#'the feeble the lame i could hardly look at them'

[queenlucythevaliant]

The Star Market

Marie Howe

The people Jesus loved were shopping at the Star Market yesterday. An old lead-colored man standing next to me at the checkout breathed so heavily I had to step back a few steps.

Even after his bags were packed he still stood, breathing hard and hawking into his hand. The feeble, the lame, I could hardly look at them: shuffling through the aisles, they smelled of decay, as if the Star Market

had declared a day off for the able-bodied, and I had wandered in with the rest of them—sour milk, bad meat— looking for cereal and spring water.

Jesus must have been a saint, I said to myself, looking for my lost car in the parking lot later, stumbling among the people who would have been lowered into rooms by ropes, who would have crept

out of caves or crawled from the corners of public baths on their hands and knees begging for mercy.

If I touch only the hem of his garment, one woman thought, could I bear the look on his face when he wheels around?

#I posted an excerpt of this poem yesterday but it felt necessary to post the whole thing today #because this poem #this darn poem #knows exactly where i live #'the feeble the lame i could hardly look at them' #i (like many of you) grew up around Christians like 85% of the time #i chose not to go to a Christian college specifically so that i could try to mitigate this part of my heart #that feels almost viscerally uncomfortable around certain types of people #i want to learn to love all my neighbors with Christ's abounding love #i know that I am no less sinful than my neighbor #but sometimes it's like there's a bee in the room and i don't know where it is #i'm set on edge by certain kinds of sin #in a way that i'm not by others #i'm sure this is true in degrees for many of us raised in the church #and this poem. this darn poem calls us out directly #it calls /me/ out directly #'The people Jesus loved were shopping at the Star Market yesterday. I could hardly look at them.' #'Jesus must have been a saint (that's the one bit i don't like-- Jesus must have been GOD) to be able to love these people' #'these people who came stumbling towards him crawling towards him lowered through the ceiling towards him' #'begging for mercy. begging with more humility than I manage on any but my best day' #'the people Jesus loved-- and i could hardly look at them' #and that last line hits you right in the solar plexus #'if I could only touch the hem of his garment could I bear the look on his face when he wheels around?' #no. no i don't think i could #and yet #i imagine that look would be so so beautiful #and by the grace of God i know i CAN bear it #i and all the other people Jesus loves #Bible humans #literature makes us more human

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗦𝘁𝗮𝗿 𝗠𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗲𝘁

The people Jesus loved were shopping at the Star Market yesterday. An old lead-colored man standing next to me at the checkout breathed so heavily I had to step back a few steps. Even after his bags were packed he still stood, breathing hard and hawking into his hand. The feeble, the lame, I could hardly look at them: shuffling through the aisles, they smelled of decay, as if the Star Market had declared a day off for the able-bodied, and I had wandered in with the rest of them — sour milk, bad meat — looking for cereal and spring water. Jesus must have been a saint, I said to myself, looking for my lost car in the parking lot later, stumbling among the people who would have been lowered into rooms by ropes, who would have crept out of caves or crawled from the corners of public baths on their hands and knees begging for mercy. If I touch only the hem of his garment, one woman thought, could I bear the look on his face when he wheels around? - Marie Howe - ("The Kingdom of Ordinary Time")

[Echoes of Panhala]

#poem #poetry #The Star Market #The Kingdom of Ordinary Time #Echoes of Panhala #Marie Howe #people #words and writing #my favorites

[autolovecraft]

Neither did his old physician Dr. Davis, who died years ago.

The thing must have happened at about three-thirty in the afternoon. His thinking processes, once so phlegmatic and logical, had become ineffaceably scarred; and it was pitiful to note his response to certain chance allusions such as Friday, Tomb, Coffin, and words of less obvious concatenation. His questioning grew more than medically tense, and his hands shook as he dressed the mangled members; binding them as if he wished to get the wounds out of sight as quickly as possible. Sawyer. At any rate he kicked and squirmed frantically and automatically whilst his consciousness was almost eclipsed in a half-swoon.

In the semi-gloom he trusted mostly to touch to select the right one, and indeed came upon it almost by accident, since it tumbled into his hands as if through some odd volition after he had unwittingly placed it beside another on the third layer. He could, he was sure, get out by midnight—though it is characteristic of him that this thought was untinged with eerie implications. To him Birch had felt no compunction in assigning the carelessly made coffin which he now pushed out of the enlarged transom; but gathered his energies for a determined try. Why did you do it, Birch?

Birch were sure—absolutely sure—of the identity of that top coffin of the pile; how he had chosen it, how he had been certain of it as the Fenner coffin in the dusk, and how he stepped on the puppy that snapped at him a year ago last August … He was the devil incarnate, Birch, but you knew what a little man old Fenner was. Birch, and I don't blame you for giving him a cast-aside coffin, but you always did go too damned far!

Whether he had imagination enough to wish they were empty, is strongly to be doubted. He always remained lame, for the great tendons had been severed; but I think the greatest lameness was in his soul. When Dr. Davis left, urging Birch to insist at all times that his wounds were caused entirely by loose nails and splintering wood. Over the door, however, no pursuer; for he was alone and alive when Armington, the lodge-keeper, answered his feeble clawing at the door. At any rate he kicked and squirmed frantically and automatically whilst his consciousness was almost eclipsed in a half-swoon.

Maddened by the sound, or by the stench which billowed forth even to the open air, the waiting horse gave a scream that was too frantic for a neigh, and plunged madly off through the night, the wagon rattling crazily behind it.

In either case it would have been appropriate; for the hole was on exactly the right level to use as soon as its size might permit. When he perceived that the latch was hopelessly unyielding, at least to such meager tools and under such tenebrous conditions as these, Birch glanced about for other possible points of escape. He had not forgotten the criticism aroused when Hannah Bixby's relatives, wishing to transport her body to the cemetery in the city whither they had moved, found the casket of Judge Capwell beneath her headstone. Well enough to skimp on the thing some way, but you always did go too damned far! He was a bachelor, wholly without relatives. That was Darius Peck, the nonagenarian, whose grave was also near by; but actually postponed the matter for three days, not getting to work till Good Friday, the 15th.

I can hardly decide, since I am no practiced teller of tales. He would have given much for a lantern or bit of candle; but lacking these, bungled semi-sightlessly as best he might.

I'd hate to have it aimed at me!

You kicked hard, for Asaph's coffin was on the floor. Davis, who died years ago.

Steeled by old ordeals in dissecting rooms, the doctor entered and looked about, stifling the nausea of mind and body that everything in sight and smell induced. For an impersonal doctor, Davis' ominous and awestruck cross-examination became very strange indeed as he sought to pull himself up, when he noticed a queer retardation in the form of an apparent drag on both his ankles. In another moment he knew fear for the first time that night; for struggle as he would, he could not shake clear of the unknown grasp which held his feet in relentless captivity. The pile of tools soon reached, and a little later gave a gasp that was more terrible than a cry.

For the long-neglected latch was obviously broken, leaving the careless undertaker trapped in the vault, a victim of his own oversight. The hungry horse was neighing repeatedly and almost uncannily, and he did not get Asaph Sawyer's coffin by mistake, although it was very similar.

Finally he decided to lay a base of three parallel with the wall, to place upon this two layers of two each, and upon these a single box to serve as the platform. The light was dim, but Birch's sight was good, and he planned to save the rejected specimen, and to use it when Asaph Sawyer died of a malignant fever. The light was dim, but Birch's sight was good, and he planned to save the rejected specimen, and to let no other doctor treat the wounds.

Over the door, however, no pursuer; for he was alone and alive when Armington, the lodge-keeper, answered his feeble clawing at the door. Birch cautiously ascended with his tools and stood abreast of the narrow transom. The day was clear, but a high wind had sprung up; and Birch was glad to get to shelter as he unlocked the iron door and entered the side-hill vault.

[soggy-platee]

Doubt

Rating: M

Pairing: Din Djarin x gn!reader

Summary: You get hurt doing something stupid, Din has to confront his feelings for you.

Crossposted on ao3 here!

This was bad. Like, bad bad. You had gotten into fights before, of course, been roughed up more times than you could count. But previously, you had always been able to make it back to the Crest and hide the evidence before Mando got back. This time, however, you weren’t even sure if you would make it back to the Crest alone, much less heal yourself.

Tatooine, of all places, was where you were currently limping through, Mos Eisley to be more exact. Mando had stopped for repairs and you had made the usual excuse to get yourself out of mechanic-assistant duty, yelling something about supplies over your shoulder before hustling to the nearest cantina. Mando and you had been on countless missions over the years, sometimes staying and working together for months at a time. This current run was one of the longer ones, being on your third month-long job with the Mandalorian. Honestly, you had no idea why the hell he kept working with you. You were his total and utter opposite. All talkative and friendly, and a total ass most of the time. Your skills didn’t exactly make up for your personality either, you were a half-decent hunter at best. You liked to think it was because you always filled the silence of the old ass ship he insisted on using.

You had a feeling that if he found out the stupid shit you were always getting into, it might be your last time with him. It was some fucking dumb wager you made, betting on a brawl you knew nothing about. Somehow you won, and that seemed to piss a lot of people off. You had managed to fight most of them off, everyone underestimated you at first because of your small stature. But that element of surprise only lasts so long, and there were just too many of them this time. A slash to your thigh with a rusty knife took you to one knee before a first connected with your temple, sending you sprawling on the dusty floor. After that, it had been a flurry of hits and kicks before the owner chased them off. You had lain there for a while, trying to regain some sense of up and down through your obvious concussion. When you finally lifted yourself to your knees, the only thing that was clear in your mind was the idea of Mando seeing you like this, realizing how reckless and useless you really were. That’s why you were so desperate to get back and cover the evidence. As much as you hated to admit it, you liked working with him, loved it really. It had nothing to do with the little crush you had been harboring on the metal man, you often told yourself.

The port coming into view shook you from your thoughts. No sign of the Mandalorian yet. You tried to hurry, but the deep cut on your thigh stung in protest. You tried to walk as smoothly as possible, the last thing you needed was some other low-life on this dump planet to try to rob you in your weakened state. The high walls of the building loomed over you, casting you in shadow as you moved through the entrance. You moved as silently as you could, listening for the slightest movement to indicate the presence of your partner. The place was silent besides the small tinkering of the pit droids in some corner. You grimaced to yourself, at least this was working out for you .

You limped up the ramp into the dark hold. Making your way to your bunk, you fumbled around in the darkness for your own little stash of medical supplies. You only ever took from your personal stuff; the last thing you needed was being caught because Mando noticed his shit was missing. He had enough of his own wounds to worry about. You precariously gathered all your things into one hand, the other holding your upright. A bacta shot slipped, clinking loudly on the floor as a wave of dizziness came over you. Your hand immediately shot to the wound on your thigh.

Fuck , that was way more blood than you thought. You dipped down to grab the shot, the same dizziness doubling with the movement. Finally, after a few seconds of fumbling, your bloody hand found the cold tube. At the same time your fingers closed around the object, the cockpit door slide open with a metallic hiss. Your head shot up to the sound only to find the large outline of Mando hovering over you in the doorway. He was silent as were you, caught in a contest in the near-darkness of the hold. You swallowed hard. He was usually quiet, but this time, you could feel the anger radiating off him in waves.

Finally, he moved, hitting the first rung and the second before leaping down with a resounding thud . The moment he landed you shot up as fast as your injured state could allow. You both rose straight in tandem. He was directly in front of you, making your height difference more than noticeable. It made you feel even worse, even more, insignificant compared to the warrior in front of you. It was still too dark to make out his features, or lack thereof, but you could hear the creak of his leather gloves as his gloves clenched and unclenched.

Holy shit, he was pissed.

Your mind was racing, maybe you could still get out of this. Apologize like crazy, get out of his sight before he could realize just how bad you had fucked up, how hurt you were. You just hoped to God that he wasn’t using any special settings in his helmet to see you in the dark.

Finally, the damn broke.

“What the fuck did you think you were doing?”

Your brain went into overdrive, getting ready every half-assed excuse you could. Before you could get a word out, he trampled over you nearly shouting, “You were gone for an hour , and now the whole fucking town is talking about the brawl that you were at the center of? Over a fucking bet ? How reckless can you -”

Your anger grew as he grew louder, words getting harsher. Who the hell did he think he was? Yeah, yeah you fucked up, but he wasn’t your fucking dad. W hy did he get a say in what you did anyway?

“Sorry, we can’t all be as fucking upstanding as you, okay? I was blowing off a little steam, Jesus , it’s not that big of a deal…”

You could hear his surprised grunt under your tirade, actually physically moving away an inch at your verble assault. He recovered quickly though, leaning back toward you, leaving only inches between you as he growled, “ Not a big deal ? You know what kind of people are on this fucking planet, how much trouble you could get into?”

You paused, confused. Wait, was he mad at you because you got into trouble or because you could get into more?

Your pause made him continue, lecturing you firmly about how reckless and stupid your actions were. You just took it, hoping he would give up soon and leave you alone. He would have to quit soon if there was any hope of still hiding your injuries from him, you were growing fainter by the second, all previous anger seeping out along with your strength. The blood from your leg had to be pooling onto the floor by now.

There was a break in his speech, so you interjected in a feeble attempt to end the conversation. “ I’m sorry... I get it. I was wrong.” you practically whispered.

“You’re sorry ? I don’t-”

Suddenly, the ship was filled with an overwhelming light. You lifted a hand to shield your eyes, shoulders hunching as the light hit your face. Mando spun in comparison, stance low as he searched for an assault. After a moment, you both realized that the floodlights of the hanger had come on, compensating for the now-low light of sunset outside. In the same second, you realized what Mando would turn to see. You tried to hide, pulling your injured thigh as far back as you could without falling over. But it was no fucking use, bruises smattered your face and arm, dried blood leaving a trail from your brow-

He turned, freezing once his visor met your pained expression. He stood still for a moment and you started with your excuse, “Listen, it’s not as bad as it looks. I can do it myself if you just-”

He was on you a second, grabbing you by the shoulders and pushing you back to sit on the lip of your bunk. You were shocked as you were sat down, he hardly ever touched you, let alone with the firmness and caring that he was using now. His hands moved to cup your face, turning it back and forth, taking in the damage. You braced for a lashing.

Instead, his voice was deadly low when he asked, “Who did this?”

You jerked in his grip, “What?”

He gripped your face tighter, thumb brushing over your cheek before repeating, “ Who did this ? Just give me a name and they’re fucking dead.”

Your dumbfounded expression was reflected in his visor. Wasn’t he just mad at you?

“I’m- I’m sorry. I shouldn't have reacted like that. I didn’t know you were...hurt.”

Whoops, you didn’t mean to say that out loud.

His hands probed their way from your temples down your body, noting every bruise and mark. Finally, he reached the cut on your leg, hissing through his modulator as he felt the sticky fabric around the opening.

He sighed your name as he took in the extent of the damage, “God this is- Why didn’t you tell me ?”

You shifted nervously on your bunk, you couldn’t tell him the truth. It was lame, it was weird . It would freak him out, how much you wanted to stay with him.

I’m so desperate to stay with you I’d rather bleed out than tell you I fucked up.

Yeah, that would go over well.

So you simply acted aloof, hoping to God that he would buy it. As he continued to inspect you leg, you plastered a fake grin on your face and spoke down to him, “Come on Mando, you don’t think that I can handle some cuts myself?

His helmet shot up to your face so fast your expression faltered, giving way to wide eyes and parted lips. He seemed pleased with himself at breaking your facade, grunting in approval as he returned his attention downward.

The both of you were silent as he dug his hand through the medical supplies you had retrieved initially. He started at the cut, snipping away the fabric with careful precision. You had a death grip on his shoulder while he cleaned and cauterized the ugly thing. He kept checking with you, breaking every few minutes with “Are you okay?” , “You’re doing great” , and “Almost done, just hang on.”

What the hell did you do to deserve this, all his devastating kindness?

When he moved to the cuts on your head, you were totally unable to keep your face neutral. Your eyes were saucers, desperately trying to burn this image into your memory. His soft gloves brushing your hair away, helmet titled in concentration. As he cleaned the various areas, one hand soon came to rest on your hip lightly, helping him maintain his crouched position. You couldn’t help the soft smile that overtook your features. You doubted he even knew what he was doing, doubt he knew just what the hand was doing to you.

The pain was getting to you now. Through the bliss of Mando’s hands on you and the numbness of the blood loss, each breath shot stabbing pains through your body. You tried your best to be quiet, accept his treatment without any fuss, but as he reached on a particularly bad cut just above your brow, a whimper of pain slipped from your pursed lips. He pulled back instantly, visor pointing to your eyes. You gave him a tight smile in return, grunting, “I’m good. Keep going.”

He sighed, weighing your words, then slowly returned to his task. God, it felt like molten lava on you, every brush of the cloth made you impossibly tense. No doubt Mando felt you tighten under his grip as he spoke, “What can I do?”

You didn’t even think before you responded through clenched teeth, “ Just talk ...please.”

To his credit, he didn’t laugh at your request. Didn’t even hesitate in fact. He just started talking, to your amazement.

“You know, I was fucking pissed when I was in town and heard you had gotten into that fight... God , I was fucking angry with you…”

You winced at his words, even though you knew the sentiment was well deserved.

“But then I was scared. You could’ve...I was scared you were hurt. I started toward the cantina to find you before, before-I just kept picturing you hurt and it scared the shit out of me.”

You didn’t know what to say, silence falling over the hull once more as you fell short. He had to be kidding, just something to keep you occupied.

You knew that was wrong, as his hand had fallen from your face long ago. It wasn’t a distraction, it was a confession. You should be overjoyed, it was absolutely everything you ever wanted to hear from him. So why weren’t you?

Your brain couldn’t process why, so your mouth took charge, words tumbling from your mouth in a desperate attempt to understand.

“But I didn’t-that was all my fault . I was stupid, reckless , you said it yourself. You shouldn’t- I don’t want you worrying about me over that shit. I fucked up, I fucked up big and -”

He cut you off with a squeeze of your hip, skating his helmet back and forth to your confusion.

“I was just scared and I took it out on you...I’m sorry for that. I don’t like that you think that way. I don’t want- ” he took a breath, collecting himself by ducking his helmet down before returning to face you.

“What I am trying to say is that I don’t care what you did, I just want you safe.”

Tears pooled in the corner of your eyes, all the stress of the say leaving you all at once as you sagged forward, head dropping. You were overwhelmed, but happy. So fucking happy. Everything had just fallen into place and you just couldn’t hold it in.

Mando, unfortunately, took your actions to be ones of injury, as he quickly moved one hand to your jaw, fingers wrapping around your chin tightly forcing you to face him. A tear fell off your nose onto his glove, making a pleasant plopping noise.

He spoke hurriedly, “Hey-hey look at me. What is it? Something hurt?”

You grinned in his grip and grabbed him by his ammo sling. Pulling him close, you leaned forward and rested your forehead against the cool metal of his helmet as he let out a grunt of surprise.

You were both silent for a moment, breathing in tandem before his hand left your chin and came to rest in your hair.

“Not hurt, then?” he guesses. You can hear the smile in his voice.

“No, not hurt.” you choke out around your tears.

Another beat of silence, then, “Wanna tell me why you’re crying?”

You let out a quick laugh at his tone, it was interesting to hear the Mandalorian so hesitant.

You sighed, then said, “I was so worried when I got back here. I thought that, if you saw what I got myself into, you- well, that you wouldn’t... want me anymore.”

His hand gripped tighter in your hair, pressing his helmet more firmly into you. “ Nothing could make that happen. You hear me? Nothing .”

You brought your hand to his still on your hip, gripping it softly. “ I hear you .”

#the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x you #pedro pascal #din djarin

[xmagicxshopx]

💋 Often 💋

Genre: Slice of Life, Comedy Rating: M (smut) Warnings: strip club, oral (f receiving), protected penetrative sex Pairing: stripper!jungkook x reader Notes: AU fic. Not idol!jungkook. Single quote marks ‘ ‘ are for thoughts and double “ “ are for talking. Additional Notes: This is a project and collaboration by myself, @katebacks​ and @taevjim​ Mine is based on the song Often by The Weeknd

Summary: She asked me if i do this everyday, i said often. Asked how many times she rode the wave, not so often. Bitches down to do it either way, often. Baby i can make that pussy rain, often.

Routine.

You were all about the routine. It was what you knew and what you were comfortable with; the different and the unknown being your two biggest fears in life. You had a routine. A simple five-day, nine-to-five job that paid you well. A morning schedule of get ready for work, coffee and bagel for breakfast, feed the cat, and drive exactly 20 and a half minutes to get to work. Your evenings were no different as far as having a set schedule. Come home, feed the cat, pop dinner in the microwave, eat, chill, sleep.

All of your friends and family, even your coworkers, tried to gently and kindly nudge you into mixing your life up a bit. Add some spice to it. Broaden your horizon. But you were just fine with the way things were. You didn’t need any spice in your life and your horizon was as broad as you wanted it to be. Your belief? Don’t fix it if it’s not broken and your life wasn’t broken in the slightest. Everything was just peachy. You were happy and that’s what mattered most, right?

Or were you happy?

You scoffed at your reflection in your bathroom mirror as the self doubt started to creep into your brain like an ominous fog. Of course you were happy! Why wouldn’t you be??? Brushing off the sudden wave of doubt that managed to fill your very core, you continued getting ready for work before heading out the door. But of course not before feeding your cat at exactly ten minutes till eight.

Upon walking into the office, you noticed that it was just another day. Everyone already at their desks typing away in their little cubicles while papers could be heard shuffling around into neat, organized piles. The copier buzzing away as it performed the tasks asked of it. You liked this. This was your comfort zone. Routine was good. Everything was good. You had just put your purse away and went to sit down at your desk when one of your coworkers popped up over the top of your cubicle.

“So, girl friend! It’s a Friday and I’m taking you out whether you like it or not. Be ready by nine!”

Wait what???

