredibly fond, a little lovestruck even but he doesn’t care, he loves her, always has, always will. No title will change it, but it does make his heart flutter a bit when she says it all the same.

She’s smiling now, dimples forming and eyes crinkling before she says “Marry me. Marry me again. Over and over and over again!” Each sentence is broken up by a giant grin and by the time she starts saying ‘over and over’ Roman’s thrown his arms around her waist and buried his face in her neck to pick her up and spin her around while she laughs. He sets her down with a sigh, not loosening his grip in the slightest. They’re still holding each other close, Roman waiting for the slight dizziness to pass, when she starts raking her fingers through his hair. Butcher clearing his throat is what eventually breaks the moment. Sending it scattering away like the leaves that lay around them.

“While I’m flattered I did so well the first time, Hannah really will be upset to be left out a second time. Regardless of circumstances.” He manages to sound genuinely annoyed with them but when they turn to him, he’s already smiling, shoulders shaking from the effort not to laugh aloud. A beat passes before he gives up.

They’re all three laughing now, Erica taking the time to watch Roman as he does, his mouth open, loud laugh seeming to resonate through the air, wrapping her in warmth that she wouldn’t trade for the world. She pauses to think before voicing her thoughts:

“Roman, why not?”

He’s panting a bit from how hard he’s been laughing and re-tangles their fingers as he looks at her brightly “Why not what lover?”.

“Why not get married again? We could do it here, this afternoon?” Her eyes are on the far tree line and the field that’s before it “I’d always wanted a fall wedding, a long sleeved dress, Hannah could be my bridesmaid—” her brow furrows as she looks back to Roman “Would we need two witnesses this time? If it’s a renewal?”

Roman’s enraptured now, looking at her in wonder as a small “you did?” slips past his lips. “We never, we never talked about the details, just the action.” The whole sentence is barely above a whisper, but he knows she hears it. He’s the one who needs to hear her answer, desperate for confirmation, leaning into her space, hopeful gaze still locked with hers.

She’s bashful now, eyes falling to the ground to study his shoes. “Well, not till the last year or so, and certainly not before I met you.”

Roman reaches out to gently hold onto her elbows then, gradually moving up to her biceps, bringing himself closer, his eyes searching for hers. “But you thought about it?” he says it desperately. Knowing Butchers definitely close enough to hear their conversation but too absorbed in it to care.

Her eyes have found his chest, not quite brave enough for eye contact yet. “I did. It was always scary before, but,” then her eyes find his and they’re radiating confidence “not with you, you made it sound wonderful. Like I was being set free instead of chaining myself to someone to be used.” She finishes with a slight frown and he wants nothing more than to kiss the lines off her forehead, kiss the bad memories right out of her mind.

He knows how she felt about marriage before, she’d told him, how she feared if she married a man then she’d have no escape if he didn’t respect her asexuality, no way out. She’d thought of it as a death sentence more than a joining of two people. She’d confided in him after a while that were it a small ceremony (preferably a justice of the peace, over in a moment) she might be able to come around to the idea, but that a large wedding still made her skittish and probably always would. To know he’d taken all that away, shown her kindness to the extent that she believed in love again, even to the point that she’d go through with an actual ceremony not for him but because she wanted to; he might faint.

He’s gripping her arms firmly now, eyes glassing over, “You, you want to do that with- with me?” it’s said in a tone of disbelief and her lips are parting in shock.

“You thought I wouldn’t?” Her frown is deeper now, and he pauses to press a lingering kiss to her forehead, closing his eyes to savor it because he knows he’s a romantic and she makes him want to embrace it.

She lowers her chin a fraction to allow it and smiles to herself, waiting for Roman to collect his thoughts.

He breaks away, looking her full in the face. “I never wanted to pressure you, we’d talked about a ceremony before and, I wanted it to be whatever you were comfortable doing. I would have married you in a dumpster if it came to it!” He finishes desperately, hoping she can feel his sincerity. It is the truth; and he expects she knows it by the way her face is turning into a grin again and she’s finally pulling him closer by his open jacket. What he does not expect is for her to kiss him full on the mouth and to move her hands from his jacket to his hair and take advantage of his gasp to slip her tongue in his mouth. He’s quite sure that he can count their public kisses on one hand despite the years they’ve been together but he can’t be bothered to relive all that now, she’s kissing him, lips soft but persistent and not even Butcher’s presence is going to stop him from enjoying that. His hands are winding around her waist, his eyes slipping shut, and he’s kissing her back with a fervor to match the one she started with, angling his head and putting all the feelings he can into it. All the yearning for her that he’s done, all the desire to hold her forever, all the gratitude that she gave him a chance all those years ago, happiness at the moment they’re currently sharing, care for her, pining after her, love for her.

She tries pulling away twice and he chases her each time, his hand between her shoulder blades brings her back the first time, a hand in her hair the second, before she finally manages it, pushing against his forehead with her own and laughing breathlessly.

“You have to let me go if I’m going to get ready to marry you again”. Her grin is splitting her face and he moves to kiss her eyelids, watching her eyes flutter closed at the last second. He places the first kiss, softly as ever, “What if” he moves to kiss the second one “I don’t want to?”

She smiles softly again, “Well, then you can answer to Hannah about why we didn’t have her in our wedding.” It’s the ace, she knows it, and if her slowly growing grin isn’t obvious enough, the twinkling in her eyes says she’s caught onto the pun too and is eagerly anticipating his pointing it out. He does her the honor, and they laugh together, noses brushing, before he turns toward Butcher, still keeping her close enough to slip his hands into her back pockets. The man in question is typing on his phone but manages to look up after a few seconds, dryly asking

“Oh, are y’all done now?” He says it with such apathy any passer-by would assume they spent nearly every moment lip-locked but Roman shakes his head and continues smiling anyway.

Butcher’s eyes return to the phone, “I got in touch with my Sunshine”. He says it so casually, as if Hannah didn’t have another name, as if they weren’t about to have their three year wedding anniversary soon, as if they hadn’t been trying for a baby all that time, “She’s going to meet Erica at the store, Green’s on his way with the car. My Sunshine’s had all this planned for a while, Ms. Erica, you two can sort the details, I’ll take care of the boss.”

Roman has sincere doubt that Butcher’s darling is the only one who’s had this ‘all planned out’ (if their original ceremony is anything to go by, he’s certain he’s right). Nonetheless, he turns to Erica, giving her one last brush of their noses before pulling his hands out of her pockets and leaning away. “Well, wife“ the word is punctuated by an eyebrow pop, “I suppose I won’t be allowed to see you till this afternoon, any last words for your darling husband who may very well perish from the depravation?”

She’s laughing out loud now, hiding her face in her hands and he can’t stop himself from pulling her in for a hug by the shoulders, certain that the joy between them could power a city. She lingers in the embrace for a few moments longer before they both hear the car pull up in the quiet. When she pulls away her hands come between his arms and cradle his face, “I’ll count the seconds till I’m back with you.”

Its said quietly. Sincerely. With so much gravity that Roman almost regrets the teasing tone he had taken beforehand. She’s sliding away, walking backwards to the car—

“So far I’m up to three!!” It said with so much joviality, such a complete turnaround from three seconds ago that Roman can’t help the huff of air that he blows through his nose, looking away and biting his bottom lip, dragging his hands up to his hips, before looking back to her and raising a hand in farewell. She blows him a kiss and winks and his heart almost stops for the second (or was it third?) time that morning.

“Alright Butch” It’s a tone that reeks of resignation but if he’s honest he can’t wait to see what the man has planned, turning toward him, he opens his arms wide in a gesture of acceptance. “Take me away. Make me look pretty. Make me the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen.” He’s teasing now, maybe if he tries hard enough Butch will leave him here and he can get a cab and follow Erica, spend the whole day with her. Tell her she’s absolutely gorgeous in every dress she has on, that he really would marry her anywhere, that he can’t wait to get old with her, that--- He becomes aware of Butch snapping his fingers in his face.

“Ok I give up, just don’t drool in the car.”

