#whole poem is really good. opening piece to the book too
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some orphy work for a commissioner of mine! 💓 this is 1/2 of their survivor commission - reminder that my comms are always open and i'm currently seeking out comms for atsushi, architect, mio amakura [prioritized!! i want her lots but im f2p] and some survivors/hunters!
orpheus dating/married life hcs📕
dating hcs
if you are too shy to confess first your pre-dating period is gonna be one HELL of a confusing talking stage lol he's incredibly shy himself and is only going to drop subtle hints and acts of affection in hope that you'd confess first
he's going to give in eventually - he'd probably confess to you by writing you a heartfelt letter, i've written before that every single one of his letters are masterpieces but the more "important" ones such as this one are on a whole other level
orpheus doesn't seem like an approachable person at first nor does he particularily enjoy PDA - he enjoys alone time with you away from everyone, it's simply more intimate and makes him calm enough to function
even though he's a bit cold and shy at the beginning of your relationship it's just the fact that he's so overwhelmed by you in the best way possible JDNWNDN
you're his muse, the beatrice to his alighieri, the most prized person in his life yet he struggles to communicate it clearly verbally - he's simply not the person that's good with words on the spot and prefers writing them on paper
orpheus is actually a huge romantic at heart
like literally straight-from-a-book romantic
this man has a permanent rbf but inside his head he's thinking of kissing you and holding you into his arms and all WOAHH he actually reads romance novels a lot (a guilty pleasure of his) and they fuel his daydreaming
when you two are alone together you simply can't get him off of you lol
likes gently kissing your neck and fingertips, tracing his fingers along your neck and collarbones and whispering sweet nonsense in your ear every now and then maybe even lightly biting your neck if youre into that!?!?!?!?!? literal goosebumps from the way this man loves wow
he's a very gentle and thoughtful partner, asking for permission whenever he wants to kiss you and holding your arm under his whenever you two go for a walk together
a true gentleman ofc!! treats their partner like a royal
the dates you two go on are simple and actually happen pretty frequently - he likes picnics, garden tea parties and anything away from the crowd, making it easier for him to focus on you
would 100% write you cheesy poems that make you melt from the inside (/pos) OR little drabbles and push them under your door for the extra suprise factor HEEHEE he can't help the fact that hes a hopeless romantic
whenever he gets flustered his cheeks get really vibrant red and his monocle FOGS UP and he's still going to act like everything is fine
handsy?? but in an awkward way, like he genuinely doesn't know what to do w them so sometimes he just. pats you¿ hes got very nice hands and fingers tho. long, nimble, with obvious writer's bump(s) on both of his middle fingers. will occassionaly wear a pretty silver ring
he smells SOOOO NICE his cologne isn't very strong and numbing but rather with a flowery tone and it smells like heaven whenever you lay your head on his chest
orders bouquets from andrew and emma with all of your favourite flowers each week... hehe...
also a fan of picking flowers and tucking them into your hair whenever you go for a walk together🥺
this man is so so cute yet so fragile please please PLEASE hold his stoic "😐" ass in a hug and gently smooch him or he might break into pieces like fine china
married life hcs
100% the one proposing. "oh but i-" im absolutely not hearing you out OKAY let him have his moment
he has a whole heart tearing speech ready that he wrote himself and a pretty custom ring made just for you you are NOT taking away his spotlight
god he's the giddiest person ever when he sees you walk towards the altar.. he loves you so much and would kiss you right there and then if it weren't for the ceremony
anyways. malewife orpheus is real
you complained about how you're too tired to do the laundry? oh look it's already done. got no time to cook? 5 star michelin meal is already on the table
would even wear an apron while doing it tbh
it's just you and him and he's so happy about being able to focus on you and your relationship more once you're married
he often stays up late writing instead of going asleep so he appreciates extra blankets and coffee sm <3
also he has a lot of moles on his body. like a lot and he often jokes about them being places where he's supposed to be kissed (/hj on his part he's actually into that)
mostly the big spoon - loves intertwining his fingers and legs with yours as he presses his chin onto the top of your head
would gladly read to you until you fall asleep, he's a phenomenal narrator with a beautiful, slightly raspy voice
regarding kids - orpheus 100% wouldn't force his opinion on you nor pressure you into having them, but i feel like he'd really love to have children and that he'd be a great dad
some days you two just cancel all of your plans and stay at home together, curled up in the bed and simply enjoying each other's presence
likes having his hair played with when he's working
or in general you coming up behind him while he's by his desk and massaging his shoulders or carressing his cheeks... GOD he's in heaven
when he's out for longer or stuck in his office for some time he leaves you one of his white silk gloves or hankerchiefs in your pocket while you're not looking <3 he has a habit of putting essential oils on them so they smell beautifully
not tech savvy but i think he'd learn how to operate a camera just to take cute little pictures of you and keep them :) he would put them in a little locket and carry it around his neck or instead of a pocket watch, keep them as bookmarks in his favourite books or simply tucked in his typewriter so you're always near him
one cute thing about him is that 90% of his body is always cold and that 10% that isn't is his chest. he gets very flustered whenever you joke that it's because his heart can only heat up so much of his body
he's an amazing listener and always by your side - you can tell him everything without fearing he'll get mad or react badly, laugh along with him and confess all your secrets and sins to him
he's a wonderful person and an even more wonderful spouse. milo (MAN I LOVE ORPHEUS!!!!!!!)
#identity v#idv#idv headcanons#idv imagines#identity v headcanons#idv fanfic#identity v x reader#idv scenarios#idv x reader#identity v x you#orpheus idv#idv orpheus#novelist idv#idv novelist#identity v orpheus#orpheus#novelist identity v#identity v novelist#novelist
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Sonic Seducer, 2013 - interview with Till
Thanks to Ramjohn for the scans!
Being Till Lindemann, being a Rammstein: For almost twenty years now, the Leipzig-born Berliner by choice has been rocking and shocking the masses worldwide as the chronically oil-smeared frontman of one of the most controversial metal bands of all time. All too often, the quiet, introverted side of the multi-talented all-round artist, who is publishing his second volume of poetry with 'In stillen Nächten', is overlooked in the sparkling special effects battle. Till Lindemann on love and drives, the fascination of the ugly and the proverbial strawberry on the cherry on top.
The real quintessence of the new volume of poetry can be found at the end in the two-liner 'Kunst': "It's very good when someone understands your art.” It's actually a surprising statement - with your lyrics, one always had the feeling that you were deliberately aiming for a certain, provocative misunderstanding.
I'm talking about the art as a whole, not the content it transports. You don't have to be able to interpret or understand content. You hear or see something that is supposed to trigger a reaction in you. Only then do you form your own picture, your own thoughts about it. But first you have to deal with art, that is, allow art; find their own access.
How has your poetry changed since the publication of your 2002 debut writer, Messer? Today everything seems a little more abstract, darker and evil.
I don't think so at all! I see myself more in the tradition of a craftsman: my craft — i.e. poetry — is much finer, more mature and much better worked out today. If I compare the new things with the earlier poems, everything is much clearer and more settled today. Back then everything was more playful and open. And the fact that the poems sound badder today certainly has something to do with getting older (laughs out loud).
In general, the new pieces have a lot to do with age and the fear of getting older.
In any case. I edited the first book with my friend Gert Hof, who has unfortunately died in the meantime. It was just fun: we drove together to an old factory where mannequins were made. We could really let off steam there; I even dragged home quite a few dolls. Now, looking back after ten years, it was just funny nonsense that we drove back then. The whole book was done in a rather grand manner and doesn't even begin to have the seriousness of the new volume. What I had in mind from the start today was a book for the buttocks — a little book of poetry for the shelf and the woman's purse.
Your father is the GDR children's book author and writer Werner Lindemann, your mother is the culture journalist Brigitte Lindemann. Against this home background, do you see yourself in a certain writing tradition?
Not at all. On the contrary: I can understand artists with well-known parents very well, who constantly have to justify themselves for a supposed legacy. I think you can clearly see that I'm not following my parents' tradition at all. There are many differences between my parents' work and mine. Every son probably tries in one way or another to make his father proud. But in my case certainly not because I would want to continue his work.
Just like 'Messer', 'In stillen Nächten' is basically about the primal urges: about sex and killing. What did you learn about yourself while writing the lyrics?
I don't want to know anything about myself! I try to keep myself out of my own frame as much as possible. It's too dangerous for me to look inside myself. I have a lid over my psyche that is sealed and barred. What I write is completely detached from the private person Till Lindemann. I can just call up certain things very well and sit on this lid — that's quite enough.
You seem to find it extremely difficult to write poems about true, sincere love. A topic that you are rather uncomfortable with and that you intentionally hide behind a lot of cynicism?
The pronounced cynicism probably has something to do with the fact that I view this topic very critically. Death and destruction are incontrovertible facts to be taken as they come. It's different with love. Love is a playing field without borders. The question is: where does it work? Where does love endure and what is it anyway?
Where is it then, love? You seem to have found it!
We are all constantly looking for love. Once you've found it, you always have to see what becomes of it. With love it is like with the fear of flying: you know that the thing is actually safe. However, it could still crash. Everyone knows from experience that there are no guarantees in life. Falling in love unconditionally is very difficult. 80 percent of all songs revolve around this topic - regardless of whether it's pop or death metal. But you shouldn't put my texts on the gold scales either. Everything I write are snapshots, some of which are very good or very bad. You sublimate your thoughts, your anger or your friends with a few lines. You compensate for feelings because it is good for you. And of course it is also self-therapy.
Speaking of self-therapy: Off the stage you are extremely reserved, almost shy. Is your work with Rammstein part of this self-therapy?
I actually only became Rammstein's singer by accident. Originally I was a drummer, which I really liked. Nice in the back, in the second row, unobserved on the drum kit, without attracting much attention. And even then, my knees always trembled when I performed. The change to the frontman was an extremely difficult transition for me. One that I still find difficult every time.
Then why do you keep doing it to yourself?
It's like electricity to a machine — it just won't run without electricity. I fit into certain workflows; just like my bandmates. Some like it more, others less.
A life without Rammstein - conceivable for you?
Not anymore. Eventually you become what you do and who you portray. Ten years ago I would have said immediately that I could very well imagine life without the band - today the band has become my life. I'm amazed by the fact that even after twenty years we still treat each other like friends. We've never hit each other in the mouth; we argue a lot - and often very nasty and really mean and mean - but at the same time we are extremely attached to each other. That's how love should be! Rammstein is like a very long marriage between six people.
Back to the book: Both your Rammstein lyrics and the poems always play in a kind of mixed sphere somewhere between the Till Lindemann cosmos and the world outside.
I see myself more as an observer who satisfies the audience's curiosity. I just paint what's going on in the world a little bloodier. As in 'Mein ‘teil for example. The basic evil, the cream, exists anyway. In my lyrics I just put the strawberry on top. As morbid as it is, of course I'm very happy about such stories because they give me a lot of fodder for the lyrics. I soak it all up; sometimes to the point of disgust.
Some of the poems in 'In stillen Nächten' seem disturbingly deconstructed. To what extent is it also about a kind of destructive beauty?
That depends on the poem. Sometimes it sounds so corny that it can be a good thing to just smash the rhyme and break it. Sometimes that's actually what makes it all the more appealing. In other cases, it's all about the beautiful beauty. Sometimes a beautiful frame saves an ugly picture, sometimes it's the other way around. It is best when both harmonize.
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Sorry, this is anon who fell asleep and woke up to this brilliant piece you’ve written!
One thing I appreciate is you dismantled this notion of Paul’s untouchability-ish (cause usually this time period is always looked at from John’s POV cause he “struggled more” or what not) - because I do think there was always a comedown waiting from this whole “outrageous and ravish” period of his - probably manifested in the quote on quote breakdown he had while with Francie Schwartz?
That too, paralleled with his hunger for more just sets up very ominous tones buried beneath very flowery language (probably how he coped with it at the time). The way you ended it reminded me of the poem “Hide and Seek” by Vernon Scannell (yes, here you are - but where are they who sought you?) and it really encompasses the essence of “the prince of swinging London” as a very fragile thing. Even though you think you didn’t delve into the dynamics too much, I think you did a good job of subtlety framing it as a dichotomy (John has too much stability and not in the way he wants, Paul is gradually losing that stability etc.) and to achieve that with very little dialogue between the two is a mighty feat. I also think how it each starts off with each of them reminiscing in some way about the other is very bittersweet, because if reminisce to conserve that bond when they’re still at reach of one another - can’t imagine how much reminiscing it took when they were apart in the 70s :( Last but not least, the references to all the kings and mythos!! It’s like you just gauged out my history aficionado and just wove it into my Beatles obsession. I think especially with John, and his documented bookishness, I can vividly imagine he too saw many things in his life as parallels to what he would consider “tragic historic figures” - all in all, I stand corrected in saying you have a gift in bringing the voices inside their heads into life, so thank you and your 10+ wiki pages open for taking time out for writing this, really made my day and I’m sure many others who stumbled upon this :)
(If anything I said has a malicious tone, best believes it is my incompetent communication skills, I mean it all with best intentions!!)
🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹
Anon, this was the most wonderful thing to wake up to!! Also you're tone is lovely no need to worry :')
It's always so nice to see people noticing details I added in consciously. Paul's melancholy was actually a bit inspired by him saying once that coming down from cocaine always made him feel sad. (the reason he quit)
VERY glad you liked the history/literary references because I was worried they wouldn't be received well heheh. I actually tried to find them figures I thought they (as individuals) would be most likely to think of themselves, John being, from what I can tell, more of a history book reader and Paul being more into the "classics".
Anyways thank you for taking the time to write this and I'm relieved you liked it!!!
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“[what I write about actors] is false because I write about them with steadfast love” stepped on my chest with Franz Kafka's entire body weight
for context, entire journal entry below via Franz_K_Diaries on Twitter:
23 October. The actors by their presence always convince me to my horror that most of what Ive written about them until now is false. It is false because I write about them with steadfast love (even now, while I write it down, this too becomes false) but varying ability, and this varying ability does not hit off the real actors loudly and correctly but loses itself dully in this love that will never be satisfied with the ability and therefore thinks it is protecting the actors by preventing this ability from exercising itself. Quarrel between Tschissik and Lowy. Ts.: Edelstatt is the greatest Jewish writer. He is sublime. Rosenfeld is of course also a great writer, but not the foremost. Lowy: Ts. is a socialist and because Edelstatt writes socialist poems, because he is editor of a Jewish socialist newspaper in London, therefore Ts. considers him the greatest. But who is Edelstatt, his party knows him, no one else, but the world knows Rosenfeld. - Ts.: It is not a question of recognition. Everything of Edelstatts is sublime. - L.: Of course, Im well acquainted with him too. The Selbstmorder, for example, is very good. - Ts.: Whats the use of arguing. We wont agree. Ill repeat my opinion until tomorrow and you the same. - L.: I until the day after tomorrow. Goldfaden, married, spendthrift, even if terribly badly off. About a hundred pieces. Stolen liturgical melodies made popular. The whole people sings them. The tailor at his work (is imitated), the maid, etc. With so little room for dressing you are bound, as Ts. says, to get into quarrels. You come off the stage excited, everyone considers himself the greatest actor, then if someone, for example, steps on someone elses foot, which can not be avoided, not only a quarrel but a good battle is ready to break out. But in Warsaw there were seventy-five small, individual dressing-rooms, each one with light. At six oclock I met the actors in their coffee-house seated around two tables, divided into the two hostile groups. A book by Peretz was on the table of the Ts. group. Lowy had just shut it and stood up to leave with me. Until the age of twenty Lowy was a bocher who studied and spent the money of his well-to-do father. There was a society of young people of the same age who met in a locked tavern precisely on Saturday and, dressed in their caftans, smoked and otherwise sinned against the Sabbath commandments. The great Adler from New York, the most famous Yiddish actor, who is a millionaire, for whom Gordin wrote Der Wilde Mensch and whom Lowy in Karlsbad had asked not to come to the performance because he didnt have the courage to act in his presence on their poorly equipped stage. - Real sets, not this miserable stage on which you can not move. How shall we play the wild man! You need a sofa for it. In the Crystal Palace in Leipzig it was magnificent. Windows you could open, the sun shone in, you needed a throne in the play, good, there was a throne, I walked towards it through the crowd and was really a king. It is much easier to act there.
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You should show us some of your favorite books, like pick three and show us and tell us about it
It's hard to only pick 3, haha!! But I think the 3 below would be my top 3 (excluding warrior cats). I am currently reading a book not featured in the photos though, and it is VERY good, and may quickly surpass almost all of these books in terms of being my fave 😅
In no specific order, I have Honeybee by Trista Mateer up first. This is a collection of poems detailing a young woman's first queer friendship breakup. If you grew up queer, there's a good chance you'll find relatable poems in here. The nickname Bee also holds significance to my own past relationships, which made this book hit on an extra level. There's one poem in here though that really drove it to my top three! It's a poem where Trista writes from the POV of this ex, calling her out for everything she's said/wrote. I believe the poem is titled "the muse bites back" or something along those lines?? I don't know what it is about that poem but it just really hit the whole "I know I'm blowing this way out of proportion but I can't help it, this is how i feel, but I'm sorry for making it so public" feelings that you get after a breakup.
Second is Songs With Our Eyes Closed! Another poetry book. This is one I found at chapters, shortly after John died. I was looking for a new poetry book, I picked it up, opened it and the first poem I read is the author grieving for his father (I believe) - who's name was John & had the same green eyes. It felt like destiny that I was supposed to have the book, so I bought it! All the poems in it are exceptional, and cover such a wide range of situations and emotions. The handful of poems on his own grief however hit the hardest, and to this day, I still cry while reading them.
Lastly, I picked The Book Thief! I was hesitant to read this when I was younger, because it was assigned in grade 10 English, and I assumed it must be a stupid silly book, if it's an assigned book. And man oh man was I wrong. Markus writes in a very similar way to how I perceive the world, and it always fascinates me when I find an author who can capture that. Even if you know how it will end (and there is extremely heavy foreshadowing through the book, so it's not necessarily supposed to be a surprise), you'll still cry. I've read this book numerous times, and I still find myself sobbing. I do think it's important though, when reading this book & others, to remember the reality to it. It's too easy to write it off as a beautiful piece of fiction, instead of remembering the real and horrific crimes that inspired it!
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Lieu de Mémoire
“Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts.” - Charles Dickens, Great Expectations (1867).
I don't know how to put it up. Words flew away and I can't describe my feelings. There's no reasons behind this post. I just really want to write something but nothings came to my mind. A lot of subjects and topics or (maybe) things to write but no words seems fit into this piece of blank space.
I reach my laptop and end up staring for five minutes. Staring nothing, seeing my bare plain desktop and searching for nothing. Opening my music list and replaying Never Let Me Go by Florence + The Machine for couple times. Start to read some of personal essays on Medium. Re-read my own digital bible, my "unpleasable" poems, bunch of my "hideous-brief" notes, accompanied by rain, family chit chats from across the room and Florence's serene voices.
It has been months since I rarely self-talk. I've got myself a lot of distraction and wasn't brave enough for paying attention to myself. I wasn't brave enough to dig deeper and peels every layers on myself. There's time when I searching what lies behind beneath the surface of myself but most of times I ran away and looking for places to hideout.
When you read this post, you might be asking why this girl "out of the blue" being so brave emotionally expose and vulnerable? Is she okay? Is this post seems right to do for this 'not-so-young' girl? Are this kind of things quiet normal to do by a woman whose in her mid twenties? And another questions that might be line up in your heads right now.
I don't care. I supposed not to care but (maybe) I am.
Lately, I've been finished two Netflix series as my lovely Roman-Empire. Re-watching Normal People and first time seeing One Day. Bunch of moral code or you can call it as life-lessons lie beneath those Nrtflix series but I'm too lazy to rewrite. Cause personally, this post just another random things that I want to write. Later on, while I watch Robin Waldun channel on YouTube and seeing another public lecturer class, I recalling memories from a series of black list people. I start questioning whether some of my decisions were right nor have to think again.
Well, as we know: as time goes by, life must go on. Even if you really want to survive and take roots for something, you can't deny that time is ticking. The rhythm should be constant, but sometimes it feels very slow and sometimes it goes fast. Sometimes I can handle it but most of times I overwhelmed in silence.
I found Charles Dickens quotes that seems align with my mood for the whole weeks. One sentences that keeps me hovering "bluemyday" mood. Once I read his books, Great Expectations but back then I wasn't a good reader. I missed lots of points that he offers beneath the books. Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts. So raw and enigmatic. A lines that reminds me to allow me being vulnerable and more human within acceptance.
Seeing it again makes me want to write a notes. A notes that I never know that I might need it (or maybe not). A long-list of topics awaits me to bursting out but then I stunned. I know, I don't want to write it right now. As I said, this post might be another (series) of my random notes. If you asking me: then why you write and post this if you don't have any to write? Well, I wasn't said that I'd write beautifully right? You can call this as a messy notes with solitude memories which I call it as: Lieu de Mémoire.
Write-Wrote-Written-Writing: one of my hobbies. No. It's much more than hobbies. It's kind of therapy session. Daily journals, weird poems, long/short stories, unsend letters, quick notes, instant quotes, personal essays that full of egocentric minds, reciting bible with additional self-contemplation notes, 'not-so critical' editorial for my concern-issue, and so on. I'd like to share all my writings. Well, I mean not all of them. Some people might said that all my writings were bullshits, raw, wasn't good enough, too much guilty, immature, lack of consistency, and messy.
But I don't care. Well, I shouldn't care but well I am. At the end of the day, there's a sense of validation from my readers that I need to hear. Lately, since 2020, I just threw out the words on my head and posted it. I didn't care enough about what people say and think while they read my writing. I just keep writing, curating some points, making sure it's on the right track, and posting it. Some of them found their readers while rest of them might not be lucky enough.
As a self-proclaimed writer, I'd like to say that sometimes writers don’t cry, they bleed on papers. Back then, I like to write in Indonesia but lately I write in English even my grammar is awful. I don't know. I feel much more relax and comfortable to bursting out my feelings when I write in English.
There are multiple things that you can do to healing yourself. The way that I do, is by writing. I think writing is one of the most independent instrument on this earth. Through this, you don’t get interrupted from other living creatures, you don’t need validations from other (even I hate to admit that I ever need it once is a foolish one) but well, yeah, you don’t have to following a bunch of shit regulations, and so on. It’s just you, pen and paper or laptops anyway. Actually, that’s what writers do when they got sad. The most powerful words is the honest one, and the best words is the flowing one. Quite simple, but trust me, the hardest things to write is to be honest and to be flow.
Then, what's next?
As I recall my memories, finished watching a heart-wrecking tv series One Day and listening Never Let Me Go as I remember how Emma Morley (a lead-women character on films) says it's one of the great cosmic mysteries, how it is that someone can go from being a total stranger to being the most important person in your life. I start chuckling, laughing while crying at the same time and nodding. It's true. I start to reaching out my laptops and thinks that I have to write something.
Love is the spark that ignites the flame of our souls, the fire that warms our hearts, and the light that guides us through the darkness. It is the melody that sings in our hearts, the poetry that flows through our veins, and the art that colors our lives.
When I find love, I find a piece of myself that I never knew was missing. It seems like we are drawn to each other like magnets, irresistibly and inexplicably. And when I love, (supposedly) I become the best version of myself. I learn to let go of my fears and insecurities, to trust in other people completely, and to embrace every moment with open hearts and open minds.