“But---”

“Wear something slutty, too.”

Okay, yeah. Because that was totally your style. As your coworker went back to her own work, it was now your turn to carefully climb onto your desk on your knees so that you could look over the other cubicle. Scoffing softly, you tried your best to argue over why you couldn’t go out with her tonight.

“But Gigi, I don’t have anything like that and besides, I go to bed by nine. I need my beauty sleep.”

You knew your words were weak and sounded feeble even to your own ears. What kind of excuses were those??? Well, in your defense, you really didn’t have anything in your wardrobe that Gigi would consider ‘slutty’ and the both of you knew this. With a soft huff, your coworker simply rolled her eyes and said with a confident grin,

“Fine. I’ll lend you something to wear. We’re similar in size and body build so it’ll totally work. And tonight you’re skipping out on that beauty sleep. You’ll have plenty of time to recover over the weekend.”

Just as you were about to try and come up with yet another lame excuse, Gigi continued in addition,

“And today you’re not driving home. You’re driving to my place. I’ll give you the address and we’ll make a whole evening out of it. We’ll order take-out and stuff our faces so that the food can absorb the alcohol we’re gonna tank ourselves in tonight. It’s gonna be a blast!”

Somehow you highly doubted that. None of that sounded like a fun time to you. Well maybe the take-out part. Pouting in both defeat and confusion, you couldn’t help but wonder what had gotten into your coworker. You and Gigi weren’t official friends or anything so why was she doing this for you? Why put so much effort into someone who didn’t want it? With a soft huff, you muttered in defeat,

“Fine.”

It was all you could think about during the day while you tried to focus on work. Sure you knew there’d be a lot of time spent in the safety of your coworker’s home, but then where could she possibly be taking you that had to wait till after nine at night? Wait----She mentioned alcohol. Ugh. It was probably a club. Gross. Loud music, sweaty body odor every time you turn around, the stench of cheep beer. Ugh. That was not your idea of a fun night out. You didn’t even dance. You don’t even dance in front of your cat!

Before you knew it, it was five o’clock and time to pack up for the day and start the weekend. Normally, you’d be treating yourself to some drive thru food and just staying indoors till you had to leave for work the next Monday morning. However, thanks to Gigi, those plans had changed and you still weren’t all that excited about it. Pouting like a child who hadn’t gotten her way, you trudged yourself out of your cubicle to see a beaming Gigi by the elevator waiting for you.

“Don’t look so glum, we’re gonna have a great time!”

“Why are you doing all of this? You hardly know me.”

Just then, the elevator made a bell sound indicating that it had finally reached the floor you were on and the doors opened up for the both of you. As the two of you stepped inside, Gigi pressed the lobby button before clearing her throat a bit shyly and replied in a small, sheepish tone,

“I just hate to see you missing out on life, you know? I’m still new in town and I don’t have a lot of friends and you’re the only one who’s shown me any sort of kindness. I really appreciate that so I know you’re a good person and I just.....I dunno. This is going weird. Just go with it, okay?”

Never before had you seen your coworker so awkward. Gigi was always strutting her stuff with her body language screeching ‘confident’. To see her so shy and sheepish like this was new for you but somehow, you found yourself smiling and feeling touched. Suddenly feeling quite timid yourself, you cleared your throat and said softly,

“Well, I don’t know how good of a friend I’d make, but we can be friends if you want?”

You weren’t expecting the loud squeal of joy followed by the near tackle to the elevator floor as Gigi practically flung herself at you. It never dawned on you just how lonely your coworker must feel after moving to town. An area where she knew absolutely no one. No wonder she was overjoyed to hear your words. Awkwardly patting her back, you smiled up at the elevator ceiling before the doors finally opened again and brought the two of you out into the lobby.

“We’re gonna have so much fun, girly! I just know it! Dinner’s on me tonight, okay? You can pay for your drinks but dinner is definitely my treat. Come on, I’ll just meet you over at your place so you can leave your car and then we’ll drive together over to my place in my car.”

Everything was happening so fast and you definitely weren’t used to it. You preferred life in the slow lane but dang. Gigi was making that a thing of the past. Perhaps it was just her happiness of having made a new friend that caused her to be live like a wire and talking 90 miles a minute? Either way, before you could blink, you were giving her directions to your house and dropping your car off so that you could hop into hers.

During the ride to Gigi’s place, the two of you discussed what to have for dinner. Turns out she was indeed taking you to a club later tonight so alcohol was on the table as well. You could only imagine what a light weight you must be considering the fact that you really didn’t drink much. You were more of a celebratory drinker. Things like holidays and such. Otherwise, you never touched the stuff. You preferred your teas and coffee.

After deciding on Korean BBQ, the two of you placed your orders and had it delivered to Gigi’s place where the two of you eventually dug in; getting sauce all over your faces and laughing at each other over how messy the two of you looked. It was nice. This was nice. Something that you really didn’t think you’d feel based on your previous mindset. Perhaps getting out and socializing wasn’t so bad? This wasn’t so bad.

However, as the night hours passed, the hurdles only got more and more difficult to get over.

“Can’t I just go in what I’m wearing???”

“Girl----You’re wearing work clothes. No one goes to a club in their work clothes.”

The blush on your face was enough to zip your lips as you let your coworker now turned friend do her thing. Work her magic, you supposed. Would you even look right wearing something other than your usual conservative attire? Subconsciously nibbling your bottom lip in worry, you watched Gigi as she started pulling out pieces of clothing to inspect them, only to put them right back. You knew it. Nothing was going to look right on you. This just wasn’t your bag.

“Ha! Found it!”

Dang it.

Trying not to pout too loudly, you watched the girl whip out a dress that looked way too form fitting for your liking. It was drenched in sequins and jet black. Well....black went with everything, right? At least it was a color you were used to wearing as most of your work clothes were black. Perhaps that was what Gigi was going for? Something that she knew you’d at least be somewhat comfortable with due to the familiarity of it. If that was the case, then you were extremely grateful and liking this newfound friendship more and more.

“Okay so you’ll be wearing this and I have some stockings for you too. Once we’re dressed, we’ll put on some makeup.”

“Makeup?”

“Yes, makeup. We’re going to a club, girl! We gotta look pretty for those boys.”

“Boys?”

“You’ll see, girl friend.”

You simply whined and pouted with sagged shoulders as Gigi flashed you a cheeky smile and wink in return. This was too much. Yet at the same time......you were......curious? Yeah. That was it. Definitely not excited. Just curious. Still pouting, you went to work on unzipping the dress she handed you and started to carefully step into it. Gosh it really was form fitting, wasn’t it? Your cheeks flared up in embarrassment but went ahead and had Gigi zip you up.

No turning back now.

Once the both of you were dressed, it was time to put makeup on. You had quickly informed the girl that you didn’t know the first thing about makeup which didn’t come as a surprise to either of you. In fact, Gigi had full intentions of doing your makeup as well as her own. You weren’t sure if you should have felt insulted or comforted. In the moment, you were more relieved than anything because if you were in charge of doing your own......you’d just skip out on that step altogether.

“Okay, so I’ll have you watch me first and then I’ll do yours. Just in case you ever decide you want to try and do your own someday.”

The probability of you doing your own makeup one day was slim to none but it was still sweet of your coworker to say such things and offer such advice. With all the products Gigi had spread out on her bathroom counter, you figured this would take awhile. No wonder she was starting so early. You could only imagine how much all of those products cost her. It looked like a small fortune scattered all over the counter. But it wasn’t like you’d know.

However, you did as she asked and decided to watch and it wasn’t till it was over that you realized just how wrapped up you were in watching her. It was like watching a painter perform art with Gigi’s face being the blank canvas. You had no idea watching someone apply makeup could be so.....fascinating? Interesting? You weren’t quite sure of what word you were looking for but you found yourself blushing when she caught you being quite involved in paying attention.

“Okay! Your turn, girly!”

So there you stood with her applying all kinds of products to your face. You were pretty sure she put at least three different kinds of things on your lips. Something about a foundation layer and then eventually topping it all off with some gloss. Dunno. You got lost with how fast she was going through it all. Gigi knew what she was doing and that much was clear. Once she was done with your lips and you could talk freely, you couldn’t help but ask in a small and timid voice,

“So how did you get so good with makeup?”

“Oh I used to work in one of the malls and my sole job was to do people’s makeup while introducing them to the latest products. It was fun for the longest time but it didn’t pay enough. So I moved here when a job opening came up.”

Wow. You knew exactly what type of employee she was because you’d always eyeball the young girls getting their makeup done just for the fun of it while you roamed the racks for new work clothes. No wonder Gigi was so good at this. It had been her job for the longest time. You felt the need to at least give her some kind of tip but you knew right away that she’d never take it; insisting that she was no longer on the job anymore.

“There! We’re ready to par-tay!”

‘Yay.....’

Gigi said that it would be pointless to do either of your guys’ hair so you two just simply brushed it a bit and let it hang loose. Having only your bulky purse, Gigi kindly offered you a clutch purse that went with your dress perfectly; offering to keep the rest of your belongings at her place to keep them safe. But you had all the important stuff in the clutch and that was good enough for you.

The two of you would take an Uber so that the both of you could get trashed as Gigi so elegantly put it. You highly doubted you’d drink enough to get wasted but it was a smart idea. This way you could just go straight home in case you wanted to leave before your friend was ready. You had the feeling you’d be leaving way before she did.

Upon arriving at the club, you could feel your body going into some kind of panic mode. Eyes wide, face flushed with heat, and you’re pretty sure your heart is swimming in your stomach. Perhaps you shouldn’t have ate so much. The possibility that you could puke was high at the moment. Looking all around you, were strippers. The majority of them female but you could spot a few males and good lord. Your eyes. Your poor poor eyes. In a shouted whisper, you scolded the girl next to you.

“You brought us to a strip club!?!!?”

“Don’t act so mortified. Lots of people go. See?”

“I’m not one of those people, Gi!!!”

But all you got was a coo in response as your coworker-turned-friend squished your cheeks together at the cute nickname you had just subconsciously given her. Before you could further complain and even rush out the door, you were being dragged to the bar area. Good lord. There were naked and half naked people everywhere. How could anyone call this fun??? It was barbaric!! With cheeks still flushed in shock and now embarrassment, you simply let Gigi order the drinks for the two of you so that you could try to pull yourself together.

It was going to be a loooonnng night.

With a couple drinks in your system, you were definitely starting to feel it. A light weight. You knew you were a light weight but dang. Allowing the tipsy Gigi to guide you over to a table close to the stage, you didn’t find yourself whining at the idea of being so close up to someone who was going to strip right in front of you. Perhaps it was the alcohol messing with your brain and you just didn’t have the energy to care anymore. You were stuck here so might as well make the most of it, right?

And then he walked out.

If you weren’t so out of it thanks to the alcohol, you would have had better control over your bodily functions. Like trying to prevent from drooling all over yourself. He was absolutely gorgeous. And that was putting it lightly in your opinion.

His facial features reminded you of a rabbit but he was anything but cute right now. Those doe eyes of his were sharp yet hooded as he put on a show of pure seduction while on stage. Yes. This man was a stripper but you couldn’t bring yourself to care right now. Your embarrassment was traded in for fascination as you watched him saunter his way to the center of the stage.

Dark locks hung in front of his beautifully handsome face and the product used in it made it appear as if he had just gotten out of the shower and his hair was still wet. It wasn’t the only thing wet right now as you tried to press your thighs closer together. Good lord. What age were you? Sixteen? Subconsciously licking your dry lips, you watched as he began to unbutton the sleeves of his dress shirt.

Yes. He was fit for all purposes of the word. You could tell this guy went to the gym often because of the way his muscles bulged within the confines of his outfit. His dress shirt had some sort of sequins in it that made it sparkle under the harsh lighting of the stage. It was like he himself was sparkling in all his gorgeousness. You truly had never seen such a more handsome man before. Not even on magazine covers.

As he worked on unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, you let your eyes wander further down his body. God his thigh muscles. How on earth did he even fit in those pants? They looked painted on! The next thing you knew, he was pulling the hem of his shirt from the confinements of those skin tight pants. If you weren’t certain he went to the gym before, you were absolutely positive now.

After watching him allow his dress shirt to fall on the stage floor, you were definitely drooling at this point. In fact, you were so wrapped up in watching this mysterious man perform that you didn’t even notice Gigi leaving you to your own devices. Had you been paying her any mind, you would have pouted at her smug expression of victory as she moved back to the bar for another drink.

With the man now shirtless, you took your good old time admiring his freshly exposed skin. He was perfect. You were pretty sure no other man could be as perfect and flawless as him. At least appearance wise. If this guy wasn’t proud of his body, then he should be. From the looks of things, perhaps he was a little too proud. You were a little drunk but you weren’t blind drunk. You could be blind and still be able to see the confidence that radiated off of him in waves.

What you didn’t expect, however, was for him to walk off the stage and into the crowd.

Walking right towards you.

Wait what????

Your eyes widened in shock as he strutted his way over to you. There was no mistaking that it was you he was after because there was no one else at the table you were sitting at. No. His eyes were all on you and the heat was spreading from your face, all the way down your neck and to the tips of your ears. Gosh this was so embarrassing! Where was Gigi!?!? Your heart pounded in your ears over the music as the man slowly held out his hand for you to take.

As if you still had no control over your own body, you found yourself placing your shaking, clammy hand in his own. Gosh his hands were big too. You felt so small at the realization as he gently gripped your hand in his. The next thing you knew, you were being swiftly pulled from your chair and twirled around only to land in a solid, hard lap. You were sobering up pretty quickly. Or at least it seemed like it.

Dear god this was so mortifying!!

“The name is Jungkook. I’m guessing from the frightened look on your face, you don’t come here often. Would I be guessing correctly, beautiful?”

God you needed to say something, anything, but you were just too shocked and embarrassed by your current situation that all you could do was part your lips but no sounds came out. Your eyes did all the talking as they stared into his own; yours full of helplessness and yes you were definitely scared. A shirtless stranger had you in his lap like it was no big deal. Handsome, sure, but still a complete stranger. He smiled and chuckled softly in endearment before carefully helping you off his lap and back to stand on your own two feet.

“I’ll take that as a yes. But worry not, beautiful, you’re safe with me. I won’t hurt you. Here, take this and once I’m done performing, hand this to the bartender and he’ll bring you right to me. I promise it’ll be worth your while.”

You stood there like a bump on a log as you watched him fish in his back pocket for something. How could he fit anything in those pants besides his hot ass and thighs? Seriously!? Those things weren’t painted on??? Blinking and feeling half numb by this point, you felt him press something into your palm and even helped close your fingers around it. As he walked away coolly back towards the stage to do his thing, you stared down at what was in your hand while fumbling to find your seat again. You definitely needed to sit down right now.

A key. This Jungkook guy had given you a key. It looked pretty antique and vintage, like something you’d see back in medieval times, but you weren’t going to question it. No. The real question was---were you really gonna take him up on this offer of his. Then again.....what exactly was he offering you? A private lap dance? That had to be what it was. Something that you wanted no part of.

Or did you?

Ugh. This was so troublesome. So annoying! Then again.....what did you really have to lose? But what if you couldn’t trust this guy? There was just so many things you didn’t know. Not to mention you were scared of looking like an even bigger idiot in front of him. He probably thought you were some spineless virgin. Granted the spineless part wasn’t far from the truth but at least you weren’t a virgin...

And before you knew it, the man was sauntering off stage back towards the curtains where he disappeared from sight. You almost choked when you realized he had stripped down to nothing but his boxer briefs. Was it a shame that you only caught his backside in that state? Wait----Of course not! You didn’t want to see what this guy was carrying around in his pants......

Or did you?

Trying to decide if you had too much to drink or not enough, you sat there for a few minutes longer weighing your options. On one hand, you could go in and see what he was proposing and if you didn’t like it, you could always back out. On the other hand, if you walk away now, you might be missing out on something that you didn’t realize you wanted. Heck, you never imagined you’d start the weekend off with a new friend. Perhaps you really did need to broaden your horizons.

Taking a deep breath, you stood from your chair and headed over to the bar where Jungkook, you’re pretty sure that was his name, had told you to hand the key over. The bartender seemed nice enough as he took the key and nodded his head with a soft ‘this way, my dear’. Oh boy. Here we go. No backing out now. It was now or never. You had half a mind to text Gigi what you were doing but something told you she didn’t miss the whole scene of you sitting in a stripper’s lap.

You were guided through a door that no doubt lead to a backstage type setting but you were totally not prepared for the scene you practically stumbled upon. Girls. So many girls. Some were half dressed while some walked around completely naked. Holy----Your eyes. Again, you weren’t a virgin but you might as well have been considering how warm your face had gotten. Some of them even giggled and flashed you cheeky winks. Oh boy. Apparently privacy wasn’t a thing around here. You could only hope there would be more privacy where you were headed.

Speaking of, after walking down two more hallways, the bartender finally reached a door and used that very same key to unlock a door before cracking it open just enough to let someone know you were here. Of course you could only presume it was Jungkook. Good lord. Hopefully there was no one else in the room. One stripper was all you could handle right now. And heck you couldn’t even handle that!

After the bartender politely bid you farewell, you found yourself gulping down a lump that had suddenly formed in your throat as you stared at the slightly cracked open door. This was it. Supposedly Jungkook was waiting on the other side. What if he was already naked??? Dear god maybe you should just politely decline and catch an Uber home. Yeah. That sounded like a good idea. Get a nice cup of black coffee and some headache pills so that you wouldn’t suffer a hango----

“You can come in, beautiful. It’s safe. I promise.”

Why did he have to sound so soothing and convincing for, huh?! Wishing you had a tall glass of ice water to jug down right about now, you did your best to brace yourself for what was on the other side of the door. Gosh your face already felt like it was on fire. How embarrassing! With a clammy and shaky hand, you put your weight on the door and eased it open further so that you could poke your head inside.

Oh.....

It looked so.....normal? Perhaps even.....casual and dare you say.......soothing?

It was pretty much set up like a master bedroom you’d find in any normal house. There was a mini bar set up with some expensive looking alcohol and drinking glasses already filled. Soft R&B music was playing in the background but the volume was so low that it indeed sounded like simple background noise. You could smell something. It was soothing but you could only guess it was coming from some kind of candle or maybe a diffuser.

“Hello there, sweetheart. I’m glad to see you took me up on my offer. I can assure you, I don’t bite. Unless of course you’re into that kind of thing.”

He was dressed so casually compared to the last time you saw him only moments ago. He was decked out for comfort despite what you believe his intentions were. Dark gray sweatpants and a matching hooded sweatshirt. They looked thin in material so it was probably just to help keep him modest while in your presence. His hair still had that wet look to it thanks to the mountain of products he probably had in it.

“Come sit with me and have a drink. Or would you prefer some water? You look quite flushed.”

“W-Water would be nice, thank you.”

Not realizing your legs had felt like jello, you managed to hobble your way over to the couch where you took a much needed seat. Your hands were still shaking a bit but perhaps it was just from the lingering nerves. The atmosphere really was soothing thanks to the dimmed lights that gave off a warm and soft glow; casting the perfect amount of shadow over everything. You were pretty sure you were smelling lavender and it was a comforting scent for sure.

“Here you go, love. Just try to relax. I’m not here to do anything you aren’t comfortable with. But you looked like you needed to loosen up. Maybe someone to talk to?”

Softly thanking him for the water, you tried not to chug it back but it was hard given how shook up you were. Not to mention your face still felt pretty warm. Perhaps you would have been better off to just splash yourself in the face with it instead. Managing to take a couple gulps without looking silly, you held the cup in your lap before looking over at him with guarded and curious eyes.

“So.....we just sit here and talk?”

“If that’s what you’re comfortable with? I’m at your service. Your wish is my command as the saying goes.”

His soft chuckles filled the room and you couldn’t help but find yourself smiling a little. Were all strippers this chill? Now that you thought about it, what made strippers different from anyone else? It wasn’t like they were some kind of exotic creature. They too were just normal, every day humans making a living. It wasn’t like they were a different kind of species.

Maybe this would be okay after all.

“So......you’re not here to give me a lap dance?”

“Oh my god! You’re so cute! I can’t!”

You watched in utter amazement as Jungkook, who had since been siting next to you on the couch, started to curl in on himself while he laughed; carefully holding his glass of whatever alcohol he was drinking in one hand while his other wrapped around his waist. Pouting and semi folding your arms due to the fact that you were still holding a glass of water, you mumbled in your own defense,

“What?! It’s a legit and reasonable question!”

Still pouting while watching and waiting for him to pull himself together, you decided to distract yourself with your glass of water. At least the blush in your face was letting up. Did that mean you were already getting comfortable with him? This guy.......He was like magic in that way. Knowing exactly what you needed to feel comfortable and relaxed. Then again.....he probably did this with everyone he brought back here. You suddenly felt the need to stand rather than sit on the couch.

“I swear, we’re only here to do whatever you want. So if you want a lap dance, I can do that. If you want to just sit here and chill, I can do that too.”

“But......why me? You had tons of other girls out there to pick from to bring back here. So why pick me? Clearly I’m an awkward turtle. Doesn’t exactly scream sexy.”

It was a fair question. A question that you were eager to have an answer for. Watching him closely, you noticed he was rubbing his chin in thought as if he was trying to find the right words to explain his reasoning behind bringing you back here. With a soft hum of said thought, Jungkook took a sip from his glass before replying casually while meeting your eyes,

“I guess you just looked.....lonely? Lost? You looked like you needed this. Clearly you didn’t come to a strip club by choice or at least not entirely. I could feel your tension clear across the stage. I was going to offer you a massage but I don’t want to do anything you aren’t comfortable with.”

Okay well that was fair. You couldn’t help but notice how good he was at reading people. Or perhaps you were just simply an open book. Yeah. It was probably that. You had often been told by everyone in your family that you carry your heart on your sleeve and your emotions along with it. Just as you were mentally scoffing at said family, Jungkook’s voice once again broke through your thoughts.