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

#asexual #ewan mcgregor #aces in spaces #original characters #original fic #original story #ace character #new chapter

[megucarecord]

Rating Genshin Impact Character Designs (Pt. 1)

Hey y’all! I’ve been thinking of doing this for a really long time and I decided to finally stop being lazy and do it. So this is going to be a review of all the playable characters in Genshin Impact from a design perspective. I don’t really have any prerequisites to make this list worth anything (unless you count one year of a fashion/sewing class in high school lol) but hey idk, seems fun?

Gonna be super long (10 characters) so putting everything under the cut.

Disclaimer: I don’t actually hate any of these designs, nor do I consider my opinions “fixing” them, this is just for fun. 

Character: Lumine

I have a lot of conflicting feelings about this design. The hair and basic build are fine, very generic but that’s unsurprising for any character that is working at least partially as a pseudo self-insert. The color scheme is also very bland - and is one of the reasons I originally thought that Aether was automatically Geo traveler and Lumine was Anemo traveler. I think that adding more colors would’ve been a good thing, but also would’ve required a revamp of the dress itself, so maybe not the most practical thing, even if I think the dress is a bit too busy. The biggest changes I would make would be to get rid of the fancy part of her stockings as well as the extra flow/ruffled back of the skirt, which is just a bit too much considering the top layer of the skirt is already quite detailed (in a very nice way) and that could’ve just been extended. I also have to admit that though the scarf is very impractical and showy, but it reminds me of a costume from a series I like so I actually like it a lot, although you could definitely term it unnecessary.

Rating: 7/10

Character: Aether

Okay ngl this character design kinda slaps. Firstly, I love that Aether has long hair, it’s a good contrast to Lumine’s cut (and contrast should be super important with characters that are siblings/parallels of one another) and idk long braids are kinda cool. I love that the outfit has distinctive colors, which give the character personality and keeps him from being washed out. The design is much more streamlined than Lumine’s, and although I’m not a huge fan of midrifts (a theme in this post I’m sorry) there’s not actually much I’d change in this design. Except maybe make the cape a scarf to better match with Lumine. This is definitely the superior design in terms of the siblings in my opinion and I think the lack of intricacy fits the image of “traveler” better. It’s not my favorite and there isn’t anything that really stands out in the design, but it’s really solid and I like it.

Rating: 9/10

Character: Albedo

This design has a lot of potential, but I think in the end it’s just a bit too busy (which will be a theme in this game haha). I like the hair - in general I’m glad Genshin isn’t scared to try a bunch of different lengths and styles on guys because if not everything would become painfully boring. I also like the clothes for the most part. The boots are especially sleek, and I like that despite being a Geo character they gave Albedo a bluer, darker color scheme. I think it fits with his mysterious sort of quietly menacing vibe (this man is Frankensteining something I know it). But it really starts to get a bit too much with the coat. I think he needed a coat, again it fits the character, he’s in the middle of a frozen tundra and he’s also a magic scientist man, he needs some sort of coat. But I think the chain and the strap across the front is a bit too much. If I were the designers I would’ve continued with a sleeker theme, make the sleeves longer, the gloves shorter, if you wanted some ornamentation maybe a pack of vials on his belt. Overall very good design, greater color scheme, too busy. Also can we appreciate his banner art? It’s so good I love it.

Rating: 8/10

Character: Amber

Okay first I’m gonna say her card art is super cute. Love the pose, love the style. All gut. Now let me say that this outfit had potential but then it sorta... fell flat. I like the color scheme for the most part, except the white cause idk white is boring and in the game it looks kinda latexy, but I understand wanting three colors and black might be too close to brown. That being said, I hate stockings. Stockings are just the worst, they’re impractical, hard to put on, uncomfortable, should only be worn with dresses. No knight of Favonius needs stockings. Might I suggest pants or shorts? Or like cool pseudo armor plates like with Lumine. Also though I do like the jacket and the leather stomacher design, I think a bomber jacket might suit the character better, because idk they’re cool and they make me think of Amelia Earheart, although that’s such a culturally distinct thing I can’t blame them for not thinking that way. Again the jacket is still very cool, love the stomacher, and love the cuffs.. The belt is lovely and like I said love the embossed designs, but ultimately this design is too impractical, and too bland to get away with being impratical for me. So... yeah.

Rating: 5/10

Character: Barbara

Barbara! Our fav crazy nun. First I’m gonna thank her for having an attack of pure magic then I’m gonna say I hate the color white apparently because I also didn’t like it here. I’m pretty sure she’s supposed to be a novice (could be wrong), so I’d flip the colors, have the accents be white and the main color navy. But idk that’s just me. Overall I quite like her design. It’s a pretty good balance between simple and detailed. I don’t even hate the stockings. I’d say the least good part is the top, the bow and the weird collar is just... ehh? but I don’t think getting rid of the collar would help though. I’d say ditch the bow, make the dress connect to the collar, keep the off the shoulders cold sleeves. I really like the ruffled part of the top skirt. Idk it’s the best part of the design. The hat makes her look like a nurse not a nun though. maybe make the hair ties for the ponytails little veils, might fit better. Overall mostly nitpicks, it’s a strong design.

Rating: 8/10

Character: Beidou

Firstly I’d like to apologize to the Beidou I pulled before never using her (forgive me ily); next I’d like to admit I don’t love her design. I haven’t really harped on the lack of armor on these characters - because I’m not sure how I’d integrate armor into all them without making them bland af, no one wants people running around in full plate armor how tf you supposed to climb in that - but I still wouldn’t’ve put her in a leotard and boots only when she’s a canonical fighter, without even the armor accents on most of the other character. I know that traditional qipao would probably be terrible to fight in, so I’m not going to complain about them slitting it - I actually quite like it I think it’s cool and sleek and fits her vibe - but I will complain about them putting her in a leotard underneath. As someone who dances I can assure you no one in their right mind would want to fight in a leotard, which yes I know isn’t the point and I can’t blame them for not thinking that way. Anyways, I think leggings/stockings and tall boots are quite cool so that’s prolly what I’d do, streamlines the whole design too, gives it a sense of connectivity (idk I’m weird and I don’t look at this character often so yeah). I like the top of her design, although I’d prolly replace the fur on the cap with a large collar, sort of pirate-y or Navy-like. Also let me just say I love the hair and eye patch. Fits her reckless sort of character to hate her hair whipping around, and the eyepatch really sells the concept of her having fought for years. The hand guards didn’t need to be flared, but I don’t mind them being there. Especially since handling a Claymore would definitely rip up your hands if you didn’t have protection. Also the boots though impractical are very cool so... yeah.

Rating: 6/10

Character: Bennett

One of my main team and prolly the closest thing I currently have to a DPS I have conflicting opinions on Bennett’s design. I think it’s a pretty good design all things considered. His belt and all his packs would be busy if you didn’t know Bennett’s character, but considering he’s a wanna be adventurer, I think it works pretty well. Although I don’t know why his extra belt straps are so long... or even exist?? Idk kinda weird. His top is... ehh? I don’t really like it, I think partially because I don’t think Bennett would wear a midrift shirt like this (midrifts where there shouldn’t be midrifts or, as I like to call it, being MagiReco-d) and partially cause the color, though understandable in such a busy design, is kinda bland. I think that’s why the collar works instead of being too busy, we needed some color. If I had to changed the design I’d get rid of the midrift and get rid of those weird extra belt things. Also that one random dagger star thing on one side of his blue collar is just so weird and random and like why does it exist? But overall I like the design, and it doesn’t bug me when I’m playing with him. I think it’s a good example of how busyness can accurately portray a character. Well done.