In my search for the meaning of love, I find that it is the fuel that sustains me and the light that guides me. It is the force that brings me together and the bond that holds me close. And as I journey through life, I was reminded that every word I speak, every action I take, and every thought I have is rooted in love. It prevents me from being cruel and awful to others. It helps me to build my resilience and strengthen my believes in kindness and genuineness.
Whether lots of names I'd like to forget, I can't deny that they gave me lessons. I might have a lingering feelings that I kept. Joyous to displeased memories. All those things which layering and adding more structure on me. But then I realize, one thing that I shouldn't forget: love is beyond. Pain in the name of love is a pivotal point to learn that love is beyond of belongings, expectations -such a great complex concept that's beyond of what you can see. Love (might be) lies beneath the deeps of hearts-minds ocean. Love is an sacred oath that I keep deep down in a sanctuary of heart and I acknowledge it.
I realize that there's a longlist of people that comes to my life. Every names gives different feelings. Some of them stay still with all the lingering memories while most of them blurry. The landscape of my feelings became solid in solitude. Of course, there's a pain (sometimes) crawling up my minds. But times heal. If the proverbs is wrong, just remember a quotes from Antonia's Line movie: if time does not heal all wounds. It merely softens the pain and blurs memories.
With unwavering faith to love, Sati Soirée.
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Sunday November 19, 2023
It's been a week since I wrote here, I'm sorry... I was really busy more like tired so I had no time to write. Actually I had plenty of time during the nights, I kept on reminding myself to write one "later" but, my body kept giving up. This week is full of events, it's intrams after all. That's the reason why my life has been cheery lately, I think my social battery can't keep up with it that's why I've been feeling tired and sad the whole time. (I acted fine with people dont worry) Like I said on my previous entries, I met lots of temporary friends, Line dance was really fun! (hated the heat and constant moving though)
Monday wasn't eventful, it was the usual practice day, the sun was very mad at us I think, it burned and shined so bright in that specific day, it was upsetting. Maybe it's because it's Monday? It's always hot on Mondays. It was still fun nonetheless, I don't really remember what happened but, I think we talked a lot in that day (Joanna and the other rbec(?) girls). I think that's the day where we all went to the bathroom together, I think it's heartwarming that they accompanied me to the bathroom even though we're not that close, we're practically strangers who just talks because we're doing something in common. Tuesday, was on another level of hotness, it was so hot I thought I'll pass out. We were half day that time so I didn't have to suffer that much. I didn't go to school on Wednesday, I was tired and they did nothing anyways, So I just lazed around the whole day watching or reading stuffs.
In those two days, I've learned to love literature. Well, I've always love literature so I guess I worded it wrong, it's more like I "tried" to do literature. After being such a coward and trying to copy others, I finally gathered the courage to make something that I thought of, without looking at others work. I've always envied people who write such magnificent things effortlessly, It's like words just suddenly come to them like pieces and they make a puzzle out of it. It makes me wonder how the hell do they come up with that. I think a lot but when it's time to write what I thought I just go blank, I wish I was as creative as those people. Its crazy how they can think and make a poem or a prose with just one word as a prompt, I could never, (I'm however willing to try, just scared I'll mess up and disappoint myself even more.)
There's one prose I wrote that I deeply loved It's beginner level but, I love it so much anyways. Which is rare because I don't usually love something that I make unless it's really really good. I asked Chatgpt to give me a prompt so I could base my prose to that, the prompt was: "Write a short piece about a character's encounter with a mysterious locked box in their attic. Explore their emotions, curiosity, and the decision they make regarding the box. What do they imagine might be inside, and how does the experience impact them?" At first I was thinking of writing something like a magical thing that can lead to this and that but, I remembered that simplicity that can be easily understand is better than wordy things that's hard to understand. Actually after thinking of that, a great idea rushed through my mind. So I carefully read the prompt again and it reminded me of "Pandora's box", In Pandora's box, the box was concealed and they warned Pandora not to open it because It contained all the evils of the world. And then I thought of the book "Every Last Word", "Stepmother's Marchen", "The Perks of being a Wallflower" Both the MCs have something in common which was depression, they both were struggling and kept concealing their pains a secret. Shulli and Charlie (The MC of The Perks of being a Wallflower and Stepmother's Marchen) even forgot their traumas because It was too unbearable and too gut retching. Combining all their silenced screams of terror I wrote: "As I explore the attic, a mysterious locked box appeared before my eyes. It looked beautiful, simple and... bewitching, like it was telling something— screaming to be open, to be explored— to be freed. As I walked towards it, I couldn't deny the heaviness in my heart. Why was it so hard to open a mere box, Just what does the box contains that it was difficult to touch?" Chatgpt rated it a solid 9 out of 10!! I was so proud of myself.
Thursday, D-Day of Line dance. I made a mistake when performing thank God It wasn't that noticable. Guess what? We won!! 10 AM are the Champs, including in Volleyball and the teacher's performance as well. It was exhausting yet fun that day, again it was hot of course nothing new. The annoying part was we had to wait for like an hour before performing because the teachers performed first! Our makeups were getting fading due to the heat.. Nonetheless we still won so??? I was very proud of us! Hard work paid off, literally. I guess miss principal thought our performance was so good that she wants us to perform it again on December 5, I wonder why and what's the event that day... Anyway, after the performance I hanged out with Joana, she's so fun to be with (had to adjust my humor tho) we went bought foods together and then sadly parted ways, tho our encounter was short it was still fun. I actually made a mistake, A girl was taking selfies and then I joined in, turns out that girl was Joanas enemy lmao.... That girl was her bf's ex and she shit talked her... I was sooo guilty! Anyways thank God I'm still on Joana's good side lol. After that nothing interesting really happened, saw Czandrei and I pretended I don't know him because why not. Then I went home. Our teacher wanted us to print the consent for the fun run, it was already night time so I had no choice but to ask him. So I did, very awkward nothing "romantic" happened. I wish my family would stop pushing "that" to us, it's not really romantic anymore, just realized his face really isn't my type. he's just not my type in every category ngl.
Friday was the worst out of them all, I had to wake up at 3 something and then we had to be there at like 4 since you know zumba. We got late, it was fine didn't want to dance anyway, they almost started the funrun when we arrived, they were readying their selves. Had to rush and run at the second floor to put my bag. We took some lovely selfies. And then when it started we ran, it was so exhausting!! not even in the GSIS gate and I'm tired already... And then we kept switching to running and walking until we reached the bridge and eventually gave up. we were at almost 4k.km(?) and then turned around and gave up lol. that's basically everything, nothing interesting happened afterwards. Fun run should've been named Fun walk instead lmao.
Saturday as usual nothing happened, just lazed around since I'm so tired. (Fuck, my fingers are starting to hurt as I write this!!!) Sunday, which is today, I attended church, finally after 2 days of not attending. (I think) The topic was about Eternal death and Eternal life, bible school was about the spiritual gifts (I think it was giving and mercy idk I forgot), wasn't really listening to bible school since I was busy finding out what my spiritual gift is. Turns out it's the spiritual gift of discernment, had my dibs on it ngl so I expected it. Though when I went home, I started doubting things again. (Fuck Satan) I doubted if I actually had the gift of discernment, maybe my intuition is just really good and maybe I'm just very keen to observation. I honestly still am not sure if it's a spiritual gift I have or I'm just fooling myself into thinking that's my gift and I seriously don't have any gift at all. And then Mom asked me if I believe in God yet, I said No, because I actually still don't, 50/50 actually. I do want to believe but I'm still doubting it. (my fingers hurt...) And then she started lecturing me. In my mind, I suddenly thought of kuya gem's question "Do you think anyone can teach the bible?" In my opinion, No. You can't. Sad but seriously you can't. Teaching the bible when it isn't your specialty or your gift would just potentially drive the the person you are supposed to be "teaching" insane especially if you don't do it correctly. That's because the stuffs in the bible are just batshit insane, if you try explaining it but failed to do, it would just make that person distant themself from God more (from personal experience). You would literally do the opposite thing that you were supposed to do.
Going back to the topic, how was I supposed to believe in God when he's the one who's causing me pain? What mom said was true, I get it. But God was supposed to be there for me and guide me and love me. How can I believe in him when he failed to save the people I love a lot of times now? Or maybe he intentionally let them die just like that, still I believed in him and he let me down... I do not blame him, I guess that was for the better but you also cant blame me for this, I'm sure lots of people feel like this too. I doubt him a lot but, is that my fault? The people around me are so overly religious it makes me sick, it made me think of him as something that just "exist" because people need him to, because he's their last resort. The people who are supposed to be "believers" are making his name bad, they're a bunch of hypocrite who worship him but do something wrong afterwards, and then you'll tell me they're more likely to go to heaven because they have faith and that they believe in him than the people who were very kind and did nothing but love and get hurt but do not believe in him. Will I go to hell for doubting him? For questioning him and his decisions? For pitying people whose life were predestined to be like that? i have a lot of questions... I would ask them but I doubt even the greatest christian teacher can answer them properly.. Am I being onesided?? Maybe but, I have enough reasons for that... I would like to believe un him too trust me, but he's just surrounded with people who are the opposite of him it's sickening and gut retching.
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March 18: Finish Three Men in a Boat
I finished Three Men in a Boat yesterday and I really enjoyed it! At the beginning, it was such a major change from Tinker Tailor, and I was so invested in going back to another Smiley novel ASAP, that I was looking forward to it mostly being a quick and easy read, but now that I’ve finished I already miss the guys. And the dog. I’m probably going to continue on to On the Bummel, even though I anticipate it won’t be as good, for a variety of reasons including that I’m assuming Montmorency has gone to doggy heaven by now.
The most striking part to me, as I mentioned before, is that the humor is SO Classic that it really barely ages at all. There’s something rather heartening about that: people have always been people and annoyances have always been annoyances. I also think there’s a real cleverness to the type of self-deprecating (and friend-deprecating) humor of the book, the way that J. talks himself up in such a way that it’s clearly actually an insult to himself, and it reads as him being supremely un-self-aware, and yet the joke could only exist as a result of a clear-headed and un-self-conscious self-awareness. And there’s no meanness in it. He’s laughing at himself, so it’s okay to laugh at him, too. Similarly, even the insulting things said about his friends never read as anything other than an extension of their friendship, a shared joke, a type of humor they’ve all signed off on. I’m so glad that even though the dog was not real, the three men were, because I feel like I get a sense of their friendship, even so long after their deaths, and I’m glad to know about it.
Like, they’re my buddies now. We’re all friends.
While trying to explain the book to B, I felt worried that I was describing it as, like, a bunch of cliches. I was trying to give a sense of the universal quality of the humor despite the copyright date of the book, but I felt like maybe I was just making it sound like 160 pages of jokes you’ve heard before. And in a way it is. But they’re told so well! The pacing and vocabulary and sentence structure are all really, really, good, the sort of style that looks simple but absolutely isn’t. And the familiarity in general just gives the book a warmth and softness; it is pleasant to feel like you are seen.
In addition to my belief that Jerome would do numbers on social media, I’ve also decided that he would be a great stand-up comic. I think that was the type of humor it was really reminding me of. If you took bits of it out of context, they’d do great as tweets or, because of their length, tumblr posts, but the book as a whole, or even individual chapters, really seems a precursor to the stand up tradition. He’s talking about relatable experiences; he flows from one funny story to the next, within his broad theme, in a ‘that reminds me of’ way that is really common in stand-up; a lot of his humor relies on timing and certain linguistic tricks/phraseology that I think would be the mark of a good stand-up comic; and he is extremely good at including physical humor using only words.
Some additional set pieces and jokes that I read since my last post and would like to commemorate:
Both my dad and The Guardian agree that the best part is the pineapple can opening scene. I can’t lie; this is a solid choice for funniest part.
Making the stew. How can one forget making the stew? A half-dozen unpeeled potatoes, some broken eggs, the rest of the cold mincemeat pie—and whatever else you can throw in there because that’s what so great about stew!
Harris and the swans. Presumably, this was a reaction to the stew.
The parade of people getting supplies to bring down to the boat. Again, I think the skill in making this joke really work is underrated. It’s almost a poem.
The trout. This story to me is like a prime example of a stand-up type routine because it’s a pretty standard tale but it’s taken to the next level by the timing of the ending. “That fish was plaster-of-Paris” fucking ended me.
Their abrupt decision to go home and get dinner. I was wondering how they were going to wrap up their outing so fast!
There were also a few bits that just made me laugh out loud for reasons I don’t entirely understand. Just a way of phrasing something or a particular story beat that totally destroyed me emotionally.
George practicing the banjo outside, to the ire of his neighborhood, particularly the phrase “and he was captured.” I mean obviously a major aspect of the humor of this section is that it starts out pretty believable and then becomes increasingly unbelievable—similar to the story about George waking up at 2am and thinking it was 6—but something about that phrase “and he was captured” just sent me. Captured! For playing the banjo!
The man yelling at young J. to stop rafting on his property, in particular, the joke around the phrase “I’ll teach you to make a raft.” (“As you already know how to make a raft, that seems unnecessary.”) Again, this just hit me like a sucker punch right to the face. I love linguistic humor so much.
There were probably others, but those two are what’s coming to mind, now. There are just so many jokes and so many weird little hooks and twists that it’s hard to remember or delineate them all. I’m really, I’m quite fond of this book. I hope reading the sequel will give me more time with my new buddies and not just be a disappointing experience, but either way, it’s not a long sequel, and then I’ll probably be ready for something else.
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The year 2022 is almost over and I see some ppl making their summaries. I never tried to make that kind of thing for myself before and it seems like an occassion for some self-analysing exercise, so...
I don't feel like just simply summarising #my art works and skill progression throughout the year - I may do that anytime just taking a glimpse at my deviantArt gallery:
Now summarising what changed in my way of thinking and how I pushed my mental limits in 2022 is much more interesting:
So first of all I beat my lifelong fear of drawing birds and feathered wings. I made more birds pictures this year than in my whole life and really good ones too (like my #bird version ATWD). Now I actually love to draw feathered wings! With all those parallel lines it feels like writing a poem or a song with its rythm, accents and rhymes... And since now I can draw roosters I'm almost not sure what so cool about dragons was any more?😆
Then I beat my fear of drawing faces of actual people / actors, especially those that I like... I learned that when I care deeply if a person looks similar and neat it is not the thing to be afraid of - on the contrary, it's the biggest motivation possible! And actually the only way I can make progress in drawing faces properly...
Meanwhile I accepted that I've been really colours-starved drawing mainly grey pencil sketches for years - and so in 2022 I gone totally wild with the rainbow in and out!🌈
I also decided to start sharing my pictures "for adults only" (on my other blog: @co-ma-piernik ). Thinking that someone might see those pieces gives me more motivation to work harder on human body proportions than when I was just doing it for myself
I finally shed the "I don't do fanarts because I am better than that having my own OCs" way of thinking. In the last 9 months I made 22 quality fanarts of the movie And Then We Danced / და ჩვენ ვიცეკვეთ solely, what's more to say? (Only that I feel kind of bad for not working on my OCs in 2022 as I initially planned... But they waited for my attention for 12 years already and it only added to their characters's developement - so I think waiting just a little more will not do them harm either. Especially when I use this time to explore other characters from movies and books and gain my inspirations... I guess further developement of my OCs is inevitable)
Any progress in my real life? I accepted who I am, what brings me pleasure and satisfaction, stopped judging myself with other ppl's social expectations and instead allowed myself to feel comfortable and happy with my life and my passion. It may not seem a lot but it does make a HUGE change: whether you think of yourself as a "nobody wants me" lonely loser - or "aware of my aromantic-asexuality" single person. So I finally gave up to force myself into "finding a boyfriend at last" (especially as I always prefered to speak with girls honestly) and now I'm willing to explore friendship and heading up to all the possible other human interactions that I can get myself involved with instead💚💜💛💙 I cut out with constantly trying (and failing) to follow recipes for heteronormative "happy family" lifestyle and decided to find and explore my own way through. Might not be as easy as following that wide path everybody else is walking but... I'm still young and strong and hopeful. Walking with my eyes and my mind open!👍
#just me#my art#2022 summary of art#summary of 2022#summary of art#aromantic asexual#aroace#aroace positivity
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from the session by jeanann verlee, published in said the manic to the muse
[Text ID: I punch myself in the stomach. She says stop or I will restrain you. I dig my nails into the armrest. Don’t damage the furniture, she says. /End ID]
#whole poem is really good. opening piece to the book too#jeanann verlee#said the manic to the muse#poetry#poetblr#currently reading#pdf#poetry collection#free pdf#to read#ask to tag#ID included#ID added
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Midnight Poetry Reading
Summary: Damiano reads you a poem in the middle of the night!
Pairing : Damiano x fem! Reader
Genre: Romantic fluff
Words:1149
Warnings: it's so fluffy you're going to die! My writing probably will kill you too!
tagging — @oro-e-diamanti (thank you for your precious help) and @mywritingonlyfans(thank you for the inspiration)@wannaabe-writer
The universe was silent and the only thing breaking the silence was his steady breath as he slept next to you. But you couldn't sleep any more because for the first time in your life, reality was so much better. Still, you were afraid if all of this was just a dream too good to be real.
You were at Damiano's place wearing one of his t-shirts, with his scent around you like a heavenly hug and him sleeping peacefully next to you.
If someone had told you one month ago that this would happen, you would have laughed at their faces telling them they belong in a mental asylum, but it was happening. You were part of his life.
Since you could not sleep, you wandered around a bit, and you ended up staring at the books in the library. An old leather one caught your eye, so you gently took it in your hands, only to discover that it was a book of poetry.
Sitting on the couch, you started flipping through it without being able to understand a word until you felt a gentle caress on your neck. You turned your head just to find yourself in front of the image of a half-asleep Roman God. He was breath-taking!
‘’What are you doing here? Why aren't you in bed with me?’’ his husky voice made your heart melt. ‘’I reached out in my sleep you touch you, but you weren’t there’’
‘’I couldn't sleep, so I read something, or at least I tried. I'm so sorry,’’you said apologetically.
‘’Sorry for what?’’ he asked, confused
‘’For touching your stuff without permission,’’you said hesitantly
He sighed. ‘’Amore, mi casa su casa, okay?’’
‘’Okay’’you agreed, giving him a shy smile.
‘’So, let's see what you got here,’’he said as he was sitting on the couch next to you. ‘’Ah, poetry! Seems like I got myself a dark academia kind of girl.’’ he laughed softly.
You watched him as he lazily flipped through the book, as if looking for something specific. ‘’Oh, here we are,’’ he said, and without looking at you, he started reading.
‘’Vita de la mia vita,
Tu mi somigli pallidetta oliva
O rosa scolorita
Né di beltà sei priva,
Ma in ogni aspetto tu mi sei gradita,
O lusinghiera o schiva;
E se mi segui o fuggi
Soavemente mi consumi e struggi"
You only understood a few words, but it sounded like the most beautiful thing in this world. ‘’So, what does it mean?’’
‘’Oh, this? It's just a silly poem. Nothing important,’’ he said as he put the book down, but deep down you knew there was something more that he did not tell you.
‘’Avanti woman! We're going back to bed,’’he said, and without waiting for your answer he threw you over his shoulder and started walking towards the bedroom, gently slapping your butt when you tried to protest.
‘’Damiano, put me down!’’you laughed.
‘’As my queen commands,’’ he said, and he laid you down on the bed as if you were made of glass, and he didn't want to break you. He looked at you, straight in your eyes, and you felt like the world stopped moving. There was nothing but you, him and this moment.
‘’Sei bellissima. Ho un debole per te’’ he whispered, and the only thing you understood was that he had called you beautiful.
'’I’m sure you say that to every person you meet. It’s part of your charm’’
‘’Oh no no’’ he laughed, ‘’I only say that to the special ones’’
‘’You make every one feel special when you are on that stage singing your heart out’’ you teased him.
‘’That’s different’’ he said, and he rolled over to the other side of the bed. You moved, so your eyes could meet ‘’When I am on the stage i- It’s like I am in my own world. There is just me and the music. But here, now with you, I am just a simple boy who is-’’ he sighed. At that moment, you knew that he wanted to say more, but he also didn't want to ruin the moment, so you just crawled closer to him and hid your face in his neck, getting drunk on his scent.
‘’Mi sto innamorando di te’’ he whispered into your hair, hoping you were fast asleep.
As the months passed, you became closer not only to Damiano but to the whole gang, too. Victoria treated you like a sister, and Thomas was like the best friend you never had. Even Ethan felt really open around you and started playfully teasing you sporadically. Being with them almost all day helped you improve your Italian, so you could respond to his teasing, which made him laugh every time.
It was one of these days when you were hanging out together at the Måneskin House while they were working on a new song. So as always you started wandering into the house having Chilli following you around making your heart melt.
You entered your room- well, Damiano’s room, actually, but it was the same thing. You laid down on the bed, burying your face into his pillow, so you could breathe the smell of his hair. Lost in your daydream you suddenly heard the sound of paper being torn and raising your head you found Chili playing with a piece of paper.
‘’Chilli no!’’ you said, taking the paper out of her mouth. As you looked to see if the paper was still in good condition, you let a few minutes pass before you realized what exactly it was.
It was a copy of the poem that Damiano had read to you that night, months ago. Only now you could understand what the words meant.
Reading it again, the truth hit you like a train.
‘’Life of my life, you seem to me
Like some pallid olive tree,
Or the faded rose I see:
Nor do you lack beauty,
But pleasing in every way to me,
In shyness or in flattery,
Whether you follow me or flee,
Consume, destroy me softly.’’
It was not just a silly poem, as he had said. It was a confession of his feelings for you.
As a film, all your moments with him started playing in your mind. When lost in your eyes he whispered words to you in Italian so softly that with difficulty you grasped some words and lost as you were at the moment you did not want to ask him what his words meant.
You felt his arms wrapped around you and his breath falling gently into your ear as he whispered, Ti amo piu di ogni altra cosa al mondo’’ his voice sent shivers down your spine.
‘’Zitto e baciami.’’ you breathed.
‘’As my queen commands’’ he said with a smirk before he crushes your lips with his.
#damiano david x reader#damiano david#damiano david fluff#damiano david fanfiction#damiano david imagines#måneskin
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DNP Rewatch: A Festive Day in the Life of Dan and Phil!
Date video was published: 12/20/2014 (X)
DNP Main Channel Rewatch: 254
The 2014 DITL video! The last one had been back in August 2013. This is my absolute favorite DITL and probably one of my top five DNP joint videos of all time. Get ready for me to have way too much to say about it.
0:00 - sleepy morning + quiff Phil! We’ll see a surprising amount of that in this video.
0:05 - “almost a week till Christmas,” so they must have filmed this just a few days before it was posted
0:25 - no waking up Dan in “his” bedroom like in the first two DITL. Hmmm...this scene doesn’t seem staged at all...especially since Phil’s laptop is already open on the arm of the sofa. Unless he just left it like that overnight.
0:37 - love that the other advent calendar on the mantle in the one they made. 😂 There are 18 of the doors opened on it, so they’re probably filming this on the the 18th or 19th of December.
0:47 - they both jump into doing the theme music as soon as Phil says “titan”
0:57 - that is pretty late for them to be putting up the decorations! Phil looks sad about it too.
1:01 - sad tinsel. I think Phil had the silver piece in the background in his last video. And the little WALLE in the background here, from all the way back in PINOF. 🥺
1:17 - this domestic insight, just 😭😭😭
1:26 - full circle back to the first DITL video. I wonder if they watched the previous DITLs before filming this one.