“Tell me, cutie, if it’s not too personal or prying to ask, when’s the last time you got laid?”

Well so much for that fading blush of yours. Granted, you knew you didn’t owe him an answer. Your sex life was your business and no one else’s. However....there was just something about Jungkook that made him easy to talk to. He gave off this aura of comfort and made you feel like you could tell him anything. With your cheeks still rosy and your ears just as red, you timidly sipped from your water again before mumbling in shame,

“Too long ago.”

But rather than laugh at you again, he offered you a sympathetic, lopsided smile; his eyes full of understanding and a small nod to go with it. You were grateful that he had picked up on the topic being a sensitive one for you and therefore respecting your feelings and not wanting to hurt you by poking fun. You watched him out of the corner of your eye as he set his glass down on the side table that was on his end of the couch.

“Well, to be frank, I’m more than willing to give you a lap dance if you think it’d help you relax and unwind. I personally think it’d be good for you. You’ve got too much pent up tension there and I think we’re both in agreement when I say everyone needs a good release every once in awhile.”

Was he inclining what you thought he was inclining???

“You mean you want to have sex with me?”

His soft snort of laughter made you pout once more while you subconsciously tried to fan your face. Sure the lighting was dim in the room but was it doing anything to hide your raging blush? With a soft and warm smile, Jungkook couldn’t help but shake his head at you in fond amusement. You really were the cutest. Dramatically raising his hands as in defense or surrender, he said casually,

“All I’m saying is, that I’m more than willing to make you cum, pretty girl. You really look like you need a good release. I have no doubt you’ll feel better afterwards. I’ve been told I have the golden touch.”

Despite your lingering embarrassment, you weren’t too far gone to roll your eyes at his overflowing humbleness. But now you had a decision to make. Clearly Jungkook was a safe guy to be around. He wasn’t some crazy trying to rape you or anything. Or at least you were pretty sure he was a decent guy with a straight head on his shoulders. Absentmindedly nibbling on your bottom lip, you took a moment longer to think about it.

“So......how exactly do you give me a lap dance? Do I sit in a chair or something?”

Gosh you were absolutely adorable. Precious, even. Jungkook swore that if you got any cuter, he was going to have to retire and ask you out on a date. Or at least ask for your number and maybe meet up for coffee. Did you like coffee? You probably did. You looked like a coffee drinker. He wondered what your favorite drink was. Mentally shaking his head and focusing on his job once more, he smiled with his eyes sparkling in warm amusement before saying casually,

“It all depends on what you’re comfortable with, really. I can also easily give you a little show on the bed. Actually, the bed would probably be more comfortable for you.”

He then added with a slightly more serious tone,

“But if you do decide this is something you want to do, just remember that you make the rules in this too. While I have my own set of guidelines, I’m only here to do what makes you comfortable.”

Nodding in full understanding, you bit your bottom lip once more as you decided if this was something you really wanted to go through with. Jungkook really was a handsome young man. You’d probably be stupid to turn him down. And it seemed like he was allowing you to call most of, if not all, the shots in this. He would only do what you asked of him. What you permitted him to do. That alone was comforting enough for you to say----

“So the bed?”

“The bed. Make yourself comfortable, baby girl. I’m gonna take good care of you. Promise.”

Your face flushed pink yet again with a small, shy pout as he flashed you a bright smile and cheeky wink. Good lord you were really going to do this. Okay. Okay. You could do this. You needed this. It wasn’t like you were entirely blind. Of course you needed a good release but you had just never been given the right push to get there. Not to mention it had never fit into your daily routine.

After all, you were all about the routine.

Perhaps Jungkook would become part of that daily set schedule of yours....

“It’s okay to keep your clothes on but you might find yourself more comfortable if you take them off. Just saying.”

He had a point. You were already warm thanks to your permanent blush. This was it. Time to throw all caution out the window and just go for it. You weren’t a teenager having her first time. No. You were a young woman with a body to be proud of. You deserved this. Steeling yourself up with that confident mindset, you nodded and started to undress till you were left in only your black bra, matching panties, and your stockings.

Seeing that you had started to warm up to the idea and was becoming more comfortable with things, Jungkook decided it was his cue to finally get into character while being mindful of your shy nature. He felt like a lion and you were his little lamb. So pure and yet easily frightened. There was just something about you that spoke out to him. He wanted to help you. And that urge confused even himself.

“Okay, beautiful, I’m going to start now.”

With his hands reaching back for his light sweatshirt, he couldn’t resist adding with a smile and a bit of a warm and playful glint in his eyes,

“You look absolutely gorgeous, by the way. Keep those stockings on too.”

While mumbling a soft and shy thanks, you watched him as he did that super hot thing guys do when taking off their shirt. That thing where they magically tug the piece of material over their head from the back. Why was it so hot, anyway?? Was that just something every woman came to accept? It must have worked on you because Jungkook’s soft chuckles filled the room once more. Looking up into his eyes, you noticed he was rather smug and pleased with himself.

“Like what you see, cutie?”

“Well----I mean----You have a nice body. So yeah. I guess I do.”

You hated how choppy your sentences sound but it was like this guy knew how to turn your brain into absolute mush. You were already like putty in his hands and he had only taken his shirt off with those sweatpants hanging perfectly from his hips. Perhaps you really did need to get laid....

Just then, you watched as he started to swivel those very hips in a way that had you involuntarily gulping and pressing your thighs together. The last thing you wanted to do was make a mess of this bed. But then again.....perhaps that was part of Jungkook’s plan for you. He said he wanted to make you cum, after all. You hadn’t realized your throat and lips were so dry till you sucked in a breath at a particularly sudden hip thrust. Oh wow. He was so good!!

You definitely made the right decision to go along with this.

“Touch yourself if you need to, baby girl. It’s okay to explore.”

“I-I’m good. Just ke-keep going-ing.”

You could get used to his warm chuckles of amusement. It felt good to know that he wasn’t really laughing at you in a sense of mocking you. It was more like.....maybe he found you endearing? Whatever it was, you were just glad he wasn’t mocking you or belittling you for your lack of experience in all of this. Despite being a stripper, that certainly didn’t make Jungkook a bad guy.

You could actually see yourself sitting down with him over a cup of coffee. You wondered if he even liked coffee? He seemed like the kind of guy that you might find in a cafe sipping on a nice iced Americano.

“Focus, baby. Try not to let your mind wander or you’ll miss all the fun.”

He must have realized you were really zoning out and getting lost in your thoughts because after blinking mental images of coffee shops away, you nearly choked when you saw that he had stripped away his sweatpants and was left standing in front of you with nothing but his boxer briefs on. Dang he was built! He had to be pure muscle. Had to be!

Unknowingly licking your dry lips and swallowing a new lump in your throat, you decided to make yourself more comfortable by scooting back further onto the bed where you could rest your back up against the pillows and headboard. Once you were in a good spot, you turned your attention back to Jungkook and found he had somewhat of a dangerous smirk on his face. Oh boy....

“You really do look beautiful, baby girl. I can’t wait to take care of you like you deserve. If you’ll have me, of course.”

Not able to find your voice, you simply nodded while subconsciously playing with your fingers in your lap; thighs still pressed tightly together. Grinning, the male made sure to move his hips just right as he approached the foot of the bed. You couldn’t help but wonder what his game plan was to take care of you. And that was when he tilted his head to the side in curiosity and asked in a light tone,

“May I join you, lovely?”

“Ye--Yeah.”

“Wonderful. Let me know if I do anything that makes you uncomfortable, okay?”

Still not having much of a voice, you simply nodded and watched him approach you like a predator after his prey. That smirk was back as he slowly climbed onto the bed; the mattress dipping under his weight. You could hear your own heart pounding in your ears as the anticipation built. This was your last chance to back out but for some reason you remained silent. Perhaps you really did want this.

The next thing you knew, he was gently running his hand along your one leg while his lips were ghosting up the other. Goosebumps rose from your skin at his touch and yet your core was starting to get hotter and hotter. Perhaps Jungkook really did have the golden touch? You felt your breath catch when he finally started planting actual kisses to your leg; starting with your knee. He was being so gentle and slow. Something that you were extremely grateful for.

“Your skin is super soft, baby. You must take really good care of your body. I can appreciate that in a woman.”

“Th--Thanks. I try.”

Jungkook knew you were extremely nervous despite your agreement to go along with this so he wanted to take things slow and sort of ease you into the whole idea of what he had planned for you. As he finally reached up to your thighs, he couldn’t help but playfully nip at the delicious skin that greeted him. Your little yelp and jump was so cute. With his head nearly resting on your thigh, he couldn’t help but sneak a glance up at you.

Your face was so red and you knew it was. Hardly anything sexy to look at but to Jungkook you were so precious and endearing. He could just eat you right up. Lucky for you that was exactly his plan. Planting a soothing kiss over his little bite mark, he then moved up to where he was eye level with your cleavage but still looking up at you with eyes dark while full of excitement and curiosity. Licking his lips, he asked,

“May I?”

Upon seeing your timid nod of approval, he smiled more warmly before moving his eyes to his latest target. You had really nice breasts from what he could tell. Just the right size, too. Not being able to help himself any longer, he moved till he was more comfortable on his knees and gently took one of your soft mounds into his large hand. Oh yeah. You were soft. And just like that, a small moan fell from your lips. Like music to his ears.

“Don’t hold back, beautiful. I won’t know if I’m doing a good job if I can’t hear you.”

Knowing it was something you enjoyed, he decided to give your other breast his attention as well by using his free hand. With both palms now happily occupied as they slowly massaged your supple mounds, he couldn’t help but let his lips wander. Their next target? Your neck. He briefly wondered if it was a sensitive spot of yours because it would definitely seem your breasts were sensitive. He rolled his thumbs over your nipples and could feel them harden through the fabric of your bra.

“So beautiful. I bet your tits are absolutely divine. Would you let me see them, baby girl?”

You shivered and released a shaky moan as his lips lightly brushed up against the length of your neck. His hands were amazing and he had hardly touched you. There was a small voice in the back of your head that was screaming at you to say no. That this guy was still a complete stranger and had no business seeing your tits. However, this stranger was also making you feel things you didn’t realize you needed or wanted.

“Ye--Ye---Yeah. You can.”

Being careful as if not to frighten you away, he removed his hands from your bosom so that he could slowly and gently reach around you to unclasp your bra. While his deft fingers worked on the clasps, his lips found their way to your neck once more where he started planting soft, open mouthed kisses. Once he freed you from the confines of your bra, he slowly dragged the straps down your arms before taking the thing off completely.

Tossing the black bra somewhere behind him, he couldn’t peel his eyes away from the sight in front of him. You really were quite pretty and he wasn’t just talking about your tits. Although they were nice too. Absentmindedly licking his lips in eagerness, he couldn’t help but mumble,

“You’re absolutely gorgeous, my lovely. Do me a favor and lay down for me. I’m going to worship this body a little bit longer.”

Worship you? It just didn’t sound right to your ears. Then again, your self-esteem always did need a bit of work. Blushing to the point of lightly fanning your face once more, you nodded and timidly wiggled in between his legs so that you could comfortably rest your head on the pillows. Staring up at him with your eyes full of curiosity yet uncertainty, you asked shyly in a small tone,

“What are you gonna do?”

You poor thing. Had no one really ever treated you to something like this? And he wasn’t even going all out. For some reason, it really irked him at the thought that no man had ever truly took time to appreciate your body like this. However, not wanting you to think he was grumpy with you or having second thoughts, Jungkook wore a warm smile with softened eyes and spoke sincerely but with a hint of teasing in his voice,

“Well since you look positively delicious, I was thinking of eating you.”

Not giving you time to respond, he added slowly while his lips drew closer and closer to your bosom,

“First, I want to suck on these pretty tits of yours. Then.....”

You watched with a slightly heaving chest as he gracefully crawled down your body till his lips were just centimetres away from the waist line of your panties. His intense staring of your core was making you squirm and a soft whine slipped out before you could bite your tongue. His grin suddenly came back as his eyes flickered to make direct contact with your own.

“Then I’ll eat you out like you deserve. You’re a goddess and that’s how I intend to treat you.”

The next thing you knew, words were flying out of your mouth on your own accord.

“Can we just skip the tits and you eat me out now? I don’t think I can wait any longer. It’s killing me to wait.”

It really had been forever since you last did anything. Whether it be at the hands of someone else or yourself. You were quickly getting used to the permanent blush on your face and your embarrassment was quickly being replaced with impatience as you stared down at him where he was perched between your legs.

Yep. He was going to retire, quit stripping, and sweep you off your feet; carrying you out into the sunset to live happily ever after. You were just too freaking cute for words. He liked them shy and innocent because then he could completely ravish them till they were ruined and begging for more. You were totally his type. Grinning like a fox, he teasingly gripped the waist line of your panties between his teeth and tugged only to let them snap back against your skin before saying in a low tone,

“Well I did say your wish was my command.”

It wasn’t till he was lifting himself up to rest on his knees and thighs that you realized just how worked up you had gotten. The sexual frustration was starting to get the best of you; especially as you were sobering up pretty quickly. Not having realized that you had spread your legs for him at some point in the game, you simply spread them wider so that he’d have plenty of room to do whatever it was he had in store for you.

That fox-like grin still on his face, Jungkook couldn’t help but lean back down onto his elbows so that he could gently nuzzle your chest before planting soft kisses around your nipples. You were torn between whining and moaning as you both enjoyed the touch but also grew all the more impatient for where you really wanted him. After releasing a soft groan of pleasure, you couldn’t help but gently tug on his soft locks in warning while saying in a whining tone,

“Jungkoooook. Stoooop. You said you’d eat me out now!”

His rock hard body shook gently against your own as he chuckled at your adorable display of impatience. He was pleased to see you finally letting go and allowing yourself this moment. It had been a task and a half, but he finally got you here. Planting one last kiss to the underside of your breast, he slithered down your body like the seducing snake he could be and finally started planting kisses down your stomach to the waist line of your black panties.

“I’m sorry, love. But I can’t help myself. You’re just too beautiful not to admire.”

However, playtime was over. Gently tapping your thigh, he gave you the cue to lift your bum so that he could slip off your panties more easily. With a blink of an eye, you were left with nothing but your stockings which Jungkook had insisted you keep on because it made you look all the more sexy to him. You couldn’t tell if his compliments were sincere or not but you were so wound up that you didn’t really care at this point.

“God you look absolutely delicious. I can’t wait to taste you, baby girl.”

His words made your walls clench around nothing and it only caused more slick to pool between your thighs as Jungkook had since gotten himself more comfortable between your legs, throwing them over his shoulders. Gosh he was so muscular. You could see his muscles bulge as he worked on positioning you right where he wanted you. You both licked your lips as eyed each other with equal amounts of hunger.

You watched him lower his head before feeling his tongue for the first time. Eyes instantly snapping shut, you felt your back arch off the bed and a moan fall from your lips. Yes. Jungkook not only had the magic touch, but he had the magic tongue. You were certain of it. The male gently dug his shortened nails into the meat of your thighs as he too let out a moan of his own. You tasted just as wonderful has he imagined you would.

“God, babe. You’re delicious. You’re spoiling me here. Where have you been all my life?”

“I-I d-d-du-dunno.”

Your thighs started to shake when you felt his tongue flick over your sensitive bundle of nerves. Maybe it was because someone else was touching you but not even your most expensive vibrator could make you feel this good. Needing something to ground you, your hands found their way into his mess of hair and you found yourself gently tugging on the soft locks that lay between your fingers. The action made Jungkook moan and you felt the vibrations with full force.

The male enjoyed having his hair pulled despite how dominate he naturally was. He considered hair pulling one of the many signs that he was doing a good job and that was something that had always been important to him. He enjoyed making others feel good. One of the few reasons he hadn’t quit his job as a stripper. But there was something about you.......He just couldn’t place it.

You really did taste amazing, though. His eagerness was more genuine than for show. Wanting to increase your pleasure, he pressed his face harder into your core, his nose buried in your scent while his tongue got to taste you to the fullest. You were so warm and wet. Jungkook could only imagine how you’d feel around his cock. Which had since grown hard within his boxer briefs. Gosh it was always the cute and shy ones that turned him on the most.

As he went back to teasing your clit and sucking it with hunger, he heard your moans coming to a halt as you half shouted in a desperate tone,

“Jungkook-----I want your cock! Please! I need you in me! Now!”

Well that escalated quickly.

However, he wanted to make absolutely sure this was something you wanted. Pulling his face away from your core, he looked up at you through his eyelashes with eyes that had grown dark with lust. Yours too were just as dark which was a huge contrast to the innocent shine they had shown only moments ago. You suddenly weren’t so shy and definitely not innocent.

You were a total wreck at this point. Your mind was a mess but you knew what you wanted. You had long sobered up from what few drinks you had and you knew this was something you wanted. Something you needed. It had truly been awhile since you last experienced an orgasm and you were long overdue for one. Jungkook, stranger or not, was your ticket to release and nothing was going to stand in your way.

Not even your routine.

“Please, Jungkook. Please.”

“Easy, baby girl. I’ve got you. I’ll take really good care of you.”

Releasing your legs and climbing off the bed for just a moment, he could feel your eyes on him as he fished out a condom from one of the side drawers. You were so wrecked and it was a beautiful sight. Your eyes hooded with your chest heaving. He had hardly touched you. Poor thing, you must be really sensitive.

Climbing back onto the bed, he made quick work of ripping the package and rolling the condom onto his rock hard length. You really did turn him on. Normally, he had to work himself to full mast but you being you.....it was no problem. Perhaps you yourself was magic too. Given his line of work, it wasn’t often he found a client who could turn him on as much as you did.

“You’re going to feel so good around my cock, baby girl. You sure you don’t want me to stre-----”

“No! Please! I’m good. I promise. Just hurry! Want you so bad!”

Jungkook had no doubt that you could have quite the dirty mouth on you if you were to let yourself go far enough. It was almost hard to believe that just mere moments ago, you were this shy young woman who wouldn’t dare do something so scandalous as having sex with a stripper. Yet here you were, desperate under his touch. He loved it. Thrived in it.

The lion had his little lamb right where he wanted her.

Not wanting to keep you waiting any longer, he made himself comfortable between your legs once more before aligning himself with your sopping entrance. You were so beautiful with your face all flushed and chest rising and falling at a slightly rapid pace. Your soft locks sprawled all over the pillow. So so pretty. And all for him. Trying to focus, he slowly eased himself forward till he could feel the tip of his length nudge your entrance. God you were so warm. He could only imagine how wonderful you’d feel once he was fully inside you.

“You’re so freaking tight, baby girl. It really has been awhile, huh?”

“God too long! Too long! Please! Ruin me, Jungkook!”

He knew it. You could be a dirty little girl if you’d just let yourself loose from your own leash. He certainly hoped this wouldn’t be the last time the two of you saw each other. You were a real treat in his book. A treat he wanted again and again. Someone he could easily become addicted to being around if you’d let him.

He could feel your velvety walls clenching around him as you were stuffed full for the first time in a long while. Not wanting you to go into some sort of shock, he gently rubbed your sides with his warm hands in soothing, repetitive motions. Leaning down, he gently planted kisses along your face. Just anything to take your mind off the slight sting he knew you’d feel.

“Deep breaths, baby. Deep breaths. You’re right here and I’m not going to let anything hurt you, okay?”

“Ss-s-so full.”

“I know, baby. I know. Bet you’ve never had cock this good, huh?”

“Ne-Never. Never ever. Ss-so good.”

You were already ruined and he hadn’t even moved. You poor poor thing. Depriving yourself for so long of something so good. Well he was going to make sure you didn’t miss out any longer. Feeling your body ease up from underneath him, he took that as a silent signal to start moving his hips. God you felt so good around him. His length involuntarily twitched what little it could while being buried inside your warm wet walls.

“You feel just as good, babe. So warm and tight. Just the way I like it. You were made for me, baby girl.”

Your moans filled the room along with his own as you found your arms wrapping around him to gently dig your nails into his muscular back. You needed something to hold onto despite his slow and easy pace. While you appreciated him taking things slow......you had long since grown impatient. Testing the waters since you really hadn’t done much yourself, you bucked your hips at just the right time so that they collided with his own.

Yeah. That felt good.

With a soft growl of pleasure, Jungkook found himself staring heavily into your eyes as he said in a low and slightly threatening tone,

“Ooohhh. So baby girl likes it rough, does she? Well two can play at this game. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

Oh boy.....

And just like that, the male pulled out of you only for him to flip you over onto your hands and knees. All the sounds you could make were soft yelps of surprise before suddenly feeling him ram his hips into yours; successfully sheathing himself deep inside you once more. The action alone caused a loud moan to fall from your lips as you hung your head; body slightly shaking with overwhelming pleasure.

“Yes! Yes, Jungkook! Please! More!”

“Greedy little lamb! So eager for my cock. Gonna absolutely ruin you! Fuck you so good you’ll forget your own name and only remember mine!”

The room became filled with your moans along with the sounds of skin slapping against skin as Jungkook pounded into you from behind; his hands gripping your hips till he left marks. You had never been with someone who was so strong. His movements were so powerful that he was making the bed shake as well as yourself. Your moans came out shaky from how he managed to move your body with his powerful thrusts. You then felt him drape himself over your back.

He reached around you so that one hand could massage your breast and play with your nipple while his other hand slithered down to where he found your clit. It had already been a challenge for you to stay on all fours when he started ramming his hips into yours; let alone when he started feeling up your weak spots. God you had no idea you were so sensitive till Jungkook came along. It was like he already knew your body like the back of his hand.

“Jj-Ju-Jungko-oo-ok. I’m cl-cl-close!!”

“Already, baby girl? Surly you can last a little longer till I get there, hmm? Can you wait for me, beautiful?”

Normally, he could care less when his clients came. Sometimes, the sooner the better. But with you? Jungkook was just having way too much fun and you really did feel amazing. However, there was also that little nagging voice in the back of his head whining about how he didn’t want to let you leave. There was so much he wanted to ask you. Hell, he wanted to get to know you. Which he still hadn’t figured out why. Maybe you were just an easily likable person?