Rating: 8/10

Character: Chongyun

Another character who I own but have never played, though my friend has him on their main team and they look super cool. I’m not gonna lie I love this character’s design. Firstly the color palette is so good, the white feels like it works to offset all the blue hues - which I love that even the darkest parts of his design are blue not black - so it doesn’t feel bland or irritating, especially with the gold giving it a sense of luxury. I also like the choice to have a tunic that extends to the pants, I think having only white pants would be too bland - again white it a meh color for designs - so it really gives it some necessary details and color. I also like the jacket, again it gives the design a sense of detail while being simple enough not to feel like too much. Also I have no idea what the outfit would look like without the jacket and I have a feeling that answer would be Not Good, so... yeah. Some nitpicks; the left arm band thingie golden cuff is kinda too much and seems impractical and irritating. And... that’s it. I know the slippers are impractical, but I think they work, he is an exorcist not an adventurer after all. Overall, probably second favorite design in the game. Great job

Rating: 10/10

Character: Diluc

Give Diluc a high ponytail, I’m begging you. Lol anyways personal preference aside (which is impossible this entire post is personal preference) I like this design. I think the color works and the whole outfit is a good reflection of Diluc’s character, closed off, luxurious while also a bit ragged and uncontrollable. Yeah. I like it. I do think the thing chain accessory is kinda random, and I don’t think there’s anything about the design that knocks me off my feet, but I do really love the design overall. Also the gloves, good gloves. Suggestions? High ponytailed Diluc. Nothing else. Also though he’s not in this post I like that this outfit is very streamlined and simple compared to Kaeya, it’s a good portrayal of their differing views and opinions through fashion. Because unlike with the traveller siblings I think these brothers have a dynamic where contrast is better than parallel.

Rating: 9/10

Character: Diona

Okay so though I’ve never interacted with this character I skimmed the wiki and I love her backstory it’s hilarious. Also since I never interact with her I don’t have many opinions about her design except why does she only have one sock on? Honestly relatable moments. I think the extra ponytail is kinda weird and excessive considering the hat and I’d prolly make the hair orange to match the ears but overall very cute design. What do bartenders look like? Idk. Oh and also there are a bit too many colors roaming around, but I get it. Overall fairly generic but kinda cute. I still think midrifts are bad.

Rating: 7/10

And that’s it! I hope this didn’t come off as “lol these designs are gross and I’m superior and we should fix them” because no. No one should take any of these suggestions seriously. Except maybe the ponytail one lol. Anyways I hope at least one person likes this cause this took forever and I kinda burned out after a while. Next post if I make it will be interesting cause it includes my least favorite design. May you all have lovely playing and if you love a design I don’t honestly more power to you. Bye!!

#idk this is so random #plz don't hate me #genshin impact #not magia record #long post #mine

[lavendersoft]

My Soulmate’s Soulmate.

Part six

Soulmate! AU

Synopsis: Before you meet your soulmate your world is black and white, without color. When soulmates meet, their world glows with vibrancy. The reality, however, as harsh and uncommon as it is, is that you are not always your soulmate’s soulmate.

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader, Taehyung x Reader, Jungkook x Taehyung (poly!au)

Warnings: N/A.

Author’s Notes: N/A.

--

The rain that taps outside your window is the only thing keeping you calm.

It’s currently 5:47 pm and you just finished getting ready for your date with Tae. You really don’t know what to expect besides the dinner part, I mean you’ve only known him for a few weeks and you’ve spoken to him but a handful of times. What kind of person is he? Is he the serious type? Or maybe he’s more carefree? Is he spontaneous? Is he planning on taking you somewhere that’s not the decided restaurant?

The anxiety erodes at your confidence as you touch up your already perfect makeup yet again. You’ve opted for a more casual look, being that the restaurant is a pretty low key place. A simple white turtle neck sweater with black skinny jeans and black ankle boots. You peer outside the foggy window again,

“I should check the weather,” you mumble to yourself, knowing the temperature keeps dropping by the day. Turning the TV to the weather channel, you find there’s a high chance of the first snowfall tonight. Better bring that trench coat just in case.

“You look beautiful.” Jungkook’s voice calls from behind you. He can be so light-footed an sneaky sometimes, like a cat.

“Thanks, baby.” You turn to face him with a worried look,

“I’m nervous.”

He wraps an arm around you and grins.

“Don’t be, Angel. He’s really nice. If anyone is nervous, it’s probably him.”

You nod, knowing how nerve-wracking first dates are- especially with your soulmate.

“Can’t you tell me just a little about him?”

He pulls a strand of hair out of your face while he grins down at you.

“Nope.”

“Why?” It made no sense to you. He’s been refusing you even the slightest hints as to what kind of person Taehyung is.

“Because you have to get to know him the way I did. By talking to him.”

He giggles when you grunt in displeasure.

The chime of the doorbell brings you out of your pout.

“Ah! He’s here! Go and have a good time. Call me if you need anything, especially if he gets too handsy. He’s my soulmate but I won’t hesitate to kick his ass, let him know that,“ He rants as get guides you to the door, “Oh, and don’t forget your jacket! It’s gonna be really cold tonight.”

You’re face to face with the front door now. The doorknob feels almost hot to the touch.

Inhale. Exhale.

The old wooden door reveals a man that looks almost out of place in the slightly dingy hallway of your apartment building.

God, he looks like a prince. How does a person look like that?

He’s dressed in a simple white dress shirt and black leather jacket with ripped jeans. But what really catches your eye is the small silver chain that connects from one belt loop to the next on the side of his pants. It matches perfectly with the dainty chain that hangs from his neck. So simple yet so effective. How fashionable.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

He smiles so warmly at you, you feel a rush of adrenaline.

Oh. Oh, he smells good.

A gasp escapes your mouth as the lingering scent of his cologne reminds you that you forgot to put on your own perfume.

“Sorry, I forgot something. I’ll be right back.”

You hurry off leaving Taehyung and Jungkook alone.

You return in a haste to the pair of men staring at each other for whatever reason. The atmosphere seems almost stiff.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

“Great. You said the reservation’s at 6:20, right?”

“Yep. And it’s about 15 minutes away so we should probably get going.”

“Okay,” Taehyung places a hand lightly to the small of your back while he turns his head to Jungkook, “I’ll have her back by eleven.”

“Ten.”

The older chuckles at the younger in response.

“Yes, Sir.”

-

You fidget with the promise ring Jungkook gave you some time ago. Taehyung looks almost intimidatingly handsome under the dim, soft light of the restaurant. The light catches on his earrings every time he moves and you have the hardest time prying your eyes away from his chest since the top buttons of his shirt are open, revealing just a bit of his collar bone.

God, it’s like he gets prettier with every passing second.

“So, have you been here before?”

“Nope. First time. Any recommendations?” he prompts.

“Well, it’s a bulgogi house so maybe start with bulgogi.” You quip.

A smirk crosses your face when he blushes. Taehyung didn’t seem like the type to blush over just anything so this was cute. You’d never tell him but you kind of like the power you have, making such a beautiful man blush so easily. However, remembering how nervous you were on your first date with Jungkook, you cut Tae some slack.

“I’m kidding. The galbi here is really tasty too.”

“Mm, that sounds good. I think I’ll try that.” He relaxes.

As if on queue, the waitress comes by and takes your orders. After, Taehyung turns to you, “On a serious note. Is this really okay? I mean, us meeting here. Is Jungkook angry? He seemed a bit... off I guess.”

“Oh, no it’s okay. Don’t worry about that. We’ve already talked about it.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I mean,” You pause to collect your thoughts, “It’s only natural, right? You’re my boyfriend’s soulmate and I’m...”

“My soulmate.” He finishes the sentence when you trailed off.

“Yes. I’m your soulmate.”

Something flashes in his eyes that you couldn’t quite decipher.

“You’re right. It’s only natural all see each other more often.”

You hum is response.

There is a short, yet comfortable, silence between you two before he speaks again,

“Do you believe in destiny, Y/n?”

You can’t help but chuckle at the cheesy question. Definitely the romantic type.

“Hm. I don’t know if I did before but... this whole situation may have just turned me into a believer.”

The rest of the date was pretty standard. Simple, shallow ‘first date’ questions ensue.

“Where are you from?”

“What do you do?”

“What are your hobbies?”

“How many siblings?”

“What are your goals?”

By the time your meals are finished, you feel like you’ve made a good start in getting to know him. One of the most interesting answers you received was in response to the question about his hobbies. He loves motorcycles and has three of them.

Very interesting.

I’ll have to ask him to elaborate on that one.

“Okay, last question.”

“Go for it.” He seems much more confident than he was an hour and a half ago.

“Do you have a sweet tooth?” You grin brightly down at the variety of desserts on the menu.