1:41 - so many mugs.
1:48 - Dan did not want that one because it was very hard to actually drink out of as he discovered in DITL London. I really bet they did watch the previous ones shortly before this...so many references back!
1:55 - awww, happy warm Phil
2:13 - such a dramatic sigh but he goes to get it anyway!
2:25 - well that is a terrifying way to burn a tealight...put it on a dish!
2:33 - I love that there is no explanation for this in the video. Phil is superstitious about new shoes on the table, which they had both tweeted about before.
2:40 - Dan fashion show and an encouraging Phil
2:47 - immediate smile when Dan notices Phil there
2:56 - why does Phil looks SO GOOD in this clip. also, as usual a weird/slightly horrifying poem from his brain.
3:02 - love that they both decided to wear holiday jumpers. They also wore these same ones for their December radio show. Also the Dan lean-in 🥺
3:12 - PJ tweeted about this DNP visit!
3:27 - this whole leaving scene is possibly the most domestic part of any video - the candle argument, the coat adjustment, the stop in the bathroom to check their hair, Phil checking to make sure Dan has keys, the spider checking and joking... I mean.
4:13 - more throwback conversation to DITL London
4:35 - so glad he chose not to lick his hand. Even more horrifying in 2021.
4:40 - Dan talked about this and falling up the escalator in What not to do on Public Transport
5:00 - “bit corporate isn’t it?” but caves immediately because Phil wants to.
5:10 - Love that Phil orders while Dan finds a table. Love that Phil makes Dan draw something happy not just a sad face. Love Dan’s huge smile after that.
5:33 - Dan really can’t say much he was reading his phone in the clip right before this!
5:58 - Dan’s talking about this weird incident that Phil posted a clip of on LessAmazingPhil
6:18 - they always go to at least one nerdy shop in the first DITLs!
6:36 - the things they choose to zoom in on in this shop...Dan with Spiderman’s crotch a few seconds before this and now Phil on the shirtless guy book cover. subtle, lol.
7:29 - I had actually heard of this board game prior to this video because Wil Wheaton did a TableTop episode. I remember being so surprised to see DNP wanting it!
7:39 - Phil and his weird people encounters. 😂 And Dan just mocking him for it.
7:59 - they did, in fact, go to see Matilda the next summer.
8:10 - oh my god this clock scene. Of course Phil wants to make a game of it. And then Dan with the seemingly slight fudging of what he was pointing at. And this look and then both of them giggling. 👀
8:32 - that start of Dan’s running! This is around the time or shortly after he had started to see a therapist (according to the timeline he gave in Daniel and Depression), so thinking he probably wanted to start for his mental health.
9:11 - Dan talks about the “guy wearing the white sheet in Manchester” in What not to do In Town. Their reminiscing faces are too much.
9:19 - Phil is so excited about this. He had tweeted a couple times in the past about Moomins (1, 2)
9:37 - the excitement about the treats and the festive drinks and decorations and Phil’s teasing 😭
10:04 - they film fairly often in the back of cars and I just feel like must be so awkward, but it doesn’t seem to bother them. And Phil’s hair is quiffed again!
10:28 - and the stairs song! Which they are too prepared for so it must be a regular thing they say/sing. This video has SO MANY moments that I love.
10:51 - Phil just sitting while Dan hauls the tree box out. Maybe Dan lost rock-paper-scissors.
10:59 - reminiscing about THE TREE now, which is the last time they decorated on camera
11:09 - why is this a common theme in DITLs!? lol. Love that they’ve lit the candle again after getting home.
11:22 - “stop doing that” as he can’t control his giggles. sure.
12:03 - okay, Phil had to go get the other decorations! The “Christmas faces” are slightly horrifying
12:22 - that is the most horrifying. also, Dan and Phil themed toys/decor even in the bathroom.
13:02 - Dan’s little messed up piece of hair in the back is so cute. Also love that they have the garlands up and everything at this point too.
13:19 - even more quiff-Phil!
13:31 - their fridge contents are not great
14:04 - unexpected filming but a huge grin anyway from Phil. Also, how do they make just answering the door so awkward, lol. Also: what is that picture in the background in the bathroom(?)
14:32 - they’re so excited about this set up and dinner plan
14:43 - and now glasses Phil! Also, arguing about wrapping neatness. I love it. Although when we see Phil’s wrapping in a minute, I think I might agree with Dan...
15:03 - PJ will end up with one of these face banks
15:10 - Phil came up with some decent gifts for Kath this time, although he didn’t think she had good ideas.
15:18 - I find it so cute that Dan wants to keep the cookbook
15:30 - Dan looks almost embarrassed to share this. He’s also got something “12 Days of Christmas” themed in that blue box on the chair. Although apparently a lot of his family just wanted money.
15:37 - I have no words for Dan filming this closeup and then them choosing to keep it in the video.
16:16 - Phil’s trying to be all serious with his wrapping tutorial and then the tape just immediately falls. 😂
16:40 - “it’s endearing” Dan does look pretty endeared, lol. Dan’s concerned because the face banks are actually gifts from both of them, at least according to PJ
17:04 - wow, Vine mention
17:25 - Dan’s just expecting Phil to come up with a great pun on the spot. Also, the lobster thing is an old reference.
17:39 - I think I mentioned this in the last DITL post, but I like that we do see even in a short video that they spend some time alone. That’s just so normal, especially for introverts even when you’re that comfortable with someone.
17:45 - Phil will keep reading that book over the holidays
17:48 - we did see the inside of the chest. So what is Dan implying here, lol.
17:52 - well then. Dan’s giggly face though.
18:08 - soft piano Dan 😭
18:25 - Ariana Grande had sent them both cat ears after they met her for the radio show
18:37 - a glimpse at the early gaming channel set-up.
18:46 - we don’t actually see that footage in the gaming video
18:51 - it must be pretty late at night by this point considering it was dark when they came home
19:15 - Phil’s first instinct is to throw it of course
19:18 - this face and the sweater paws. I can’t. 😭
19:25 - and of course a joint ending.
19:40 - Dan is so sleepy and happy seeming here
20:13 - awwww 🥺 The last video of 2014!
One difference from the first two DITL is they don’t even pretend that they’re going to see other friends/invite someone over. Just the two of them hanging out and they seem quite happy with that. This is probably the most “domestic” of the DITL videos. I love it so much.
Phil went to his parents’ on the 23rd to celebrate Christmas. He had Swedish food, was very excited as usual, got a stocking with a toothbrush and animal socks, and watched Guardians of the Galaxy. Dan went to his family’s on the evening of the 24th after a candle incident (lol, though I love that he was burning the candles even without Phil there. He started the tradition of yearly Christmas pictures of Colin. And also posted this.
On to the 2015 videos, and the start of the TABINOF/TATINOF era!
#dan and phil#dnp#dnpRewatch#amazingphil#daniel howell#phil lester#danisnotonfire#amazingphil videos#A Festive Day in the Life of Dan and Phil!#ditl
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An Amalgamation Waltz 1839. |01|
> pairing: min yoongi x reader
> genre:��FallenAngel!AU
> words: 23k
> warnings: hints of smut (heavy make out), a scene of harassment (nothing explicit), violence. possible heresy. forgive me. a third party’s unrequited feelings for OC. don’t know if i did this right, it’s 3 am right now.
> summary: When it comes to the both of you, a lifetime is not enough. And when it comes to you, there’s really no lines he wouldn’t be willing to cross. Even on the brink of a war that could destroy the world as we know it, you’re everything.
“ (...) ‘Would you be able to love someone as tainted as him?’ he asked wistfully.
You lifted your upper body, compelling him to a sitting position as well.
‘I’ve never had to,’ you pecked his lips chastely, even though he still kept his eyes trained on the grass underneath you.”
a/n: my love for Paradise Lost gave birth to this. i really like this one :) gonna be posting the second (and last) part soon! no need to say that PL was just an inspiration, this isn’t exactly based on the poem.
“(…) Here at least
We shall be free, the almighty hath not built
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:
Here we may reign secure, and in my choice
To reign is worth ambition though in hell:
Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven.”
The sudden thud on the wooden surface of the table made you jolt and close the book, heart rate increasing considerably.
“Y/N.” His voice was deep, dragging your name through his teeth to evince his annoyance. The bustling café was already at its peak hours and you didn’t even notice the time as it passed you by.
“Yes, Taehyung?” You ogled your grumpy friend, his noisy arrival being due to the study material he tossed in front of you.
“You said you’d help me with English lit. I was waiting for you at the library for about an hour and your phone is off.” As you remembered why you were even in the café in the first place, you threw him a guilty look. He pouted. “Hey, what does that Milton guy have that I don’t? And the fancy words don’t count.” You giggled.
“John Milton has nothing on you, Tae. He’d probably need my help to get through this semester as well.” The joke seemed to almost let you in his good graces again, but you knew he still needed the bribery. “I’ll buy you your favorite if you forgive me.” You could tell he was fighting back a smile upon hearing your offer, his mood suddenly uplifted.
“Okay. But don’t think I’ll let you off the hook that easily.”
“I wouldn’t dare. Wait here.” You went to the balcony to pay the check and get his frappuccino to go. Taehyung was a sweet guy who liked sweet things, and that also applied to his coffee. His sweet tooth earned him a nickname from you – Marzipan. Waiting for the bartender to finish your order, you looked over where your best friend was digging through your copy of Paradise Lost without much enthusiasm.
You had moved in next door to his house about fifteen years ago, and you two instantly initiated a solid friendship. As much as you could say about three-year-olds. Despite him being one of your favorite people in the whole world, the both of you were into totally different things. He went to parties, you enjoyed some lone quality time. He played all sorts of sports, you preferred to stick to your writing and, sometimes, the piano. You were still working on the latter. But even though you seemed to be totally opposites, he still got you like no one else could. He was the person you told all your secrets to, not that you had that many anyway, and you liked to think – no, you were sure of it – he felt the same way about you.
“Here’s your overly-sweet drink, Marzipan. I don’t even know if you can still call it coffee,” you scowled.
“Don’t diss my frappuccino, it’s the sole reason of my forgiveness.”
“Yeah, right. So, you wanna get going? I’m sure you have a lot of thoughts on that book already.”
“It was very average so far, if I do say so myself. I don’t know why you like it so much,” he teased you.
“Well, that’s what the private lessons are for. So I can teach you good taste.” You pushed the door open and immediately shivered as you felt a cold gush of air. It was snowing.
“Here, take my coat. Why don’t you ever wear decent clothes in the winter? I swear to God, I don’t know how you never caught something serious, like pneumonia or whatever,” he scolded.
“You don’t have to. We’re near home anyway,” you tried to reassure him, but he was, as usual, outwardly ignoring it. “Really, Tae, it’s no big deal. Let’s go.” He was ready to fight you on this one, but you were already walking away. He took a few hurried steps to catch up.
After a ten-minute walk, daylight was almost completely gone, lit lampposts following its wake. You both hit the front door rug with your feet several times before getting inside, your mom was a bit freaky when it came to cleaning.
“Mom, Tae’s here!” You shouted from the living room, guessing she was in the kitchen. “We’re going upstairs for a bit! School work!”
“Okay, honey! Tell him that dinner will be ready soon!” She responded.
“I love you, Ms. D’Angelis!” He shot back. Yes, you had an italian background. When she heard his voice, she made sure to come out and greet him.
“Love you, too, honey”, she pecked his forehead and he beamed. They liked each other way too much for their own good. “And you,” she pointed in your direction, “give mamma a kiss.”
You sighed before attending to her request. It was in your best interest not to fight it. “Okay, enough of this. We’ll be upstairs if you need us.”
“Have fun, kids.” You sure would. Taehyung might beg to differ.
The rest of the night was somewhat peaceful. You had helped Taehyung as much as you could before your mother called you out to eat, claiming that you shouldn’t starve the boy and then make him eat a cold meal. He couldn’t agree fast enough. For the most part, that was your life. Uncomplicated and comfortable, which was plenty for an eighteen year old. When you went to bed after practicing the piano for a little while, you were completely unaware of the pair of pitch black eyes that observed you through the window. But he was fully aware of you.
||\\
[Fear of the Water, by SYML]
You knew it was a dream. From the moment your brain processed the heavenly sight that unrevealed before your eyes, you knew. It was breaking dawn, the soft orange light kissing the ocean like a long lost lover. You were at the end of a cliff, but couldn’t find it in yourself to be afraid. You looked down at the waves that broke into the rocks almost violently, the salty breeze somewhat comforting. You loved the sea.
Taking a few deep breaths, you barely noticed the crack. The sound came from somewhere behind you, but you didn’t want to look away from the view, neither did you want to wake up. When you heard it again, you recognized footsteps. You turned around lazily, curious as to whom it would be the visitor of your reverie. When you fixed your eyes on him, though, you stopped breathing for a moment and your heart surely skipped a beat. He was a stranger in a number of ways, for he was seemed truly unworldly. Maybe ethereal was the word you were looking for. His violet eyes were scrutinizing you from head to toe. Beautiful. His hair was dark as it fell like a silky curtain on his forehead. Not a single flaw on his skin or his body, but none of that was as breathtaking as what lied on his back. Great, large white wings, so beautifully outstretched that you felt unworthy of looking at them.
You opened your mouth a few times, but nothing would come out. Probably for the best, you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself in front of what was probably your mind’s greatest creation. How you could come up with him was beyond you. You wanted to ask his name before it all ended and you had to go back to real life, back to average. You wanted to touch his face, his wings, see for yourself if they felt as they looked. You wished you never woke up. As he took a step closer, you took your own back, startled at the sudden movement. Before you realized your mistake, it was too late. You had lost your balance. You knew it would be over soon. Taking one last look at the stranger, you saw as he stretched one arm to reach you, but to no avail. Too soon, the wind was ricocheting your skin and you were falling.
You woke up with a loud gasp as you searched for air, finding it oddly rarefied. When you registered the annoyingly high pitch of your alarm, you whined. Real life was the last thing you wanted to face right now, but if you told your mother that you’d stay in bed daydreaming about a figment of your imagination, she would personally retrieve you from the bed and toss you into the shower. Made sense.
Getting ready as quickly as you could manage, you felt excited for no obvious reason. Maybe it was the afterglow of the dream, but now you were eager to get out of the house, as if you wanted to find him. Which was insane, because you knew he did not exist. Come to think about him now, it was getting harder by the minute to remember his face. You panicked.
Running towards your desk and grabbing a pencil and your notebook, you tried to recreate him on paper, which was a lost battle from the start. Even if you were some doodling genius – you were definitely not – you would never be able to do him justice. You doubted anyone who had ever stepped on this planet, past or present, ever would. It was not the kind of beauty that could be explained or demonstrated, but rather felt. He wasn’t just inhumanely pretty, wings and all. There was something about him that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. It may sound cheesy and totally deranged, but you felt whole in those few shared moments, like you knew him your entire life. Your mind didn’t recognize him, but your body did.
Groaning at the piece of paper and throwing the pencil at your baby-blue wall in annoyance, you gave up. It was pointless, his features were already escaping your mind. You didn’t know why you were so hung up on a dream, honestly. Seeing that you were a little riled up, you decided to let it go and just finish getting ready for class. You could see through the window that Taehyung was already waiting for you.
||\\
“So, how did it go?”
He pouted before answering. “It went alright.” Lies, he was a big fat liar.
“C’mon, Marzipan, be honest with me for a second.”
The nickname finally broke him down. “Fine, I hated it. I remember you telling me about every important detail of the subject yesterday, but I couldn’t put it on paper. Plus, why the fuck does he have to elaborate the questions so much? Most of the time I didn’t even understand what was being asked. Literature sucks,” he whined indignantly. You could tell it was taking a toll on him.
“Don’t worry too much about it, okay? I will help you. We’ll both graduate this year, yeah?” you reached his hand on a reassuring squeeze.
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
“Then sure. But you have to take me seriously, Y/N,” he warned you. “No more losing track of time in coffee shops.”
“Hey, I bought you a frappuccino, that incident should be six feet under by now,” you accused and he mumbled a grumpy response.
The both of you spent half of the morning taking the lit test. You thought you did fine, though the questions really were a little bit tricky. Walking side by side with Taehyung, you didn’t notice him at first. But once you realized there were no seats available right next to each other, your eyes eventually landed on his.
“We can’t sit together through this class, we’re too late,” Tae grumbled, trying to get your attention back to himself, but to no avail. “Y/N? Hey!” He flicked your forehead and you yelped.
“Did you just… flick me?” you seethed.
“I wouldn’t have had to if you weren’t lusting over the new guy. Who is he, by the way?” If you acknowledged the hint of jealously in his tone, you didn’t show it.
“I was not lusting over anybody,” you huffed.
“If you say so.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Grumpy. Is it because I caught you?” You just snarled and took a seat at the front row, while he chuckled and chose the one in the back.
To be honest, you were lusting a little. Those eyes seemed oddly familiar, though you couldn’t quite put a finger on why. The rest of the day passed by smoothly; you were able to sit with Taehyung for the remaining classes you had together and even helped him a bit with some homework. After a while, your new classmate was nowhere near your mind, despite that funny feeling you got every time you looked at him. Maybe it was because he was stunningly handsome. Who knows? You never cared much about those things, but you were only human.
On your way home with Taehyung, you felt eyes burning on your back. You turned around and found him staring, expression unfathomable. He wore a black lather jacket, jeans and a black shirt, his dark hair beautifully disheveled. He gave you a wanton grin and you scoffed. Well, you knew his type, and it unnerved you to death.
Preppy playboy. Nothing more, nothing less.
He cut off the eye contact abruptly, heading towards a grey motorcycle. No shit, huh? You almost laughed at the predictability. You weren’t exactly into bikes, but that looked expensive. And it suited him perfectly.
“Holy-… do you see that? That’s a Triumph fucking Rocket,” Taehyung gasped, shaking your elbow lightly. “A 2500cc engine capacity Triumph Rocket. Man, his parents must be loaded. That’s not a high schooler’s bike,” he said, almost dreamy. Yeah, you saw that coming from a mile away.
“You talking about the new guy?” You asked nonchalantly, turning your head as you resumed walking.
“Don’t even try to pretend you weren’t ogling just now,” he accused.
“You’re obsessed with our new-found bad boy. Maybe you should date him, Tae,” a snicker left your lips at his appalled expression.
“Shut up,” he pushed your shoulder. “I’m just curious.”
“As in bi-curious?”
“Okay, that’s it, I’m leaving you behind,” he grumbled as he fastened his pace. You chuckled, trying to catch up with his long legs.
When you arrived home, you noticed an attempt of a drawing on top of your bed. It looked like a poorly doodled angel. First things first: though it definitely looked like something made by your hands, you didn’t have any recollection of it, let alone of leaving it on display like that. You looked around, searching for something, but nothing else seemed out of place. Trying to shrug the uneasiness off, you picked some clothes off the wardrobe and went for a warm bath.
||\\
It was a Saturday afternoon, so you planned to do the usual: hit the library and grab some coffee on your way home. Taehyung had promised to watch a movie with you this weekend, but a surprise party to one of his friends came up. He’d invited you to tag along, more out of habit than anything else. Your answer was always the same when he asked you to spend time with his peers; you weren’t even remotely fond of them. They had maybe one functioning braincell and a whole lot of conceit. Not your crowd at all.
“Mom, I’m leaving. Do you need me to get you anything?” You said, already on your way to the front door.
She was sprawled on the couch, gazing attentively at the TV. “No, honey, thank you. Are you going out with Tae?”
“Nope, something came up, we rescheduled. I won’t be long.”
“Okay, then. Be careful!”
“Will do!”, you shouted from the outside.
It was closing time when the sweet old lady had to gently kick you out. You weren’t surprised when you found out your phone was dead; you probably had a billion calls from your mother and, if she was desperate enough, maybe even Taehyung. Letting out a sigh, you grabbed your stuff quickly and waved goodbye to the librarian as you made your way out the door, grumbling to yourself about not being able to pick up some coffee now.
The air was hazy and cold, you couldn’t see more than ten feet ahead, and the streets were oddly empty. You tightened your coat around your body and quickened your pace, not willing to spend more time outside than you needed to. Seeing that all the stores were closed, you realized that Martha (the librarian) probably let you outstay your welcome a little bit. You cursed at the freezing night and your cheap coat. Taehyung was right, you should buy warmer clothes.
Lost in thoughts, you were stupid enough to miss the drunken noises coming from the end of the street. There was a group of three men coming your way and they all seemed to have ingested an unhealthy amount of booze, laughing loudly and pushing each other playfully. You felt cold sweat fall down your spine but just tried to ignore it, hoping that you’d be able to pass them by without being noticed.
“Y/N?” His voice was dragged, and he was tumbling around the words. It was only then you realized they were from your school, the boy in the middle being Jimmy, Taehyung’s drink buddy.
“Hi”, you tried to stay as far away as possible, but the one with the fashionably boring rectangular glasses didn’t let you, hooking his arm around your neck. He reeked of cigarettes and whiskey.
“C’monnn-“ he hiccupped, “don’t you wanna par-tay with-“ another one, “-us?”
You repressed the urge to gag as your pulse quickened.
“Not really. I have to go,” you almost managed to untangle his disgusting arm from you, but he kept it in place, holding you tighter. “Let go of me.”
You were annoyed. And scared to death, to be honest. These boys didn’t exactly live by a moral code, and the four of you were alone in the middle of nowhere. You didn’t trust them.
“Aww, don’t be shy, princess. You’re always so… boring. Makes me curious about what you’ve got going on under all… that.” The last one, Ian, made his way towards you, snickering menacingly. He wasn’t as drunk as the other two, and if you could give a hunch, you’d say he knew exactly was he was doing. That scared you even more. Feeling the brick-wall hit your back, you realized you were cornered, a curse escaping your dry lips.
“Look, I really have to g-“ he cut you off by pressing his body into yours, making you lose your breath for all the wrong reasons. “What the fuck, man?! Let go of me!” You were visibly growing desperate as you tried to punch his face and his chest, but that only earned you a chuckle from him as he held both your wrists with one hand.
“Feisty. I like it.” You almost puked right then and there, the bile stuck in your throat making you scowl. He let his filthy fingers slide down your sides, until he could grope your ass.
Your stomach sank, heart drumming against your ribcage as you held back a whimper.
Okay, think.
Taehyung had taught you the basics about self defense a thousand moons ago. And yet, you realize that it was nothing like the real thing. You balled your clammy fingers tightly, knuckles white as you scanned every corner of your brain to try and find a way out.
“Tae will kill you if you touch me,” your voice trembled. You couldn’t help it.
He laughed whole-heartedly. As if the mere thought was actually funny to him.
“He wouldn’t dare, sweetheart. Besides, I think he actually wouldn’t mind sharing his bitch with us for the night,” he stated. “He’s not using it anyways,” he punctuated with a roll of his hips and, this time, as you felt the pathetic bulge inside his pants, you couldn’t hold back a tiny sob. Because fuck, this was it. There was no way you could take down three grown men on your own.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The voice was low and steady. It made your skin crawl. You snapped your head and looked at the dark haired man standing behind the boys. Ian lazily turned around, still keeping your wrists wrapped tight in his hand.
“None of your business, newbie. Now get out of my sight before I lose my patience.”
When he chuckled, it was different from Ian’s. It was darker, rougher, and concealed a vicious ferocity that you knew was there. You knew because, as he disregarded your aggressor and looked you in the eyes, you almost feared for them.