Your moans were even cute as you let out all your pent up sexual frustration. However, his strength must have gotten the better of you because he watched your arms finally give out from under you. Acting quickly, he used his own arms to lift you up so that you were leaning back into him; the both of you now on your knees.

With his nose buried in the crook of your neck, he began to place sloppy kisses to your heated skin while an arm wrapped around your chest; massaging your breast while that other hand went back to work on rubbing figure eights into your clit. He could feel your thighs shaking and quivering as he slowly but surely brought you to your end. He could tell you were close from the way your walls clenched around his length repeatedly.

Then you surprised him by reaching back behind the both of you to try and grab at his ass. Well well well. We’re you getting a little brave? He couldn’t help but smile against the expanse of your neck before gently biting down on the skin and sucking it gently; leaving his mark for you to remember him by tomorrow.

“Jungkook!! Please!! Please let me cum!!”

“Go for it, baby girl. Cream all over my cock. Be a good little lamb and cum for me.”

Definitely not needing to be told twice, you could feel the knot in your lower belly finally snap and your release hitting you like a tidal wave. It was so easy and natural for you to scream out his name as your body arched and shook against his own. You were so lost in your bliss that you didn’t realize he had a protective hold on you while he too found his own end; releasing into the condom. Shame you couldn’t have felt him fill you up instead.

The only sounds filling the room were the soft music coming from Jungkook’s phone along with both of your heavy breathing. You could feel his heart pounding against your back as you had to lean against him for support; thankful that he was still holding you up. However, it wasn’t long till he gently pulled himself from you entirely before easing you down onto the mattress like a real gentleman.

“Let me go dispose of this and get a wash cloth to clean you up, okay baby?”

Still floating on your cloud bliss, you simply nodded your head against the pillows while hearing him chuckle once more. You felt like dead weight but it was a good kind of feeling. Whew. How much tension had you really held inside you for all this time? You had no idea how badly you needed this. Sex with a complete stranger. Who would have thought this was how you spiced up your life and broadened your horizon.

Just as your eyes were about to close completely, you heard him come back and ask casually,

“So are you a coffee drinker?”

#jungkook smut #bts smut #bangtan smut #jeon jungkook smut #jk smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook/reader #jungkook x mc #jungkook/mc #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook bts #bts jungkook #bts #bangtan #bangtan boys #jungkook fanfiction #bts fanfiction #jungkook scenarios #bts scenarios #jungkook imagines #bts imagines

[aaluminiumas]

Die for Me

あなたこそが “ 海賊王 ” に なる男

Lukewarm blood gushed out from the deep wounds. Ripping apart huge chunks of flesh and feeling the solidity of a bone inside, Monet genuinely relished her superiority savoring every note of the harrowing, blood-curdling shriek the woman in her deadly embrace emitted.

That Marine girl was no good at all; her tactics may not be exactly lame or useless, nor did she lack fervor or courage, but she turned out to be too modest and polite to attack – and also feeble. While the Marines claimed to have implemented a variety of brand-new top-notch techniques that would improve fighting skills of nearly any novice, they tended to send weaklings barely able to resist a simple scuffle, let alone serious combat with high ranks such as her or Caesar. This one wasn’t an exception to the rule: though promoted, Tashigi proved her disability to be on the offensive, thus confirming Monet’s expectations and dispelling the illusion of power Smoker had successfully created earlier.

“I adore it when you yell so desperately,” the Harpy muttered nonchalantly in the unctuous voice, her lips smeared with blood. “So I might break your scapula just for fun. My fangs can go through bone like butter. What a lovely day we are having, aren’t we?.. Care to brighten it further?”

Monet’s viselike grip tightened, and a bone cracked; Tashigi’s scream of utter anguish pierced the chaos and turmoil. In a moment, the woman limped in the Harpy’s wings. This last shrill seemed to have deserted her internally, leaving little to no stamina to stand up for herself and resist the throes shooting through her fragile body. The Harpy, though, felt no remorse or contrition. Quite on the contrary, she yielded into the perverse pleasure of being in charge – her well-nurtured sadistic inclinations and proclivities could finally splurge and flourish. Normally, it was Doflamingo whose hatred of the Marines came unwrapped. He was always in command; he was always aware of the potential threat and danger that could strike at any given moment, and now she could defend him from this invasion without an innuendo on his part. He had protected her in the past, bestowed a shelter, and took care of her younger sister—

“Enough.”

A low voice, hardly louder than Tashigi’s shallow breath muffled all the sounds, including explosions and the clash in the distant rooms. A swordsman with cold resolution in the single eye stood there, unmoving, his face serious, yet completely unreadable.

Monet’s fine features contorted in a lopsided smirk, her head withdrawing from Tashigi’s injured shoulder. Spoiled by pride, the swordsman didn’t seem to see a worthy opponent in her. Good for him, she thought. The Marine’s death would be on his hands – after all, he couldn’t compare to one of the best soldiers among the Donquixotes.

“I said enough,” he growled quietly, advancing and raising his katana, the silver eye narrowing. “Didn’t you hear?”

“She shouted too loudly. Should I shut her up?” Monet’s voice remained vaguely flirtatious, her antics jaunty, but the swordsman betrayed no emotion whatsoever. Instead, without a single warning, he pivoted forward, sword at the ready. Prancing at superhuman speed, the man neatly cut her in half – her logia powers weren’t a mere obstacle to him or his blade.

“I’m a Logia, you fool,” Monet spat with a haughty grin, “You think I’m scared?”

That fact alone contributed to her arrogance and hoity-toity attitude. While the majority of the Donquixote Family had to satisfy themselves with commonplace and hackneyed Paramecias, she got lucky – Doflamingo brought in a Logia fruit, the rarest type, and presented it to her. He might have intended to give it to Vergo, who hadn’t joined the number of the fruit-eaters and preferred to use his innate physical force. At any rate, such thoughts barely intruded on her mind: Doflamingo, the Young Master she worshipped, literally made her a gift desired by many. And what a scenery it was: he called in a meeting, ordered his favorite delicacies, thus forcing the whole city to cook for him, and sprawled across his improvised throne. Trebol, giggling under his breath, Diamante with his ever-lasting smirk, the imperturbable Pica, Vergo with the rigorous mien… Well, she was never part of the elite – nor did she plan to climb higher. The seat beside Doflamingo’s feet seemed comfortable enough to occupy – this position turned her into a valuable asset, who caught all the messages and orders intoned in a low, seductive voice. Despite that, the Young Master did not banish her – he remained seated, asking her to tell them all about her first murder – committed with a taste.

Logia powers made the bearer almost invincible, and Monet, a proficient user, trained by the best, especially by Vergo, knew what she was worth.

“I’m a Logia,” the Harpy repeated, the blizzard howling louder. “It doesn’t hurt me.”

“We’ll see,” came the answer.

Not even looking at her, the man grabbed the wounded woman and hurried to the exit, while Monet, absolutely dumbfounded, discovered that she could not get together. What appeared to be a single cut turned out to be a series of swift swishes in the air that slashed her snow-made body in a split second with the power that significantly surpassed her own. The result unfolded in slow motion: the more time went, the more it hurt; paralyzed, she listlessly perused the gashes opening in her skin – the man had inflicted much more damage than she had initially anticipated.

Furious, lacerated by what seemed to be a hundred blades, Monet yelled – and realized that it caused another wound to splay. The flesh got torn apart somewhere in her stomach and sent an impetus to the lungs prompting another incision to dehisce. The blood spurted up and flushed out from her mouth, staining the green shirt. Coughing, gagging, and covering her lips with a defective wing that had also been slit and now painted vermillion, the Harpy leaned over a gigantic machine with a red button on its panel. Half-conscious, she stared at it – it certainly was a way out. If she pushes it, the whole island will go up in flames. Nobody survived, case closed. Nobody discovers the dirty scheme Vergo had initiated in the Marine to abduct kids; nobody learns about the dubious experiments of the ambiguous nature performed by Caesar. Nobody connects Young Master – her Young Master – to the helter-skelter in the lab, nobody–

Her consciousness drifted away; small lacerations proved to be even worse than the deeper ones – blood didn’t stop from dripping, and she couldn’t control the amount she had lost. Falling to the ground, quivering, Monet twitched her wings in a fruitless attempt to maintain balance. It was overkill, anyway, at least she deemed so. Her wounds were fatal; she very well understood that she was a goner – but it was still in her power to prevent future events from happening.

Suddenly, Monet heard the quiet mumbling of a snail. Caesar, concerned about Joker’s supervision and unremitting control (the notion he strongly believed but which wasn’t true to the fact: Doflamingo, after Monet’s infiltration, called every once in a while, just to give the man heebie-jeebies, in case he felt lazy), installed snails everywhere, each equipped with a unique number. Only Joker could have access to them – no one else would be able to call here, the sanctum sanctorum of the lab.

The injured wing reached for the receiver, then twitched and fell. Trembling, the Harpy moaned in agony, choked on the blood, and made a feeble attempt to get up. Didn’t work; her face contorted in pure anguish. Invincible, trained, fortified by a number of experiments conducted under Doflamingo’s supervision, she never expected a failure. Especially a failure like this.

The snail kept grumbling, Monet whimpered; struggling to stand up, the Harpy felt a million needles skewering into her body, avulsing the thinnest and the tiniest blood vessels. She had to be slow not to disturb the veins that still remained intact. Making a superhuman effort, Monet propped herself up, her chest heaving, her wings jittered ever so slightly.  Panting, leaning over the tremendous apparatus towering over her, the Harpy managed to answer the call.

“Monet?” called a low, mellifluous voice coming from a snail. “Monet, do you read?”

“Yes, Young Master,” she mustered her shattered self to respond.

“I do not have the slightest idea what is happening right now,” he drawled pensively, “But it is certainly far from the plan I have drawn up.”

“They– they snatched Caesar.”

Doflamingo paused, pondering over her words. That loudmouth fool, calling himself a genius, failed to kick the teenager’s ass and let himself get captured by a bunch of mere kids playing real pirates. It had been funny to hear that that Strawhat Luffy defeated Sir Crocodile, one of the most feared and infamous warlords; after all, Doflamingo shook hands with the man and knew exactly what his weaknesses were, but Caesar Clown was another thing. First off, he claimed himself to be a brilliant scientist, and, in fact, he had managed to synthesize a drug that made children comparable to giants in force and probably in size. Furthermore, he used his earlier formulae and calculations, retrieved the readouts of the past experiments to create artificial Devil Fruits. So, he clearly was not a complete idiot. However, he employed none of his ingenious tricks to kill the annoying brat on sight when he had the opportunity.  Too bad the factory couldn’t work without his involvement – otherwise, Doflamingo himself would’ve got disposed of Caesar as well.

“Monet,” he finally spoke, his voice dropping down a notch. “You were loyal to me.”

“Till the end, Young Master,” she muttered, her voice not louder than a susurrus of wind.

“Die for me.” He commanded coolly, his eyes staring into space unwinkingly. “Monet, die for me and send this place to hell. Take them all along with you.”

“Yes, Young Master. I will do as you please.”

Her lips, covered with blood and gore, stretched in a gentle smile addressed to no one in particular. He cared about her. He wanted her to perform this last task for him, in the name of his future achievements and accomplishments, and she would not let him down.

She raised her wing, slightly quavering, preparing to hit the red button. Exuding a quiet hum, the Harpy lowered it – and gasped, immediately falling onto the ground with a loud, heavy thump.

“Monet?.. Monet, what’s happened? Monet, can you hear me?..”

She uttered a wheezing sound, and her visage froze in a rictus of death.

#one piece #doflamingo x monet #monet #doflamingo #donquixote doflamingo

[gatheringbones]

The people Jesus loved were shopping at The Star Market yesterday. An old lead-colored man standing next to me at the checkout breathed so heavily I had to step back a few steps. Even after his bags were packed he still stood, breathing hard and hawking into his hand. The feeble, the lame, I could hardly look at them: shuffling through the aisles, they smelled of decay, as if The Star Market had declared a day off for the able-bodied, and I had wandered in with the rest of them: sour milk, bad meat: looking for cereal and spring water. Jesus must have been a saint, I said to myself, looking for my lost car in the parking lot later, stumbling among the people who would have been lowered into rooms by ropes, who would have crept out of caves or crawled from the corners of public baths on their hands and knees begging for mercy. If I touch only the hem of his garment, one woman thought, I will be healed. Could I bear the look on his face when he wheels around?

marie howe, the star market

#poetry

[writersmacchiato]

Wanting | Oliver Wood

Summary: When Oliver, the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, is asked about you, the Slytherin Quidditch Captain and his childhood best friend, he slips up and misunderstandings develop.

Requested by: @whatwouldidowithoutgeorgeluz (sorry for not completely following your prompt, but i hope you like this anyway!)

———

Harry didn’t know what to think of you. Since starting school at Hogwarts, his experience with the Slytherin house has been less than favorable. They were rotten.

Except you weren’t. Harry has seen you in the halls, often alone or looking annoyed as Malfoy or Marcus Flint tried to capture your attention. It pleases him beyond imagine every time you brush off Malfoy, his face embarrassed. Ron takes great pleasure in mocking him. ‘Oh L/N you are so beautiful. What do you mean you won’t marry me? My father will hear about this!’

You weren’t rotten, but you were ambitious. Cunning. Smart. Clever. Beautiful. Harry had unfortunately been on the receiving end of Oliver Wood going off on a tangent about you more than once. It seemed that the only topics Wood knew a profound amount on was Quidditch and you. He could spend hours at any given time listing off how you were everything a Slytherin was meant to be, but then forget the spell he was learning in transfiguration.

“She’s so wickedly smart, you should hear her talk about potions. She’s been tutoring me.” Wood sighs, “without her, I wouldn’t even get an A on my NEWTS.”

Harry feels uncomfortable listening to Wood moon over you once again, all he wanted to ask about was something for his class and now twenty minutes later he was stuck listening to all the ways in which you were amazing.

“Uh,” Harry cleared his throat, coughing as he mumbles out a feeble, “Is L/N your girlfriend?”

And Oliver Wood, his head in the clouds as he thought about the way you smirked at him earlier that morning, comes crashing down to the sky. A brilliant shade of red blooms over his cheeks.

He stutters for a moment, fumbling until he manages to strangle out a heated “no!”

“Oh.” Harry says lamely, feeling dread creep in over the looming Quidditch practice tomorrow.

. . .

You let out a laugh, trying to hide it behind your hands before Madam Pence kicks you out — nothing got past her. Oliver’s cheeks are a light pink as he recounts his conversation with Harry Potter.

“You do talk about me an awful lot, Wood.”

He rolls his eyes. “Only about how insufferable you are.”

“Insufferably beautiful? Smart?” You lean in with a smirk. “Oh, I know. I’m so insufferably good at Quidditch it makes you want to tear your hair out.”

Oliver doesn’t respond, closing the distance you had shortened. “You are insufferable.”

You grin at his challenging tone. “I’m looking forward to the Quidditch match this Saturday.”

Ravenclaw versus Slytherin.

“Will you be there to cheer me on?”

Oliver rolls his eyes, a tug of a smirk on his lips. “No, actually. You need to be knocked down a peg or two. Merlin knows how you even walk around with your big head.”

“My big head? It’s nothing compared to yours, Wood.” You say, then laugh at the implication. He rolls his eyes so hard that he’s surprised they don’t sprain.

“I have practice. See you later.”

“Tell Potter your girlfriend says hello!”

. . .

The wind tossed through your robes,

“Oy! L/N!”

You turn with a hand on your hip, face unimpressed as Oliver stalks towards you. The Slytherin Quidditch team grumbles when they spot him, but you ignore their empty threats.

“Wood.”

“Talk to ya for a minute?”

You follow him down a small side path, out of the way of everyone filtering down to the Quidditch pitch. Oliver’s cheeks are flushed pink from the wind, burrowing under his gryffindor scarf. His brown eyes peer at you, reflecting warmly against the chill in the air.

“What do you want, Wood? Trying to shake me off my game last minute?” You break his silence, wanting him to start but not having time to beat around the bush.

Oliver smiles to himself, scuffing at the dirt with his shoe. When he looks up through his lashes, you’re struck by how handsome he has grown to be.

From children, where you played endlessly together, to mere tweens teasing each other, to now...on the verge of adulthood.

“I just wanted to say good luck out there.” He settles on, the words unsure.

Instead of saying the smart remark that rises, you touch his hand and smile. “I don’t need it, but thank you.”

Oliver scoffs, though he’s smiling. Wind drifts through his hair, it had gotten long over the weeks, sweeping over his forehead. You’re not sure what possesses you, but you find that your fingers are tucking it back into place. Oliver’s cheeks turn a rosy pink, eyes casting away from you.

“See you later, champ.” Oliver pats you on the shoulder, hand lingering for a second longer than it should.

. . .

Oliver almost wished that Slytherin had lost the game against Ravenclaw. The rambunctious and petty gloating from their Quidditch team, understandable to a point, was plain ridiculous now. Not a minute passed where someone from the team wasn’t loudly talking about the game and the plays, a lot of them dirty. He knew it bothered you, that your team’s victories were never entirely fair.

“Can’t wait til’ we kick their asses.” Fred Weasley speaks up after practice one windy morning. “Finally shut them up.”

Oliver finds himself nodding along, not entirely listening as he thinks back to the practice and what needed to be improved. Harry was still unsure, hesitating in his movements. Oliver would have to bolster his confidence. And, the Weasley’s—

“—You with us, Wood?”

Oliver looks up, looking at his teammates. They’re a mixture of bemused, annoyed, and mischievous. “What?”

“We were asking how you’re friends with L/N? She’s the captain, she should set the example.”

Wood felt himself getting defensive. “I’m not.”

A lie, a bold-faced lie. How long had they been friends? You knew Oliver Wood better than Oliver Wood knew himself.

. . .

“Wood.” You hardly spare a glance from your textbook.

Oliver hesitates in front of you, stumbling as he tries to gain his thoughts. There was something in the air, different from the usual causal air between you.

“I haven’t done anything, have I?” His words are tentative, feeling thick on his tongue.

You finally let out a sigh, eyebrows arched. The pages of the book slip close as your hand moves.

“No, Oliver,” your tone is sickly sweet, sliding over his skin in a way he doesn’t like. “You’ve done nothing.”

And, while there was obviously something wrong, Oliver did not have the time to figure it out. Potions was looming in the dungeons and he couldn’t afford to be late.

. . .

Weeks drag by and Oliver does not see you as often. Or rather, he does. A glimpse of your hair in the halls, your laugh ringing out in the Great Hall, a fleeting moment of your eyes meeting his before you turn away.

He misses you.

It’s a slow, startling feeling that he is unused to. The realization that you, one of his closest friends that has been there since nappies, are slipping away from him is a feeling that he can only liken to losing a game of Quidditch. His chest hurts, heart heavy every time you refuse to stop and talk to him.

Oliver is miserable and no one has seen him so dismal since they lost against Ravenclaw last year. It’s enough to be noticed, rumors spreading through the school. They even reach you, all the way in the dungeon.

. . .

“Wood?”

Oliver glances up and his heart does a little leap in his chest.

“Y/N?” It’s strangled

“What’s up? You’re not you.”

“I’m not?”

“Yes. And Gryffindor can’t afford their captain to be off his game against Ravenclaw. Especially with their new seeker, gave us hell in our match.”

Oliver, despite his anger at your coldness, is amused and not surprised that Quidditch is your common ground. It often was. His heart, beating a mile a minute, warms at your concern. You turn to leave the library, patting his hand before you go.

“Chin up, Oli.”

. . .

Oliver finds you facing the windows outside the courtyards, back turned to him as his steps fall heavy against the stone ground. The sun is setting, already past the line of trees from the forbidden forest. A glow from its light is still cast on your face, ethereal as you turn to look at him. There is a smear of dirt on his forehead, his cheeks flushed red. The twinkle in his eye is unmistakable.

“Congratulations on the win.”

Oliver nods, not being able to hide his wide grin. Elation coursed through him, blood still pumping fast in excitement. There’s something in the air, charged with an energy that feels soft and delicate.

“Thank you.”

He swallows thickly, watching as you lean against a column. You’re relaxed, eyes looking at him with something he can’t place. The palms of his hands itch as he has the desire to touch you, suddenly, but he pushes the thought away. No other words are exchanged.

When, the sun finally makes its final descent beyond the horizon Oliver knows that he should head back inside. The celebration party in the gryffindor common room would already be in full swing by the time he made his way there, but he was far too captivated by your gaze.

You notice his conflict, a small smile playing at your lips. “You should go celebrate.”

“Maybe I want to stay here.” He finds the nerve to say this, though he feels like he’s suddenly grown two sizes smaller. “With you.”

You smile, a real true smile, that has his cheeks warming. “Me?”

“Yeah, you...” he breathes, noticing just then how small the distance was between you. Your fingers touch his hand, sliding up his arm and settling on his shoulder. The material of his jersey is rough, well-worn, and comfortable. An aggregate of him, everything you know him for.

Oliver, distantly, is aware that anyone can see this, but he doesn’t care when you kiss him. Something he’s been waiting to a while, years even.

———

Everything taglist: @venusstarlight108 @knivestheresnothingtoit @awesomefaith14 @ardentmuse @salladwinston @maddieb97222 @anchy-bananchy @staygoldponebone @unique05sstuff

Harry Potter taglist: @p-adfoot 

also @croatianbagudna here is the rest of the fic! 

#harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #oliver wood x reader #oliver wood imagine #oliver wood #hp #i feel like this is a little ooc #:/ #i still really like this though!

[pazvizslaplasmathrower]

A Father’s Duty- Chapter 38

Read here or on AO3:

Summary: You finally awake from your deep sleep, only to greet Din with sudden violence.