His eyes never leave your face,

“Definitely.”

A sudden realization comes over you,

“Sorry. It kind of seems like I’m interviewing you or something. Any questions for me?”

He bites his lip as he ponders for a moment.

“How long have you known Jungkook? Oh, and how did you meet? And please don’t leave out any of the details, I’m a hopeless romantic.”

“Well, we met when we were still teenagers. He was still an intern for the record label he works for now and I... well I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life whatsoever. It was like he had everything figured out, you know? He knew exactly what he wanted and how to get it. He knew where he was going. I’d never met someone so sure of themselves. That’s one of the things that drew me to him, besides the obvious reasons. Anyway, I was working in a flower shop at the time. I didn’t even see him walk up to me, I was too busy trying not to get pricked by the roses. He tapped me on the shoulder to ask me a question, I don’t even remember what he asked. All I remember was him introducing himself, and then everything around me coming to life. Stupid me, I didn’t even realize he wasn’t experiencing what I was, I was just so overwhelmed with all the colors. It never occurred to me that-“

You pause when you catch Taehyung’s face fall a bit.

“So, yeah, that’s how we met.” You finish your embarrassing monologue, picking up a spoon and shoveling in the ice cream you don’t remember ordering.

“Your eyes light up when you talk about him. It’s cute.”

If you weren’t cherry red before, you definitely are now.

-

The ice-cold air feels like a slap to the face when you step into the night, and the wind doesn’t help either. Your breath falls from your mouth like smoke as you wrap yourself tighter in your coat.

Where did we park again?

Tae steps beside you, jogging in place to stay warm.

“Hey, where did we-“

Something catches your eye when you peer up at him. Your mind goes blank when you reach up to glide your fingertips down his cheek.

“A snowflake? Is it-?”

Sure enough, you look up to the black sky to see small specks of white falling lightly. Tae doesn’t seem to care in the slightest, the warmth of your fingers still lingering on his skin.

“The car’s this way.” He takes the first move and you follow in suit. At least, you tried to.

The magical moment is ended when your back hits the cold, wet ground. You daze up for a moment, trying to process how the hell you ended up in an ice bath.

“Oh my God, are you okay? You didn’t hit your head, right?” Tae was by your side immediately, helping you up and inspecting the damage. He even slid a bit on the icy pavement.

“Damn, you’re all wet. You can’t wear this, you’ll catch a cold.” He gestures to your now soaking wet jacket. He helps you out of the garment and replaces it with his own.

“Hey, my studio isn’t far from here. I keep it pretty warm in there, let’s go there to dry you up.” It didn’t seem like a suggestion, more like a statement. You don’t care at the moment, though. It’s like the air around you gets colder by the second.

“Let’s do it.”

-

It feels like instant heaven when you enter the toasty building.

Taehyung flips several switches on revealing a huge, beautiful art studio. It was filled with unfinished paintings, sketches, and sculptures. You can’t remember the last time you’ve seen so many vibrant colors. Maybe the day you met Jungkook. Memories of all different types of flowers pass by your mind. This definitely reminds you of that day.

“Your sweater is still wet. Hold on.” He rummages through a tiny closet next to the entrance. He pulls out a crisp, white v-neck shirt. “Here. I keep extra clothes here just in case I get messy while painting. Um, there’s a bathroom down the hall on the left.”

You return in his shirt. It’s so loose it reaches your mid-thigh. Even despite wearing his shirt, you decide to keep his jacket on because it’s just so cozy.

“This is my main studio, where I keep all the unfinished projects.” He begins when he notices you. Then he places a hand on the small of your back, leading you to a door in the corner of the room witch you assume is another studio.

“And this-” He opens the door to a room about half the size of the first, but has a huge window that lets in the light of the city. The space is filled with painted portraits of people. All sorts of people, elderly, young, and everything in between. It also showcases statues, photography, and sketches. The experience felt as if you were stepping into a museum. The whole room looks like a collage of color.

“-Is the gallery.”

“You like to people watch, don’t you? Very observ...” You trail off when you look closer at a specific section of the back wall.

Sketches and paintings of all styles. All of you.

--

Taglist: @ourwhispersbecomeouranthems @fantasyjoon @ally22042000 @ireadfanficsonthisleavemealone @embrace-themagic @lexi-tries-art @ccmemoirs @just-call-me-trash-can @karlykim92 @omg-sol-s-dreamland @ironically-indifferent96 @namjoonsslutakakoreanmanswhore @bumblekey93​

#bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #taekook #taekook fanfic #taekook fanfiction #vkook #taehyung x jungkook #taehyung x reader #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #kim taehyung fanfiction #jeon jungkook fanfiction #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #bts poly au #my soulmate’s soulmate #jungkook #taehyung #bts soulmate au

[razorblade180]

Lasting Embers pt14: Training Day pt2

[Atlas SDC headquarter CEO office]

*A man in his early thirties wearing a business suit in the Schnee family colors sits at his desk writing. His hair swooped back and cleanly shaven. Pretty in shape, like a bulkier Neptune*

Secretary:*creaking open door* Whitley, your special guest has arrived.

Whitley:Thank you Julia; please send her in.

*a women with black leather pants and dark combat boots walks in. Zipped up black jacket jacket and wearing aviators; gold trim on the seams of her clothes. Not to mention a ridiculously long auburn ponytail*

Whitley:Hey Illia, how’s the weather treating you?

Illia:Cold as usual *removes glasses* I see you’re on a first name basis with your secretary now; about time.

Whitley:*smirks and stops writing* You haven’t changed since your last visit. You’re a bit late; stop by lunch areas to flirt with my cook again? She’s been talking about you.

Illia:*sits on his desk* Can you blame her? Anyways, I’m here on the usual business mostly. *lifts his chin and examines his face* you eating well? Any death threats or loss of sleep? Death by stress or malnutrition isn’t something I can protect you from.

Whitley:*chuckles* I’m fine, I’m fine *moving her hand* What about you?

Illia:Eh, the usual. Killing the bad guys and taking life a day at a time; all before anyone knows they’re in trouble. *puts a file on his desk* oh, there’s an assassination attempt on your life being planned by the way.

Whitley:Of course, another person mad I banned Faunus labor or is it more sister related? *opens folder to see faces of men in grey hoods and red veins near their eyes and hands* You think cult members would look more inconspicuous....

Illia:They’re currently in a warehouse a little ways up north of here. A splinter group that has their own way of trying to please “Salem the great and powerful” They obviously know about Weiss so....

Whitley:They’re going after her loved ones yada yada yada. She’s getting such an ear full when she comes back.

Illia:You think she’s okay?

Whitley:If you can survive our house then you can survive anything. So, how are you going to deal with these lot.

Illia:Don’t have to myself; I’ve been put in charge of training a newbie. This is no real threat so she went on ahead to despose of the problem. Shouldn’t take her too long.

*knock knock knock*

Whitley:That was fa-

Illia:*draws her weapon* too fast.... stay back.

[Warehouse]

*pretty vacant except for crates and blueprints everywhere. A table in the middle with four cloaked figures around it*

Thug 1: Are you sure this is gonna work? Like I get he’s not a huntsmen or anything but I heard this guy has taken down other people before us.

Thug 2:Idiot *flicking him* unlike the others we have an actual plan. We’ll strike right in the middle of traffic go rain bullets down from the building above.

Thug 3:Yee the boss left us in charge of this operation while he and two more go off and secure something else. Uhhh I forgot what kind of a play he was making.

Thug 4:*young women’s voice* Honestly why did I get stuck with you three? He said he was making a power play; rumor has it the branch of the cult is essentially history. That’s why he’s gone to hunt down the winter maiden. With access to the relic and the SDC fortune then he’s top dog. Rumor has it that the maiden might be somewhere hiding in Menagerie.

“Well isn’t that interesting news? Thanks for the info.”

*everyone reading their rifles*

Thug 1:Who said that!?

“Guns? Aren’t you for members of the Children of Salem; shouldn’t you be having grimm serve you with those gross veins of yours? Or did your boss not trust you enough to lend you some”

Thug 4:Show yourself!!! If you think hiding in the shadows can-

*a chain flies out and wraps the gun. Pulling it to the side and shooting the first thug right through the chest*

Thug 2:Shit!!!! *freaking out* what the hell is going on!?