“Ian, dude, let it go.” Jimmy instantly sobered up and tried to avoid any confrontation. To think he spent time with your best friend but would let Ian harass you without saying a word was disgusting. “Come on, your old man will kill you if you get in trouble again.” So that was his main concern. Still looking out for his shitty, abusive friend. Men’s sorority really is misogyny.
“You should listen to your friend. Believe me, you won’t survive me when I get my hands on you,” he stated matter-of-factly. You felt the sincerity in your bones. And so did Ian and his stupid cavalry. “Leave.”
Ian sighed, but relented. You felt a hot wave of relief as he disconnected his body from yours, leaning on the wall for balance as your legs wabbled.
“You better watch out,” he spits.
“Y/N, I... I’m really sorry,” Jimmy said as he scooped his friends and dragged them away from you. “You too, Min. He’s just drunk. We would’ve stopped him if it got too far.”
He’s lying. You can tell.
“Get the fuck out of my sight,” he growls, his composure faltering for a minute. As they stray out of view, he turns his gaze to you.
“Care to tell me what the hell are you doing walking alone in the middle of the night?”
He’s angry.
You scoffed, adjusting your coat around your shoulders and straightening your back.
“Thank you for the help, but I’m too old for a babysitter,” you say. “Besides, I don’t even know you.”
He looks at you and, as if trying to regain some sense and control a fit of rage, he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose before exhaling a long puff of air.
“Alright. My name is Yoongi,” he takes you by surprise as he snatches your wrist in an iron grip, “And I'm fucking walking you home.”
As he drags you across the street, you want to yell at him. You want to tell him to fuck off, you preppy bastard. But you don’t.
Because the truth is, you’re so fucking grateful. God knows what would’ve happened if it wasn’t for him. As he calms down, he drops your hand and slows his pace, allowing you to catch up without having to make an effort. You want to talk, but you choose to stay quiet.
Now that you weren’t so skittish anymore, it finally dawned you how the snow was beautifully spread throughout the streets, the trees, the buildings. Everything that was cool, cold, blue, held some fascination to you. Summer was never really your season – it had always been winter. To be able to curl up on your couch with a warm blanket and a hot cup of coffee, it was heavenly. You always thought that, if you could see the world through a color palette, it would be in different shades of blue.
The snow was not the only thing that you were entranced by, though. Yoongi was, from what you saw so far, much like winter to you. Harsh when needed, cool, but also peaceful and comforting. He didn’t urge you to talk about the incident; he didn’t urge you to talk at all. His mannerisms caught your attention from time to time – how he constantly ran his long fingers through his hair, how his eyes seemed to flutter shut lazily a few times in a row, or how he carried himself so elegantly that it almost made you jealous. He looked terribly familiar, too.
“Why are you staring?” His bluntness caught you off guard, but still couldn’t disturb the peacefulness of the moment.
“Just curious.” It was true. “Apart from the motorcycle and the superhero complex, I don’t know much about you.”
“Well, there’s not much to know.”
You hummed in response. “What are you doing here, then?” You ask, and his feet come to a halt.
“What is this, an interrogation?”
You scoff, and you both start walking again. “Just trying to make conversation. Besides, I’m actually curious,” you ponder. “People don’t move into this town very often,” you kick the snow under your feet. He sighs.
“I’m here with my… brother,” he hesitated before continuing, “he’s my guardian, sort of. We used to move a lot. Work thing.” He couldn’t hold back a grimace, but it disappeared in a second. You wanted to ask about his parents, but felt like you’d be crossing a line, so you kept your curiosity to yourself. “Now you tell me,” he said.
“Tell you what?”
“About yourself. Your family. Whatever you want to.”
“Um, let me see. I live with my mom. We moved from Italy when I was about three years old. My dad… my dad stayed.” You didn’t want to get into it, and he immediately noticed, just nodding for you to continue. “She’s been taking care of me by herself since then.”
He hummed in understanding, sparing you a few glances that you couldn’t quite decipher.
Before you knew, your house was already in sight. You wished you lived farther, just so you could keep that strange interaction on for a little longer.
“Well, this is me,” you announced. Lying about your address had crossed your mind somewhere along the way.
“Sorry if I was a jerk,” he surprised you by saying. You mouth opens and closes a few times before you say anything.
“It’s okay, I guess. I was pretty riled up, too.”
He nodded. “See you Monday, then?” His voice was deep and silky.
“Yeah. Hey, I… I’m glad you showed up when you did.”
“I am, too,” there was a dark undertone in his voice. “Good night, Y/N,” he surprised you by leading his right hand to the top of your head and lightly messing your hair before walking away. You stood still for a minute, until your mother opened the door.
“Y/N?! Darling, why did you take so long? I was so worried!”
“Um… Sorry, mom. I ran into a friend and my phone was off.”
“Well, you should’ve at least borrowed your friend’s phone to let me know, things aren’t like they used to be around these parts anymore, it’s getting pretty danger-“
She kept talking as she let you in, but you couldn’t concentrate. That night, you dreamt of him.
||\\
“(…) Farewell happy fields
Where joy for ever dwells: hail horrors, hail
Infernal world, and thou profoundest hell
Receive thy new possessor: one who brings
A mind not to be changed by place or time.
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.”
You didn’t think of yourself as an early riser, but when Monday morning came, you woke up before the alarm – and seemed almost delighted to do so. To be honest, you really tried to ignore the eagerness to see him again, but to no avail. The day before was thoroughly torturous, flashes of the short period of time you spent together coming back to haunt you now and then. At some point, you were so annoyed that you just lied on the bed and attempted to blast your eardrums off by listening to some crappy rock band at full volume. It didn’t work, obviously, and now you probably had hearing damage. The cons and cons of obsession.
At this exact moment, for the first time in your entire friendship, you were banging on Taehyung’s door first. Because you just couldn’t wait a minute longer.
“Damn it, woman, was is it with you today?” The sound of his voice was muffled. That, or you were going deaf, there was no way to tell for sure.
“You’re going to make us late, Marzipan!” At that, he opened his bedroom door slightly, just enough so you could peek at his disheveled hair and sleepy face.
“It’s dick o’clock in the morning, we have at least forty minutes until we leave,” his voice was rugged and he had an aggrieved look plastered on his pouty face.
“I brought you coffee,” you smiled at him while raising the thermal cup.
“Stop the madness and go wait for me downstairs, Gilmore girl,” he grunted. “Dad probably misses you, the poor old man. Keep him company, will ya?”
“Don’t be silly, Mrs. Kim need his sleep in the morning.”
“Then shut up and don’t wake him,” he grunted, closing the door shut, but it took him just a second to reopen it. “Wait, if dad’s asleep, how did you get in?”
“I, uh… Might or might not know that you keep a spare key inside the porcelain elf’s hat,” your lips tugged upwards sheepishly.
“Of course you do, you little imp. I’ll be down in a sec,” he grumbled and shut the door again.
Taehyung had asked you a couple of times why you were so anxious to get to school that morning, but you just brushed it off with an excuse that you knew he wouldn’t buy. There were several reasons as to why you wanted to keep things to yourself for now. Mainly, it was because you were afraid that he’d be furious enough to break Ian’s face in front of everybody once you told him the whole story. Not that you felt any sympathy, but rather that you didn’t want Tae to get in trouble. You’d tell him as soon as you could, though. You didn’t care for the idea of him being friends – or whatever they were – with Jimmy.
As soon as you stepped into school ground, you discreetly searched for his motorcycle in the parking lot. It wasn’t there. You tried not to let the disappointment show on your face, but you couldn’t help it. He didn’t come today. Who cares? As much as you wanted to force some sense into your stubborn brain, you were still hoping he’d show up, even if you didn’t talk to each other. You just wanted to see him, is all. Great time to start acting like a stupid teenager, Y/N. Kudos.
You were in the middle of a pretty heated argument with yourself as you entered the classroom. Taehyung picked a desk in the middle, as he usually did when the both of you were able to sit next to each other. You were almost putting your stuff down at his side when something caught your attention. There. You felt a girlish jolt of excitement when you saw Yoongi sitting at the last row. His silky black hair was damped, probably from the shower, and he was wearing a black, long sleeved shirt, v cut. You were about to divert your eyes, but then he stared right at your face and calmy removed his bag from the chair next to his. He smirked, as if defying you to take a seat. Annoying little piece of-
“Tae, do you mind if I sit somewhere else today?”
“What?” He looked at you, confused. “Where do you want us to…” Your eyes flashed to the end of the room and he followed your gaze. “What? Why would you-”
“Do you mind?”
“Uh… No?”
“Okay, great. See you soon.” You knew Taehyung was confused, so you should probably be thinking of what to tell him when this class was over. But for now, you just carried yourself to the empty spot in the back. Yoongi was looking at you with an amused expression, hiding his little smile behind his intertwined hands. You wanted to wash that smug off his face so bad. You took a seat and his scent assaulted you, warm and musky. Almost irresistible. You saw Taehyung from across the room gazing at the both of you with an inscrutable countenance.
“Is your boyfriend mad that you sat with me today?” He audaciously asked.
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“I see. Must be hard, then,” he looked almost sympathetic.
“What?” Your face contorted into confusion.
“Nevermind. Tell me how was your Sunday,” he said while opening his notebook and doodling something you couldn’t decipher yet.
“So we’re friends now?”
“Pretty much.”
“Shouldn’t you ask me first?” You lifted your brow.
“You’re bossy today.”
You were about to give him a proper answer when the teacher barged in, almost breathless. As the class began, focusing on Hess’s Law was your main priority, it really was. But you couldn’t help the tingle crawling up your skin every time he unintentionally bumped his arm into yours, because he was still drawing, keeping his head down since Mrs. Edwards started talking. Still, you couldn’t move. No. Focus. You held onto the edge of your desk with one hand, knuckles white, as you kept the other taking notes on the subject.
“Relax,” he softly whispered, not taking his eyes away from his notebook. You immediately loosened the tight grip of your left hand.
“I’m relaxed,” you lied, imitating his tone. He chuckled, lifting his head to show you the most beautiful gummy smile. God, why was he so distractingly handsome? His soft, pale skin, his cat-like eyes. His hands, Lord, you wouldn’t even dwell on his hands. Everything about him was appealing, alluring. His voice, his smell, his gaze. He was devilish.
All of a sudden, he ripped off the page he was working on. You tried not to get even more distracted, keeping your eyes on the board, until he touched your arm with his hand. You tensed. “Here, keep this if you want to,” he said, passing the folded paper to you. Curiosity washed over your face and you were about to unfold it, but he stopped you. “I don’t think you should open it now.”
“Why? Is it, like, an erotic sketch?” You could tell you broke his demeanor a little, he seemed both shocked and amused.
“I wonder if that kind of thought crosses your brain very often. You’re filthy, Y/N,” he smirked. You almost choked at his tone and his words. He was teasing you, and you refused to go down without a fight.
“Well, I don’t exactly know you, do I? You could be a perv.” He bit back a chuckle.
“I’m an honorable man. You’ll see.”
“Will I, now?”
“Yes. We’re friends now, aren’t we?”
“You haven’t convinced me yet.”
“Challenge accepted.” The two of you stared at each other for a few seconds, then the bell rang. He grabbed his stuff and got up, then tilted his head and asked, “Do you want a ride… friend?”
“I thought you didn’t ride here today.” Confusion stained his expression before he realized the meaning behind your words. You could see the enlightenment in his face and suddenly banging your head on a wall wasn’t all too bad. He was too cocky for his own good, and now you’ve just made it worse. Way to go.
“I parked on a different spot,” he responded.
“Yeah, sure. Uh, anyways… Thanks for the offer, but I’m going home with Tae.”
“Suit yourself.” Before walking away, he turned around and said, “I’ll save you a seat tomorrow, Y/N.” Before you could elaborate an answer, he was already out the door, and Taehyung was in front of you with that ‘what-the-actual-fuck’ face he made every time he was caught off guard.
“I’ll explain on the way home,” you sighed.
||\\
You were both in the safety of your bedroom when you told Taehyung everything. From how Ian tried to do God knows what with you, to why he wasn’t able to. Pure luck. It was pure luck that Yoongi happened to be passing by, and it was pure luck that he’d bothered to check what was going on. You told him Jimmy was there. You saw the guilt and rage clawing their way to his chest, and there it was; the reason you were wary to tell him in the first place. Taehyung was explosive, a force of nature when he let himself indulge.
“I’ll kill him. Why did you hide that from me?” Even though he was trying his best to hold back, you could still tell how furious he truly was. “Answer me, Y/N, I’m not fucking around here,” he didn’t mean for it to sound like a scold, but it still did.
“I knew you’d be mad,” you retorted.
“Of course I’d be fucking mad. I don’t think you understand just how mad I am.”
“I know. Tae, really, nothing serious happened. It’s not worthy getting yourself in trouble for it.”
“How can you even say that?” he barked.
“Promise me you’ll let it go,” you asked softly.
He looked like he’d just heard the worst profanity fall from your lips. “I don-“
“Promise, Tae,” you were using your serious voice now, the one you used to tell him that no, it was not okay for him to mess with your books back when you were kids. You took it to the heart too often. He stared at you for a moment or two before sighing.
“Okay,” he grudgingly said. “If that’s what you want.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you,” he said after a moment.
“It’s not your fault. Really, it’s not.”
“I know. I’m just… sorry,” he let his head rest on your lap. You hummed and stroke his hair for a while. These little moments of utter understanding and peace was one of the reasons he was your best friend. The person you could rely on, always. And he could always rely on you, too.
||\\
A few weeks passed you by in the blink of an eye. After the infamous events of that night, you and Yoongi grew closer each day. Not that it was always easy, he was infuriating at times; you had to be sharp to keep up with the incessant bickering. But, for what it’s worth, you were able to gather that he was much more than just a little shit, even though he tried to deny it.
And you suppose that’s one of the reasons to why your stomach flutters and your heart skips a couple of beats when he gets too close.
Probably a month too late, you come across that piece of paper Yoongi had mysteriously given you the first morning you sat together. You took it in your hands with a gasp and carefully unfolded it, taking a sharp intake of breath at the drawing. It was a pair of eyes – your eyes, perfectly detailed by strong, yet delicate, traces. It was beautiful and left no room for doubts as to whose they were. The cocky bastard was actually pretty talented, you had to give him that. Before you had much time to think about it, your phone rang. You hesitated a moment before picking up, the number was unknown.
“Hello?”
“Did you like it?” The voice on the other line was coarse and drawn, and you recognized it immediately.
“How did you get my number?” You asked while laying yourself on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
He had become a constant whenever you were at school or at the library. Nothing beyond that. The call was a pleasent surprise.
“I have my ways. Will you answer at least one of my questions anytime soon?” There was a hint of a boyish amusement in his tone, and that instantly made you lighter. You liked him better in a good mood.
“You don’t answer any of mine, so why should I bother?” You shrugged, even though he couldn’t see you.
“That’s hardly fair. What do you want to know, George?”
You scoffed at the nickname. “First things first. I want to know how you got my number.”
“It’s not so hard to get privileged information on the students’ personal data if you’re charming enough. Ms. Parker has a soft spot for me.” Of course. You should’ve seen it coming.
“You’re shameless,” you scolded half-heartedly, taking a plushie in your hands and squeezing it.
“It’s one of my many qualities. So, can you answer me now?”
“Hmm… I might’ve liked it,” you stated, referring to the book he’d recommended. “But you’re already a pretty conceited man, so I should probably spare you the details.”
He was silent for a while, and you almost mention the drawing you found in your backpack. But then, he’s talking again. “So you think I’m pretty, huh?”
“Are you… Have you-“ you stammered in astonishment and he chuckled. “Do you actually select the words you want to hear?” you asked and he hummed.
“Where are you?”
“Home,” you answered without much thought.
“I’ll pick you up in ten. Be ready.”
“Wait, what?” You jolted out of the bed, dropping the plushie on the floor. “You can’t just… decide that. What if I’m busy?”
“You’re not.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“But you do,” He sounded almost confused. And he was right, you did want to. Somewhere deep inside your brain there was a voice saying that you should’ve objected at least a little bit more. But, against your better judgement, you kept quiet, and soon enough your silence gave you away. “I’m hanging up now. See you soon, George.” You meant to talk back to him, but he’d already ended the call. That, arrogant, insolent, contemptuous jer-
Before finishing that thought, you remembered you didn’t have much time. So you took a five minute shower, put on a little mascara and went out of the bathroom to find something to wear. There wasn’t enough time to go wild, so you just went for your favorite pair of mom jeans and tucked a burgundy sweater in. After brushing your hair and your teeth, you were ready.
As soon as you were done, you heard a horn and rushed to the window. There he was, in all his glory, hips resting against his stupidly cool Triumph Rocket. Black boots, black jeans, black long-neck shirt and his usual leather jacket. Wonder what his favorite color might be, you scoffed. He shot you a smirk that made you hold your breath for a moment. It now occurred to you that you had no idea as to where he was taking you. Also, was it a date? A friend thing? Shit. You should’ve said no. You sighed. It was too late now.
Before running downstairs, you sprayed a little bit of perfume on the nape of your neck and your wrists. Chloé, your signature scent.
“I’m going out for a bit.”
She was sitting by the window with a hot beverage on her hands and a book on her lap. Like mother, like daughter.
“Last time you said that…”
“I know,” you cut her off gently. “But I have class tomorrow. I promise I won’t be long.”
“Is your phone charged, young lady?”
“Yep, it is.”
“Then call me if anything happens, alright?”
“Sure thing. Bye, mom,” you gave her a brief peck on the forehead and rushed out the door.
He was waiting for you at the porch, even more breathtaking now that you could see him up close. His musky scent was stronger and his pale skin was glowing. He was drinking you in with mysteriously piercing eyes.
“Come,” he said, taking you by the hand.
“Where are we going anyway?” you asked. As the both of you approached his motorcycle, you were trying your best not to trip.
“You’ll see.” He took a helmet off a compartment that you didn’t know to exist and cupped your face to hold you still before he put it on you.
“Is this like a Hitchcock movie? Will you take me just far enough so I can meet my fate by the end of the night?” A hint of dread crossed his features, but he composed himself soon enough.
“Do you believe in fate, Y/N?” He asked, fixing the straps under your chin, his fingers setting your skin aflame.
“I don’t know,” you couldn’t pinpoint exactly why, but his countenance urged you to provide a proper answer. “Faith is just not my strong suit, I guess,” you mumbled.
Yoongi pondered about what you said for a moment. “Hold that thought, yeah?” Then he climbed the vehicle. “Hop on,” he started the engine. You were now too aware of the fact that you had never ‘hopped on’ one of those. “Don’t worry, I’m a really good driver,” he tugged his lips upwards.
“I just… I’ve never done this.”
“What, ride a motorcycle?” He asked and you nodded. “Trust me. I wouldn’t let anything happen,” he reassured you.
I know. So you climbed the damn thing and held tight onto his waist, almost comforted by his warmth. He felt the sensitive skin on his back crawl at the contact. Especially between his shoulder blades.
||\\
You spent the entire ride with your eyes closed. If you had any doubt that Yoongi was a mad man, those god-knows-how-many minutes on the back of his motorcycle had erased them completely. He was going fast. You could feel the wind ricocheting your face relentlessly, and every time he had to make a turn, your stomach fluttered. Sometimes, he turned his head just a little bit, as if checking if you were at least breathing, but you would grit your teeth and snap at him to look ahead, tightening your grip. You could feel him chuckle, his whole upper body being assaulted by small tremors.
But when you finally arrived at your destination, it was all worth it.
“Do you like it?” Expectation washed all over his ethereal features.
“Do I… like it? It’s amazing,” your eyes sparkled with wonder and astonishment at the sight of the ocean. You were at a relatively high spot, like a small cliff, and you could smell the delicious salty breeze that you adored so much. But what truly amazed you, what really took your breath away, was the electric blue lights sparkling all over the wave crests. “Bioluminescence! How did you find this place? Can we go down?” You asked with the biggest smile, a childish excitement seeping through your tone. He giggled, the most magnificent, angelic sound you had ever heard.
“I’d rather if we didn’t. I don’t want you to meet your fate at those slippery rocks, it wouldn’t be very Hitchcock-y,” he joked. You felt a bit disappointed but chose to let it go. The night, the sea, the sky; it was all too beautiful for you to allow yourself to be petty.
He took a few steps ahead and sat closer to the edge, wind whisking his hair and making his catlike eyes narrow. You followed suit, sitting in lotus by his side. You both took a minute to appreciate the sight, falling into a comfortable silence, that was soon broken by his husky voice.
“I come here a lot when I need to remind myself of who I am. Of where I’m from,” he said, still looking at the waters below, eyebrows furrowed. “I never thought of bringing anyone else here before.”
“So why did you?” Your voice was small, whispered.
“I don’t know. I guess…” he stopped for a moment. “I possibly just wanted to make sure you were okay. And I don’t know any place else that feels more like home to me. Perhaps I also wanted to share it with you.” Then he turned his gaze to you, eyes reflecting the moonlight. He was divine, bewitching. Especially now, when he seemed to be opening up to you for the first time. You felt your heartbeat speed up at his confession.
“Thank you,” you said softly, diverting your gaze to the waves. “I can understand why you’re so fond of this place. It’s blissful, feels like heaven.”
He humms, fixing his gaze on the crashing waves above you.
“Y/N.” He was surveying your face now, as if trying to read you. Expectant.
“Yes?”
“Do you believe in heaven?” His voice is a whisper and, for a moment, you wonder if you’d heard him correctly.
That was probably the last question you’d expected from him, it took you completely by surprise. You inhaled deeply, searching for the right words, but ended up blurting what first came to mind.
“For all I know, heaven is here. Hell, too. I want to be better, yes, for the people I love. I want to be better for whoever needs me to be, because I know how tough this can get. If there’s an afterlife… at least I’ll know that I tried to be good for the right reasons. So yeah, let’s say I don’t dwell on it. Whatever happens, happens.”
By the time you finished talking, there was something sparkling deep inside his onyx eyes that you couldn’t recognize.
“That’s sort of refreshing,” and there it was again. The sheepish gummy smile you adored so much, so utterly genuine and divine you thought you’d die.
“What about you?”
“Yes. Heaven, Hell, the whole ordeal. Except for God.”
“But… How would it be possible for all those things to exist without God?”
“That is not what I said,” he let out a humorless little chuckle. “Let it suffice that God is… I believe, much too real. Just not how humankind paint him to be. I believe God exists; I just don’t believe in him. Not anymore.” His tone was raw and melancholic. You ached with the need to console him, because he seemed adrift; and that bothered you more than it should.
Without realizing, your face had gotten closer to his, and suddenly he was all over the place. All you could see, smell, hear, it was all him. He must have known, because then he traced your features lightly with his long, graceful fingers. You thought that was it. That was heaven.
You closed your eyes so you could savor every second of it, heartbeat going wild and butterflies assaulting your stomach. He lifted his other hand, and now he was cupping your face gingerly, like you were made of glass. Every touch ignited something foreign and glorious inside of you.
He shifted, moving closer, and his scent hit you, unyielding, but you didn’t dare to open your eyes. When his lips finally brushed against yours, it was enough to set something off, and your hands made their way to his neck on their own as you let out a shaky breath. You pressed yourself harder and sucked on his bottom lip, before caressing it with the tip of your tongue, earning a groan from him.
Well, shit.
He took the hair in the nape your neck in a dainty – yet firm – fistful, asking permission with his tongue to deepen the kiss. There was no denying him, you could never. His taste, God, you could spend eternity tasting every single bit of him. When he licked past your teeth, you moaned, and it was so utterly pleasing, sinful, that he felt compelled to go harder, mercilessly swirling his tongue inside your mouth. There was no room to breathe, the neediness for one another unbending.