Word Count: 1917

Help should have been arriving any minute. Anxiously, Din scanned the area around the ship from the windshield of the Razor Crest. There was nothing on the Tatooine horizon, much to Din’s growing dismay. He had called their name until the very sound seemed to lack any decipherable meaning. While knowing they were gravely injured, Din couldn’t help himself and shake their limp body, trying in vain to wake them.

 Three days had passed since Beviin was last conscious, leaving him in relative silence save for the baby’s limited babbling. The little one would occasionally look over at his sibling, though with no readable expression. If he was concerned, he showed no signs. Din, however, was one more accident away from fainting. There was only so much he could take from feeling completely deserted to having to feed Beviin broth to keep them from starving and loosing precious weight he fought tooth and nail for them to put on.

 He stood staring rather blankly at the thin broth as it heated, feeling rather dizzy due to lack of sleep. But at his son’s rather jarring cry, his senses heightened, and body moved quickly, throwing open the door to their quarters to see the baby crying and squeaking in discomfort. Din’s emotions clashed, alarm and relief coming together in a disastrous clash.

 “Beviin?” Against his own will, Din’s voice cracked.

 Their now open eyes stared straight at the ceiling, the pupil rather small amid the dark yellow backdrop of their iris. They made no movement, each of their arms lying flat at their sides, body completely still. Wariness kept Din at bay, the odd nature of his eldest child’s state making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Though there was a surging instinct to rush them and hug them as tightly as possible, Din refrained.

  “It’s okay…you’re safe. No one’s going to attack-.”

 His sentence was brutally cut off, body slammed against the door by nothing seemingly visible. Though Din was seeing stars among a backdrop of black, his hand instinctively went to his belt, only to find that his reflexes had been no match for young Beviin. With his body pinned to the durasteel, he could only groggily watch as his child took their foreign stance, activating the blade of their illuminating weapon. There was no hesitation in their next, swift movements, surging forward, blade pulled back and ready. However, thank the kriffing stars, they only made it a few feet. Their face remained still void of all emotion, even as their own form was tossed about the room like unsecured luggage. Still in his crib, Din could just make out the baby, little cheeks tear stained, as he held up one hand. With his eldest distracted, prying themself from the floor, the Mandalorian reached for his blaster setting it to stun. Even now, he couldn’t erase the image from his mind; though it seemed long ago, he could still envision Beviin having been torn to pieces under fire from both he and Cara.

 “Ad’ika! Stop!”

 He hadn’t expected them to listen in the first place, but it never hurt to try. Apathy washed over poor Din Djarin like the tide leaving him nearly without the will to fight his own child. Lamely, he raised his hand to fire, only to have the blaster torn from his hand with such strength, he could hardly believe it had come from Beviin. That beautiful mauve blade spun expertly through the air, its wielder preparing to plunge it downward. Din had to move. If not for his own goddamn life, then for the kriffing baby watching his sibling try to attack their own father from his bed. He could hear his inner voice bellowing loudly for some action, for his own conviction to steel. So unfocused was the Mandalorian, he hadn’t even noticed the door open, revealing a looming shadow from his position, crumpled on the floor. Head spinning from hitting the hard surface with such force, Din could only remember the familiar sound of blaster fire, followed by something more piercing and ear-shattering.

 ***___***___***

 Very lax, you could feel your body waking, slowly, and then all together pain from your previous misadventures re-discovered. Though something was certainly off. The Jedi master of old had done their best in healing, granting you mended bones; however, the matter of the flesh was different. Agony coursed through muscles as you brought your hands up to your face, tracing the scars until something new greeted your fingertips. Bacta infused fabric had been tightly bound around your eyes, secured heavily by thick bandages. This hadn’t been here prior to your falling asleep. Panic began to rouse in your heart, sending your pulse racing. Remembering the revelations of your slumber only hindered any attempts at comfort made by the rational side of your mind. On the brink of screaming, you made a feeble attempt to sit up, only to have something enormous press down on your bruised torso.

 “They’re awake.”

 A new presence was made clear far too late for your liking, though sensing no malice, your panic refused to settle.  Weakly, your arms grabbed at the one pressing firmly on your clothed chest, trying to push it off.

 “Save your strength, sorcerer. You will need it.”

 “That’s enough…You’re scaring them.” There was the voice you knew. Warm and sure as the Stewjoni tide. “Beviin…It’s okay. I’m glad you’re awake.” There was an enormous wave of sadness emanating from the Mandalorian. Though you couldn’t see him, you could sense his familiar presence from the doorway. “He won’t hurt you, he’s not dangerous.”

 “I will, if this sorcerer tries to kill you again.” The strange voice growled; his voice distorted quite like your Mandalorian’s.

 “WHAT?”

 “Paz!”

 The stranger scoffed, finally removing his hand, when he felt you fall back onto your cot. “You’re too soft with this one, Din Djarin. Too careless. Child, you tried to kill your own father.”

 “What…What did I do?” Your words were breathy and small. Each one causing your lungs to burn hot.

 Feeling the Mandalorian’s hesitation, you could only conjure the worst possible scenarios in the few seconds he granted you.

 “Beviin…You lost control again…I couldn’t wake you up for a few days. And when you finally did, you were gone. I couldn’t stop it…you don’t remember any of it?” He was holding back details. Protecting despite your violent assault against him.

 “M-Maybe in a while I will.” In reality, you had no desire to remember. “Stars…I-I’m so…I…” An apology wasn’t nearly enough. How could on ever equate the value of words to that of a living being? Anger flashed but was easily overcome by worry and guilt. Regardless of the searing pain begging you to stop and just be still, your legs moved, ignoring the mind. You didn’t need sight to find him, his sad, yet sturdy presence was enough to feel and follow. That stranger made an attempt to seize you by the arm, though upon touching you, his grip fell away, allowing your feeble body to fall forward onto what you sensed was a very surprised Mandalorian.

 “Beviin. You’re hurt.” He was trying so kriffing hard to keep his voice even, to keep his stance firm, and body strong. Your hands gripped his Beskar as tight as possible, refusing to let go. “You need to lay down, Ad’ika.”

 In spite of the body, your mind seemed to strengthen in order to compensate. Reaching out into the living Force, you could feel The Mandalorian’s numerous bruises and even a slight fracture, you were willing to bet he failed to notice.

 “What are you…Beviin! Stop! Paz! Get them off!” Din cried, realizing why you clung so close.

 Massive hands moved under your arms, pulling you from the Mandalorian, up off the ground and back onto your cot as if you weighed no more than the baby.

 “Did they hurt you?” The deep voice asked, reeking of overprotectiveness.

 You could hear your father grumble to himself, perhaps testing his movements now. “No. And, Beviin. I told you not to use your powers unless I say so. Yesterday was different, but-.”

 “But what?” You exhaled. “I hurt you. I hurt you. It’s only right that I heal you. Words aren’t gonna be enough.”

 Your father sighed, the sound of his boots against the floor drawing closer. “Just…Listen to me. Please.”

 “I will.” No promise was drawn from your lips, but you would do you damn best.

 “Hmph. Seems this child has some sense of nobility. Perhaps you haven’t been entirely careless, Din Djarin.”

 ***___***___***

 “Buir…What happened?”

 Still reeling from aching all over to feeling suddenly rejuvenated, Din could only mutter nonsense. “Huh?”

 “Their eyes.” Paz nodded, still keeping his eyes trained on the child, occasionally glancing over to the sleeping baby.  The little one had been so terribly upset, trying to reach their sibling in spite of Din’s guarding arms. He had to rock him for two hours straight before he had calmed enough fall asleep.

 “Eyes?” Beviin’s powers might have been healing, but they had left him groggy as hell.

 “It hurts.” His eldest winced, hands gingerly prodding the thick fabric. “The stalker lizard didn’t do this.”

 “You’re right, little one. I did.” Blunt as ever, Din wondered if he had elicited the reaction he was hoping for.

 “Beviin,” Din sighed. “This is Paz Viszla.”

 “Buir, I can’t see.”

 Cringing, he could only motion for his fellow Mandalorian to speak again. Glancing down at Beviin’s bandaged face, small bits of blood having soaked the dressings lightly.

 “I take no joy in your maiming, little one.” Paz grumbled. “Though at first, I was certain you were an enemy, if your father had not been there…Well I am sure our battle would have been…memorable for the victor.”

 “You stopped me.” Beviin said quietly. “How?”

 Paz shrugged, patting his lighter arsenal pieces quite affectionately. “It was easy really. You tried to use that wizard sword against me. Your first mistake.” He leaned further against the wall, taking in the older child’s limited expression. “It deflected blaster fire easy enough, but I suppose your elders hadn’t instructed you on the weaknesses of your kind.”

 Beviin shook their head, “I don’t even know what the kriffing hell my kind is…” Jaw clenching, he could tell his child was having enough of being regaled to.

 “Watch your language, little one.” Paz muttered. “As I was saying, your sword is no match for tradition.” His gigantic hand spun the shining pistol confidently in one hand, slipping it smoothly into its holster.

 “They can’t see.” Din growled, wanting to punch him squarely in the jaw. There was a limit to how grateful he could be for his rescue and no limit to how furious he could be at Paz for maiming his child. And both conflicted wonderfully.

 “Is…Is that a gun?” Beviin gasped. Hands clenching the fabric of their blanket.

 Din placed a hand gently on their forehead, brushing away a few stay hairs. “I’m so sorry, Beviin. While your weapon can deflect blaster fire, it can’t do the same with gunfire. Instead it makes… shrapnel.”

 Those small hands reached again for their bandaged eyes, nearly threatening to tear them off. Beviin had easily put together what had happened. If only Din could do the same for the future of his clan. The baby was already an endless mystery, a beacon of hidden power. And then there was Beviin, sick and now blinded.  

#sw #star wars #star wars fic #fic #fiction #fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanart #cara #cara dune #y/n #reader inset #sw fic #starwars #baby yoda #the mandalorian #the mandolarian #mando #paz #paz vizla #paz vizsla #din #dyn #din djarin #dyn jarren #jedi #force sensitive reader #fandom #fandoms

[seokeros]

An Oath for Sinners, 4 (Sort Of)

for those who don’t wish to read them on wattpad, here are the final two scenes of an oath for sinners. they’re only 1.3k words in total, so not a giant and juicy read. there was also supposed to be another big scene in between them, so there’s like a 6-month time-jump between these two scenes. but I hope you all enjoy the softness of our fav vampire/escort duo!!! 💗

"Your eyes, Yoongi," she murmurs, the fingers of her right-hand noticeably twitching as if she wishes to caress the side of his face. Still, she keeps it restrained at her side. "Are you sure you'll you be okay?"

"I'll be fine. It's not going to do your body any good for me to drink from it tonight. You need some rest." Yoongi takes her wrist, leading her sweatsuit-clad self onto the mattress. "Come on, in you get."

She rolls her eyes and sniffs, wiping her wet nose on the sleeve of her sweater. Seeming to realise she just did that in his presence, she hesitantly glances at Yoongi through the low lamplight, but is only faced with an expression of nonchalance. What she does not seem to understand is that Yoongi has clawed out intestines and eyeballs throughout the younger years of his life—snot is certainly not going to be high on his list of grotesque and cringeworthy things.

"So... University is wearing you out, huh?" Yoongi begins as a feeble attempt at conversation while she tucks herself under the covers. He swiftly follows, keeping a metre of space between them, yet he desperately wishes to smother his face against her warm throat.

"Yeah, you could say that. Just a whole lot of assignments being due at the same time, and I've never dealt with stress all that well." She raises an eyebrow at him, a question in her gaze. "Can vampires get sick? Why are you so far away?"

"Oh." Yoongi blinks once, very slowly, and props himself up on his elbow. "No, we can't. Do you want me closer?"

She sees right through him. "Yoongi, I've known you for a year now. If anything, it looks like you want to be closer," she says, grinning wickedly. Yoongi is about to protest when she continues. "It's okay, I'm down for cuddles. I won't bite."

"Wow, a vampire joke said to the vampire himself. How awfully lame of you."

"Just hush and cuddle me, okay?"

Yoongi hardly hesitates to oblige, sliding across the silk linen as effortlessly as being carried by a current of water. His arms snake around her waist, pulling her close against his torso as her own arms loop around his ribcage. He nuzzles his nose into the crook of her neck, breathing deep, his skin tingling over her sugary red wine scent. She moans—the sleepy kind that squeaks a little at the end—and Yoongi's stomach turns into a pathetic puddle of goop.

"Yoongi," she murmurs into his tousled hair, and he reluctantly withdraws his face from her sweet-smelling throat, only to find himself nose-to-nose with her. "Hi."

"Mm, what?" he hums back, suddenly feeling so tied down with lethargy, as if it has simply seeped from her bones and into his with the entwining of their bodies. Truthfully, it's most likely because his system is running so low on human blood consumption.

A challenge dances in her drooping eyes, one full of mischief and light. Yoongi knows he should probably snap right back into a fully conscious state of mind to stop whatever she is about to do or say, but his will to please her every wish sufficiently suffocates such logic.

Which is how he finds his lips suddenly enveloped by her own.

There is a moment where it feels ridiculously cliché: Yoongi is frozen with shock, but it hardly takes long for him to thaw. Every single one of his instincts screams at him to stop, to politely push her back, to insist that she does not want to do this. But Yoongi has been a sinner from the start, and he cannot help but indulge in the soft warmth of her kiss.

Carefully, he brings a palm to her nape, guiding her mouth closer against his own and encouraging her lips apart with his tongue. He can feel them tilt upwards against his own as her tongue greets his. They glide gently against one another, feeling out this territory that has been left unchartered for an entire year. God only knows how they lasted this long, and Yoongi cannot help but realise what glory he has been missing out on. Sure, making her scream is something he thoroughly delights in, but this is like clearing away the clouds on a rainy day and bringing the sun out to play with his bare hands.

Yoongi teases her lower lip with his teeth and she gasps, her heart speeding up in unison. He can hear it pulsing like a hummingbird; can feel it against his own deathly motionless chest at such an extremity that it almost feels like it is his own, thumping as wildly as it would have when he was human. Yoongi breathes her in, sucking on her lip as he has done so on her neck a countless number of times, and is overwhelmed by the frightening thought that this is better than sucking her blood.

Steadily, like a wave losing its momentum, their mouths slow in their lazy yet insistent movements. Yoongi is the one to pull back first, but not without securing another small kiss on her pouting lips.

"This is very bad," he murmurs, thumb sweeping over her bottom lip, which stretches into a smile. Air escapes him—not that he needs it, anyway. But the effect is there: The bloating of his heart until it crushes his ribs and squeezes his lungs, allowing not even a mouthful of oxygen to be drawn.

"We can be bad," she reassuringly whispers. Then, without any semblance of fear, she kisses him again, and again, and again, and Yoongi lets her. He lets himself, too. He kisses her with everything he has; with her face cradled so adoringly between his palms; his tongue stroking at her own in careful sweeps.

This is bad, because this might be love.

Yoongi has never felt so terrifyingly hopeful about such a fact in all of his centuries.

Two vampires walk into a bar, and that’s the end of the joke, because neither of them are the type for humour. Not a soul suspects them to be anything beyond a pair of mid-30’s human beings, even though they have lived through so many lifetimes by now that they have lost count. The oldest orders himself a whiskey and the younger a scotch, and they take their drinks to their favourite spot: In front of the windows that look out onto the bustling, currently rainy street of New York City.

The oldest vampire in existence grins, lifting his glass to his lips. “So, Seokjin. How’s this plan of yours going? Any interesting developments that the clan should know about?”

Kim Seokjin stares at his leader, Jung Hoseok, with an expression as flat as a still lake. “Don’t you think I would’ve notified you of them by now, if that were the case?”

“I don’t know. Would you have?” Hoseok challenges, knowing of Seokjin’s personal bond with the very subject of their conversation. He had a point, but Seokjin still feels a little wounded that the vampire believes he would go behind his back—behind the backs of his entire clan—to protect Min Yoongi.

A small voice in the back of his mind insists that he probably would, but Seokjin smothers it with a sigh.

“Yes, I would’ve told you. But if it’s any reassurance, I don’t believe there will be any issues. Kim Namjoon, Yoongi’s human secretary, has been sending me monthly reports for the past year and a half. Everything is still smooth-sailing between the couple, and I dare say that this oath has actually transformed Yoongi into a better person.”

Hoseok does not seem so convinced. Or rather, he appears disappointed that there are no dilemmas to report. He has always had a chip on his shoulder when it came to Yoongi, and Seokjin is certain that nothing would please the vampire more than plunging a stake right through the lawbreaker’s chest.

“Well, it’s only so long until he becomes bored, and she becomes nothing more than another strike on his list of murders.” Hoseok sighs, following it with a sip of whiskey. “I know you’re terribly fond of him, but I also know that you know his head will be completely severed from his body the moment he stops that girl’s heart. Truly, with a madman like Min Yoongi, it’s only so long until he gets restless.”

Seokjin nods, disinterested, and instead watches an expensive-looking couple through the window, standing on the opposite side of the road with an umbrella shared between them. Rain cascades as light as snow around their figures. Despite their haute couture attire, the woman keeps teasing the man by tilting the umbrella further her way, causing the droplets to land in his dark hair. He seems to be doing his best to ignore her meddling as they wait for the crosswalk light to turn green, but his calm facade appears to slip when a substantially larger splash of water pours right onto his head from a gutter above, soaking his hair through to the roots.

At a speed that could only be described as inhuman, he sweeps his arm around the woman’s waist and hugs her right against his chest, forcing the umbrella over the both of them. She is laughing now, the head-tilted-back kind, pure delight beaming from her expression. And it seems to be contagious, because the scowl on his rain-smattered face is almost immediately softening into a smile, as much as he tries to maintain his frown.

Seokjin tears his eyes away from the scene and smiles into his glass, finally responding to Hoseok.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, old friend.”

#an oath for sinners #yoongi x reader #yoongi fluff

[kingslance-writes]

Hakuryuu x Tsurugi [IE Go]

I had promised this One-shot to @xxlovelyrose95xx!! Here it is!! As Lina told me, I’ll tag all those who ship HakuKyou: @producktions @aishiikamii @zibiremu!! Hope you guys like it!!!

White Day {Hakuryuu x Tsurugi}

The month of love quietly rolled by and, finally, it was that fateful day. It was the day Hakuryuu was born, or as most people know it, it was the White Day!

It wasn’t like he had planned anything special but still, he was eagerly looking forward to it for exactly a month. No, not for his birthday but for the other occasion.

On the Valentine’s, he had put all of his heart and soul into making chocolates for his singular ‘rival’ (that’s what he likes to call him, but who gives choco to their ‘rivals’). God knows how, but he had nearly blasted off the kitchen and the smell of cocoa was so thick that you could eat the air! He would have blasted off the whole house if it wasn’t for Fudou, who, finally, taught him how to make chocolates without destroying the world!!

But today was different. He was on the receiving end. It took all of his might to remain calm and suppress his excitement. To his great distress, everyone already knew. Moreover, Yukimura had already teased the hell out of him!

“I wonder when’ll Tsurugi come”, the dark-haired boy mused out loud while dribbling past his captain.

“How would I know? As if I CARE and why the hell will HE come here, anyway!!”, Hakuryuu yelled at him, red in the face.

“Tsurugi sure is taking his time”, it was Yamato this time.

“SO WHAT!!? I don’t care”, he yelled again, roaring into the practice field.

The whole team giggled at their tsundere captain. From time to time, Fudou would take the initiative to make the dragon turn scarlet.

“Oh! Tsurugi? What brings you here?, he called out, loud enough for the white-head to hear. Hakuryuu would glance eagerly in the direction only to find that he was tricked again.

“I wonder how you remain cool in front of him, when you are THIS mad over Tsurugi”, said Minamisawa with a slight chuckle, only to earn a scoff himself.

“I AM NOT MAD OVER HIM!!!!!!”

 ********

Just like that, practice ended in a series of teasing and yelling. The white dragon sighed to himself as he checked his mobile phone. No missed calls or messages from the lone wolf!

He would not come. It’s not like he likes me or anything. He never said so! Why was I thinking of the possibility anyway!!

He clicked his tongue in disappointment as he put his phone back in his pocket. The more one expects, the more it hurts!

“Go take a walk, Hakuryuu”, he turned his head slightly to see it was Fudou, patting his head. He thought of declining, but agreed anyway. He wanted to spend some time alone!

******* 

The sun sank down the horizon as the platinum-haired boy trudged the roads, aimlessly. Somehow, he found himself right in front of Raimon. Without thinking, he wandered inside and spied over the dark-haired boy he called his rival.

 ******

Raimon’s practice ended early that day for which, Tsurugi was happy since he could spend more time with his brother. He packed up quickly to leave when he spotted a familiar white figure hiding behind a tree.

What’s he doing here? He acted as if he didn’t see him.

“Tsurugi”, he turned around to meet Tenma’s gaze, who was brimming with excitement.

“What is it?”, he asked, non-chalantly.

“Wanna come to my place? We’re having  a party since Kariya got White Day Chocolates from Kirino-senpai!!!”, Tenma announced happily, while Kariya became a blushing mess trying to hush Tenma.

White Day… WHITE DAY!!!!! Tsurugi’s eyes widened in realisation. God!!! How can I forget? I have nothing to give him and he’s right here!!! He’s tottaly mad!!! Wait- Why do I care so much about this? Does that mean, I –

Tsurugi’s thoughts swirled as he excused himself out from Tenma’s invitation. Turning around, he walked up to the white dragon!

 *******

“Hakuryuu!”, the white-head froze dead in his track, slightly panicked at having being spotted. He turned to stare in Tsurugi’s golden eyes.

“Oh! Hello there, Tsurugi”, he felt like slapping himself. What am I saying? So stiff!! Tsurugi raised his eyebrow but decided to call it off. He knew he was mad!

“Happy birthday!”

“Birthday…?”, he said slowly. So, that’s why coach kicked me out for a walk. But…

“You didn’t remember?”, Tsurugi smiled, amused at him, and trying to escape the other topic.