“The shadows are sort of my thing. I could show you my face sense I’m not allowed to leave survivors but.....I need practice.

Thug 3: Stop toying with us you crazy bitc-ugh! *blood dripping down the mouth*

*a chain out of the shadows with a metal tip finds its way into Thug 3*

“Cat got your tongue; or heart?” *reels his body into the darkness*

Thug 2: *dropping his gun* Okay we give up! We’ll tell you everything we know; I swear!

......

“When did your boss leave for Menagerie?”

Thug 4:Yesterday, by airship! I think a cargo one?

“Hmm I think I can catch up to that. Thanks for information.”

Thug 2:Are...are we good?

*chain wraps around both of them tying them up. A figure of a woman in her early twenties and wearing a similar outfit to Illia. However the seams are white to match her white tiger ears and dawns a black mask reminiscent of the white fang.*

“No, you’re far from good.”

*picks up the rifle*

•

Illia:*opens up the door quickly and jumps back to defend Whitley* State your name and- Weiss?

Weiss:*slightly taller and dressed more like her sister. Hair style like her mother yet somehow looking just like her normal self* Well that was one way to be welcomed home. I guess I should expect nothing less from-

Whitley:*runs up and hugs her* Hey dork, you look like mom.

Weiss:Ugh, you’re one to talk *hugs him tightly* I half expected you to be rocking a bushy mustache.

Whitley:When hell freezes over.

Weiss:Ooo do I have a story for you later. *chuckles*

Illia:If you’re here then does that mean... *scroll rings* Uhhh hello?

Blake:Hey stranger, you miss me?

Illia:.......*tearing up* Blake?

Blake:Who else? I know it’s been awhile but I’d at least thought you’d have my number saved. Just letting you know that I’m home; I’m finally home.

Illia:You’re already back in Menagerie!?

Blake:*sitting on top a palm tree looking into her house window* Yep, no one knows yet besides Adam’s family. *watching a certain monkey Faunus hard at work running her organization* that’s about to change though.

Illia:I didn’t realize he knew you were back. I came out to Atlas for nothing!?

Blake:No, he wasn’t home. His daughter said he was already going on another trip; he’s probably going through the same shock you are. Anyways just also calling to tell you that there’s probably gonna be a celebration when everyone realizes I’m back. As of now your job is to come home and relax with your old friend my sinister shadow.

Illia:*chuckles* As you wish High Leader Belladonna; save me some food. *hanging up* well better go get my recruit and- *scroll rings* speak of the devil. *answering* so how was your first solo op Sienna?

Sienna:*taking off her mask as she watches a warehouse burn. Her maple tan skin feeling the cold air as her short black hair catches the wind* I wish it was someone place warmer; had to heat myself up. Everything here is done but we sort of have to head to Menagerie right now.

Illia:Why do I have a feeling it’s for a different reason I want to go back?

Sienna:I’ll tell you on the ride there but uhh let’s keep this one extra off the books please? It involves my mom.... *wiping blood of her mask and chain* not that I’m too worried; her and Jael are tough. Just wish dad was there for sure.

[Jaune’s Yard]

Yujin:You’re mine! *swings her blade, barely missing Adam’s head* crap!

*abandons her sword to keep up the pressure with high speed jabs and kicks. Not giving him any room to breath*

Adam:*bobbing all her attacks as he tries to back up* interesting choice when fighting a superior opponent. Keeping the flow of a fight yours to maintain at the cost of your weapon. *catches a punch and knees in the gut*

Yujin:*cough* You know me, always coming up with ideas! *goes for rib shot but he dodges back*

Adam:Well points for- *aura discharges from her punch and knocks him back*

Yujin:Ha! *runs up and kicks off of him to send him either further back* (that should be enough distance....)

*picks up her sword and makes it glow an intense white. Flames emerge from hit*

Yujin:Here goes nothing..... *unleashes 3 slashes our pure white flames* sunslice....

Adam:*Smiling* Not bad...*moon slices through all three*

Yujin:Tsk *slices the oncoming attack* still not enough to out do yours huh? Okay...*switches to gauntlets*

Ruby:She’s pretty good with that sword; it’s almost her size yet she can swing it one handed. Almost reminds me of Qrow....

Jaune:Probably because everyone chimed in and told her about his moves. He might be gone but a bit of his flare isn’t.

Ruby:......*smiles* Good, that’s really good to know.

Yang:*soaking in the fight that’s in front of her. Seeing her daughter counter blade strikes with punches; displaying moves all too noticeable to her as her dad’s handy work*

Jaune:Enjoying the show?

*Yujin’s fist catching fire. Another aura filled punch scattering the flames as the embers dance around her. Not messing a step when avoiding Adam’s relentless bullets and cross slashes*

Yang:I wish....I wish I could’ve helped create this. *somber smile* look at our kid go; she’s in her element right now.

*Adam jumping over a sweep kicking and blocking an assault of jabs. Sparks flying off his sword*

Yang:And I didn’t help with any of it.... I feel a little bad.

Jaune:Are you kidding? Yang, you might not have been here but plenty recordings of your training days are. She won’t admit it but I know she’s watched every single one to be even remotely as good as you.

Yang:*shocked* Really?

Jaune:*Nodding* Yujin did everything she could to deny hand to hand combat; to be separated from you. No matter how hard she tried though she knew if she was gonna be huntress that eventually she’d have to come to terms with you have a legacy with rich insight. To be a little more like herself she’d swallowed her pride, and started acting a little more like you.

Ruby:Makes sense; she looked very angry fighting you hand to hand but also a little thrill. If I had to guess I’d say it was probably because she finally got to see where she stood.

Yujin: *Jumping back for distance, trying to catch her breath* Come on Adam, *huff* my mom tire you out. (shouldn’t be long now) no holding back *raises her gaurd*

Adam:*sword glowing* Says the one breathing deep. You’ve grown a lot Yujin; I’m proud. However, I think this might be your limit.

Yujin:Well let’s find out!! *bumps her first together and charges at him.*

Adam:This won’t kill you but it’s not gonna tickle *dashes towards him swinging his sword down at her*

Yujin:*smirks*

*a giant thumb erupts from the clash. Dirt and dust flying into the air as everything fall quiet*

Ruby:Huh....well would you look at that? Guess she has learned from you.

Yang:*jaw dropped in awe* You...you told her the story didn’t you?

Jaune:Maybe once or twice....*smiling*

Adam:*completely caught off gaurd, a familiar chill runs through him* .......heh this takes me back.

Yujin:*gripping his blade tightly before the impact. Her eyes shining bright lilac* Gotcha...

#rwby #rwby lasting embers #whitley schnee #illia amitola #sienna frost #adam taurus #ruby rose #jaune arc #yang xiao long #yujin xiao long #rwby dragonslayer #weiss schnee

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 1-3: 命运的拐点 Destiny’s Turning Point Translation [3rd Beta Test]

*Light and Night Master-list is under WIP *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Game is slated for release this summer! (Estimated to be 8/8/21) *Beta Test’s main story tag will be #Dreams of Light and Night

Police: Name?

Cindy: My name's Cindy. My earrings are gone! I've spent an entire week on them. Please, you must help me find them!

The girl who was desperate to the brink of tears was none other than Cindy, the oldest contestant amongst us all.

Half an hour ago, Cindy had suggested reporting this to the police seeing as how many of the designers had their accessories go missing. Now, she was the first one to undergo questioning by the police.

Police: Earrings, you say? Alright, I've noted it down. Has anyone else lost anything?

Designer A: Me. I lost an Emerald hairpin.

Designer B: My pearl necklace is gone too.

MC: I'm (Y/n), my brooch has also gone missing.

Police: I've gotten the gist of the situation here. All of your items were found lost after less than half an hour after having been left here.

Police: My colleague went to check the surveillance tapes. There was no one suspicious who entered and left the room during that time frame.

Cindy: How can that be...

Police: But there are blind spots where the surveillance cameras cannot reach. Plus, things don't simply disappear for no reason at all.