You don’t know how much time you spent in that haze of mind-numbing desire, but neither of you dared to stop. Until your phone rang.
You jerked away, pupils blown wide from the intensity of the moment, skin flushed. You were both panting, eyes trained on each other, searching, scrutinizing, waiting for a reaction. His reddened, glistening lips were parted slightly and he seemed displeased to cut the moment short. Even so, he managed to talk.
“You should probably get that,” he gusted, trying to catch his breath. You couldn’t find it in yourself to do anything but nod.
You took the device out of your back pocket and checked the ID caller, brows furrowing. He mirrored your expression.
“Who is it?”
“It’s a girl from school. We have history class together. That’s… odd,” you said. You and Sarah have never had a real conversation, one that didn’t involve Napoleon or Julien Sorel. You just had her number saved because of a paper you had to do together a while ago. “Hello?”
“Y/N? Thank God,” she sounded truly relieved. “Look, I’m sorry to bother you but… We’re at the school’s gym and-“ she let out a loud gasp, and only then you noticed the noise in the background, an uproar of voices and… Did you did hear a punch?
“Sarah? What is it?”
“Tae’s here. Y/N, you should come…”
Your blood ran cold.
“What? Is he okay? Sarah, tell me what’s going on. Now,” you blurted, already standing, missing the way Yoongi’s face contorted in confusion and concern.
“We tried to stop them, we really did, I-“
“Sarah,” you grunted.
“Okay, yeah. Him and Ian are at each other’s throats right now, it’s pretty bad. Y/N, I don’t think it’ll be long before someone calls the cops. I just thought I’d let you know, ‘cause-“
“I’ll be there in a minute,” you cut her off, and then hang up.
You were a lot of things at that moment, but mostly worried and angry. You had told him not to, you had told him to let it go, and he went behind your back. You heart rate was through the roof, adrenaline rushing through your veins. But this time, it wasn’t out of passion.
“Y/N,” Yoongi had a wary look on his face. “Tell me.”
“Can you take me back? Tae’s in trouble.”
||\\
He hadn’t meant to. He really hadn’t meant to break his promise, but he knew it was bound to be broken the minute he made it. The idea of someone else touching you was torturous enough, but to think of them doing it without your consent actually drove him crazy with rage. Those unbidden images of you scared, asking that piece of shit to stop, only for him to hold you tighter, closer, wrapping his filthy hands around you… it wouldn’t stop coming to him, even though he’d tried his hardest to restrain them. It had haunted him ever since you told him. He felt sick. He hated himself for not being there for you, with you. Like the disgraceful best friend he was, he’d canceled movie night to get wasted. Ugly feelings, even the ones he didn’t care to admit, pierced their sharp claws at his chest. Guilt, exasperation, jealously.
He’d tried to suppress the bitterness from watching you with the new guy, he tried to be just glad that he was there and hold out against it, because if he wasn’t… The point is: he really tried. But the way you looked at him made Taehyung’s stomach sink. He’d never seen it before, and he craved it like a man in the desert did a single drop of water. He wanted to be on the receiving end of that gaze more than anything.
He’d go mad if he stayed inside, so he went out for a jog. Your mother had told him you weren’t home, and he figured you’d be at the coffee shop near school. What a big surprise it was when he found Ian next to a blue SUV that was parked near the gymnasium. He choked out a chuckle; it was just too tempting. Rage boiled trough his veins, and at that moment he knew he couldn’t hold back. He couldn’t not break that scumbag in half, even if that meant he’d be going against your wishes.
So he did. Every punch, given or taken, satisfied him little by little. Because he also deserved to be punished, he thought.
||\\
“What was that shit that you pulled? After I explicitly told you to stay out of it! Why now?”
Taehyung had a bloody nose, a deep cut just above his eyebrow and some pretty ugly purple spots all over his upper body, staining his previously pristine skin. When you and Yoongi had arrived at school, you discovered he’d been taken. By a police officer, nonetheless.
You’d been so mad. But now that he was in front of you, all screwed up in torn clothes, the speech you had prepared escaped your mind. You just couldn’t understand his impulsiveness, and the fact that he was in a tiny, smelly cell because of you was infuriating.
“We both knew it was bound to happen eventually, so I figured rather sooner than later,” he answered nonchalantly.
“Taehyung,” you said through gritted teeth
“What, Y/N?!” He snapped. “You wanted me to let him get away with it?”
“Yes! Yes, I literally told you that that’s what I wanted!”
“Well, too bad,” he darkly said. He knew he was in the wrong here. But he was just too riled up to think straight.
“Okay,” you said, taking a sharp intake of breath while running your fingers through your hair, “Okay, let’s be practical about this. Your dad is coming, right? We can talk about it at home.”
“Fine,” he said, avoiding your eyes.
“Fine,” you, too, knew how to be petty. “I’ve got to go outside for a minute. Behave,” your gaze flashed to an officer for a second, but quickly made its way back to Taehyung. When you realized he wouldn’t give you an answer, you just sighed and carried yourself out the door.
As soon as you stepped out of the threshold, you saw Yoongi leaning on his motorcycle, arms crossed and head hanging from his shoulders. You didn’t know what tonight had meant. You wanted to at least try to figure out if he felt the same as you did, but you had bigger problems. And to be honest, you’d rather sleep on it. It was all too intense and hazy.
“Hey,” you said, walking slowly towards him. He lifted his head and offered a tiny smile.
“Your boyfriend really hates my guts, doesn’t he?”
“He’s not-“ you cut yourself off when you realized he was just messing with you again. Of course he is, he stuck his tongue down your throat just an hour ago. “Anyways. I guess Tae will be out in a couple of hours, but I have to stay here and wait for Mr. Kim. Thank you for… tonight.”
He nodded. “No problem, George. I’ll call y-“
Suddenly, his eyebrows knitted together and his whole body tensed as he straightened himself. If you ever told anyone about this, you’d probably be admitted in a mental facility. But you swore that, for an instant, his eyes changed colors, going from pitch black to a deep violet. It happened in a heartbeat, and then he wasn’t looking at you anymore, but at something past your shoulder. You felt a chill run down your spine as you turned around to see what caught his attention.
A tall, broad-shouldered man was walking towards you. As his lean figure got closer, the tension grew almost palpable, and you could see from afar he had a small smile plastered on his plump lips. But it wasn’t comforting at all. Instead, it was vile, almost sadistic. Your head snapped to Yoongi again, and you saw how he didn’t move a muscle, fists closed tight and jaw clenched. That made you panic a little.
“Yoongi, what-“
“Y/N, go inside,” his voice was hoarse and restrained, like he hadn’t talked in weeks.
No, you wanted to say. That man, whoever he was, screamed bad news. He walked like a predator, and you felt like his prey. Though your self-preservation instincts were going wild with every step he took, something stronger made you want to stay. You knew he wasn’t here for you, but for him. And that sparked a need to protect him that you didn’t know to exist, nor where it came from. However, you just kept quiet and waited for the man to catch up, not missing the murderous aura emitted from Yoongi.
At last, he stood in front of you, reddish hair and twisted smirk still on his face. You could see him clearly now, and he was beautiful. The kind of beauty you’ve only seen once.
“Has anyone actually pressed charges this time, little brother?” His voice was deceivingly soft.
Brother?
“How did you find me?” Yoongi asked with an icy voice that almost made you shudder.
“Is that how you greet your elders? Father would not be pleased.”
“Well, you’re one to talk, aren’t you?”
“People are still hung up on that, I see,” the man chuckled. “Yoongi-ah,” he said, his feet taking him closer at a slower pace. Yoongi kept his ground, knuckles white from his balled-up fists, while you instinctively took a step back. That’s when they both seemed to acknowledge your presence. Yoongi’s eyes bulged slightly, his pale skin becoming ever paler, while the other wore an unreadable expression on his face.
“I told you to go inside,” he almost growled, taking your wrist in an iron grip and pulling you to stand behind his back. You didn’t understand. You didn’t understand any of it. Why did he seem so threatened by his own blood? The man was scary, sure, but was he actually dangerous? Your head was spinning, so you held onto his jacket to keep yourself vertical.
“Were you not planning on introducing me to your friend, baby brother? That’s just rude, you know how much I love meeting new people.”
“I’d advise you to be careful now, Jin.” The threat in Yoongi’s low voice was noticeable even to you, but Jin didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, he relished on it. His little brother didn’t get all protective over just anyone, and the fact that he didn’t want the eldest to know about you pointed straight to a weak spot. One which he intended to take full advantage of.
“Easy, Prince, no need to get riled up,” Jin chuckled again, lifting both hands in a sign of peace. “What do you take me for?”
“Neither of us can deny your nature, can we, brother? It’s the reason why we’re here in the first place.”
“It’s true. Have you told her your name yet? Since you appear very comfortable sharing such details in front of her.”
“What are you doing here? I thought I had made myself clear the last time we saw each other,” Yoongi changed the subject, hoping you wouldn’t pay much attention to his question.
Jin’s face turned serious for the first time before he spoke. “They approached me, Yoongi-ah. It would seem that they need their Flam-“
“Quit it!” Yonngi growled. “Hold your tongue, I don’t want to hear any of it. You need to go.”
“Not until I have delivered my message.” The well-proportioned man stood his ground.
Yoongi took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He could not have this kind of conversation in front of you – in front of anyone, for that matter. Jin was breaking the rules; an old habit of his. “Then I need you to wait for me at home. I suppose you already know where I live, don’t you? I’ll meet you there soon.”
“Alright then. Y/N, it was splendid meeting you. I do hope I get to see you again soon.”
Yoongi scowled as he watched Jin turn on his heels and disappear in the night. For all he knew, Jin would never get this close to you ever again. He was caught off guard today. He then turned around, black orbs scrutinizing you for a reaction.
There were many things going through your mind at that exact moment. Too many questions, he could tell. You looked at him in a grimace of confusion and horror.
“How did he know my name?” That was the first thing that popped into your mind. You hadn’t said your name, neither did Yoongi. “And who’s ‘they’? And did he really just call you prince? Is that a pet name or something?” You blurted out, sensing you wouldn’t have too much time to elaborate the questions the way you wanted to.
He looked into your eyes, face contorted in what you could only describe as a desperate hesitation, brows furrowed and lips pressed into a fine line. He was pondering his options. You knew that because, when he made up his mind, you could clearly see the taint of resolution.
“I can’t answer your questions,” he muttered.
“Why not?”
“I’m really sorry, Y/N. Please, just forget about this. All of it.”
“What are you talking about?” you were on the brink of losing it at this point. First Taehyung, and now this. He wasn’t making any sense. But his eyes spoke to you in ways he couldn’t. Only then, you understood. “No,” you said with a resolution of your own. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Listen, it’s okay if you don’t want to tell me right away, whatever it is, just don-“
“Y/N.”
“Yes?!”
“Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Listen to me just this once,” he groaned, stepping into your personal space. He twisted your hair in one hand, holding your face securely to his. When he rested his forehead on yours, your eyes gave into his wishes, closing on their own. “I’ll be gone for a little while, George,” your breath hitched, but you didn’t interrupt him. He gave you a light peck on the mouth, lips soft and moist, breath hot on your face. “I have to settle some things straight. Be good for me while I’m gone, yeah? Don’t do anything stupid,” he frowned.
“Will you come back?” your voice almost cracked, ‘cause you weren’t so sure of his answer. You felt foolish. You’ve only known him for a short period of time, after all. But the intensity of your feelings, though you couldn’t discern them clearly yet, scared you.
This felt horribly like goodbye – it was, at least for now – and you hated it.
“Do you want me to?”
“Yes,” you answered straight away.
“Alright,” he nodded. “Then I will.”
You didn’t dare open your eyes when he stepped away from you after one last chaste peck on your lips, nor when you heard him start the engine of his Triumph. But when you felt a warm hand on your shoulder, you jolted slightly and your eyes fluttered open.
“Let’s get you inside, kid” Mr. Kim said softly, brushing away a lonesome tear from your cheek. “Then you can help me scold my boy for making us come all the way to the police station on a school day, how does that sound?” he tried to uplift your spirit, and you offered him a half-hearted smile.
||\\
“Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell;
And in the lowest deep a lower deep
Still threatening to devour me opens wide,
To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven.
Oh then at last relent: is there no place
Left for repentance, none for pardon left?”
It’d been four weeks since the last time you saw him. A whole month since he’d disappeared completely. At first, you waited anxiously for him to reappear out of nowhere. For him to just slide into the classroom, like he’d done the first time. But as time passed by and the third week came, you grew worried. He didn’t get specific about how much time it would take for him to do whatever it was, but you imagined it would be one, maybe two weeks. But now, a month later, you were beginning to wonder if he’d even come back at all. If something had happened, if he was okay…
No. He promised.
You’d rather not dwell on the possibility of something going wrong – hell, you didn’t even know what he was doing or what was that strange conversation he had with his deviant brother in front of the police station. You had a few theories, though. Not that you’d ever utter them out loud.
Number one: mafia. Maybe not The Godfather sort of thing, since that seemed pretty outdated, but rather… Scarface, perhaps? So you had come up with the idea of Jin being a druglord; nothing more, nothing less. It made sense, to be honest.
Number two: well, number two wasn’t exactly clear on your mind, but had something to do with super rich parents and an insane heritage. He could be the prince of an empire, right? You didn’t know anything about his family, except that his brother was blood-curdling.
You just wished to keep your head in the right place until he explained the situation to you. If he explained, that is. Sighing, you tried to contain your derailed thoughts and get back to the real world, where Taehyung needed you to pay attention to Mamma Mia! for the nth time.
“Alright, that’s it. You didn’t even sing along during S.O.S and that’s where I draw the line,” he said, taking the remote from your hand and pausing the movie. It was a cozy night and you were both plopped on the couch wearing socks and sweatpants.
“When have I ever sang along during S.O.S, Tae?”
“I remember it vividly, we were eleven. But that’s not the point,” he retorted. You bit your lip and kept your eyes trained on the frozen screen of the TV, already sensing where this was going. “You’ve been like this for a while now.”
“Like what?” you pushed, trying to feign innocence. You were not in the mood for this right now. You just wanted to stare unseeingly at the TV and have some private time with your own thoughts until the movie was over.
He sighed. “Look, I can only guess what’s going on,” he scowled, but tried to compose his features into a serene mask before speaking again. “But I need you to not be in your own head for a minute.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I want to help,” he said, taking your hand in his. The touch was warm and familiar.
“I know, Marzipan,” another sigh. You took your hand from his carefully and got up. “I’m going to the store, you want something?”
“What, now? Y/N-“
“I just-, I need coffee and snacks if we’re pulling this off. If you want me to keep my eyes opened during Moulin Rouge, that is,” you pointed out matter-of-factly
Taehyung shifted in his seat, face contorted in confusion, wariness and a hint of hurt. “Do you want me to go with you? It’s late.”
“No, it’s fine. You can stay and plan ahead, I’m sure we’re not stopping at the next one.”
He watched you silently while you fumbled for your keys. When you found them, he muttered: “Don’t be too long.”
“I won’t.”
As soon as you crossed the threshold, the cold air of the night hit your skin, making you shiver slightly. You closed the door and hid your hands in the pockets of your sweater, bringing it closer to your body in a poor attempt to keep the warmth from escaping.
Walking towards the convenience store located a couple of blocks from your house, you let yourself get lost in headspace again. You knew you weren’t being fair to Taehyung. As much as you wanted to talk about this situation with him, you couldn’t. It felt like betraying someone who hadn’t even put their trust in you to begin with. Yes, it was unfair, and maybe you were being a shitty friend every time he tried to have a serious conversation about the subject and you brushed him off with an excuse, like getting coffee in the middle of the night.
You sighed, not really willing to wallow in guilt tonight, and just tried to focus on your immediate task. One step after the other, then one more, and you could already see the lights of a tiny single shop, the only one opened this late at night. It belonged to Mr. Newton, a sweet old baker who treated you kindly every time he was filling up for his cashier.
You entered the store and heard the little bell announce your arrival. Much to your surprise, Mr. Newton was working there that night. As he saw your expression of detachment, he frowned. So you tried to arrange your features in a polite smile before speaking.
“Hello, Mr. Newton.”
“Y/N, child, why are you wandering alone when it’s already this late?” he asked softly, though clearly concerned for your safety.
“Don’t worry, sir,” you answered, walking towards the cooler where they kept the iced coffee and taking two in one hand, as you went for the chips next. “Tae and I needed a little snack. Movie night.”
He nodded and you placed the items on the counter for him to scan.
“Well, then. Tell that kid to come by whenever he can. My wife wants to send some essential oils for Mr. Kim’s aromatherapy sessions,” just as he’d said it, he got a bit closer to you, as if the next words to come out of his mouth were a secret. “Truth is, she misses him. The boy is the only one who can stand her cooking.”
Despite being moody, you chuckled wholeheartedly. No one could be indifferent to Taehyung’s charms, it seemed.
“Yes, sir, I’ll tell him.”
As you went through your wallet to pay the old man, you heard the little bell once again. Mr. Newton greeted the new client, but you were too engrossed in finding the right bills to snap your head in the newcomer’s direction. However, the inquisitive sound that left the old man caused you to steal a glimpse, catching auburn hair and broad shoulders in their wake. You stood still for a moment, trying to recall why those locks seemed so familiar. Until it hit you.
“Jin?” you breathed, not loud enough for anyone in the store to actually hear you. Just as you muttered his name, he closed the door and turned left, disappearing from your sight. You gasped. “Keep the change, Mr. Newton!” you said – audibly, this time – leaving a ten dollar bill on the counter and grabbing your stuff as gracefully as you could muster, rushing to the door like your life depended on it.
“No running in the store, kid!” he tried to scold you, but could already feel the cool breeze as you opened the door and looked around, expecting to find his brother. Only this time around you weren’t scared, no. You wanted answers, heart beating fast at the possibility of hearing from Yoongi, maybe even seeing him… Okay, no, not the time for this, first things first.
When you realized he was nowhere to be found, you ran. Left. He went left. You passed by a few houses and almost tripped on a stray cat, turning your head to the side to check on it and apologizing profusely as you picked up your pace again. A few blocks later, you were already out of breath. You came to a halt and put both hands on your knees, gasping and feeling your lungs burn.
Trying to ease your labored breathing, you realized that you were probably going crazy. A halfhearted chuckle escaped your parted lips. You were disappointed, even if actually meeting the redhead meant trouble. Trying not to let frustration and melancholy get the best of you, you decided to just let it go and head back home. Even if it was Jin, he probably wouldn’t tell you anything anyway.
||\\
The snow under your feet was slippery as you got out of the library, leather backpack and navy-blue beanie on. You held a large cappuccino on one hand, careful not to spill it as you dodged passers-by and umbrellas every now and then. The streets were a little crowded that afternoon, and you were dying to get home and relish on Mrs. D’Angelis’ famous chicken noodle soup. Maybe she’d even grant you a warm glass of wine if you asked properly. You tried to occupy your mind with ordinary, day-to-day thoughts, trying to ignore the flutter on the pit pf your stomach.
During that entire week, you were constantly under the impression that something was off. When you were going to school with Taehyung, or grocery shopping for your mother, there was always that tingling feeling on the nape of your neck that told you that someone was watching. Then you’d turn around and nothing. No one was ever there. The uneasiness was uncomfortable, but you didn’t feel endangered, just really jittery. And your motto was: no better medicine for anxiety than tons of caffeine.
“Mom, I’m home!” you crooned, taking your coat off and discarding the empty thermal cup.
“In the kitchen, honey!”
The smell was splendid. You took a deep breath, already yearning for the hot meal, and kissed your mother on the cheek while she stirred… something.
“Uh, smells nice,” you praised, making your way to the fridge for a glass of water. “I’m shocked Tae hasn’t come knocking on our door yet. Maybe his flair is broken because of the flu.”
“Is Taehyungie sick, honey? Why didn’t you tell me?” she almost whined.
“It’s nothing, just a bit of phlegm. But I’ll take some of these,” you pointed to the pots, “for him and his dad later.”
“You really should. Now go upstairs and change before dinner.”
You mumbled a response and climbed the stairs to put on some good old band t-shirt and sweatpants. You didn’t notice the broad-shouldered frame behind the door, and as soon as you closed it behind you, you felt a cold hand covering your mouth, while the other held you in place by the waist. Your whole body tensed, eyes bulged and breath hitched. Fuck. You were prepared to let out a loud scream, but his whispered voice stopped you.
“It’s me, it’s me,” he shushed you. As a reflex, your muscles relaxed. “Gonna take my hand off your mouth now, George,” he informed, slowly moving his hand from your face.
Of course it was him. His smell was all over the place, his touch still left little electric jolts on your skin. You snapped your head and turned around to face him. You realized your memories could never do him justice. He was so heartbreakingly handsome, you could cry. Pale skin, shiny disheveled raven hair. You noticed the circles under his eyes were darker and he seemed exhausted. Regardless, when your eyes fell on his lips, your body reacted before your mind could.
Your hands made their way to the nape of his neck, caressing and gently pulling his hair. At the same time, you clasped your lips together on a desperate kiss. His surprise didn’t stop him from matching your frenzy, grunting as he sucked your upper lip and asked permission with his tongue, one that you promptly granted. Henceforth, your tongues performed an erotic, lewd dance as they fought for dominance, swirling and exploring each other’s mouths.
Only when the back of your knees touched the bed did you realize he was moving you towards it. He broke the kiss for a moment to mercilessly throw you on the soft duvet, and you let out a surprised moan when he immediately covered your body with his, mouth returning to yours. A primal need surged from within you when you felt one of his hands roaming at your side lustfully, gabbing tight on your ribcage, your waist, your hip. He hoisted your leg and you hooked it around him, holding back a loud moan when he pressed his erection to your groin. You could feel your panties drenching from the sudden contact, a new wave of desire making your core ache.
“Y/N-“ he tried to speak through heavy breathing, his lips never leaving yours long enough for him to finish a sentence. “Baby,” he groaned, obviously trying to say something, but you weren’t ready yet. You rocked your hips against him, earning another lecherous noise from his rosy lips as he closed his eyes shut.
You used that moment of weakness to knock him to his side, climbing on top of him as you clamped your thighs harder on his hips. His eyes went dark at the sight, a devilish smirk tainting his beautiful features. You didn’t give him time to say anything, taking his lips on another bruising kiss. His hands on your ass, squeezing and groping, and you felt him throb inside his pants. You moaned, a gush of wetness coming out as you clenched around nothing. You couldn’t form coherent thoughts anymore, pressing yourself harder against his bulge as you rolled your hips, searching blindly and desperately for a sweet release that was already so close…
“Hold it, baby.” His voice was stern, and he pinned both your wrists on your back, his hands seeming incredibly big when closed around them. He was sitting now, hot, labored breath hitting your lips, heightening your senses and sending shivers down your spine. You crumbled under his dominant demeanor, feeling an inconceivable need to obey, and instantly stood still. It surprised him as much as it did you, and you saw a smug grin plaster itself on his face. “That’s it. Be good for me so I don’t lose my mind.”
You let out a breath you didn’t know to be holding and weakly nodded, mind still clouded with want. He let go of your wrists and gently pecked your lips, sitting you down on the bed instead of his lap. Father knows he would be physically uncapable of having a proper train of thought if he didn’t.