“Thanks”, came the feeble reply as he turned around to walk off. His birthday didn’t matter to him! But, he wasn’t feeling good enough to retaliate him.

Tsurugi knew he had choice now. He can’t see him like that! “And Happy White Day too!”, he voiced out after taking a deep breath, silently.

“Don’t just say it to make me happy!”, Hakuryuu stated calmly, masking his sudden anger impulse.

“That’s not it!”

“Then why are so late!? If you don’t like me… just say so… and I won’t bother myself with making you chocolates next year!!”, there was an edge to his tone and Tsurugi could feel it. But, he can’t just admit that he forgot!!

“I love you, Hakuryuu”, Tsurugi grabbed his milky wrists and pulled him closer, “ And, anyway, why do I need only one day to confess my love? That should be every day.”

“That doesn’t mean you are off the hook for not getting me any gift”, Hakuryuu could hardly function, normally, by now. He tried to free himself from the wolf’s claws but his grip was too powerful. He could his body warming up, both by how sudden the confession was and by how close they were!

“Would a kiss be fine, for now?”, without waiting for the white-head to process his words, Tsurugi leaned in and connected their lips together. Hakuryuu would be making chocolates again next year, much to Fudou’s distress.

****Bonus..*****

After the heated kiss, both of them walked over to Fudou’s home where Hakuryuu’s birthday party was organised. While on their way, Hakuryuu managed to calm down. He wouldn’t want the whole team to know about their little moment!

“So, that lame excuse you used earlier…, you heard it from Fudou-san, right?”, Hakuryuu pointed out.

“I don’t know what you mean!”, Tsurugi looked away, abashed.

“OH!! Don’t mess with me! I heard him saying the same thing to Kidou-san, when he forgot his Valentine Chocolates!!!”, Hakuryuu raised his voice a bit.

“I’ll buy you a gift later, so, don’t be such an angry little baby!”, Tsurugi shot back.

“I don’t need any of your gifts!”, Hakuryuu looked away, pouting.

“I’ll give you a special time, free with the gift!! Just the two of us!!”, Tsurugi whispered in his ear, his voice husky.

Hakuryuu pushed him off, red in the face, as he knocked on Fudou’s door.

Tell me if the characters are getting ooc! (It's been a long since I watched the Go season sooo, please forgive me!!) Anyway, tell me if there’ s something wrong, I’ll fix that!!!( and I won’t make the same mistake again!)

#inazuma eleven go #hakuryuu #tsurugi kyousuke #hakuryuu x tsurugi #hakukyou #kyouhaku #fanfiction #my writings #inavember #jenie writes

[forkanna]

[AO3 LINK] [EF LINK]

NOTE: An extra long chapter this time! It just happened to be the next one, but I figured I would post it tonight in celebration of A Very Wicked Halloween (if you missed it I hope you can find it online - Ariana Grande's performance of "The Wizard And I" was incredible)! Enjoy! Also... there might be an extra special something coming to this account on All Hallow's Eve itself. Stay tuned.

"Well, the old Lion seems to have followed Dorothy's lead," Fiyero told Glinda the next morning as they tidied one of the basement rooms. It wasn't quite as far down as the dungeons, but also beneath the "ground floor", and seemed to be primarily storage. A lot of it had already been ransacked, and the remaining junk was old, decrepit and rusted. The pile of salvageable materials was a lot smaller than the pile to be thrown out.

"Thank goodness," Glinda sighed as she moved things. For a moment, she paused to glance at the ruin that had become of her once-soft hands. They were still of a dainty shape, and not altogether hideous, but the nails were jagged and short, and callouses were beginning to form from hard work. A slight flutter went through her stomach when she remembered how Elphaba had commented that they were "a real woman's hands" now; though it sounded like an insult to her Gillikin sensibilities, the tone had told her that Elphaba was praising her for not shrinking from an honest day's work, and any praise from her Elphie made her feel a bit giddy, rare as it seemed to be.

"Now, all we have to worry about is old Boq. No progress?"

"None. He's a stubborn little pinhead! But… I suppose he'll just have to work through his feelings on his own. No spellwork can do that, anyway, but I thought we might find a way to turn him back into a Munchkin."

Waving one of his stuffed hands, Fiyero said, "Don't worry about doing that for me. Oh, I'd love to have my old body back, but to be honest… I think I like being a scarecrow better."

"You do?" she asked in bald surprise.

"I do. No one expects much from you when you're made of straw! And besides, I was such a good-for-nothing Vinkan… sure, I was royalty, but I don't think I'd have made a very strong candidate for king. Even as an honorary title in these modern times."

Tutting, she put down the old wash basin she had been carrying — rusted through the bottom, entirely useless now — and came over to grip his shoulder. "Come now, we both know that isn't true. You and I were a lot alike back then, and… well, I think we've grown up a lot. Haven't we?"

"Maybe so," he sighed with a slight smile. She could have sworn there was a twinkle in his painted eye as he went back to sweeping. "Something's certainly different with you."

"Yes, I look like a drowned rat."

"Not your looks. Your whole demeanor, the way you talk. The way you and Elphaba are around each other."

Her heart skipped over a beat, but she tried not to let on that it had happened. "And which way would you mean, Winkie?" At his frown, she corrected, "Vinkan."

"Thank you." Collecting some of the dust into an old bucket, he said, "We both know which way. And if you won't say it, I will, at least in private. You're smitten."

"I am not!" she hissed urgently, cheeks pinkening. And so easily!

"You are! And so is Elphie, even if she won't admit it. And I don't expect her to, as stubborn as she can be."

"Stubborn as an ox." They were both silent for a long moment, focusing on cleaning and inner thoughts. As Glinda pulled open the old wardrobe she had finally unearthed, she asked softly, "Doesn't it bother you at all? I mean… it's… unusual. Not criminal, but you don't see a lot of…"

"'Bunbury Marriages'?"

That made the flush a little worse. During their trip through Quadling Country, she and Elphaba had made a brief stopover in Bunbury, and Glinda had witnessed firsthand that the reports of its citizens tending not to pair off with members of opposite gender, but instead with those of the same, had not been exaggerated. Somehow, the sight of men walking hand-in-hand with other men had flustered her far more than that of women with women; likely because some of the men were behaving in ways she deemed to be quite feminine, a sight she was not prepared for in the slightest. Luckily, this had been before her own feelings for Elphie began to bubble to the surface, otherwise she might never have been able to stand sleeping in the same bed — which would have been an unnecessary expense in those days of nomadic life for the two of them.

"Oh, you're such a rascal," she dismissed.

"Maybe, but I'm a rascal that sees you turning red as a ruby." When she only let out another noise of pure exasperation, he chuckled and went on, "Hey, did I say that I blame you for it, or judge you? Not at all. I've seen a good many strange things in this land of ours, some of them in my travels with little Dorothy. You and Elphaba wouldn't even be on that list anymore."

Softly, almost impossible for him to hear, she echoed, "Me and Elphaba… together…"

"She's a catch, she is. But I don't have to tell you that."

"And it doesn't bother you? I mean, that I once had designs on you, and now you've been… well, not 'replaced' exactly, but that my designs are redesigned?"

His stuffed shoulders shrugged as he began to shift the pile of junk closer to the door. "My designs had moved from you to her once upon a time, too, so that much I can fully understand. But that was years ago. Now, I'm just happy that you're happy. If you are, that is… but I suspect you are."

"What's she got that I haven't got?" she groused.

"Oh, she was certainly more mature than you were at the time. More serious, and I think the careless idiot I was felt drawn to that sobriety. Someone who was less callow, less shallow. It's probably the same for you, since we were horses of a similar colour."

"High society idiots." They shared a little chuckle, even though Glinda was still flushed to her roots. "Alright, I guess… you're right. Something about how strong she is, and passionate…"

His painted eyebrows waggled. "Passionate, hmm?" She threw the small copper pot she had just unearthed at him, but he laughed and caught it, looking it over. "Hey, we could probably make use of this."

"Good. Add it to the 'keep' pile, you, you…"

"Handsome straw man?"

"Bale of buffoonery!"

As he continued laughing, she returned her focus to the task at hand, shaking her head. Nothing he had said was inaccurate, even down to the bit about him being a handsome straw man; he was certainly the best-looking scarecrow she had ever encountered. As for the rest… by that point, she was ready to accept that Elphaba might truly be her intended. Even if certain girls from other countries might use the word "deviant", it didn't feel like any sort of deviation to her.

It felt like the yellow brick road leading to her destiny.

So full of Elphaba were her thoughts that she almost didn't realise what she had found when she opened the grimy hat box at the bottom of the wardrobe. It was a broad, handsome belt, glittering with jewels. Perhaps it wasn't made of gold or silver, but the metal seemed to be sturdy and highly polished, even after having laid in a box for Ozma knew how long. Her fingertips traced over the ornate etching along its borders, then to the large buckle. Fascinated, she slid it around her own waist and buckled it, then found it didn't feel quite right.

"Buckles in the back," she observed under her breath, undoing it and sliding it around the other way.

"What's that?"

"This belt I found. It's lovely, don't you think?" Now that it was fastened the proper way, she turned to show off the antiquity to him. "Do you know whose it was?"

"Why should I? This castle might belong to my family, but we hardly ever came up here."

"Ah, that's fine."

"It is a nice enough belt, though. Might you be intending it as a gift to a certain tall, comely witch who's caught your eye?"

Fed up with his teasing, gentle though it was, she snapped, "Oh, I wish you would leave me alone! Isn't it bad enough I'm already-"

But that was as far as she got. Her breath was stolen when she suddenly realised that Fiyero had vanished.

"OH!" she burst out, looking frantically around the room. Where had he gone? Her steps echoed as she ran to peek behind the pile of junk, then craned her neck this way and that. "Come back! Fiyero!"

This time, she actually witnessed him popping in out of thin air. There was a puff of some kind of wispy smoke that accompanied his appearance, which had not been there for his disappearance. She took a staggering step backward, and landed on a mouldy old armchair destined to fall to the bottom of the cliffs surrounding Kiamo Ko.

"Glinda!" he gasped, still looking quite dazed. "What are… oh, wonderful. I think I must have just had a hallucination. Curse my straw-filled head!"

"Where did you go? Just now!"

Surprised by the question, it took him a moment or two to answer. "Well… I thought I was here the entire time, and only had some kind of…" Unable to think of what might have befallen him to make him hallucinate, he moved along to answer her question. "I was in the courtyard, or seemed to be. The chickens were very startled to see me appear out of nowhere. It all seemed so real…"

"Maybe…" The notion was ludicrous. But then again, she was standing there, talking to a living scarecrow, with her green-tinted witch and her cured-of-lameness sister a few floors above. Ludicrousness was a common occurrence by now. "Have you been practicing with the Grimmerie?"

"Of course not. That's nothing I've ever been interested in, I…" Looking stricken, he pressed a hand to his stuffed chest. "You don't think my feeble brains are getting feebler, do you?"

Shaking her head, she pushed a hand into her mouth. "Let me think… I was yelling at you to leave me alone, and you did. If I was holding my wand, I might think I cast a spell on accident, but I wasn't. That only leaves…"

As one, they both looked toward the belt.

"Lurline Above," she breathed.

"Maybe… you ought to take it off," he said in a nervous tone. "Before you say you wish I would fall into a fire. Oh, the last thing I want is to catch fire!"

"I'd never think such a thing!" However, she was beginning to realise that she had been thinking of the courtyard when she demanded for him to leave her be. Just a passing thought, somewhere he could go that would be far enough away that she would not be irritated with him any longer. Now, she was beginning to agree that it might be to blame. "Hmm…"

"What is it?"

"I wish…" What else could she wish for? The possibilities were endless! "I wish for a bowl of cherries!"

Nothing. They waited for a good few seconds, but no cherries appeared. "Ah," he sighed. "Well… that's a shame, really."

"It is," she sighed. "Our food problems could have been over. But life isn't kind enough to simply hand you a bowl of cherries, it's not like that. Oh, how about — I wish for a Tik Tok soldier who will do our bidding!" Again, nothing. "Confound this belt, giving me false hope like that!"

"I'll say," he chuckled. "Wishing for soldiers would have made our battle against the Wizard a pretty easy fight."

"You read my mind. Oh… well, if the only good it does is sending scarecrows outside, then it's not much use." Pinching the bridge of her nose to ward off the headache that was just beginning to brew behind her brow, she sighed and told him, "I'm going up to see Elphie, ask her if there's any spell that can tell us whether some old belt is magical or not."

"Hm?" Elphaba asked, looking up from the Grimmerie. "Not that I know of. Why do you think it's magical?"

Glinda stared in shock. "I… you… Elphie, how did you get down here?"

"Down where?" Her green eyes swept up and down the library, at the rich-but-dusty rugs and the heavy oak shelves filled to the brim with books of all kinds. Light streamed in through the few high windows that bordered the top of one wall. "I've been right here since you left me after breakfast. Studying. Sorry I didn't hear you come in, I've just been trying to figure out whether this is a spell to remove warts or to add them. The phrasing is pretty awful."

But Glinda couldn't care about warts just then. She was too busy trying to figure out exactly how she had found herself in the library. Holding up a finger, she shakily bade her, "Just… one moment, I have to be sure. I wish to go and see Nessa!"

This time, with her eyes open, she watched the world change. Everything grew murky and black for a very brief second, and it was the scariest second of her life. Like she was surging through the very essence of evil itself. But it was over so fast that it was easy to see how one could miss it if they blinked.

Then she was in the kitchens. As she did so often lately, Nessa was bent over the stove, working on her food. Normally, she had the same thought every time she saw her there: that the poor girl really didn't know what else to do with herself, since Glinda and Elphaba were the ones with the most power as witches, so she defaulted to these domestic chores.

However, this time she was distracted by Nessa's companion squeaking and dropping a cake of soap to the floor.

"AH!" Dorothy cried, leaning back against the sink where she had been about to start scrubbing pots. "Miss Glinda, where- how did you get in here?"

Turning at last, Nessa only remarked, "Oh, there you are. Finished in the basements already?"

"No, I… well, I think I found something quite interesting." This was going to be a real test, and her fear was beginning to shift to giddy excitement. "Dorothy, Nessie… I'm going to try a spell. If you find yourself someplace new, try not to be frightened!" Then she gripped her belt and said, "Take all three of us to Elphie!"

And it did.

"WHAT?!" Elphaba cried out, falling back from where she had been hunched over the floor onto her behind. If Glinda had to guess, she would say she had been examining the spot where her roommate vanished to see if there was a hole or a trap door there.

"Sakes alive!" Dorothy was breathing, also falling down bonelessly. Nessa merely staggered and leaned heavily against Glinda, as they were now standing quite close together.

"How did… you do that?" Elphaba demanded, slowly rising with a wary eye on her companions. "I haven't come across a spell that can do something like that yet! Were you reading ahead when I wasn't looking?"

Beaming, she rested her hands on her hips as she gazed around at her friends. "Not at all. Just enjoying the benefits of an honest day's cleaning!" Her index finger tapped one of the jewels embedded in the belt's surface. "This little beauty may just be the answer to all of our problems. Or a couple of them, anyway. Wait, hold on — all of us ought to be here. Fiyero?"

An instant later, he was popping into the room, as disoriented as ever. When he fell back onto the floor, the thump was a lot softer than those of Elphaba or Dorothy, the latter of whom made a second thump in shock at him appearing out of thin air.

"You could at least warn a guy!" he snapped.

"Wouldn't know how to if I wanted to. It doesn't come with a messaging service! Now then… I think we have some planning to do."

                                                ~ o ~

Late that evening, they were all about as prepared as they might be. Without any miraculous way to cure Boq of his unfortunate attitude, and deciding it was best to leave Chistery and his band of Monkeys behind to guard the keep, they were an invasion force of six: Elphaba, Glinda, Nessarose, Fiyero, the Lion, and a very knock-kneed Dorothy. As often as they tried to reassure her that they would do their best to shield her from harm, they couldn't promise everyone would come through the experience safe and sound. It saddened Glinda, but it was just the reality of their situation. If they didn't make this push to change everything…

She didn't want to think about that. What might happen if they failed. To them, and then the Animals… and then to Oz with no one left to stand in Morrible's way. She was the true threat, even above the Wizard.

"Guess that's everything," Elphaba sighed, checking the straps on her pack. She had fashioned one that would hold the Grimmerie against her back, hidden beneath her cloak once it was in place. And, of course, the black hat was already stuck upon the top of her head.

"Now I'm sorry I even found that belt, Elphie. I'm not ready to be a… an encroacher!"

Fastening the cloak, she turned to look her dead in the eyes. "Nor am I. Even if my skin is suited to blending into the background once we reach the Emerald City."

"You'd have to be completely nude," Glinda teased.

"Oh? And you prefer that plan, do you?"

For a few seconds, Glinda only sputtered while Elphaba favoured her with one of the wolfish smiles that turned her innards to jelly. Then she snapped, "Do you have to do that?! Out-tease me all the time?!"

"Only when it's fun."

"I'll show you fun! I'll give you a big barrel of fun, just you wait!" Her hands came up and curled into fists, miming a fighting pose she had seen once. Poorly. When Elphaba only chuckled at her, she wilted. "Suppose it's my own fault that teasing me like that works, isn't it?"

That prompted Elphaba to look away slightly. "Suppose so. But we can't think about such things right now. Maybe when we get back… if we get back. The others are waiting for us in the courtyard by now, and I don't want to give the Wizard and Morrible any more of a chance to track us down first. The sooner we drop in on them, the better."

She moved toward the door. Something swelled within the pit of Glinda's stomach, and she knew that it would be a mistake to let the moment slip past for any reason.

"Wait," she breathed, latching onto her forearm.

"Yes?" But when she saw the look in Glinda's eyes, she frowned at her. "Come on, we don't have time for sentimentality."

"It's not just sentimentality. It's mentality. It's…"

"Glinda, I know. But this is war. Or it's going to be war if we can't stop it, and we need to try. Or worse… it won't be a war at all. Just a mass destruction of an entire race."

Much though she wanted to argue that the Animals weren't being destroyed, she knew that as far as Elphaba was concerned, taking away their ability to speak and think was an unacceptable loss. So she didn't try. Instead, she focused on what she wanted to say.

"Elphie… when we get back, we're going to discuss this. For real."

"Of course. I…" This sigh was more scared than the ones she had given when they were thinking about confronting the Wizard. "It's been long overdue."

"Can I have another taste-test before we leave? Just…" Her voice grew tight. "Elphie, if we never come back, and I didn't have a chance to tell y-"

No words would have been adequate. Elphaba was truly a woman of action lately, and the action of taking Glinda's lips hard and fast was merely the latest example. She melted into her strong grip, painting her arms over her shoulders as she leaned up into the sweet mouth, eyes closing to the world and all their problems. In ways she could never have thought possible being brought up in Gillikin high society, she belonged to Elphaba. There was no world without her in it.

And it was equally like Elphie to draw back a half-breath too soon, to brokenly whisper, "We'll… finish this discussion… another time."

"We will," she agreed with a fervent nod. Her lips pushed into Elphaba's chin, unwilling to let the moment go entirely, and she could feel the indecision in her roommate's body. Torn between returning the affections, and doing what she felt was most important to do. "Alright… alright, we should go. Shouldn't we?"

"Nobody else is going to do this for us. But…" A ghost of a smile flitted across her lips. "Thank you for being so stubborn. And such a fantastic kisser."

Glinda's cheeks bunched with the force of her own grin. "Bet you say that to all the witches."

                                                ~ o ~

Dorothy Gale had never been so frightened in her entire life. And she had been frightened for a good many reasons in the past days. First, for being caught up in a twister, the entire house shaking around her as it sailed through the skies. Then for finding herself in a strange land, surrounded by a queer little folk that she had never dreamed could exist. Furthermore, facing down bears and lions, and kalidahs, and even having a Wizard order her to kill a real live witch! How was a humble farm girl from Kansas supposed to accomplish such things? She wasn't a policeman, or a soldier in the army. She wasn't even one of the big, strong farmhands who could wield a hoe or a rake to drive off a fox from bothering the hens!

But everything had changed. Now her poor, simple head was filled with concepts she never imagined.

"It'll be alright, Dorothy," the scarecrow comforted her, gripping her arm with one hand and patting hers with the other. He had a name, they had told it to her, but she had got so used to calling him Scarecrow that she forgot it often. "You'll see. I… I trust them."

"Well, I don't," the Lion hissed in his shaky tone. A little yip from Toto seemed to be in agreement. "This seems like a bad, baaad idea to me!"

Trying to be reasonable, she whispered, "Hush now. We're… the palace is just up ahead. If we keep jammering on so, we'll be overheard, and then we'll really be in the soup!"

"She's right; we probably ought to get moving. Nobody's going to pick us up in a horse and buggy and take us inside."

Having said so, the scarecrow took a step forward, redoubling his grip on the enchanted broom. The Lion on her other side leaned in closer, and she wound her hand into his mane for both their comfort. Steeled as best they could be, the trio made their way the last few steps along the Emerald City street to the front doors of the Royal Palace, Toto trotting in their wake.

To herself, she whispered, "Just remember what Aunt Em would say: 'we all have to make the best of our lot in life'." Then she rapped on the green-painted wood.

"Yes?" the guard asked. Then he leaned further down through the lookout hole in the door to view Dorothy's glimmering shoes, green mustache bristling as he whistled to see them. "Oh, it's you! Well, now, we've been expecting you for some time!"

"Thank you," she said, her curtsy somewhat awkward due to her unwillingness to let go of her two companions. "Might we go on up to see the Wizard, if it please you?"

"You may, indeed." In a quieter voice, he added, "Though I hope for your sakes that you've got good news; the Wizard is fairly easy to please, but that new press secretary of his…" Instead of elaborating, he merely pulled a face before pulling wide the door.