Police: So, I'm asking everyone to think carefully about it again. Did any of you see anyone who was acting suspicious?

MC: A suspicious looking person…

The image of the figure dressed in black and wearing a mask flashed into my mind along with his skull pendant and flickering silver chains.

MC: I saw someone that I didn't recognize walk out of the room, but I thought that he was a model…

MC: But now that I think about it, no model would come here.

Police: What did this person look like?

MC: He’s very tall and looks to be around 185cm. He wasn’t wearing a staff uniform. 

Police: Can you give me a detailed description of his appearance and how he was dressed?

I nodded, trying my hardest to remember what I’d seen in that split-second.

MC: I couldn’t make out his features since he wore a black mask, but I remember his clothes…!

MC: He wore a black leather jacket paired with light grey jeans and a pair of studded boots.

MC: He had a long silver necklace with a skull pendant hanging from it along with a few silver chains hanging from his waist.

MC: His countenance is hard to describe. He appears to give off a very mysterious vibe, but honestly, the design of the pants he wore needs to be optimized...

I continued prattling on, unaware of how the policeman who’d been recording my descriptions down stopped short.

Police: Optimized?

Suddenly realizing what I'd just said, my face flushed in embarrassment.

MC: Sorry, but that's pretty much all I saw…

Police: Alright. We'll look further into the matter with this information.

Police: However, considering the large number of people here, the vastness of the venue and the small number of missing items, it’ll be quite difficult to find them.

Police: You'd best be prepared.

Everyone lapsed into collective silence after the police left. The solemness of the atmosphere in here was tangible, like a heavy cloud that hung over all of our heads.

Cindy had already succumbed to despair. She silently squatted down; head buried into the crook of her arm.

★Night Choice: Settle your own problems (Didn't select)

☆Light Choice: Comfort Her

I walked up to her, gently patting her back.

MC: Don't worry, I'm sure the police will be able to help us all find our missing accessories.

Cindy: You guys are all young and talented… you'll have other ways to spring back if you fail here, so of course you wouldn't be too worried about it… but such a thing doesn't exist for me…

Her soft voice was distorted by her sniffling, so much that I could barely distinguish what she was trying to say between sobs.

I'd overheard the others talking about her before. Cindy was originally a white-collar worker who'd eventually resigned and got a loan to study design overseas. It was a do-or-die situation for her, in a way.

I didn't know what I should say to comfort her, for everything I say right now would only pale in comparison to what she was going through. All I could do was to gently pat her back.

Cindy: Why did this have to happen now…? It took me such painstaking efforts to get this far…

All the doom and gloom that she exuded was contagious, and I soon felt my heart drop along with her worsening mood.

???: What are you crying about?

No one actually expected Wu Yue, of all people, to be saying something this harsh. She strode out of the crowd under everyone's surprised gazes, walking in front of Cindy and pulling her back upright. Her expression was a tad savage.

Wu Yue: If you don't want to let all your previous effort go to waste, then you'd jolly well shut your trap and redo it. Do you really think it was all so easy for everyone to get this far!

Wu Yue: Those who whinge and always feel sorry for themselves but do nothing to fix it will never succeed.

This was the first time I've ever heard her speak off-stage.

I couldn't help but to be surprised at the look of dead seriousness on her face.

MC: There's still another 3 days before the competition, so let's hurry and start re-doing what we've lost.

Gao Cheng: I... I can help everyone fetch the materials they need. You can also ask me for help if any of you need an extra hand...

Designer A: I've already long since wanted to change my hairpin design! I'm sure the new one this time will turn out a hundred times better! You guys better watch out!

More contestants started inputting, and the gloomy atmosphere soon dissipated. Cindy had also stopped crying, vigorously rubbing at her eyes.

Cindy: You guys are right. I cannot give up here…

Despite all of us not knowing what results awaited us 3 days later, and despite all of us being fellow competitors, we were all teammates now, working hard with the same goal in mind.

After getting our moods in check, everyone returned to their own working space, making the best out of the remaining time left to continue with their respective creations.

❖☆———————————★❖

The hands on the clock had already moved past the 8 PM mark by the time if gotten up for a good stretch.

MC: The gown's pretty much good to go, and I've also finished drawing out the new brooch design. Everything's turning out pretty well~

Gao Cheng: Your design's inspired by the starry skies, right? It's really pretty…

Gao Cheng's faze lingered on the draft of my design for a while before he seemingly snapped out of it. He raised his head, frantically waving his hands in front of him with a flustered look on his face.

Gao Cheng: S-Sorry, it wasn't my intention to peek at your design. I just happened to get attracted to it when I walked past…

MC: Don't worry about it, you came at a great time. Could you tell me what you think about it?

Gao Cheng: Is the brooch meant to represent the brightest star in the sky?

MC: Yup, it represents the north star.

Gao Cheng: But Polaris isn't actually all that bright. It shines at 2nd magnitude, so you can use a darker gemstone to represent it.

It was as if he were an entirely different person when it came to the topic of stars. He gushed enthusiastically about it with unrivalled passion and seriousness.

Gao Cheng: Ah, I just like astronomy, so I know about it a little more than others. Please don't get mad at me... 

MC: Why would I be mad? I'm actually extremely thankful for your input!

I'd previously searched up pictures of the starry sky up on the internet to use as reference pictures, but what Gao Cheng said reminded me once again that even though the pictures captured by a camera's lens turn out beautiful, it still isn't as real as the real thing.

Nothing beats seeing it with your own eyes and ascertaining it for yourself after all.

MC: Maybe I should go up to the rooftop and check the stars out.

❖☆———————————★❖

The cold air of the night greets me as I push open the doors to the rooftop. The vast night sky was spread out before my eyes, the many little red dots beneath it denoting lights of the thousands of households below.

I held onto the railing with both hands raising my head to inhale deeply.

It was then that my phone rang to life as messages from An'an came pouring in one line after another.

An'an (SMS): I've gotten my hands on the guest list!

An'an (SMS): You won't believe how elaborate this guest line-up is! Osborn's actually coming, you know!? His club's going to be collaborating with the Warson Group!

MC: ...Osborn?

An'an (SMS): Please tell me you still remember him. I've shown you a picture of him before! He's my favourite R1 racer who has won 4 consecutive championships!

I hadn't yet had the chance to truly think back on it when I suddenly heard a faint noise. It was the familiar sound of metallic chains clinking against each other.

There had been no one here when I came up to the rooftop.

My heart leapt to my throat as I unwittingly headed towards the direction of the sound.

There was someone hidden within the shadows, standing silently in one of the corners where the moonlight never reached.

Seemingly having noticed my gaze, the person moved forwards, stepping out of the shadows.

❖☆———————————★❖

I finally managed to vaguely make out his appearance. He was tall and intimidating even from a distance away. He wore a black jacket across his shoulders, the moonlight glinting off the skull necklace that rested upon his chest.

MC: That's the guy I saw back in the corridor!

I hadn't yet recovered from the initial surprise of seeing him here when I suddenly noticed that he was holding a red earring between his fingers.

Cindy's Earrings! So, he really WAS the thief!

The clouds blocked off the moonlight, darkening the skies as my heart raced, pounding loudly in my ears. Did I interrupt him in the middle of something? Am I going to be "silenced"?

All hesitation flew out the window the moment my thoughts stopped there. I immediately turned and made a dash for the exit.

However, just as I was about to pull the door open and make my escape, a well-defined hand pressed against the door, blocking off my escape.

??: And just where are you running off to now?

❖☆————— ⊹ Dreams of Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Chapter 1-1) | Next Part: (Chapter 1-5)

#光与夜之恋 #Light and Night #Otome #Translations #Tencent #萧逸 #Osborn #齐司礼 #Sariel #陆沉 #Evan #查理苏 #Charlie #夏鸣星 #Jesse #Dreams of Light and Night

[kanwriteseverything]

Iron Bullet Legacy: Chapter 1

Stranger Beyond the Veil

Sitara’s POV

               One part rosemary. One part basil. Steeped in three parts storm water preheated over a fire of birch…

Lennox hollers on the other side of the door. “Wait! Please retract your wings upon entering!” It’s too late. Glass shatters before she can spit out the warning. “We are not a wing friendly environment!”