“So… I guess we have a lot to discuss first, don’t we?” his smile was sheepish now, hands going through his hair in a nervous tick.
“Yes,” you breathed out. “What happened? I was so worried, Yoongi, you have no idea. I didn’t even know where you were or what the hell you were up to, I-“ you took a moment in order to stabilize your voice. You knew you were affected by his sudden absence, you just didn’t know how much until now that he was actually in front of you. “I don’t even know what the worst case scenario could be, but I bet my thoughts came pretty close,” you chuckled humorlessly.
“I’m sorry, I never meant to worry you. If I knew I’d be gone for that long, I would’ve told you before I left. I missed you so much,” he confessed, voice lower than before, and rested his forehead on your own.
“Tell me. Please, I need to know,” your brows furrowed.
“I met my brothers,” he paused, waiting for a reaction that never came. It’s not that you were not surprised by the information that he had other siblings, you just wanted him to finish it before you spoke. “Jin aside, I spent… years apart from my family. You could say that we didn’t leave things on the best of terms when I left father’s, so it was a surprise for me when I learned that they wanted to talk. Notwithstanding that it’s out of need, not love.” His heavenly features contorted in hurt and resentment, and you felt you own heart clench. You gave him an eskimo kiss as a sign of reassurance and he smiled timidly. “They offered to take me back. It’s… certainly a grand gesture for the likes of us,” he shook his head slightly and knitted his brows.
“Isn’t that a good thing? Don’t you miss them?” you didn’t know why your voice was so small.
“Not anymore, no.” His gaze was intense and made your heart beat impossibly faster. “I do miss them. They used to be my whole existence, the reason for every breath of mine. But now… now everything’s changed.”
“What’s changed?”
“You.”
Your breath hitched. If it was anyone else, if it was any other situation, you’d laugh at the cheesy line. But this was him, and that, too, changed everything. That one word was enough to unleash butterflies in your stomach, enough of them to knock you breathless. The truth behind his statement carried a heavy meaning, one that you yearned for and that made you giddy. His onyx orbs were wary, and you wondered if he was blind to the utter relief plastered on your face. It was selfish, but you couldn’t help it. Not when it came to him.
“H-How come?”
He chuckled. “Don’t get bashful on me now, George, I’m pretty sure you understand.”
You tried to scowl, but the grin was insistent on your lips. “Alright, let’s put a pin on that. You still haven’t told me everything. What did your brothers want?”
“Y/N, there are certain things about me and my family that I cannot tell you. It wouldn’t be safe.”
“You don’t trust me?” you were mainly curious, but a hint of hurt could be heard, too.
“That’s not it. It just wouldn’t be safe for you.”
“Is your family involved in something… illegal? Is that why?”
“Not illegal, no,” he chuckled.
“Then I don’t understand.”
“I know. But please, George, don’t be stubborn about this one. All I’m asking for is a leap of faith,” his eyes were pleading as they bore into yours. Was he aware that he could probably convince you that the sky was neon green if he looked at you like that?
“It’s a big leap,” you mumbled.
“I know. Just trust that I have good reasons,” he smiled softly.
You sighed. “Fine, Romeo, keep your secrets. Just tell me if you get too deep into whatever it is that the Min’s are hiding. I care about your safety just as much as you care about mine.” You forced the heat back, secretly hoping that it did not reach your face in time for you to actually blush.
“Doubt it,” he grinned. “Dinner is ready, Mrs. D’Angelis will be coming for you soon. I should get going.”
Your face paled as you rushed to the wardrobe, retrieving some clean clothes from your drawer. “Wait,” you stopped on your tracks in the middle of the room, glaring at Yoongi through narrowed eyes. “How do you know that?”
“I have my ways,” he shrugged, then tugged his lips upwards on a daring smirk. “It’s a secret.”
“If you keep giving me clues I might just figure it out. Go on.”
He chuckled and stood up from the bed, walking languidly in your direction. He touched your nose with the tip of his index finger, tracing it’s way all up to your forehead, then coming down to your jaw, where he grabbed firmly. His lips were smooth and slightly damped as they softly touched yours in a chaste kiss. A ragged sigh of pure bliss escaped you, and you tried to fight the haziness.
“Bye, George,” he was still lingering when he spoke. As he broke the contact and turned to the window, you woke up from the trance.
“Stay,” you breathed out. He looked at you with a hint of confusion. “I-I mean, you can stay if you want. I can bring you some of mom’s soup and we can eat it here. But you don’t have to, if you’re bus-“
“Okay,” he deadpanned.
“Okay. Yeah, uhm… I’ll go change in the bathroom, you can make yourself comfortable.”
“Already am,” he said as he threw himself on the bed, bouncing a little. His countenance was amused and he eyed you intently, toying with the elephant plushie.
“Of course you are,” you snorted, carrying yourself to the bathroom.
That night, you both relished on your mother’s cooking while watching some old movie about Cole Porter on your laptop. You were sure that it wasn’t his cup of tea, but he payed attention to it nonetheless. After you were done, you offered to take the dishes downstairs, since your mother would probably have a stroke if she knew there was a boy in your room. You stopped by Taehyung’s to check on him and offer his favorite hot meal, but it didn’t take more than five minutes. You were on a hurry, and he knew better than to question it.
Back upstairs, you and Yoongi curled up under the covers and tried to find something interesting enough to watch for what seemed to be ages, your head resting on his chest and his hands holding you securely by the waist. It wasn’t long until you fell asleep, and only then did he leave, pecking your forehead gently before jumping out the window.
||\\
“Get in.”
“No,” you tried to end the discussion then and there. As expected, you failed.
“Y/N, you can’t go back on pinky promise. You should’ve thought this through.” His goal was to sound stern, but in reality you could see the hint of a pout on his lips. “It’s my birthday.” Okay, there it was. That was definitely a pout.
“No,” you closed your eyes shut and facepalmed – for good measure. “Don’t give me those eyes, I’m not looking,” the sound was muffled by your hands.
He wrapped his incredibly large fingers around your wrists and whined: “Come on, we’re already here. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Why on earth would you say that?” you instantly took your hands from your face and shot him a glare. He had the nerve to chuckle.
“You can’t possibly expect me to do this alone.”
“You can’t possibly expect me to do this at all,” you retorted, kicking the snow piled up near the curb, shunning away from his puppy dog eyes.
“You promised you would! I’ll do it, Marzipan. If you win this round, I’ll get a tattoo with you as a birthday present,” his voice was high pitched.
You snorted. “I was out of it, mental faculties completely fried. Drunk on power and merlot. Plus, I’m pretty sure you cheated, you could never beat me at Mario Kart,” you grumbled.
“I did not cheat,” he was outraged. “I’m a lawful man, I abide by the rules, and they are clear: a bet is a bet.”
You honestly have no idea why you let him talk you into this. Perhaps because you’ve been feeling guilty lately, and therefore didn’t have the heart to turn him down when he broke into your room to collect his victory this morning. It’s a good present, right? To get tattoos with your best friend? He had been trying to convince you since three birthdays ago. You hoped it would be enough to ease a bit of the weight on your chest.
Truth is, you had been spending too much time with Yoongi these past few weeks. After what happened when he showed his face again, it became routine that he came by almost every night when your mom fell asleep. You’d talk, watch movies, kiss… But what you enjoyed the most were those moments where you curled up in his embrace, face buried in the crook of his neck, and neither of you would say a word. You’ve always appreciated peaceful silence, but those moments were so much more. You felt truly connected to him, in a way you’d never felt with anyone else. Like you were both pieces of the same puzzle, cheesy lines aside.
Or when he would be the one to rest his head on your chest, blinking lazily as you twisted his silky, raven locks in your fingers. Perhaps those were truly your favorites, as you felt the incontrollable urge – need – to be protective of him, to never let anything disturb his serene, almost childlike countenance, so bare before you in the night’s veil. Before the sun came up and brought back the little wrinkle between his eyebrows.
During the day, you often returned to his safe haven – one that ultimately became yours, too. The waves breaking against the rocks, the salty breeze, the deep blue of the ocean, you had gotten acquainted to it all in a heartbeat. On occasion, you’d bring warm, fuzzy blankets, hot cocoa and books, spending an entire afternoon on your own personal eden.
You never meant for any of it to get in the way of your friendship with Taehyung, but counterbalancing proved to be harder than you first thought. Although you may have gotten too caught up, inevitably distancing yourself a bit, you were now eager to make it up to him. He was like family, after all. So here you were.
“Fine, have it your way. But I’m telling mom that you put me up to this,” you threatened. The snow under your boots making a crunchy noise while you crossed the street to get to the tattoo parlor.
“She won’t believe you. I’m a saint. I’m her Taehyungie.” He was beaming.
As soon as you got in, you saw a man sitting behind the counter. He was buff, and you’d bet that pretty much his whole body was covered in piercings and tattoos – mostly about dragons and snakes. Looks aside, his voice was warm and welcoming when he greeted you.
“Welcome, kids. My name is Eli, how may I help you today?”
All the drawings and pictures on the walls seemed to have detained Taehyung’s attention, so you plastered a polite smile on your face before answering.
“Hi. My friend over here came to get a tattoo,” you pointed at the boy beside you and he scowled.
“We both did,” he smiled at the receptionist.
“Alright. You have to sign a couple of forms before we get into details. You’re both legal, right?” the receptionist asked and you nodded. “Peach. Just a second,” he turned his attention to the computer in front of him, taking a couple of papers from the printer soon after. He handled you each a consent form. Before you signed yours, you exchanged a look with Taehyung, almost having a whole conversation – bickering – with him through knowing looks.
“Here you go,” Taehyung handed the papers to Eli.
“Cool. Do you guys have something in mind? We have a few drafts you can check out. But if you already know what you want, Hyunjin can draw it when you get inside. Don’t worry, he’s good.”
“I have something in mind,” Taehyung offered a bright boxy smile. “I guess I’ll just explain it to him, then.”
“Great,” Eli turned his eyes to you, realizing that you definitely had not made up your mind just yet. “If that’s the case, I’ll let him know that you’re going in,” he said to Taehyung, who nodded in response. When the buffy man went to the back, he glared at you through narrowed eyes.
“I’ll come back with permanent ink on my skin. You better not chicken out by the time I’m done,” he threatened.
“Hope you don’t regret it within the year,” you taunted.
“I won’t,” he snorted.
Eli returned a second later, excusing himself to lead Taehyung to the tattoo artist. In the meantime, you picked a binder that was resting on top of the counter to take a look at the drawings he’d mentioned, hoping to find something you’d actually like – or at least an inspiration. Most of them were very intricate, and although they were beautiful, you wanted something simple. Less is more when you’re tainting your skin for life because of a bet.
You were turning the pages with such disinterest that you almost missed it. It seemed unfinished, just a sketch, and you couldn’t quite pinpoint the reason as to why it caught your attention in the first place. It was a dragon intertwined in a circle, it’s countenance exuding fierceness and strength. Inside the circle, however, was just an unembellished arrangement of lines, one that was strangely familiar and alluring. 9-7-1-12-6, if you think about a clock.
“Oh, I see you’ve found Lee’s work. What do you think?” Eli pulled you out of your headspace.
“Uhm… Yeah, he’s great. His drawings are pretty authentic.”
“Uh huh, he’s been working on those for a while now. So, do you have any idea what you’re gonna get yet?”
“Not really. I mean, I liked this one,” you pointed to the page you were previously analyzing. “Do you know if it means anything in particular?”
“Yes! Actually, it does, but I can’t really remember what. I think it’s a sigil, though. You know, one of those thingies people believe to be magical.”
“Mhm.” You really didn’t know why you felt the need to purge those next words, but you were saying them before you could stop yourself. “This is it.”
“What? You’re gonna tattoo that?” Without even knowing what it means?
“Yes. I liked the dragon.”
||\\
His lips were soft against your collarbone, leaving a trail of goosebumps on their wake when he moved them lazily to your jawline, wet little kisses making you squirm and sigh. His index finger was tracing patterns on your bare thigh, caressing and examining as if he’d never done it before, as if you were a made of glass. The sun had graced you with its appearance for the first time in weeks, and you wanted to enjoy the good weather as much as possible, so you had convinced Yoongi to lay on the grass by your side.
“Tired of Miss Brontë already, love?” his velvety voice evinced his amusement.
“Can’t read. You’re distracting me.”
He chuckled lightly, delivering small puffs of air on the crook of your neck, and raised his head just enough to look at you, blocking the sunlight and making it possible for you open your eyes. Before he’d made his mission to disturb your concentration, you were reading for him, like people do with kids before they go to bed. It became a thing after the first time you did it, and now he picked a different book every week or so. When you’d asked about it, he just shrugged and declared that ‘It’s just nice. I like hearing you.’ This week, it was Wuthering Heights.
“Continue, please,” he adjured, laying his head on your chest as a demonstration of good will. You grabbed the book you’d previously set aside and opened it, leaving one hand free to play with his locks.
“That, however, which you may suppose the most potent to arrest my imagination, is actually the least, for what is not connected with her to me? and what does not recall her? I cannot look down to this floor, but her features are shaped on the flags. In every cloud, in every tree—filling the air at night, and caught by glimpses in every object by day, I am surrounded with her image. The most ordinary faces of men and women—my own features—mock me with a resemblance. The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her.”
His eyes were no longer closed, he was gazing at you.
“Do you pity him?” he suddenly asked.
“Heathcliff? I don’t.”
He nodded slowly. “So, you think there’s no redemption, then?”
“Not for him. He lived and died as an antagonist. Some might think his cruelty is just an expression of his frustrated love for Catherine, or that he conceals at least some virtue, a romantic heart. They expect him to be anything but what he constantly proves to be, they expect misunderstood heroes. But he himself acknowledges his sadistic nature.”
He stood still, seeming to be lost in thoughts while tracing invisible patterns on your shoulder and refusing to meet your eyes.
“Would you be able to love someone as tainted as him?” he asked wistfully.
You lifted your upper body, compelling him to a sitting position as well.
“I’ve never had to,” you pecked his lips chastely, even though he still kept his eyes trained on the grass underneath you. “Hey,” you dig your nails gently on the nape of his neck, asking for his attention. When he raised his head, the wrinkle between his eyebrows was there again. It worried you that, since he’s been back, it’s been a constant feature of his. Every now and then, his face twisted into an inscrutable grimace. “You understand, don’t you?”
A half-hearted nod was your response, and he built up the mask to conceal his discomfort once again.
“Enough vitamin D for you? I can’t stand the heat,” he grumbled.
“Yeah,” you chuckled, pressing your lips to his forehead and standing up, stretching a helping hand. “Where do you want to go?”
“My place.”
Which was code for: Your mom is home and I want to pass out on my bed nuzzling you.
“Whatever you want, grandpa.”
“Be a brat and I’ll hit the throttle,” he threatened, positioning himself on top of his Triumph. Sometimes he took full advantage of just how dreadful you found his two-wheeled vehicle. And it always worked. You snorted, climbing on the back seat and wrapping your arms around him. “Hold tight, George.” His warning was delivered with amusement, but you knew better than to take it lightly.
The fifteen-minute trip went as smoothly as it could, and even though you’d made sure to keep your eyes closed, you still felt dizzy and light-headed when he parked into the old building’s garage. He sensed your distress and got off the motorcycle slowly, careful when untangling you’re your arms from his waist and never completely breaking physical contact.
“Open your eyes,” he murmured, one hand on the small of your back and the other placed on your hip. You took a deep breath and your eyelids tentatively fluttered. His lips brushed your right cheek as he effortlessly lifted you and put you down on the floor, covering the entirety of your hand with his and making a beeline for the elevator.
Yoongi’s apartment was on the fourth floor, which happened to be the last one – the building was a small, fading-yellow rectangle in the middle of a quiet neighborhood. In a way, it suited him. Secluded and discreet. Perfect for a misanthrope such as himself, given that you’d never even bumped into one of his neighbors – and you’d been visiting quite regularly. On another note, however, it was uncannily unpretentious for someone like him.
He stopped for a moment on the front door, fumbling for the keys in his pocket. As soon as he opened it, you made your way to the couch, crashing with a sigh, face buried in the cushion. A minute had passed before he plopped on top of you, compelling a puff of air out of your lungs. You grumbled something about manslaughter, but the sound was muffled. He ignored you, making himself comfortable by nuzzling your neck and taking off his shoes using only his feet. You chuckled, making an effort to turn on your back so you could catch a breath.
“Sleepy?” you asked, running your fingers through his hair. He hummed a response, content with your ministrations. “I, uh… have something to show you.”
He raised his head from your throat, eyeing you curiously. “What is it?”
“Bedroom,” you commanded.
“Oh, I see,” he taunted, but stood up nonetheless. You rolled your eyes.
You guided him to his room and closed the door behind you. He leisurely sat on the bed, waiting cautiously for you to proceed. You sucked in a deep breath, growing doubtful under his gaze. Pushing all insecurities aside, you unzipped your shorts.
“Y/N, what are you doing?” he warned in a low-pitched, deep voice, orbs darkening considerably. You dismissed it, tiptoeing closer to him. He straightened his back and raised his eyes to meet yours, searching for any indication of what you intended to do. You pushed the waistband down, letting the piece of clothing pool on the floor, but he didn’t flinch, attention still focused on your features. When you hooked one finger on the hem of your white panties, he quickly snatched your wrist on a tight grip, brows knitting together. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, baby. You know that, right?”
Your chest swelled with warmth and affection. After the night he came back, things heated up a couple of times. Once he’d realized how tense and anxious you got at first, he began to hold back, withstanding your advances. You never verbalized anything, but he had a hunch, and pressuring you was definitely not on his to-do list. He was being respectful and caring, and although you shouldn’t accept nothing less, it made you feel safe. He made you feel safe, always.
“Let me show you,” you murmured, a soft smile blooming on your face. He seemed puzzled, but ended up nodding warily. When you moved your finger, slightly pushing the fabric down to expose your hip, he finally had the guts to jeopardize his restraint and look down. You didn’t know what you expected his reaction to be, but that certainly wasn’t it.
His breath hitched and he paled, eyes almost bulging out of their sockets. He didn’t move a single muscle, whole body tensing up. It was as if he couldn’t fully comprehend the sight before him, like he couldn’t believe. He composed himself soon enough, but you could still see the glint of shock in his eyes. It didn’t make any sense.
“When did you get that?” his voice came out flat and a few octaves lower than usual.
“A couple of weeks ago,” you frowned. The tattoo that marked your hip was now almost fully healed. You were doubtful in the beginning, but now you kind of grew fond of it. “What’s wrong?”
“Do you know…” he cleared his throat, fingers twitching. “Do you know what it means?”
“Not exactly,” you confessed sheepishly. “The tattoo artist said it was a religious symbol and… Truth be told, I’m not even sure why I did this. Just felt right,” you mumbled, realizing then that you probably sounded a tad out of it. You held your lip between your teeth, unsettled.
“Yes. It’s the sigil of one of the seven archangels, love. It’s… Michael’s… sigil,” his jaw clenched, but his tone was now softer. “It’s used to invoke strength and protection. The ancients believed that, if you will it enough, he will be able to hear your prayers and, perhaps, be of assistance,” he laid his hand flat on your skin, stroking the symbol with his thumb, oblivious to the little jolts of electricity the simple gesture sent through your body. An unfamiliar mixture of dejection, despair and awe flashed through his onyx eyes, and you wondered what it was that he wasn’t telling you that could’ve possibly elicited such reaction.
“How do you know all that?” you wanted him to focus on something other than whatever it was that poisoned his thoughts.
“Father taught me,” he shrugged.
It’d been a while since he last mentioned his family. But you knew he was thinking about them whenever you saw the accentuated wrinkle every time he furrowed his brows, or when his muscles felt so tense to the touch that he was akin to marble against your skin. He was worried, he had been for a while now. And it scared you. You needed to know.
“Yoongi…” the uncertainty that laced your tone made him squeeze your flesh encouragingly. “Where is he? Your dad.”
“Home,” he stated tersely.
“I know, but… Where is home? And what about your brothers? I know you said you don’t speak to them anymore, you just never explained why.”
“We’ve already talked about this. They’re home, too. Y/N, just forget it,” he shook his head, avoiding your gaze.
“Why do you build this wall between us every time? It’s frustrating. I can help-“
“You can’t,” he deadpanned, breaking off any contact when he got up, making his way to the door. His demeanor screamed for you to back off, that he had no interest in continuing the conversation. But you were done being left in the dark.
“Why is it so hard for you to trust me, huh?”
“I already told you that it’s not a trust issue,” he raised his voice. “Why can’t you accept that I don’t want you to get caught up in the middle of my mess?”
“Well, I am caught up in the middle of your mess!” you roared. “You were gone for an entire month and have been on edge ever since you got back. Something’s going on, I’m not stupid.”
“Jesus Christ, Y/N,” a deep growl escaped his throat. “It’s none of your business, if we’re being honest here. They’re my problems, I’m the only one who can fix them – hell, not even that.”
“If you could stop being such a jerk for a second, you’d realize that they became my problems, too, as soon as I fell in love with you. But you’re so far up your own ass that we can’t even discuss things without yelling at each other,” you spit the words. “Do you know what it’s like for me to watch you struggle like you’ve got the whole world on your shoulders? Especially when my hands are tied,” you stepped closer to his figure, heart hammering on your chest after your little speech. It was nothing but a whisper when you said, “You’re not alone, you idiot.”
His whole expression softened, and you could recognize a faint smile on his velvety lips. Taking a deep breath, he closed the distance between the both of you and let his hand rest on the column of your neck.
“I am an idiot,” he nodded, visibly calmer. “And you’re stubborn, you know that?”
“Might have heard something about it,” you grumbled.
He hummed. “Forgive me. Could you?”
“Maybe. Will you… I mean, I just wish you’d open up a little. I’m scared, Yoongi,” you confessed.
“Me, too.”
“I know. That’s why.”
He shook his head and lowered it until his skin touched yours. “I’m scared of your reaction, baby. I don’t know if you’ll want me once you discover the truth,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.
“I’d say you’re safe. Unless your family is trying to coerce you into becoming a real life Michael Corleone. You didn’t shoot anyone in the head, did you?”
He chuckled wholeheartedly and took a step back to maintain eye contact and mock you properly. “That’s your theory? That I’m a mobster?”
You looked down sheepishly, before answering nonchalantly in a small voice, “One of them.” He couldn’t help himself, even though his hand was pressed tight against his mouth and his eyes were glistening with unshed tears of amusement. He tittered.
“May I know the others?”
“No,” you glared.
“Oh, George, what if I ask nicely? What if I say please?”
“Not even then.”
“How about pretty please?” You shook your head, trying to pass through him to get to the kitchen, but he encircled his arms around you from behind before you could grasp the knob. “And what if I tell you that I am, too?” he breathed in the shell of your ear and you held your breath for a second. You didn’t need him to vocalize what you already knew, but you felt butterflies fluttering anyways. Still, you kept your ground, suddenly very conscious of the fact that your shorts were still pooled on the floor near the bed.
“Closer, goodfella. But not enou-“
The loud bangs on the front door cut you midsentence. You felt Yoongi’s body stiffen before something that sounded terribly similar to a low growl broke out of his throat.
“Get dressed and stay here,” he ordered, authoritative. He didn’t spare you a glance before exiting the bedroom, and you felt a dreadful feeling claw up your insides, piercing your gut and making you nauseous. Pulse thrumming viciously under your skin, you fetched your shorts and wiggled it up, fastening the belt with shaky hands. Stop overreacting, you told yourself over and over, growing more anxious by the second. You couldn’t understand why, to be honest.