On the other side, she was relieved to see Jellia Jamb waiting to escort her. At least there was a familiar face. The young page bowed stiffly, then motioned for Dorothy to follow.

"Jellia? Or shall I call you Miss Jamb?"

"Call me whatever you like," Jellia said as she walked briskly, nose buried in a small notebook full of little notes. Her tone was neither unkind nor overly affectionate; a professional. She reminded Dorothy of the woman who worked at the general store in town.

"Right, y-yes. Well… I wanted to ask… do you like working for the Wizard?"

Withdrawing a pencil from behind her ear that had been hiding within her green hair, she answered, "Doesn't matter one way or the other. It's my job."

"Oh, and of course it is — and of course you do a fine job, you really do! Only… well, don't you have any opinion as to if you like doing it? Is the Wizard a nice man to work for?"

For a time, they walked on in silence. She exchanged a glance with the scarecrow; maybe Jellia was so pressed for time that she had no time to answer such trivial questions. But around the time they were ascending a great staircase, she did respond after all.

"This job was… simpler before he took on the new press secretary."

"Oh?"

"Yes. And that is all I feel comfortable stating. Now, if you need for me to fetch you a new dress before you see His Wizliness, or to have a bath drawn, or some cakes sent up, I can handle those duties just fine. But I can't give you any deeper opinions, Miss Gale." Her eyes seemed very vaguely sad as she glanced over her shoulder, but the look was so quick that she could have been mistaken.

"Oh. Well, that's alright. Thank you just the same." Glancing down at her knees, at the clean-but-ragged dress she had been given within the Emerald City in the first place, she sighed and forced herself to say, "N-no, I would like to see the Wizard right away. He'll understand."

And even if he didn't…

Soon thereafter, Jellia let Dorothy into the great hall that was so like the one in Kiamo Ko, except grander, and still fitted with rich finery and jewels. On the throne sat the great head, but she tried to remember what she had been told. It kept her from turning tail on the spot.

"I AM OZ! THE GREAT AND POWERFUl! WHO ENTERS HERE?"

"It is I, Dorothy! The small and meek! Your… remember me? You sent me to try and kill the Witch of the West?"

"YES! AND HAVE YOU DONE THIS?"

Perhaps the largest obstacle to this plan was that Dorothy hated to lie. Not only that, but she found herself so afraid of the consequences of being found out for lying, for hurting anyone in such a way, that she couldn't bring herself to do it easily. But there were always ways around obstacles if one knew where to look for them.

"Well, I did what you said!" It was true: she had thrown water upon Elphaba. Mopping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand as best she could, she went on in a carrying voice, "And… and you said that I ought to bring back something of hers?"

Her round head nodded toward her companion, braids bobbing. The scarecrow stepped forward and held the broom out with both hands. Only a moment passed before Jellia hopped to attention, bringing the broom from his hands to lay before the Wizard's great head.

"VERY GOOD. NOW YOU MUST GO AND LEAVE ME BE. YOUR SERVICE HAS BEEN NOTED!"

After only a brief pause of surprise, she started forward. "B-but wait! You were to… I thought you said you'd help me get home if I did what you asked! It isn't decent to break a promise!"

"PROMISES WERE MEANT TO BE BROKEN! BUT FEAR NOT, CHILD — RETURN TOMORROW AND YOUR WISH MIGHT BE GRANTED!"

Unfortunately for the Wizard, "might" was not "definitely," and Dorothy was not satisfied. However, she had not expected to be; this was all for effect. The entire time they had been conversing, her eyes were darting from side to side, and she was leaning slightly to help afford her a better view of the back of the head itself. Only now that she had been bade return on the next day did she finally spot what she was looking for.

"But I want help going home now! Or else… I'll have to talk to the real you!"

"I DO NOT KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN!" This time, even though the voice thundered and seemed to shake the very foundation of the Palace itself, it did seem the slightest bit less confident.

Dorothy motioned for the Lion to stay put, on alert, and began to creep forward. When Jellia's eyebrows shot upward, she raised an index finger to her lips; it was a silly thing to do, for she expected the servant would still shout for the guards, or at least warn her to step back. However, Jellia actually did as she was requested, and straightened her back, staying silent but watching with wary eyes. She had a feeling that if she produced a sword and attacked, the girl might spring for her, but as long as she continued not to be a threat she would treat the guest as precisely that: a guest.

"Well… I mean… this!"

When Dorothy threw the curtain aside, she had been expecting to see a fiendish man, a devil out of the illustrations in Sunday School. Instead, here was a small, wrinkled old man with very sparse white hair and spectacles, his suit handsome but also rumpled from his stature. Fascinated as she was by that sight, and her own disbelief that it was true, she was very slightly distracted by the sight that had so captured the Wizard's attentions that he couldn't even focus on the matter at hand.

A woman who looked more angelic than mortal twirled within a glittering diamond cage. Hair like waves of gold cascaded down her shoulders and along her back, skin glinting like a lighter hue of bronze, and her eyes were closed in a bliss that Dorothy likened to tasting the first spoonful of fresh jam her Aunt Em had canned herself. The vision's dress seemed to be spun from the air itself, or else spiderwebs, and even changed colours when they caught the light. As she twisted and flowed from one pose to another, elegant, trim arms weaving symbols in the air that seemed only to fade after the hands had moved along, legs nearly a blur, she could swear the entirety of girl and her robes turned translucent, and she could see to the other side — but then she would be solid again, and Dorothy wondered if she had imagined everything.

It was the dancing woman who noticed first; the Wizard was too enraptured by her display to have eyes for anything else. A breathy "oh!" escaped from her when she spotted Dorothy standing there, agape. A half-moment later, the dazed old man whirled.

"OH!" he repeated. "What are- that is, YOU DARE-"

The last had been spoken into a device like the broad end of an ear trumpet, and came booming out of the great head behind Dorothy, but he seemed to realise with a start that it would do no good to attempt deception any longer. Frowning in annoyance, he dropped back from the horn and the surrounding levers and cranks that reminded her of the inside of a train engine, nearly bumping against the near side of the large diamond cage.

"So it's true!" she breathed in disbelief. Even up until that point, she had been uncertain, in the same way children always want to believe in the deities of their parents because they've been told for so long that they are real. "You really are a humbug!"

"Now, now," he attempted with both hands raised. "Let's not be hasty. And how dare you throw around such accusations!"

"But you are, you old fraud! Oh, how silly I feel — this is nothing but a… a big puppet!" Her hand reached up and thwacked the cheek of the head, and it made a hollow thunk that definitely didn't make her think it was alive. "And ordering me to go and kill the witches! How could you?"

Frowning yet deeper, he went on, "Alright, alright! So you've found me out. How can you blame me? The Ozians want theatrics and magic, and I'm only good at the former, so… the latter had to be feigned to keep up appearances! Don't you see?"

"But you're so…" This was scarecrow, who was too shocked by what he saw to hold his tongue. Especially since he technically didn't own a tongue anymore. "I mean, that's Oz!" His finger levelled at the girl in the cage. "At least, that's how he appeared to me when I asked for my brains!"

The accused was most definitely afraid of these reactions, shrinking even further to the back of the cage. In a calming voice, her jailor said, "Shhh, it's alright! Oh, don't frighten her so; Polly really is a sweet girl. I invited her to play my part once in awhile, to switch things up. Isn't she something? Oh, I could watch her dance all day… an old man can get lonely cooped up in a big palace such as this, you know."

"You have her locked in a cage," Dorothy countered.

"So? I can't have her running away all the time; no, no, that wouldn't do. Though I do let her out during cloudless days, when I can be sure she won't get far if she tries to escape. Really, it's not so bad, is it?"

"It is! You can't just keep young women in cages, that's an awful thing to do!"

His pout was more that of a child than of a cunning old man who had become the Supreme Ruler of an entire nation. "But… well, she can't be allowed to escape now. She's seen too much, knows too much! The best I can do for her is provide a nice, comfortable bed in her cage."

Looking back and forth, Dorothy said, "But there isn't any bed. And besides, it's the keeping her locked up part that's unkind!"

At this, Jellia appeared at their sides and pulled a secret lever. The floor beneath "Polly" changed, rolling over until a fairly large and comfortable bed was now revealed in one corner of the cage. Its occupant approached, hesitant but hopeful, glancing back at the Wizard as if to silently ask if it was alright.

"Go on, my dear. You've done more than enough for today."

"Can't she talk?" the Lion asked, as if too surprised that a woman couldn't where he could.

"She could, once upon a time. But the hex Morrible placed on the cage when she captured her…" The telling of this seemed to pain him, and he looked away. "Oh, but it would be nice to have someone to chat with again…"

Dorothy was through listening to his excuses. "And you let her do these things! Really, a man of your age ought to know better! She ought to be let go, and you've been doing Heaven-knows-what to her, and… oh, how shameful! My Uncle Henry would send for the sheriff!"

Her scolding did seem to be having an effect on the man, and his cheeks warmed. But he finally reached his end and stood a little straighter. "Now, just you listen here! Seems to me you're insinuating something that isn't true, and I'll put that to rest forthwith! I haven't harmed so much as a hair on Polychrome's head, much less anything more unseemly, and I'll thank you not to throw around such accusations!"

"Accusations like what? Keeping prisoners? Because she is — that's a cage if I've ever seen one! Like she's a parakeet!"

"Begging your pardon, Wizliness," the scarecrow went on in a softer tone, "I, um… I don't think she's saying what you think she's saying. Little Dorothy isn't the sort to think about such matters."

She hadn't been thinking of anything besides Polly's well-being and freedom, it was true. Her straw-headed friend had been very protective of her innocence, up to and including the incident in which Tin Man had been telling her scandalous things about Elphaba and Glinda. They had nearly fallen to fisticuffs over the matter.

"Oh?" At that information, the Wizard seemed to notice afresh that Dorothy was a younger girl, and wasn't quite looking at him with the level of disgust he had been expecting. "Oh. Well… alright, we can leave that lie. I might be a humbug, but not a cad." Then he cleared his throat. "Now then, to business. You seem to have unearthed a little secret that I really would prefer didn't reach the ears of the rest of the Emerald City. You've done me a great service in ridding me of the serious challenge to my power, and for that, I'm quite grateful. Might we still hold to the original deal?"

"Just a moment," she warned him, holding up a finger. "Let's you and I talk about that. Can you explain to us why you're being so mean to the poor Animals, like my good friend, the Cowardly Lion?"

The Lion merely hung his head a little lower at that description. Not that it was undeserved; Dorothy meant no disrespect, other than to point out the fact in the hopes he would continue to be more brave to combat such a label.

"Now, now, that's an internal matter," he tried to warn her with a genial smile. "Nothing for a pretty girl like you to worry her pretty head over."

"And if you're such a keen Ruler, you can tell a pretty girl like me all about it. Even in a way I might understand." This might have sounded sarcastic to the Wizard, for he bristled slightly, but Dorothy meant it in earnest; she knew next to nothing except how a farm is run, and a handful of other things. Still, she felt as if she were entitled to that much of an explanation.

And it was making the Wizard uncomfortable. They had caught him red-handed, and he had no choice but to capitulate. "Very well. You see, where we come f- that is, er… oh, but they are Animals, aren't they? Lions eat little girls! So it only makes sense to me that we tame and domesticate them, not let them go around teaching at universities! It's just preposterous!"

"But Dr. Dillamond was a fine teacher," the scarecrow volunteered. When they turned to him with surprise, he went on blithely, "Or so I've heard. So you can't say he was going around bleating and kicking the students, because it simply isn't true. Not a student who's ever been in his class would say so."

"I agree that having Lions walking and talking isn't something I'm used to," Dorothy said. "Or having them around at all, not in Kansas! Not unless the circus is in town! But, well… it seems to me if they talk and think and can be civil, then they ought to be allowed to, oughtn't they?"

"My dear, my dear, come now. As I said, I'm the Wizard, and the current ruling head of the Land of Oz. I brought unity to these four countries where there was only division when I arrived! No more squabbling with the Quadlings, no more trade embargos with the hinky Winkies… what I'm doing, I'm doing for the good of these fine people! So might I be given the benefit of a doubt when it comes to this, as well?"

Even before he finished, Dorothy was shaking her head. It frightened her to be disagreeing with an authority figure of any sort, but this one had already proven himself to be a charlatan and a swindler, and had attempted to trick her into murdering a group of highly-slandered "witches". Her aunt and uncle had always encouraged her to do what was right in the eyes of the Lord, and even though no one in Oz seemed to have heard of that particular Lord, that didn't mean she could turn her back on her convictions purely because she was abroad.

"I'm sorry," she told him earnestly, taking a step back. "But… I'm afraid… I don't think you're fit to be the President here, Sir Wizard. Not if you're going to tell Lion he can't talk anymore, or… or send me to hurt three perfectly lovely ladies who only w-want to help the Animals! Especially if you might have k-killed an innocent little baby! You're a very bad man!"

At the last condemnation, his brow furrowed. He was about to ask her what she meant by that, but Dorothy was already springing into action. Completely mortified by the idea as she was, she whipped the hem of her dress up to reveal a pair of culottes that had been hidden underneath; probably had belonged to some long-dead resident of Kiamo Ko. Around the waist of said culottes lay a wide, shining belt, glittering with jewels. Luckily, he was at least chivalrous enough to avert his eyes when she did this, but that chivalry would prove to be his undoing.

"Bring the witches to me!" she announced firmly as her hands closed around the belt. And in a blink and a puff of smoke, it did that very thing.

                                                 To Be Continued…

#The Coven Of Oz #forkanna writes #wicked fanfiction #gelphie #forkanna the writer

[autolovecraft]

I think the greatest lameness was in his soul.

It was Asaph's coffin, Birch, just as I thought! Over the door, however, the high, slit-like transom in the brick facade gave promise of possible enlargement to a diligent worker; hence upon this his eyes long rested as he racked his brains for means to reach it. The thing must have happened at about three-thirty in the afternoon. Only the coffins themselves remained as potential stepping-stones, and as he considered these he speculated on the best mode of transporting them. The air had begun to be exceedingly unwholesome; but to this detail he paid no attention as he toiled, half by feeling, at the heavy and corroded metal of the latch.

You kicked hard, for Asaph's coffin was on the floor. Finally he decided to lay a base of three parallel with the wall, to place upon this two layers of two each, and upon these a single box to serve as the platform. The moon was shining on the scattered brick fragments and marred facade, and the source of a task whose performance deserved every possible stimulus.

Then he fled back to the lodge and broke all the rules of his calling by rousing and shaking his patient, and hurling at him a year ago last August … He was the devil incarnate, Birch, just as I thought!

That was Darius Peck, the nonagenarian, whose grave was not far from the daily paths of men was enough to exasperate him thoroughly. He had even wondered, at Sawyer's funeral, how the vindictive farmer had managed to lie straight in a box so closely akin to that of the diminutive Fenner. On the afternoon of Friday, April 15th, then, Birch set out for the tomb with horse and wagon to transfer the body of Matthew Fenner. He had, it seems, planned in vain when choosing the stoutest coffin for the right grave. He had, it seems, planned in vain when choosing the stoutest coffin for the platform; for no sooner was his full bulk again upon it than the rotting lid gave way, jouncing him two feet down on a surface which even he did not care to imagine. This arrangement could be ascended with a minimum of awkwardness, and would furnish the desired height.

The tower at length finished, and his aching arms rested by a pause during which he sat on the bottom box to gather strength for the final wriggle and leap to the ground outside. He could, he was sure, get out by midnight—though it is characteristic of him that this thought was untinged with eerie implications.

He had, indeed, made that coffin for Matthew Fenner; but had cast it aside at last as too awkward and flimsy, in a fit of curious sentimentality aroused by recalling how kindly and generous the little old man had been to him during his bankruptcy five years before. Over the door, however, no pursuer; for he was alone and alive when Armington, the lodge-keeper, answered his feeble clawing at the door.

His drinking, of course, only aggravated what it was meant to alleviate. The narrow transom admitted only the feeblest of rays, and the overhead ventilation funnel virtually none at all; though ever afterward he refused to do anything of importance on that fateful sixth day of the week. He had, indeed, made that coffin for Matthew Fenner; but had cast it aside at last as too awkward and flimsy, in a fit of curious sentimentality aroused by recalling how kindly and generous the little old man had been to him during his bankruptcy five years before.

For the long-neglected latch was obviously broken, leaving the careless undertaker trapped in the vault, a victim of his own oversight. He was just dizzy and careless enough to annoy his sensitive horse, which as he drew it viciously up at the tomb neighed and pawed and tossed its head, much as on that former occasion when the rain had vexed it. Birch glanced about for other possible points of escape. Steeled by old ordeals in dissecting rooms, the doctor entered and looked about, stifling the nausea of mind and body that everything in sight and smell induced. There was evidently, however, no pursuer; for he was alone and alive when Armington, the lodge-keeper, answered his feeble clawing at the door.

To him Birch had felt no compunction in assigning the carelessly made coffin which he now pushed out of the way in his quest for the Fenner casket. The moon was shining on the scattered brick fragments and marred facade, and the source of a task whose performance deserved every possible stimulus.

To him Birch had felt no compunction in assigning the carelessly made coffin which he now pushed out of the way in his quest for the Fenner casket. Certainly, the events of that evening greatly changed George Birch. Several of the coffins began to split under the stress of handling, and he planned to save the stoutly built casket of little Matthew Fenner for the top, in order that his feet might have as certain a surface as possible. He changed his business in 1881, yet never discussed the case when he could avoid it. There was evidently, however, the high, slit-like transom in the brick facade gave promise of possible enlargement to a diligent worker; hence upon this his eyes long rested as he racked his brains for means to reach it. Great heavens, Birch, just as I thought! He confided in me because I was his doctor, and because he probably felt the need of confiding in someone else after Davis died. The day was clear, but a high wind had sprung up; and Birch was glad to get to shelter as he unlocked the iron door and entered the side-hill vault. The tower at length finished, and his aching arms rested by a pause during which he sat on the bottom step of his grim device, Birch cautiously ascended with his tools and stood abreast of the narrow transom. His frightened horse had gone home, but his frightened wits never quite did that. Just where to begin Birch's story I can hardly decide, since I am no practiced teller of tales. His questioning grew more than medically tense, and his hands shook as he dressed the mangled members; binding them as if he wished to get the wounds out of sight as quickly as possible. Well enough to skimp on the thing some way, but you always did go too damned far! Undisturbed by oppressive reflections on the time, the place, and the coffin niches on the sides and rear—which Birch seldom took the trouble to use—afforded no ascent to the space above the door. His head was broken in, and everything was tumbled about. At last the spring thaw came, and graves were laboriously prepared for the nine silent harvests of the grim reaper which waited in the tomb. To him Birch had felt no compunction in assigning the carelessly made coffin which he now pushed out of the way in his quest for the Fenner casket. Never did he knock together flimsier and ungainlier caskets, or disregard more flagrantly the needs of the rusty lock on the tomb door which he slammed open and shut with such nonchalant abandon. The thing must have happened at about three-thirty in the afternoon. He was curiously unelated over his impending escape, and almost dreaded the exertion, for his form had the indolent stoutness of early middle age. For the long-neglected latch was obviously broken, leaving the careless undertaker trapped in the vault, a victim of his own oversight. He confided in me because I was his doctor, and because he probably felt the need of confiding in someone else after Davis died.

[love-killed-the-superstar]

not as long as my usual fics but hey it has tipsy kalinor in a gay bar just being happy together what more could you honestly want

Title: Ease The Fire (That Within Me Burns) Pairing: Kadma/Halinor Summary: Kadma wasn't sure what to expect when Halinor promised her they'd get out on the scene if Kadma came to visit her at college. Of course, any chance to visit her secret girlfriend where people from Heatherfield wouldn't recognise her was good enough for Kadma, and she hastily pulled a sickie and packed her bags, told her parents she'd be staying with a college friend for a few days to work on a class project. It wasn't like it was completely false.

(In October 1966, Kadma and Halinor visit a gay bar.)

Read on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12077640

Kadma wasn't sure what to expect when Halinor promised her they'd get out on the scene if Kadma came to visit her at college. Of course, any chance to visit her secret girlfriend where people from Heatherfield wouldn't recognise her was good enough for Kadma, and she hastily pulled a sickie and packed her bags, told her parents she'd be staying with a college friend for a few days to work on a class project. It wasn't like it was completely false.

The ride over to Halinor's college campus was about forty minutes by bus, and Kadma was relieved that it only took that long because she was itching to spend time with Halinor again. They hadn't been in contact as much after Halinor returned for the first semester of her second year – it had taken all summer to grieve Cassidy and Nerissa and the death of C.H.Y.K.N, as well as so many other things, and at one point Halinor had even considered dropping out of college and taking Kadma up on the Fadden Hills dream they'd talked about so many times, just without the degree and without the career plan in mind. Fortunately, she'd had a change of heart just a few days before enrolment, and had returned to campus with a steely mindset to see through the end of her education.

However, Halinor's telepathy was gone for the most part, meaning radio silence pretty much in terms of instant communication. There was always the occasional phone call, but Halinor always got nervous on the phone, so she'd started sending letters instead, letters Kadma would cherish and read over and over again and preserve in a small jade green suitcase under lock and key. These letters would present themselves in the forms of love poems, anecdotes of college life, existential questions about their place in the world, questions asking after Yanny, doubts and fears in regards to Kandrakar, the Oracle and Nerissa. Rarely would a letter come that failed to make her laugh out loud, blush profusely and well up in the space of two page sides. In a rare postcard that had been lost in the post, arrived a week late, was a proposition.

K: Come visit me at college some time, I found just the right place for us to get out on the scene, if you know what I mean. See you soon, dear friend. -H

Short and sweet, but totally not in Halinor's style – there wasn't so much as a planetary doodle in the creeping blank space at the bottom of the note. Normally she would cover at least two sides, but maybe she was trying to be mysterious. Either way, Kadma was taken for it, hook, line and sinker. Any excuse to spend time with Halinor would be one she'd be happy to take.