I creep out onto the service floor to find dew mistress Aster in a flurry, wings now out of sight.

“Oh, do mind me! I hadn’t even given the thought!”

My apprentice gathers fistfuls of her hair, sighing in defeat. Luckily, the smashed mason jar was empty, but the wind also extinguished four of the white candles we light each morning to purify our workspace. She’ll have to reenchant them before we can burn them again. “It’s not like there’s a sign beside the entrance.”

I wink at her with a shrug as she grabs a wool cloth to wrap the broken glass in. “You can leave that in the back. I’ll transmute it later.”

She nods, mouth agape to respond, but the frenzied faerie quickly refocuses our attention on her.

“Please help! There’s a human! I brought it here from the waypoint on the outskirts of North Haven!”

A human? In these parts? “The waypoint down the road, at the edge of the forest?”

“Yes! You must help! Outside, quickly!”

Lenny raises her eyebrows as we exchange a glance. That waypoint can’t be accessed directly from the portals on the human side. The dew mistress doesn’t let us get a word in, though, mobilizing her wings again and fluttering out the door. The flames of two more candles reduce to smoke. Lenny loudly proclaims that today just isn’t her day.

We follow the trail of mist and sparkling dust towards my practice’s emergency entrance, where Aster is crouching beside a limp body almost a whole hare taller than any of us. It’s a wonder she was able to transport it alone. I check for the carotid pulse beneath a thick cloak and turtleneck. An elaborate mask shields any facial features, but we aren’t quick to remove it. It’s unmistakably iron. I’m able to handle it carefully with my gloved prosthesis. She’s right. It’s a human. A deeply unconscious one, in fact.

“I didn’t know who else to bring him to. I found him lying face down on my way to work.”

The visible lacerations on his hands and face are superficial, meaning something else caused him to pass out. “Lennox, could you retrieve the stretcher?”

“Hemp or leather?”

“Leather. This man is very much alive.” Hemp is reserved for necromancy and the deceased. “Where exactly did you find him again, Miss Aster?”

She motions behind me, beyond the roots of my residence. “Not more than a few yards from the waypoint down this road, just on the edge of the path.”

Maybe he knows a neighbor and came to visit. Doesn’t explain why he’s in such rough shape, though. “Alright. We’ll take care of him right away. Would you like to rest? Bringing him here must have taken a toll on you.” By the looks of his grass stained pant legs, she surely dragged him up to my tree.

“Nonsense! He’s hardly heavier than a bucket of dew. I’ll get on my way and leave you to your magic.”

Well, that’s my job, after all. I find I have to remind myself these days. The only known Mage of the Eight on either side of the veil. Abjuration, conjuration, divination, enchantment, evocation, illusion, necromancy, and transmutation. However, aside from repairing broken bowls (or jars) and the rare oneiromancy sessions reading other faerie’s dreams, work hasn’t demanded anything my apprentice can’t handle on her own.

A human, though… This masked man has caught my attention, for sure.

Upon carrying him inside, ‘hardly heavier than a bucket of dew’ is not how I’d describe this man, but Lenny and I are able set him up in the treatment ward just beside the service floor. The room is small, with two beds and cabinets overflowing with little rhyme or reason. I conjure a set of free-floating cedar logs to heat the space and establish healing energy. We usually care for fae back here, but he isn’t our first human patient.

All species are welcome on the enchanted side of the veil, but I have no idea what this human in particular is doing here, let alone why he’s unresponsive.

“Maybe he’s a merchant?” Lenny proposes, gathering some honey and sea water before I can even ask for them. She stacks his tall boots and cloak on a nearby chair as I hand her them. I move to open the leather satchel he’d been carrying over his shoulder, but she grabs it and adds it to the stack. “Don’t go through his things! It’s impolite.”

“Well, he isn’t carrying any goods to sell,” I counter, “that I can see, anyway.” It all looks similar to military garb, yet the mask beside the pile was crafted of a faerie’s only natural menace, able to melt a fae’s skin. It takes us both to strip him of his fancy coat with golden buttons and caps on the shoulders.

“This looks like a colonel’s jacket, of sorts.”

Of sorts. “If so, it’s with a private contract with the military. The buttons aren’t branded with the usual insignia. The boots aren’t military issue, either.” Not to mention this hair is far from regulation. I gently comb through the loose ponytail with my fingers, tucking the strays out of his face. His hair is soft and nightfall black, and just a little longer than mine.

“What if it was some drug exchange gone bad?” she suggests with a laugh, gesturing theatrically.

A smuggler wouldn’t dress so obviously foreign and flashy. I lay him flat on the bed and unbutton his shirt, revealing patches of abrasions on his chest. Blood-soaked gauze clings to a gash across his stomach. It looks like it wasn’t even treated. “Can you bring me a bucket of water and extra cloths?”

She rushes out of the room.

These wounds seem like they’re from a mix of melee and ranged combat. Who is he? What is he? I reach for the man’s satchel. Impolite or not, I don’t intend to blindly trust this perfect stranger. There’s no identification in the front pockets, but I find a few different kinds of currency and some pink sweater buttons. I feel around the main compartment, settling on a familiar frame. A gun. Not just any gun, an F3, clearly some new advancement, though. I don’t bother examining it further, quickly popping the magazine, pocketing the bullets, and stuffing a few loose sprigs of sage in their place. I busy myself with halving the sea water, some for a healing tea and some for his injuries, as Lenny returns.

“I wasn’t sure if we had any candles left in here, so I brought a few black, white, and red.”

I smile, avoiding her eyes. “Do you know me at all? I have too many candles everywhere.” I materialize one from my pocket. Skilled mages can store and reconjure their belongings between planes. “I even have them on my person at all times.”

She laughs, shaking her head. Telling her the man was travelling armed will only worry her, or fuel those drug running notions. No need to do that. Lennox is like a little sister I adopted after the war. We aren’t really family, but I vowed to protect her the moment I took her in, with my life, if necessary.

My eyes fall on the human again. Unconscious, he does look peaceful. “Hey, Lenny, do you think we should chain him here for when he wakes up, just in case?”

“Isn’t that a little drastic? I mean, he’s clearly not a salt dealer.”

That’s true. The way I see it, it’s possible he could’ve traveled here through the other waypoints, but what business could he have in this area? It’s largely residential. Could it have been an accident, or misdirection? My only other working theory is that he slipped through the veil from the human side, either through a new tear or one I failed to discover. But how in hazel could he have done that?

And why does he have a gun with iron bullets?

#writing #series #fiction #writer #fairy #flash fiction #author #short story #short stories #kan writes stories #iron bullet legacy

[sodalitefully]

Mick/Vince: “Handpicked” (part 1, basically pre-slash)

Mick/Vince in a movie/book fusion universe based on the idea that it was Mick’s idea to recruit Vince

   Mick had played with a half-dozen bands before Nikki and Tommy came along.  He had two ex's, three estranged children, and more child support due every month than he could handle, nevermind rent.  All because he’d decided at the tender age of three – twenty-six whole years ago – that guitar would be his end-all, be-all for the rest of his life, even if it meant years of hopping from band to band, city to city, just trying to get by with enough money for food, booze, and painkillers.  But the thing is, when you spend as much time as he did playing in shitty bands, you learn a thing or two, a thing or two about how to make a band, well, not-so shitty.  

   So when Nikki gave him that talk – you know, the one you give new band members about the way things are going to go, so that they might not start trying to rework things down the line – saying how he left his last band, London, because there were too many people trying to tug the group in too many different directions, and how he wanted to realize his own vision (something no one’s ever seen before, something that will shock the masses and give the youth exactly what they want) through this yet-unnamed-and-incomplete embryo of a band, well.  Mick could work with that.  This might be a chance to play with a band that had what it takes to go the distance, maybe even a chance for Mick to realize his own dreams, to trade in the park benches for tour buses.  And with stakes that high, Mick would do anything in his power to make sure the band couldn't fail. 