Taking deep breaths, you forced your fidgety fingers to stay still as you fell limp on the soft mattress, eyes closed. Your mind wandered to the safe haven: cotton clouds and baby blue sky, the smell of the grass, the books scattered around you and him. For a minute, you could truly take the edge off. Until you heard the noise of glass shattering on the wall.
Getting off the bed as fast as you could, your head spun. You opened the door quietly, careful not to expose the presence of another person in the house, and made a beeline to the kitchen. While you looked franticly for something that could be useful as a weapon, you tried to stay attentive to the sounds. They were muffled, but you could discern at least two voices, apart from Yoongi’s.
Alright. Great.
As any sane person who’s watched more than a few movies would do, you went for the most obvious choice. Knives. Better safe than sorry.
Almost counting your steps, you tiptoed your way to the living room. The voices were not very loud, but you could easily understand what was being said now that you were closer.
“It’s imperative that you return with us now,” a dulcet, almost high-pitched voice uttered softly. “I am sure you are aware of your responsibilities. It’s time.”
You stayed hidden behind the icy-white wall that separated the two rooms, gripping the hilt of the knife so tightly that your knuckles turned white. Maybe you shouldn’t be eavesdropping, that was clearly a family matter. Maybe you should lock yourself in Yoongi’s bedroom and do as he said. But the truth was that you were far too curious – and now far too enchanted by the childlike voice – to stop yourself from prying.
“I believe you have already forgotten about the current state of affairs, then? Father exempted me from my duties as soon as he banished me from the Gates and sent me to exile,” Yoongi spit. You could see it clearly in your head as he ran his fingers through his hair in annoyance. He sounded… different. You didn’t have the courage to tilt your head and steal a glance, afraid they’d catch the motion.
“Father warned you about the consequences of your stubbornness, Michael, but you were very much unyielding in your misconceptions,” the second person said, gruffy and curt.
“It is not a misconception to care for our own flesh and blood.”
Wait. Michael? Had he been listening to your conversation earlier? If the man wasn’t so deadly serious and the air so dense, you would’ve laughed – although you felt that it was probably not the right time to let out a full-throated guffaw to mask an anxiety attack.
“Our own flesh and blood abused his role as a persecutor and bent the rules for his own selfish purposes. Azrael is fortunate if Father ever forgives him, albeit we both know he will. Brother, I know you hold the highest regards for truth and justice, but it was not your place to question an order.”
You could hear the crude man pacing around the room as he spoke. Hoping to stay unnoticed, you sneaked a peek. The first person you landed eyes on was not at all taller than you, and you supposed that was the first man you’d heard. His hair was silvery, almost platinum blonde, styled in a way that evinced his beautiful forehead. The way he carried himself was elegant and graceful, like a ballerina, and his appearance suited his youthful voice perfectly. The second figure to catch your eye, though, was the complete opposite. Tall, lustrous olive skin and brown hair, he was intimidating at first glance. His steps were heavy on the floor, nearly clumsy.
“Perhaps there lies the problem. We are never to question, even whilst we deem fit. Azrael is the embodiment of corruption and amorality; it’s consensual, we are well aware. No matter how devious, he is needed. Casting one of the Seven out ought to never be an option. Be that as it may… There are only five of us within the Gates now. Was I supposed to receive graciously the task of exiling our own brother?”
You were growing considerably annoyed by their choice of words. Why the hell would they be talking like your great-grandparents? All cells in your body were telling you that it was supposed to be cringey, but in reality it was nothing but alluring. Charming. And that’s where all the annoyance came from.
“It is unwise to go against His instructions. Are you a rebel at heart, Prince?” The man stopped his pacing to let the words tumble out of his mouth, venomous. You could tell by Yoongi’s countenance that he was about to lose his composure, and in a way you were yet to see. His body were trembling slightly in fury, and his lips were compressed together in a well-defined line. You were astounded, however, by his eyes. In that moment, you couldn’t move even if you intended to. They were tinted in a deep violet, just like you had seen before at Jin’s encounter, except that, this time, they hadn’t gone back to black.
“This has nothing to do with the Rebellion, Raph-“
“Then why disobey? Do you plan to defy Father as well? It would be entertaining to watch you fight your antithesis for the throne of the underworld,” he chuckled.
It all happened in an instant, but for you it felt like slow motion. Yoongi was convulsing within himself, as if attempting to refrain a great deal of energy from breaking free. Once you saw blood oozing from his closed fists, you knew it was a lost battle. But never, ever, could you have foreseen what came next, what kind of energy – power – exactly he was trying to repress. For a very brief moment, everything stood still. If you had been able to avert your eyes from him, you’d see the silvery-hair figure shudder. You’d see the faint smirk on the lips of the man who caused Yoongi’s outburst, even though he was, deep down, a tad terrified. But you did not have time, nor will-power, to pay attention to anyone but him, ablaze amethysts shooting daggers at the man before them.
Then everything came crashing down. Your beliefs, the world as you knew it, it was all taken away ruthless and abruptly once you saw white feathers rip through black shirt. You gasped audibly, falling to the floor with a dull thud as the knife clinked at your feet. None of them noticed, too entranced by the interaction that unrevealed itself. Yoongi got to his prey at an unhuman speed, grabbing him by the throat and caging him against the door. The horrid sound was enough to make you wince through your stupor, and, if it were anybody else, their skull would have cracked. The man, however, only clenched his jaw to suppress a whimper.
“How dare you speak ill of your Leader like this?” as his voice went down a few octaves, Yoongi’s hold tightened visibly. The man-child seemed as ready to meddle as he would ever be, though still too frightened to actually move. “How dare you, brother, mention the Chief of the Heavenlies in the same breath as his nemesis? Mere one hundred and fifty years, Raphael, and you already built the temerity of being impertinent towards me? Or have you simply forgotten who I am?” his wings were whooshing, as if he was preparing to – quite literally – take flight at any given moment. They were stupendous, bigger than he himself, and so snowy-white, so untainted. Truly immaculate, contrasting with his raven hair.
His angelic features, albeit glorious, could never outstand the magisterial way to which he spoke, imposing authority. Like he was born for it. Everything about him in that moment urged you to bow before his feet, and you weren’t even the one holding his darkened glare. It was entirely alien to you, a facet of him you could barely conceive, let alone process. Raphael undoubtedly recoiled at his words, but tried to conceal it.
“Then show me. Do your title justice and lead us to victory, as I know there is no wrath nor passion greater than yours. Not for a moment have I forgotten who you are, Flaming Warrior, but you certainly have.” Raphael spoke, and it fell to the ears like a prayer.
As Yoongi’s wings retracted once again, you breathed what seemed to be the first intake of air in hours. He slackened his grip on Raphael’s throat, who then bent over in a fit of coughing. The boyish man’s shoulders visibly relaxed, and he let out a sigh. Of course, the little truce was bound to be broken the minute one of them laid eyes on you. It happened to be the blonde.
“Michael, there is a human on your floor,” he whispered, resembling a kid more than ever with his eyes wide open. “Why is there a human on your floor?” he snapped his head, shooting the question directly to Yoongi’s face, and you saw his body stiffen. “Oh, Father! She’s heard our names! Brother…”
“Silent,” his voice was gruff, and he turned to scrutinize your figure. You weren’t sure of how you looked from the view of an outsider, but you felt… Shock, maybe? Fright? You didn’t know who and what was in front of you, and all you could think was how come his eyes are pitch black now?
“Yoongi, we violated the law,” the man you now identified as Raphael said.
“Namjoon,” his eyes never left you as he spoke, “take our brother home and certify yourself that he does not mention today’s events within the Gates.”
“B-But the protocol-“
“Does not apply to her, Jimin-ah,” Yoongi cut him off, “If you still need me to fight by your side, that is.”
He seemed appalled by the perspective of that being an option. “Needless to say, brother, of course we do!”
“That means I am in charge, then. So, at your superior’s orders, will you be able to keep this to yourself?” Yoongi craned his neck to glance at them through his peripheral vision.
“If it is what you want, brother,” he mumbled, averting his gaze to the floor in respect.
“Well, that being the case, I fear we might have to end this dreadful visit already. Notify our soldiers that I am to be expected soon.”
“Yes, sir,” Raphael responded with a worried frown tainting his beautiful face. He touched the cherubic-like man on the shoulder and they both left the apartment.
Yoongi’s feet were glued to the floor, the same spot he’d been standing since landing eyes on you. Your breathing was labored and hitched; your throat so dry that it felt like sandpaper. He took a little step forward, slowly stretching one hand in your direction. You let out a low whimper, recoiling until you were almost balled up, knees pressed tight against your chest. He immediately withdrew his arm and flinched.
“I told you to stay in the bedroom.” His voice was flat, it wasn’t a scold.
“W-What- What the hell just-“ a sob broke through your throat, and only then did you notice hot tears striking your cheeks. “Y-Yoongi,” you weren’t sure of what to say, let alone if you were actually able to choke a whole sentence out.
“Are you afraid?”
Yes.
Fuck, yes.
Were you afraid of him, though? Granted, his whole countenance while exerting power over someone else sent chills through down your spine. But that was not the man standing before you now, no.
“Who are you?” you asked, trying too hard to keep a clear head.
He straightened his back. “My true name is Michael,” he muttered.
“You know that’s not what I asked,” you objected.
“Yes,” he sighed, “I know. Can you keep an open mind?”
“An open mind?” you scoffed. “I’m here, aren’t I? After seeing a pair of wings growing out of your shoulder blades.”
“You are,” he chuckled humorlessly. He then walked tentatively in your direction, sitting on the floor as well when he deemed close enough. “I’m one of the Seven.”
Your face twisted in confusion. Your brain was trying to deny what your subconscious already knew. “Go on.”
“My brothers and I… we are one of Father’s first creations. Have you ever heard of the seven archangels, George?”
“Yeah,” your voice was nearly inaudible.
“It’s easier for you to understand, then. We are responsible for maintaining harmony in Heaven. That, occasionally, includes keeping things in order between the Gates and Earth,” he paused, searching for anything in your face that would require him to stop. “I am… let’s say, of great importance to keep the balance between our worlds, including the nether regions. You might have already gathered that I’m their leader, so to speak. I am in charge of all heavenly troupes, every single one of Father’s soldiers is under my command, as well as I am under His. In times of war, I am indispensable. That’s why they call me Warrior Prince; amongst other things.”
“So it’s… all real?” your voice almost cracked. “Hell, heaven… God?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“Then why are you here?” you murmured under your breath and his expression darkened.
“Immortality can make you petty. Do you remember meeting Azrael? I guess you know him as Jin. Azrael is… unique. Known as the Persecutor, he was the first reaper to ever exist – created before I was, even. He harvests human souls in due time and delivers them to a realm that suits them best. Paradise, Purgatory or Hell. My brother can be misunderstood very easily; his job has brought to the surface a sadistic persona. We all deal with evil from time to time, it was born in our home, but… Azrael is death, it’s a heavy burden to carry. Infinite lifetimes dealing with the worst sentiments a human can ever experience is bound to leave some scars. He can be mischievous and quite a pain in the ass, to be honest,” he huffed, “but his loyalty is admirable. So, when he made an egocentric mistake, Father reunited us all to discuss the best course of action. Much like a trial, if you will. The point is: they banished him to live amongst his… victims for a certain period of time. I could never agree to that, I believe every single one of the Seven serves a purpose, we are all needed to maintain natural balance.”
“So you rebelled?”
“No,” he scowled. “I’m not a rebel, I’m… a nonconformist.”
“It’s the same thing.”
“Not for us, it’s not.”
“Okay. Then what happened?”
“It’s a long story, if you want me to explain it correctly.”
“I do. And you’re everlasting, so I bet we have some time to spare.”
“Right,” he snorted. “My people is a bit traumatized when it comes to defiance, you probably know why.”
“Because of the devil, right?”
“Lucifer deeply despises all of his nicknames. But yeah, he’s the reason. A very long time ago, Father decided to expand our family. My brothers and I were content, but when He presented the idea of more… more of us, more love, we agreed on the spot. See, He was never, ever, the tyrant your kind makes him to be. Until Lucifer, that is. He was… exquisite, my brother. From his birth, each and every angel to exist used to say that Father got inspired by me when creating him, but in a very distinctive way. As much as possible, we were the flip side of each other, although extremely similar still, if that makes sense. With time, our bond grew stronger; we became inseparable. Almost everything we did was in each other’s company: from training in the fields to reading manuscripts under the sunlight. My brothers and I didn’t have much to worry about, it was a very peaceful existence. We had not come to know sin yet.
Needless to say, it did not last. Because we were oddly alike and yet so different, comparisons were nearly inevitable. I didn’t mind them back then, so I thought he would never take it to the heart either. I was wrong. Lucifer distanced himself slowly but surely, and with each passing day, he tried harder to triumph over me in a childish competition, one that existed strictly in his head. He’d become resentful, and his animosity soon spread like wildfire towards the others, too. None of us were able to comprehend a feeling we had never experienced ourselves, so it took us years to make sense of the situation. By the time we did… I guess it was already too late.
When Father created your kind, the hierarchy became even more apparent: only us, the archangels, were allowed to interact with humans – even so, only to a certain degree and always serving a purpose. Father wished your… species to stay untouched by our graces. Masterpieces, as long as kept apart, he had said. You see, your people got it terribly wrong. Lucifer was never jealous of humans – in fact, he holds deep contempt for them. He was jealous of us, of me, because my new responsibilities evinced that we had different roles on the chain of command. If rancor was his first sin, fury came to be the second. He endeavored to make a point of how unfair it was of Father to ‘play favorites’ and provide the Seven with greater might. My brother was a very shrewd, intelligent being, but his envy made him blind to a lot of things.
Lucifer used the following years to spread his beliefs right under our noses, and therefore was able to gather a herd of angels who succumbed to blatant lies just as much as he did. That was the beginning of the rebellion. His ability to lead was remarkable, but he could never be a true leader – not that he intended to, anyway. The reason is pretty obvious: my brother did not care the least about those under his directions, they were means to an end. His main goal was to dethrone the Seven, and for that he forged a deadly weapon: the flaming sword. The uprising initiated a war that none of us were ready for, not even him. For seven days, we fought. For seven days, we continuously killed our own. I suppose you already know the end to that story.”
You were so fascinated by his narrative that you’d already forgotten the reason he brought up the subject.
“I think so,” you said. “The real thing is actually so… different from everything I’ve ever heard.”
“I know. Tales never accomplish the whole truth.”
“But what does that have to do with the reason you’re here?”
“Like I said, my kind does not tolerate defiance after everything that happened. When Azrael was sentenced, I didn’t exactly make an effort to hide how I felt about it. They didn’t take it very well, so if you ask any of them why I was exiled, they’ll say it was for disobedience. When, in fact, it was because I reminded them too much of him,” he sighed, and you both fall into a pregnant pause. “How are you taking this?”
“I’m not sure. I guess I just didn’t have enough time to process yet.”
“I know,” he twisted a strand of your hair in his slender index finger.
All of a sudden, a realization fell heavy on your heart.
“Is your time up?”
His brows knitted themselves together. “My time?”
“Yeah. You said you’d stay here… for a predetermined amount of time. Is that why they came to get you?”
“No, George,” he let out a puff of air from his nose, “that’s not why they came for me.”
“Then why?”
“Think about it. Why would they need their General for?”
You shook your head, trying to make sense of what he was telling you. Oh.
“You said you were indispensable in times of…” your whisper faded to an end.
“War,” he completed.
||\\
“While they adore me on the throne of hell,
With diadem and sceptre high advanced
The lower still I fall, only supreme
In misery; such joy ambition finds.
But say I could repent and could obtain
By act of grace my former state; how soon
Would height recall high thoughts, how soon unsay
What feigned submission swore: ease would recant
Vows made in pain, as violent and void
For never can true reconcilement grow
Where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep:
Which would lead me to a worse relapse
And heavier fall: so should I purchase dear
Short intermission bought with double smart.”
There was a thin layer of snow covering the streets once again. The friction between the tires and the asphalt was barely there, and if the circumstances were different, that would be your main concern. The wind howled as you cut through it like bullets, and you tightened your embrace around his waist, somehow enjoying the numbing air of a cold late-afternoon. Eyes wide opened this time. When he finally parked in front of the porch, you quickly hopped down and took the helmet off, placing it in the seat you had previously taken. Before you could say or do anything, Yoongi seized your wrist with a leather-gloved hand.
“I’m positively opposed to this,” he blurted in a last attempt to change your mind.
“I know.” You tried to free yourself from his iron grasp, but to no avail. It was getting easier to read his features, and you could tell he was still unsure. But you were not. “Yoongi, it’s my call.”
“Don’t I have a say in it?”
“Ultimately… no.”
“Want you to be safe, that’s all. Let us be reasonable about this, why don’t you?”
“I thought you understood better than anyone that I don’t get to be reasonable about this,” you sighed with impatience. “Please, I—”
“Okay,” he loosened his grip. “I’ll wait here.”
“Okay.”
The light was off in the living room, your mother wasn’t home yet. You told yourself that it was better this way. Making a beeline to the stairs, you went over the little list in your head once again before entering your bedroom.
Set of clothes, toothbrush, toothpaste, laptop… What else?
You looked around, the baby-blue walls somehow mocking you, an excruciating reminder of simpler times. Memories of your childhood swirled inside your mind. All the times you and Taehyung would play hide and seek, the squeals he’d let out whenever you caught him off guard, how he was certainly faster than you, but would let you win a childish race every now and then. The familiar scent of caramel and coffee roaming around the house in the wee small hours of the morning after movie nights, your mom’s chocolate chip pancakes for lunch on Sundays. It all felt like a lifetime ago.
Hauling your backpack across your shoulder, you had a weird feeling that that was it. That was goodbye. Although Yoongi had promised you’d be back safe and sound in a couple of days, you knew things could go wrong. It was a pondered decision; you were aware of the risks, he’d made sure of it. Still, leaving his side when there was a real possibility that he might not get out alive was just… not conceivable. Logically, you understood that, if things went south, you would not be able to do much. You did not care much for logic these days, anyway.
[Cheers Darlin’, by Damien Rice]
Stepping out of the room and shutting the door as quietly as possible—for no apparent reason—you hopped downstairs two steps at a time, making sure to avoid staring at other parts of the house that could trigger another episode of nostalgia. Too focused on the task of trying not to focus, you missed the six feet tall barricade blocking the entrance to the living room, crashing into it face-first. If it wasn’t for the unrelenting grip keeping you in place, you would’ve certainly hit the floor.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the flat baritone voice resonated throughout the empty space.
Of course. You closed your eyes tightly, taking a deep breath before even contemplating lifting your head to make eye contact.
“Do you need something?” in a poor attempt to shield yourself, you parroted his dead intonation.
“Do I need something,” he hummed. Then he chuckled, fists clenching around your forearms. “Are you leaving?” he spat. “What about your mom, huh?”
“It’s just a couple of days. I’ll call her.”
By the scowl plastered on his face, your dismissive attitude hadn’t worked the way you planned it to. You had to do this quick, like ripping off a bandage. If anyone could give you a run for your money in this situation, that would be Taehyung. You knew he’d try to persuade you into staying, so you couldn’t risk it. For both your sakes.
“I see,” he remarked. “Were you planning to tell me you’re running off with your boyfriend or you’d just leave me to figure it out on my own?”
His venomous words burned out of his mouth at lightning speed, tainting his tongue with a pungent aftertaste.
“You know I would never do something like that,” the hurt that laced your voice was evident, but, maybe for the first time, it didn’t make him feel half as bad as it should.
“Do I?” he scoffed. “For the past few months, it feels like you’ve already left. Wouldn’t make much of a difference if you actually did, I guess.”
That did it. You felt tears well up in your eyes, but you were determined to not let them fall.
“Okay, I’m not doing this,” you whispered, not trusting your voice enough to speak properly, and pulled your arms out of his grasp roughly. You darted for the closed front door, feeling sick to your stomach at the thought of spending another minute inside the house. He clutched your shirt tightly, as if it was a lifeboat.
“Wait,” his fists clenched tighter. You could sense him getting closer, but you didn’t have the guts to turn around and face him just yet. He buried his face on your right shoulder, holding your hip now, nails bound to leave little crescent moons on your skin. “M’sorry,” he mumbled. “I hate this.”
Your heart ached. You hated it, too. Pushing Taehyung away was never your intention, but you finally came to understand all the times Yoongi had kept a safe distance before. To keep you safe. You couldn’t risk it, not with Marzipan.
“It’s fine, Tae.”
“It’s not,” he shook his head, brushing his nose on the fabric of your blouse. Inhaling deeply, he moved to the nape of your neck. You shuddered. “None of this is fine,” a peck on the bare skin of your neck, and your entire body tensed.
“Taehyung…” you warned.
“Don’t,” he begged, turning you around. You were adamant on avoiding his gaze, so your eyes kept darting between your feet and your hands. “Don’t go.”
While he rested his forehead on yours, one hand on your cheek and the other thumbing your collarbone, you knew what was about to happen. You knew, and, still, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him. You knew, but it was Taehyung, your best friend. Marzipan, the little boy from the house next door. Boxy smile, disheveled hair, sweet-toothed Taehyung. How wrong could it be? You were saying goodbye to a part of your own soul. How wrong could it be?
When his lips touched yours, soft and ravenous, you really wanted it to feel right. But the answer to your previous question was: too wrong. You loved him, yes. But he wasn’t him. Didn’t taste the same, didn’t feel the same. His movements weren’t slow yet demanding, his hand wasn’t drawing invisible patterns on your lower back, his smell wasn’t musky enough. It just didn’t feel right.
“Tae,” you tried to end the kiss, but he led his mouth back to yours like in a trance, nibling on your lower lip. “Taehyung, stop!”
By the end of it, you were both panting. It dawned you how big of a mistake you had just made, and guilt made you nauseous. Neither of them deserved what you’d just done, neither of them deserved to have their hearts broken because you were such a fuck up.
“I-I’m so sorry, Tae,” your voice cracked. He was about to answer, but you didn’t want to hear it. You couldn’t breathe, your skin was on fire and there was a big, nasty lump in your throat. You bolted out the door, only to be met with Yoongi’s inquiring gaze. It seemed to have broken a damn, and heavy tears tumbled down your cheeks. He rushed to meet you halfway, brushing the tears away as soon as his hands reached your face.
“Hey,” he shushed you. “What happened, baby?”
“Can we go home, please?”
The crease between his furrowed eyebrows deepened, but still, he chose not to pry any further.
“Of course, love. Of course we can,” he softly muttered, although still hesitant to take his hands off you.
You climbed onto the familiar grey motorcycle and hid your damped cheeks on his jacket. The beast rumbled, gaining speed as you cut through the air. The ghost of Taehyung’s lips on yours haunting you the entire way back.
#bts fics#bts fanfic#BTS suga#yoongi x reader#min yoongi#jeon jungkook#kim taehyung#kim namjoon#bts angst#bts smut#fallen angel#fallen angel au#bts reader#bts you#bts fluff#bangtanarmynet#ficswithluv#park jimin#jung hoseok#kim seokjin#two shot
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Bakusquad + “Why are you awake” Part Two
PART ONE HERE
So here’s part two! Fun fact, the song Jirou plays you in her part is actually a song I wrote! I didn’t include any of the lyrics though because its lowkey really cheesy :/
I hope you like this! This one is for Sero, Mina, and Jirou.