   So, Nikki was a visionary – a young one, but (with some guidance from a wiser, more experienced musician) he had potential.  And Tommy was just a kid, but he could play.  So that just left one question: Who was going to do the singing in this band? 

      The instruments of the group might have fallen together easily, but finding a lead singer that clicked was proving to be a trickier thing.  They’d brought in a couple guys that hadn’t worked out before Mick made up his mind: “I want the skinny blond fucker in that band Rock Candy.” 

   Mick had been at the Starwood when he saw the guy.  Shitty band, but the kid had moves, the kind of moves Nikki was looking for.  And it wasn’t just Nikki who wanted a singer with moves: every girl in the audience wanted a piece of him too. He was wearing a white satin getup like some kind of disco god, but with chains at his waist and enough hairspray to drown a cat in his bleached-blond hair.  He put all of his energy into the performance, strutting around the stage, shaking his mane of hair, and singing into his mic like he was making love to it.  Forget the girls, Mick knew exactly whose lips he’d be thinking about tonight. 

~~~~~   

    Life was good for Vince Neil. He was in his element, riling up the crowd at the Starwood. He had his girlfriend, Lovey, waiting for him at the bar, a pack of adoring fans (aka hot chicks) right in front of the stage, and... one creepy-looking older dude watching from the shadows by the wall. 

     Vince first noticed the guy sometime in the middle of his set. He was clearly a rocker, with dyed black hair and black clothes to match.  He was obviously older than the rest of the audience and his face was frozen in a severe expression.  Strange as he might be, there was no reason to pay this guy any mind, not when Vince was in the middle of a performance.  But somehow Vince’s gaze just kept drifting back to the man in the back of the room.  The guy never moved, or talked to anyone, or even looked at the girls that passed him by.  He kept his eyes on the stage the whole time, and the longer Vince watched the man from the corner of his eye, the more certain he became that he wasn’t just looking at the stage: his eyes were locked unwaveringly on Vince himself.   

   When the set ended, Vince made his was over to Lovey at the bar. But before he even said anything, the bartender pushed him a full glass.

“From some rocker dude,” was the only explanation offered. It wasn’t a very helpful explanation, since they were at a concert venue, but Vince immediately twisted around in his seat to look for the man in black. He was nowhere in sight.

“What’s he talking about?” Lovey asked him.

“No idea,” Vince lied. 

  ~~~~~

   Later, while Lovey was going down on him, the guy from the Starwood popped back into Vince’s mind. Vince did some of his best thinking during sex – other guys might just let their minds go blank but Vince came up with most of his better ideas while he was with a woman. Everything seemed clearer relative to the simple objective of getting off. 

     This guy though, wasn’t really what, or who, Vince expected to be thinking about while getting a blowjob. Didn’t expect to be thinking about how intensely he’d been staring at Vince, how he didn’t ever smile but looking back on it Vince was sure he was into the show. And how tight his leather pants were, how good they looked on him, how Vince should ask Lovey to buy him a pair like that —— 

   After he came, Vince’s only thought about his mysterious stranger was how it really didn’t matter, since he would probably never see him again anyway.

~~~~~

   Well, it turned out Tommy knew the guy that Mick had in mind. His name was Vince Neil (Mick hadn’t forgotten) and they went to high school together. Based on the way Tommy talked about him, Vince had been some kind of rock n roll heartthrob back in their school days (maybe two years ago, max, but Mick didn’t comment). That kind of talk got Nikki’s attention too, and soon enough the trio was crashing some rich teenager’s house party to poach Rock Candy’s lead singer. 

  ~~~~~

“I’m in a band now,” was the first thing Tommy said when he showed up out of the blue at one of Vince’s gigs, gesturing vaguely in the general direction of the crowd behind him.  It was obvious who he was talking about though: two guys with dark sunglasses and long black hair.  One was carrying a bottle of Jack Daniels and looking warily at the teenaged partygoers. Vince recognized him from the band London, the guy was a druggie, and probably a lunatic on top of that.  The other was hunched over, dressed in black leather from his jacket to his platform boots, even though it was nearly 80 degrees out.  Vince recognized him too, though they’d never met: he was unmistakably the guy from the Starwood, looking as serious as ever.  His glasses were tinted black, but Vince could feel the guy's eyes on him, looking him up and down like he was prize beef.  Vince turned back to Tommy, a little unsettled. 

“That old guy, is he your manager or something?” That might explain why he’d been checking Vince out at the bar, if he was scouting for a lead singer or whatever.  Tommy’s grin just grew brighter, if that was possible. 

“Nah, man, that’s Mick! He’s great, totally out there but he kills it on guitar.” 

Guitar, huh.  An image flashed into Vince’s mind: the man on stage with colored lights glaring down on him, shining off of black leather and silver chains as long, pale fingers choked the neck of an electric guitar.  It was a strange image - He seemed so serious and subdued, without the flair, the swagger of a lead guitarist.  But he sure had something, some kind of rock and roll aura that Vince couldn’t put his finger on.  He realized he was staring when Tommy clapped a hand on his shoulder and pressed a cassette tape into his palm. 

“Listen to this and then call me, dude.  You’ll love it, I promise." 

Vince pocketed the tape, but... come on.  He had a good thing going with Rock Candy, lots of gigs and lots of girls.  Why would he want to fuck that up by hanging out with some sketchy-looking rock band that didn’t even have a name?  Tommy was a good guy, but he and his new buddies were going nowhere. 

Still, Vince gave his old friend a smile like he was actually going to do it and watched Tommy, ever the optimist, bound excitedly back over to the rest of his “band.”  The guys didn’t even stick around for the rest of the party, as soon as business was done they headed back out the garden gate, the bassist leading the way as Tommy chattered in his ear. 

Vince started to follow Lovey inside to find an empty room with a door that locks, but when he turned around he found himself face to face with the Starwood guy.  The guitarist took off his glasses and for the first time, there were no tinted lenses, no stage lights between Vince and the man’s intense gaze.  He, Mick, leaned in to look Vince in the eye.  “You’re not convinced,” he said, not really asking. 

“I mean, I’ve got something going on right now…” Vince told him uncertainly, suddenly feeling guilty for nothing in particular.   

“Well, you should consider it while you can.  A cover band can only take you so far, and your guitarist isn’t going to last much longer, it’s obvious he doesn’t have what it takes.” 

“And what makes you think that your guys aren’t going to crash and burn?” 

“I’m not going to let that happen,” he informed Vince, dead serious.  “Listen to the tape.”  He started to walk away, following his bandmates.  Vince watched him go for a second before calling after him. 

“Hey, wait!  That drink, at the Starwood –“ either his voice was drowned out by the crowd or Mick just ignored him.  Shit. Vince didn’t even know what he was going to ask, but he was starting to know what he couldn’t quite put into words earlier.  Mick wasn’t an ego-driven guitarist, expecting things just to fall in place for him.  He was confident in his own abilities, and worked to get what he wanted.  But what did he want with Vince?

~~~~~

(mobile really fucked this up, might be better to read on desktop.  a couple lines were direct quotes from the book/movie, here’s some of them:

“I wanted to remind them that I had named the band, that I had molded Nikki into a real songwriter, that I had purged the band’s weak links, and that I had handpicked Vince” (Mick p361)

“I want that skinny blond fucker I saw at the Starwood the other night in that band Rock Candy” (Mick p71)

“… the other was older and very serious-looking.  Not the kind of person who comes to the Starwood to get laid.  From the corner, the older guy was looking me up and down like I was prize beef.” (Vince p75)

“Now [Nikki] was trying to put together his own project and realize his own vision.  I pretended like I agreed, but I knew that he was still young and musically naive, and I could influence him to evolve my way.” (Mick, p55-56)

next up is either the part where they get together, or the part where they have sex, depending on what I feel like posting)

[part 2]

#mine #mick mars #vince neil #tommy lee #nikki sixx #motley crue #motley crue fanfic #motley crue imagine #motley crue slash #crue slash #mick x vince #mick mars/vince neil #pretty sure they don't have a ship name #the dirt #iwan rheon #daniel webber #douglas booth #mgk #iwan rheon!mick mars #daniel webber!vince neil #that's enough fuckign tags #sodafics