Warnings: insomnia, depression kinda
Sero Hanta
- Sero is very much a hypocrite when it comes to getting enough sleep
- He’s constantly up at all hours, even sending you random texts if he can’t sleep
- But when you aren’t going to bed at a normal time?
- He’s so sad
- He looks like you kicked his puppy and then him in rapid succession.
- It’s crazy because he seems to just instinctively know when you’re awake
- Like he bolts up in his bed all, “they ain’t in bed. I’m abt to beat some ass.”
- He’s never sure if he’s right though, so he texts you a meme he made specifically for you being up too late
- It’s probably really cheesy and outdated, but the effort is there
- If you respond to it (because you will) he knocks on the wall between your dorms and talks to you
- Often, you both just stay up like that
Sero’s body is awake before his mind, moving him to sit up in bed before he can think. He was having a really intense dream; something about talking mice. He didn’t mind it, but he woke up as if he’d had a nightmare.
Faintly, from the wall beside him, he can hear low music playing, but he can’t make out what song it is. It’s coming from your room, though, so he’s concerned.
The sky outside is dark, clouds drifting across his windowed view of the moon. It must be pretty late; all the noise is gone, leaving nothing but static air, and the music. He leans over his bed to look at the time on his phone. It’s around 2 am. The song you’re playing ends, and he recognizes the next one. It’s on your sad playlist.
He sends you the meme, as well as an invitation for a hug as soon as it’s morning. You respond almost instantly, assuring him that you’re fine, you just couldn’t sleep. But he knows you better than that.
Knocking on the wall between you, he hears the music stop suddenly. He calls out to your wall.
“Mi amor? What’s keeping you awake?” He’s met with silence for a moment before your shaky voice responds.
“I’m okay. I just kinda got hit with some sad, y’know?” He does know. He knows that this happens sometimes. It happens to him, too. But he hates hearing your voice sound so lost. You almost sound hopeless, and he can’t bear it.
“I understand.” He places his hand up to the wall, wishing he could hold you. Unfortunately, you had both been told off by Iida for sleeping in each other’s rooms more than enough times lately, so he couldn’t just go see you. He opts instead for hugging a stuffed giraffe you had gotten him after the Sports Festival.
“Do you want me to distract you, or do you want to talk about it?” He asks, stroking the giraffe’s head as if it’s your hair, not knowing that on the other side of the wall, you’re holding a stuffed lion the same way.
“Distract me?” Your voice comes out only just loud enough for him to hear you, but he understands. He begins to tell you a story. He’s told it before. It’s about a great hero, one who fights crime valiantly, and his partner, also a fantastic hero. He ad-libs parts of it, making pretend villains say silly slogans, and recounting how the heroes save the day.
As he reaches the end, he hears you giggle a bit. “Oh? Did it work? Are you smiling over there, my sweet?” He calls to you, a teasing lilt to his voice.
“A little bit.” You respond, playing with your stuffed animal. “If you keep talking, maybe I’ll even smile more.”
He laughs, eyes bleary with sleep, but happy to talk to you the whole night.
Mina Ashido
- Honestly, she’s no better than you about staying awake
- She tries to sleep, but her thoughts are always racing
- Sometimes it’s thoughts of you, sometimes of new things she wants to try in training, or things she wants to see if she can convince her friends to do
- But she wants you to get adequate rest, even if it’s hard for her to do the same
- She used to get told off for sneaking to your room every night, but then Momo and Iida saw how much better you were performing in school on the days after she’d been there, and they started letting it slide
- It’s nicer for her, too, because she has someone to ramble to as the two of you fall asleep
Mina skipped down the hallway toward your room. It was a bit past midnight, and usually, you would be asleep by this time. It was well past lights out, and classes had run long that day, not to mention the endless exams that were happening at UA right now. So when she reached your door, she was surprised to find you watching a movie on your phone instead of snoring.
“Hey bug! Why are you still up, don’t you know what time it is?” She says, throwing a grin your way as she puts her blanket down next to you.
You shrug, yawning. “I could ask you the same thing, love.” She pouts at that, tossing her arm around your shoulder and pressing a kiss to your temple.
She watches you watching your show for a few minutes before saying anything. It looks good, she supposes, but she has a better idea of what to watch. “Scoot over.” She pushes you lightly, giggling as you scrunch to the side to give her more room. “Do you wanna watch something with me?” She asks, holding up her phone.
You look at her for a moment. “That is what we are currently doing, is it not?” You hold up your phone in return, showing her the paused screen.
“But I have a better movie!” She insists, unlocking her screen and shoving it above yours so that you can see her pick. She’s right, it is a better movie. You guys have watched the entire Studio Ghibli filmography, but even you know that her favorite, “When Marnie was There,” is the better option at this particular moment.
You toss your phone to the side, pulling her in to lay next to you. “Fair enough, bubs, I guess yours is better.” You feign reluctance, watching her excitedly press play and tuck the blanket in around the both of you. Her arm curls tighter around your shoulders, and she giggles as the opening credits start.
“Hey Minari?” You use her favorite nickname, looking at her through hooded, sleepy eyes. She hums in response. “Why is this one your favorite?”
Hearing the question, she pauses the movie, turning to look right at you. She’s quiet for a moment, thinking about her answer. “I guess because they remind me of us! Like I’m Marnie, and you’re Anna, and we’re having this great adventure together!” You feel your face heat at her words, thinking about the movie more critically now. Mina continues, “It’s like…” she pauses, finding the right words. “Like Anna is learning how her friendship with Marnie can make her feel more right, as a person. And I feel like that about you!”
You’re tearing up now, unsure how to respond. Mina is so many things, and being with you is that important to her? It’s a new feeling, but certainly a welcome one. You pull her down, giving her a kiss. And then another kiss. And one on her nose.
“Press play, Mina.”
Kyoka Jirou
- Lol u think she sleeps?
- She does, but not at night
- Were it not for classes, Jirou would be essentially nocturnal
- So you try to remind her to go to sleep
- Sometimes you’ll walk past her dorm at night, and you hear her guitar, softly playing her favorite songs
- Before you got together, sometimes you would sit outside her door and listen to her play
- Not in a creepy way, there’s just a little common area right outside her room and you like took a book there, you weren’t like ooh it’s late i think i’ll sit outside someone’s room and listen to them
- You aren’t Mineta.
- But anyway
- Now that you are together, Jirou thinks it’s really sweet that you listen to her play
- Sometimes she leaves her door cracked open so you can come in
It’s 4 o’clock in the morning, and the light is on in Jirou’s room. You had come out to go to the bathroom, but you noticed her guitar, and decided to stay. The soft strumming is pretty, and you’re glad to be one of the few people allowed to hear it.
Opening Jirou’s door just a bit more, you nod toward her desk chair in a silent question. She nods, so you go sit down.
She’s playing a song you don’t recognize, and the lyrics are sad. Even still, it’s beautiful, and your eyes seem to naturally close, taking in the melody of her voice. She used to tell you her voice wasn’t anything special, but she seems content now to let you listen.
The guitar resonates with the last few chords, and the ending note is held for three beats. When she’s finished, Jirou opens her eyes and looks at you, waiting for your thoughts.
“It was beautiful. Did you write that?” You ask her, your hands fidgeting with the urge to hold her own. She nods, but doesn’t say anything.
You don’t acknowledge the sad theme of the song. She’s told you before that sometimes sad songs are easier than happy ones. That the melody is clearer. You don’t mind. All her songs are beautiful, and they reflect her in them, and isn’t that what makes a piece of art?
“I have another one, if you’d like to hear it?” She looks nervous; something you never see on her.
“I’d love to!” Your exclamation seems to snap her out of the anxiety in her eyes, which narrow a little.
“Just…” She starts, looking away from you to adjust the capo on her instrument. “Don’t freak out, okay?”
Confused, you nod, and she starts playing.
The song starts out with a few chords repeating in a loop, and then she begins to sing. The lyrics are confusing to you at first, and you still aren’t sure why she’s told you not to freak out. But then she gets to the chorus, and it begins to make more sense.
Lyrics, in essence, are a poem, and this one is a love poem. Her thoughts, written out, are so sweet and loving, that you’re sure you don’t know what to think. She sings elegantly, like someone who’s never known how to dance, and yet is waltzing perfectly across a shining floor.
She finishes the song with a declaration of loyalty, and you realize your eyes are watering. She looks at you, waiting for your thoughts.
You say nothing. You don’t know how to say anything, so you stand, cross to her, and pull her into a hug. She’s not usually one for physical touch, but she holds you tightly.
“It’s about me, right?” You laugh, leaving a kiss on her calloused fingers. She rolls her eyes.
“Obviously.”
She smiles at you, pulling you to lay on her bed as she puts her guitar in its case, taking the capo off the strings. “You should sleep. It’s like, morning now.”
“You should too.” You retort, still holding her hand.
“No.”
#mha fluff#mha x reader#mha imagines#sero x reader#sero hanta#sero hanta x reader#mina ashido#mina x reader#mina ashido x reader#jirou x reader#kyoka jirou x reader#mina ashido fluff#sero fluff#jirou fluff
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Venti: First Meeting and Friendship HCs
First Meeting HCs
————————————————————
The god of freedom certainly lived up to the title. A truly free spirit who only wished the same for others. He shaped the many hills and cliffs of Mondstadt with his own hand, and graciously bestowed his powers unto those he deemed worthy. And yet…there he sat - teetering on the edge of a barstool, completely and utterly intoxicated.
The red-head manning the bar rolls his eyes at the sorry display the archon was creating, and resumes cleaning the glass in his hand. However as a bell rings out - signaling a new patron - he looks up.
You enter the famed “Angels Share”, the best tavern in Mondstadt - or so you’ve been told. Really, you’ll decide that for yourself - is what you think as you slide into an empty seat at the bar. Eager to unwind after a long day of adventuring, you order your drink and attempt to relax.
But really, your night didn’t end how you’d hoped at all. You ended up with a loud and incredibly clingy bard hanging off of your shoulder spouting barely comprehensible rhymes and poems. You would’ve found amusement in the spectacle if you weren’t so tired. Shrugging him off did no good, as he was surprisingly strong for someone so small.
Thankfully, you got your sweet freedom as the bartender cut him off for the night, presenting the smaller boy with the shockingly large bill. A wave of pity washes over you as his face drops at the number.
He laughs awkwardly, attempting to convince the bartender that he could pay by other means, but the stoic man only sighs, trying to explain to the drop-dead drunk bard that he cannot keep the tavern open with “songs and sonnets”.
Really you were quite done with your failed attempt at relaxation - wanting to go home and just sleep the night away. Sliding a bag of Mora across the counter you state that it should be enough to cover both of your tabs. That was essentially all you’d earned via commission today, though, you can’t really find a reason to be mad about the extra expenditure. Helping people out - that’s just what you do. You don’t look twice as you exit the bar, though you feel a pair of eyes on your hooded figure as the door swings shut.
And that was that - you never saw the drunken bard again. Or so you thought. As the very next day you spotted him out of the corner of your eye while scouting around a Hilichurl camp, but as soon as you looked he was gone. And then that very same evening as you sat down for dinner at Good Hunter. Then several times over the next few days.
It was ticking you off, not just the fact that you had pretty much obtained a stalker, but the extra stress he brought with him as you now had to worry about his well being on top of yours during battle. You even started taking less dangerous commissions to further guarantee his safety. You didn’t really know or like the guy, but you certainly didn’t want him hurt, or worse; dead.
And by that point he wasn’t even trying to hide or disguise himself - trailing a few feet behind you nearly everywhere you went, drawing perplexed gazes from the townsfolk as you wandered from store to store for supplies. You were trying your best to keep your composure - to pretend he wasn’t even there in the first place - but the longer the charade went on the more cracks that appeared in your mask.
You didn’t mean to snap at him, honestly, but you were tired of putting up with a complete stranger following you around for no good reason - so you yelled at him. Right there in the middle of the market, the bard stood stunned - taken aback by your sudden outburst. He recovered quickly of course, smiling up/down at you like he hadn’t just been shouted at in clear view of the publics eye.
He hastily explains his actions, identifying himself as Venti - a travelling bard seeking inspiration for his next story. That night in the bar, he had been there lamenting - drowning his sorrows in wine over his recent pieces. They were all lacking ingenuity - a certain bit of flair that makes a story truly unforgettable. And that’s where you came in. You had caught his attention with your selfless act of generosity, so much so that it had given him that spark he he had been searching for. So naturally, he followed that spark - hoping it would continue to present him with the same creativity as before.
As you listen to his reasoning, the initial anger you felt mellows. You’re more than relieved that he’s not actually a creepy stalker, just a bard looking for inspiration.
Apologizing sheepishly for your actions, you scratch the back of your head. In that moment it was impossible to look into the boys eyes. You felt bad, truly. You had misread the situation entirely - thought it wasn’t all your fault. If the bard had simply approached you in the first place this whole fiasco could’ve all been avoided.
As you voice these thoughts to Venti he hums in understanding. He returns your apology with one of his own - bowing deeply with his beret in hand - shocking you and the few random townsfolk still paying attention to the scene.
Deeply embarrassed by the confused gazes the bard was drawing to them, you hastily accept his apology, tugging your hood further down to hide your hot face. Honestly the idea of just running away from the situation sounded quite appealing, but instead you restrain the urge - opting to walk past the boy as quick as possible.
Just as your shoulders brush, a hand latches onto your wrist - stopping your escape in its tracks. This time it’s Ventis turn to look sheepish, as he officially asks to accompany you on your exploits. He offers you entertainment and conversation, as well as any other skills he may or may not have - the latter only serving to confuse rather than convince you.
“Your journey would be far more enjoyable with a skilled bard such as myself by your side. Perhaps you would even allow me to write a ballad of your conquests?”
It’s not entirely uncommon for a bard to travel with an adventurer for inspiration, you suppose to yourself. Though you’re still more than a bit apprehensive on the matter. It’s not that you don’t want his company - really it does get quite lonely alone out on the road - it’s simply his safety that concerns you. But upon voicing this Venti simply chuckles, exclaiming that he’s much stronger than his appearance lets on.
Now - with no real reason to refuse - you accept his offer, earning a cheer from the bard. And so your joint journey began - you and Venti against whatever tasks or monsters needed tackling.
Friendship HC
————————————————————
It goes without saying that if you didn’t have a vision before, you certainly have one now. Within the first week in fact. Waking up in the early hours of the day to a soft blue glowing vision beside your head was not something you ever thought you’d experience - but of course you’re not complaining.
Upon shaking the bard awake to show him your discovery he only gives a rather tame reaction - as if he already knew you had it.
“Hmm? You woke up to a vision by your side? My, my - what luck you seem to possess! Perhaps now you may go into battle with less distress.”
Travelling with Venti is never dull, as he fills the silence with stories of old - tales of the long deserted original city of Mondstadt, the creation of the seven nations themselves and other obscurities that you don’t remember hearing about in any history book. Often times he interrupts his own story to spill his own hot take on a major historical figure or deity - hearing him call Andrius a “mother hen in denial” had you spit out your drink. His storytimes often end with you wondering how exactly someone so young would have knowledge of times long gone. He always shrugs it off, quickly changing the subject with a smile filled with secrets. For a boy so young he talks as if he’s been around for centuries.
Any looming worries over his well being are quickly dismissed once you see him fight. His nimble fingers and sharp eyes shoot down all matter of foes in rapid succession, and his skills at utilizing anemo are completely unparalleled. Really, you’re left wondering how he’s not the adventurer here.
You will absolutely fall victim to his pranks there’s nothing you can do about it. Whether it’s the wind blowing your cloak around in your face, extra jueyun chilies in your food or a slime condensate down the back of your shirt - you cannot escape the impish bards mischievous side. It’s when he suddenly falls quiet that you have to worry. A silent Venti is a scheming Venti.
However this is not a one-sided deal at all, he welcomes - no, insists - that you prank him back. He doesn’t want you to be left out of the fun after all! So get him back for that frog he put in your pack, or the time he kept pushing air currents in your direction so you couldn’t land your glider. Really; the more creative the better. If you’re able to prank him successfully he’ll laugh with you as you celebrate, praising you for your victory. But be warned that his next scheme will be twice as good as yours.
If you ever need a break from his shenanigans, go hang out with a cat. He won’t approach you while the animal is around, however he will be pouting up a storm from a distance.
You’ve gotten to discover many quirks of the bard clad in green over time, like how the tips of his hair seem to glow brighter when he’s in a good mood - especially when he laughs, and that he’s completely repulsed by cheese. If he ever bothers you too much you can get him back by chasing him while holding the stuff. Some of that nasty, stinky stuff Sara has at Good Hunter should do the trick. Mind you that the boy is incredibly spry - so good luck keeping up.
Eventually, he ends up revealing his true identity to you after the guilt of lying begins to eat away at his heart - making it harder to keep up his persona. Really he’d wanted to tell you for months at that point, but a lingering feeling of apprehension - a worry that you may no longer see him the same way - kept holding him back.
“Y/N, I wish to tell you a truth I’ve been hiding. You see…in reality, I am Lord Barbatos.”
“…”
“That…actually explains so much…”
He’s relieved to find that nothing has changed between the two of you after his revelation. You still treat him like Venti the bard, just as you always have. It’s a weight off his shoulders to be sure, and you can tell his overall mood has improved too.
It’s still kind of shocking when he switches to “Barbatos mode”, as you’ve taken to calling it. Spouting bars of philosophical gibberish at the most random of times leaves you blinking in utter confusion and often times just hurts your brain.
At the end of the day, the God of freedom is incredibly lonely. The best way to describe it is that he’s detached - he’s out of touch with his ever-changing homeland and the people that reside in it. Only ever appearing to handle a major problem or calamity at hand and then sending himself into a deep slumber for hundreds of years.
Waking up each time is like mental whiplash for the poor god, as he sees towns rise and fall, people come and go and things change again just he’s beginning to get used them. It takes a toll on him - though he won’t let anyone see that.
He craves companionship and the feeling of belonging that comes with it more than anything. Placing unconditional trust in someone else, backing them up when the goings get tough and having them do the same in return. Providing a shoulder to lean on in moments of weakness and being so comfortable that breathing easy becomes the simplest thing in the world. That’s what he wants. Barbatos may not be human but his vessel is.
That’s why Barbatos cherishes his friendship with you so much. He knows you - like all other humans - have a finite amount of time in this world. In time, wrinkles will adorn your face, and strands of silvery gray will appear in your hair. You bones will ache as age seeps into your body. And yet he will experience no such afflictions - forever wearing the face of a young boy from another time. Ever ageless, frozen in time.
The dull ache that spreads through his chest at the thought of watching the one who he considers his closest friend wither away in front of him is…crushing. Even though he knows your time alive is brief, and that your death would only cause him more pain - he can’t stop himself.
He’ll spend nearly every day by your side, telling you tales of yore, pulling pranks and practical jokes, covering your back in battle and being there when you need it most. He wants you to experience the land and all its freedoms. He wants you to get the most out of what little time you have in such a vast and expansive world.
You’re the closest friend he’s had since the real Venti - and he sees bits of him in you too. You help fill the gaping hole of loneliness in his chest - one stemming from a millennia of duty and repressed guilt.
He knows you’ll eventually leave him, and one day hopefully he’ll come to terms with that. But for now, he’s content with you by his side, racing off into whatever dangers lie ahead.
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This turned out so much longer that I thought it would I’m so sorry ;-;
I know you said all you wanted were headcannons but I think I went a lil too far…ok ALOT too far
I had fun though…so thanks for giving me something to work on!
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No need to feel sorry! I loved it so much. Headcanons, fics, whatever you want^^ I stan talent and you have it 💕💕
I don’t know if you lads remember but when I was struggling over Venti HCs, this was the friend I asked for crumbs of inspiration that ended up giving me an entire fic. I went absolutely feral over it and wanted to share it with you all.
So thank you to @fulltimeventisimp [alt account] for your beautiful work and feeding us all Venti crumbs. I swear to god, if there is a Venti re-run and you don’t get 6 venti’s in one 10 roll it’s time to riot.
[No worries about tags]
Also, I know this isn’t my work but I’m going to tag you all in this
@mikeysbike @unionwitch @musekala @sunnshiii @stanzastic @akaasea @xoneaboveallx @adoring-ghost @asheseiler @childelover @dilucsz @dai-tsukki-desu @thicmitten @nonniechan @htnicayh @genshins1mpact @morthecreator @aanne2601 @aklxojjk @hanniejji
#submission#genshin#genshin impact#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin headcanons#genshin impact headcanons#genshin fanfic#genshin impact fanfiction#genshin imagines#genshin impact imagines#genshin impact venti#genshin venti#venti#genshin venti x reader#venti x reader#genshin barbatos#genshin impact barbatos#venti headcanons#venti imagines
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Letter to H I'll never send
Dearest - and I do mean dearest - H,
It's been far too long. Not a day goes by when I don't think about how you're getting on. When I found out you wouldn't teach me any longer, I cried over and over because I knew what was awaiting me. But even then, I was woefully unprepared for this. It's been a little over 5 weeks since we last spoke, and the time is gnawing at my flesh with vengeance. It's ripping me to shreds and scattering me, piece by piece, into oceans and mountains and rivers and cities as my heart longs for you. Every time I walk past your classroom, I can't help but look hopefully through the open door, awaiting the day when I'll finally see your honey blonde tresses, sparkling eyes, perfect lips and gentle hands.
I miss you. I miss the way you smile at me like everything's perfect, even when we both know that's far from the truth. I miss the feeling of being around you, the feeling of pure, unadulterated bliss, and the calmness too. I miss your little quirks. The random facts you think would bore me but never will, your biscuit addiction, the way you write the letter "a" so beautifully. I miss you. But I more than miss you.
You're my last thought as I fall asleep and my first as the new day dawns. I see your name on my books and my folders and ache for the days it was true, when I'd get a whole hour to be near you, to converse with you, to eagerly drink in your every word as I let my eyes feast on your incredible beauty. Every good poem I've ever written is about you. I can't go 5 days without dreaming of you and it saddens me that the most interaction we've had these weeks has been in my unconscious mind.
Because I love you.
I've always been hesitant to say it and still am. After all, how could I truly know what it feels like to love? But I cannot and will not deny it any longer: I fell for you. Because a friend doesn't gaze longingly at lipstick stains, or yearn to hold the other in their arms. A friend doesn't look into your eyes and wish to freeze time, suspend you in perfect stasis just a few moments longer before you need to leave. Friends don't dream of a future together, a life together, of birthdays and holidays and breakfasts and late nights and weddings and Christmas Eves and take-outs.
Your lips beckon me. When I see you in my sleep, or during the day. I want to let my fingertips traverse the many square inches of tanned skin and memorise your body, as I seek to memorise your soul. You possess the ability to set me aflame. You lit me up that winter afternoon and I've been ablaze ever since.
You are, really and truly, the light of my life. You're the sun in the rain that turns cold indifferent water into glorious spectrums and rays. The winter sun that brings hope of spring, that warms not the skin but the heart.
I miss you as the moon misses the sun. I will chase forever in cyclical struggle, my faint silver light sometimes catching up to your golden one. My heart craves and reaches out for you. Given the choice, I know it would flop right out of my ribcage, onto the floor and find you, leaving scarlet smears in its wake.
Yours only and yours forever,
L
#student x teacher#teacher crush#teacher crush community#female tc#tc community#tcc#nblw tcc#tc blog#nblw tcc blog#tcc blog#yearning#unsent letters#yearnposting#crushposting#unrequited crush#unrequited love#unrequited feelings
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