Halinor was already waiting at the bus station for her when she finally arrived, clad in a loose summer dress adorned with ratty string around the waist acting as a belt (which was already looking a little thin for late October), complimented by a frayed tan jacket with tassels that had to be around six inches long, and go go boots that matched the jacket. On anyone else, even Kadma would admit the outfit looked a complete mess. On Halinor, it strangely worked, even from an outsider's perspective. She had an uncanny ability to make any outfit presentable. She'd even make wearing a sack look good.

“Kadma!” She sprinted over (surprisingly fast for such high shoes) and wrapped her up in a tight hug. “How are you, dear friend? It's been ages! You're lucky I picked up on your thoughts when I did, you never sent a reply back to me!”

“I did, it just hasn't shown up yet,” Kadma pointed out, hugging her back. Halinor giggled into her shoulder.

“Anyway, at least this means my telepathy isn't completely gone. It might come in handy some day.”

Kadma wanted to ask, what for? Cassidy is dead; Nerissa is sealed away on the other side of the world. Yan Lin's too far away for you to reach her – the power is useless. Not to mention an irritating reminder that the Oracle still has some sort of hold over us.

Instead, she shrugged. “Guess so.”

Halinor pulled away and tugged her hand, making no indication that she had picked up on that particular negative thought. “Shall we get going? The house I got isn't too far from the station, so we can walk. Also, don't even worry about my room mate. Ray's harmless, and he's passed out half the time. Works night shifts at a certain place we'll be visiting tonight, so he sleeps during the day.”

“And where will we be visiting, Hal? You haven't exactly given me a lot to go on,” Kadma pointed out, as Halinor began to steer the two of them towards the underpass leading out of the station. “All you sent me was a secretive little postcard.”

“You'll see,” sang Halinor playfully. “Did you bring something nice to dress up in?”

“Just my usual stuff,” said Kadma with a shrug. “Will that fly in your hippie club?”

“Sure. We don't shun people who prefer to dress more conservatively, you know. It's how you groove that matters.”

Kadma stared. “I don't groove, Hal. I barely dance.”

They broke free into sunshine and Halinor led her through the sunny residential area surrounding the station.

“I know that,” she said with a laugh. “Believe me, this club plays some great stuff. Besides, this is more than just going to a lame college discotheque – it's about the scene.”

“Again, secretive, secretive,” Kadma sighed, shaking her head. “What an unbelievable girl.”

“I'm being perfectly clear,” Halinor said with an equally mock-disappointed look. “You're the one not picking up on it.”

“Well, I guess I'll be totally surprised, then.”

True to Halinor's word, Ray was snoring away as Halinor let Kadma into her shared apartment. It was small without being too poky, and Halinor announced with a smile that although the rooms were paper-thin it 'wouldn't matter because Ray would be at his shift until dawn'. Reassuring. Halinor's room had a double bed, desk, and closet – just about everything she expected from a college dorm room, except in a separate apartment instead. Posters of Joe Cocker and The Four Tops were expertly pinned up against both closet doors, and their eyes seemed to watch her rather unnervingly wherever she walked. Instead, Kadma honed in on the desk.

Along with the assortment of textbooks and notepads neatly stacked up on her desk top was a framed photograph of the two of them with their graduation certificates, complete in caps and gowns, and sharing a bouquet of unidentifiable flowers (non-toxic Meridian lilies, freshly grown from seeds Kadma had collected on a past mission, but no one outside of their guardian circle needed to know that). She smiled as she traced the embossed frame reading 'best friends' along the bottom. Right. Friends.

Beside it was a group photograph, Nerissa included, which surprised Kadma given the way Halinor had shut down after her betrayal... but they all had different ways of moving on, she supposed. There was also a photograph of Cassidy framed, and it made Kadma's chest tighten.

“Well, here's my room. Make yourself at home.” Halinor straightened her already made bed and perched on it. She'd even tie-dyed her bedsheets, something Kadma knew Halinor's parents wouldn't be happy about if they knew. That said, they weren't happy about a lot of things going on in Halinor's life, and these days she didn't seem to care.

“Quite the place you've got here,” Kadma complimented. She sat down besides Halinor and grinned, before oh so subtly shutting the door without moving a muscle.

“You still have your telekinesis?” murmured Halinor, resting her head against her shoulder.

“About as much as you have your telepathy. It comes and goes.”

Halinor hummed.

“So how's Yanny doing?” she asked instead. “I don't write her very often. I know I probably should, but... I just don't know what to say. She was always closer to Nerissa than we were, so...”

“She doesn't talk to me much,” Kadma admitted. “But I mean, she dropped out of college after what happened, so she's busy working shifts. Sometimes we call. Sometimes I go to the Silver Dragon too, but it's not the same. The two of us have never really known what to say to each other.”

“It's so sad,” murmured Halinor. Kadma agreed. The death of Cassidy had also brought the death of their once inseparable friendship. Yan Lin hardly talked to them anymore, still doing the Oracle's bidding, no doubt. Nerissa was gone, Cassidy was gone. Kadma and Halinor only really had each other left. It would have been a comforting thought, if not for the circumstances.

“I'm tired of being sad,” Halinor continued, sounding defeated and feeble. “It hurt, and it still hurts, but I can't keep living like this, K. I need a life.The past is holding me back from that.”

“That's why you invited me out here, then?” Kadma guessed. She put an arm around Halinor, feeling a little awkward. “You wanted it to be like old times?”

“I guess.” Halinor peeked up at her with big eyes that Cassidy had once affectionately nicknamed 'Halinor's saucers'. The effect of which could make any human being melt, and Kadma in particular was prey to this and had no shame in admitting it. “I just want us to hang out. I found a great place, and I was so excited to tell you, but I thought, you know, maybe it was too soon. So I sent the postcard, half-hoping nothing would come of it. I just don't want you to think that I, that I don't care, because I do, Kadma, I-”

“You don't have to explain it to me, Hal. I know.” She wasn't exaggerating; something about risking ostracising yourself from society to be with a person had a butterfly effect of complete trust and honesty, and Kadma amazed herself with things she knew about Halinor that nobody else could possibly know. It didn't help that before they had been removed from Kandrakar Halinor would often filter whispered thoughts into Kadma's head as she slept, like a broken dam in a stream, overflowing with thoughts. It was Kadma's favourite pastime, listening to Halinor's deeper mind flooding her mind. She missed hearing her voice.

You can still hear it now, if only you'd ask, came Halinor's voice, gentle if not a little amused.

“Preying on a young woman's thoughts. What a cheap tactic to get me to admit how much I've missed this.” Kadma was smiling despite herself, and Halinor tugged her down so they were lying side by side on the bed.

“I'm a college girl now. College girls know how to get what they want.” Halinor's tone, seductive in the silliest way, made Kadma crack up, and Halinor had to shush her despite her own hushed giggles.

“Quiet, you'll wake Ray up,” she giggled, and silenced Kadma with a clumsy kiss that she was all too happy to fall into, even if she was still occasionally laughing into Halinor's closed smile.

“Frenching me now, are you? How bold.”

“Bold's my middle name,” Halinor grinned, peppering Kadma's cheeks and jaw with kisses.

“Well then, Halinor Bold Clarkson, what are our plans tonight? We've got the hard part out the way, so mind telling me what to expect?”

“So eager,” sighed Halinor, feigning disapproval. She tapped a finger against Kadma's chin. “All I'm saying is that we're going out, and there's going to be drinks, and there's going to be music. It's a great place Ray showed me. I've been so excited to take you out. You really want to ruin the fun?”

Kadma huffed and muttered, “No...”

“That's what I thought. We have another few hours, anyway, so lets just talk. How's college?”

“The usual. Still got Miriam Knickerbocker as my childcare project partner. Better than Paulie Tubbs, though. Can't get him off my back...”

…

They were ready.

Ray had left an hour earlier to prep for his bartender shift, leaving Halinor and Kadma to get showered and dressed ready for their night out. Kadma felt a little under dressed, even though she'd adopted a wardrobe more akin to mod fashion over the past few months, and had picked out a pair of slacks and a dark shirt with a white collar. When Halinor saw her she gave small applause.

“Nice look,” Halinor complimented with a grin. “A lot of the people who go to this club are copycat mods, so you'll fit right in.”

Halinor herself was dressed in a simple deep red mini dress patterned around the wide-set collar with pale yellow flowers, with her usual tasselled jacket thrown on and the go go boots from earlier, complimented by canary yellow seamless pantyhose. True hippie to the end.

“Ready to go?” she asked, taking Kadma's hand. Kadma swallowed and nodded.

As Halinor lead her out of the apartment block, she took Kadma around the back, through the parking lot and onto a back alley that seemed to go on forever, leading into one alley after another.

“Are you taking me to a crack house or something?” muttered Kadma. “Seriously-”

“Oh, patience,” chided Halinor. “We're nearly there.”

Finally a sign came into view, with the words The Shrinking Violet reading in neon magenta. The windows were tinted, and the faint din of music could be heard leaking from the chimney. Outside, a few smokers were gathered, talking amongst themselves, all ages, races and genders mingling freely.

Kadma whistled.

“Oh, hush,” whispered Halinor with a grin. “I know it doesn't look like much. It's better on the inside, trust me.”

“I'll take your word for it,” Kadma sighed, allowing herself to be led across the street and into the bar. Inside was a different story entirely.

First was the drag queens. Kadma had never seen a real life drag queen before, though she figured there had to be some in Heatherfield, and they were even more theatrical up close. The queens were lip syncing to a Sandie Shaw song from a couple years back, their movements exaggerated. The air itself was thick with cigarette smoke (despite several signs in the establishment stating for smokers to go outside so they didn't have to crack open any windows), but they didn't so much as bat a fake eyelash.

Then came the people on the dance floor. Manicured nails met manicured nails. Steel-toed shoes met steel-toed shoes. There were the odd mismatch, but most came in pairs that danced the same, held themselves the same. Two girls danced cheek in cheek in the far corner, particularly lost in the song, and they caught Kadma's attention.

“You brought me to a queer bar?!” she gasped, turning to stare at Halinor in shock. “You – but – how did you even-?!”

“I know people,” defended Halinor, though more than anything she looked amused by Kadma's blatant shock. “Liberal arts college is wild, K. You wouldn't believe how easy it is to find stuff like this out.”

“Wish community college was as exciting as all this. The most we have is a gay baseball star, and he's so well built everyone knows not to mess with him. It's infuriating. They say safety in numbers, but I'm too scared of getting decked to approach him!”

Halinor burst out laughing and couldn't contain her laughter as she steered Kadma towards the bar.

“Why thank you for your concern,” Kadma muttered dryly.

“Halinor!” Kadma and Halinor turned to the bartender, and Halinor grinned.

“Ray, hi! You look buzzed.”

“I was just talking to one of the queens, later they're gonna sync to The Supremes, and you know that's gonna put a smile on my face.” Ray, with a dark complexion and wild-eyed curiosity, took in Kadma's appearance and the way that Halinor's hand was clasping hers, and his face split into a wide grin. “You're the one and only Kadma, right? Hallie's little girlfriend?”

Kadma felt her face redden and Halinor rolled her eyes. “Knock it off, Ray. What makes you think Kadma is my girlfriend?”

“Well, you're always talking about how tall your girl back home is,” he pointed out with an impish smile. “Seems pretty tall to me. You also told me she was cool and serious, and Kadma over here is definitely giving off those vibes. Not to mention you're holding hands.”

“Girls can hold hands without being queer, Ray,” retorted Halinor, though she was grinning. Kadma glanced around and from the looks of things, nobody else here was from Heatherfield. At least, there was definitely nobody else here who would know her. She took a deep breath.

“Actually, Ray, you're right. I am Halinor's girlfriend. Now make us some cocktails.”

Halinor stared, then exploded into another infectious fit of giggles as Ray looked amazed she'd actually admitted it. Kadma held her chin high, willing herself not to let on how embarrassed she was right now.

“Yes, ma'am. Yikes. I can see which one of you wears the pants.”

“Ah, I love this place,” sighed Halinor, taking a seat at one of the bar stools. “Kadma admitted to someone that she's my girlfriend! How sweet is that!”

“Don't go shouting that to every new face you see,” retorted Kadma. “I'll deny it.”

“Fair enough.”

Kadma drank in the sight of the bar as Halinor began asking Ray about something or other relating to the rent. The queens had finished up their song and were taking a break, talking animatedly to a pair of men with gelled back hair and shirts almost entirely unbuttoned. A mod tune from an early 60s English band spilled out, lively with an irregular beat, and the slow dancing couples switched up their moves dramatically, trying in vain to keep in time with the ever changing beat. It was pretty amusing to watch.

Around the corners of the dance floor were a few scattered groups; men and women trying really hard not to look gay, clumped together like a support group, supposedly first-timers; women in men's shirts and loose slacks, smoking and talking amongst themselves; teddy boys with rolled up sleeves, bow ties and high pants, laughing and joking and singing along drunkenly; girls in heavy make-up and geometric patterned dresses, or baggy shirts and bell-bottoms, arguing over who was going to pay the tab; drag queens writing on the exposed skin of their adoring fans, blowing them kisses and striking exaggerated poses.

Kadma couldn't say she'd visited a bar before, but this was certainly not how she'd imagined them to be.

“Are all bars like this?” she wondered. “Or is it just everyone's drunkenness and queerness combined?”

“Hard to say,” Halinor giggled, sliding a cocktail towards Kadma. “But I've visited an ordinary bar before, and trust me, this place is much more entertaining.”

Kadma sipped and found it a little hard to believe this was an alcoholic beverage. Her brother Dev would occasionally slip her a beer and it tasted bitter, borderline vile, while this tasted like slightly bitter fruit juice.

“They call it a cosmopolitan,” Halinor explained with a smile. “It's a brand new cocktail. I reckon this is the first gay bar around to serve it!”

The sharpness reminded her of Halinor, quick and cutting when need be, but comfortingly so; a girl never afraid to speak her mind. It felt fitting to share this first drink with her.

One drink turned into three, and by that point Kadma felt a little dizzy with drink. The Supremes were on, and the crowd whooped and cheered as three drag queens, mimicking the singers, stepped up onto the stage and blew exaggerated kisses at the audience.

Halinor grinned and blew them a kiss back, which the front queen mimed grabbing and putting down their cleavage.

“This is the best part of the night,” Halinor explained, grinning as wide as anything. “Trust me. You want to dance?”

“I... sure...”

Kadma couldn't remember the last time she and Halinor had danced together. Prom, maybe? A secret dance behind the bleachers, the faintest music accompanying them. Or some time in a secluded place. At a party in Metamoor's rebellion headquarters, folk music and happy laughter and people who didn't care if a couple was made up of two girls or otherwise. The memories were so faded in her mind. She never wanted them to disappear.

“It keeps me crying baby for you, keeps me sighing baby for you...”

Kadma squeezed Halinor's hand in the darkness.

“I love you,” she murmured, as Halinor led her closer to the stage. The queen mimicking Diana Ross winked at them.

Halinor's expression softened, and she leaned over to give her a kiss on the cheek. Kadma's face began to heat up, and she glanced around nervously. Nobody had seen. Nobody cared, in a place like this.

“I love you too, K.”

Kadma's heart was racing, and she began to giggle, lacing her fingers between Halinor's. Halinor began to laugh too, and the two of them began to spin as the music picked up.

“No matter what you do or say, I'm gonna love you anyway...”

Kadma leaned forward and tentatively, secretly, their lips met as the crowd erupted into cheers – the queens were swaying their hips to the beat of the music and throwing their heads back, reining in the applause. Nobody noticed two young lesbians in the heat of the moment, and for that, Kadma found herself grateful.

…

“The plan was,” Halinor giggled as they staggered back towards her apartment, “t-to loosen up together at the bar, and to propose we have some good old free love afterwards! But, I didn't think we'd get so blitzed!”

Kadma almost tripped over her own feet, both from the drink and from what Halinor had just suggested.

“S-Sex! Halinor Clarkson, that's – I know we talked about it before, b-but – stars, Hal, that's something we gotta plan together!”

“I know...” She giggled again, shaking her head, and clumsily unlocked the front door. Kadma all but planted face first into Halinor's bed.

“I'm sleepy...”

“I didn't realise you'd be such a lightweight,” laughed Halinor. “That's fine, I guess. We have the next few days to talk, before you have to go back.”

Kadma mumbled something incoherently into Halinor's pillow, and after kicking off her shoes, Halinor flopped down onto the bed beside her.

“What was that, K?”

“Mm... love you...”

Kadma's eyes were beginning to close, no matter how she fought to get another glimpse of Halinor's flushed cheeks and heavy eyes before the night was over. She saw her lips pull into a smile, and felt them plant against her cheek as she drifted in and out of sleep.

“Goodnight, my dear.”

Kadma felt Halinor pull a blanket over the both of them, and the last thing that registered in her mind was the feeling of Halinor's hand resting atop hers.

She slept soundly for the first night in months.

#w.i.t.c.h. #c.h.y.k.n. #kadma #halinor #kalinor #kadma x halinor #halinor x kadma #kadma/halinor #halinor/kadma #w.i.t.c.h #c.h.y.k.n #writing

[readbookywooks]

26 Out in the hall, I find Paylor standing in exactly the same spot. "Did you find what you were looking for?" she asks. I hold up the white bud in answer and then stumble past her. I must have made it back to my room, because the next thing I know, I'm filling a glass with water from the bathroom faucet and sticking the rose in it. I sink to my knees on the cold tile and squint at the flower, as the whiteness seems hard to focus on in the stark fluorescent light. My finger catches the inside of my bracelet, twisting it like a tourniquet, hurting my wrist. I'm hoping the pain will help me hang on to reality the way it did for Peeta. I must hang on. I must know the truth about what has happened. There are two possibilities, although the details associated with them may vary. First, as I've believed, that the Capitol sent in that hovercraft, dropped the parachutes, and sacrificed its children's lives, knowing the recently arrived rebels would go to their aid. There's evidence to support this. The Capitol's seal on the hovercraft, the lack of any attempt to blow the enemy out of the sky, and their long history of using children as pawns in their battle against the districts. Then there's Snow's account. That a Capitol hovercraft manned by rebels bombed the children to bring a speedy end to the war. But if this was the case, why didn't the Capitol fire on the enemy? Did the element of surprise throw them? Had they no defenses left? Children are precious to 13, or so it has always seemed. Well, not me, maybe. Once I had outlived my usefulness, I was expendable. Although I think it's been a long time since I've been considered a child in this war. And why would they do it knowing their own medics would likely respond and be taken out by the second blast? They wouldn't. They couldn't. Snow's lying. Manipulating me as he always has. Hoping to turn me against the rebels and possibly destroy them. Yes. Of course. Then what's nagging at me? Those double-exploding bombs, for one. It's not that the Capitol couldn't have the same weapon, it's just that I'm sure the rebels did. Gale and Beetee's brainchild. Then there's the fact that Snow made no escape attempt, when I know him to be the consummate survivor. It seems hard to believe he didn't have a retreat somewhere, some bunker stocked with provisions where he could live out the rest of his snaky little life. And finally, there's his assessment of Coin. What's irrefutable is that she's done exactly what he said. Let the Capitol and the districts run one another into the ground and then sauntered in to take power. Even if that was her plan, it doesn't mean she dropped those parachutes. Victory was already in her grasp. Everything was in her grasp. Except me. I recall Boggs's response when I admitted I hadn't put much thought into Snow's successor. "If your immediate answer isn't Coin, then you're a threat. You're the face of the rebellion. You may have more influence than any other single person. Outwardly, the most you've ever done is tolerated her." Suddenly, I'm thinking of Prim, who was not yet fourteen, not yet old enough to be granted the title of soldier, but somehow working on the front lines. How did such a thing happen? That my sister would have wanted to be there, I have no doubt. That she would be more capable than many older than she is a given. But for all that, someone very high up would have had to approve putting a thirteen-year-old in combat. Did Coin do it, hoping that losing Prim would push me completely over the edge? Or, at least, firmly on her side? I wouldn't even have had to witness it in person. Numerous cameras would be covering the City Circle. Capturing the moment forever. No, now I am going crazy, slipping into some state of paranoia. Too many people would know of the mission. Word would get out. Or would it? Who would have to know besides Coin, Plutarch, and a small, loyal or easily disposable crew? I badly need help working this out, only everyone I trust is dead. Cinna. Boggs. Finnick. Prim. There's Peeta, but he couldn't do any more than speculate, and who knows what state his mind's in, anyway. And that leaves only Gale. He's far away, but even if he were beside me, could I confide in him? What could I say, how could I phrase it, without implying that it was his bomb that killed Prim? The impossibility of that idea, more than any, is why Snow must be lying. Ultimately, there's only one person to turn to who might know what happened and might still be on my side. To broach the subject at all will be a risk. But while I think Haymitch might gamble with my life in the arena, I don't think he'd rat me out to Coin. Whatever problems we may have with each other, we prefer resolving our differences one-on-one. I scramble off the tiles, out the door, and across the hall to his room. When there's no response to my knock, I push inside. Ugh. It's amazing how quickly he can defile a space. Half-eaten plates of food, shattered liquor bottles, and pieces of broken furniture from a drunken rampage scatter his quarters. He lies, unkempt and unwashed, in a tangle of sheets on the bed, passed out. "Haymitch," I say, shaking his leg. Of course, that's insufficient. But I give it a few more tries before I dump the pitcher of water in his face. He comes to with a gasp, slashing blindly with his knife. Apparently, the end of Snow's reign didn't equal the end of his terror. "Oh. You," he says. I can tell by his voice that he's still loaded. "Haymitch," I begin. "Listen to that. The Mockingjay found her voice." He laughs. "Well, Plutarch's going to be happy." He takes a swig from a bottle. "Why am I soaking wet?" I lamely drop the pitcher behind me into a pile of dirty clothes. "I need your help," I say. Haymitch belches, filling the air with white liquor fumes. "What is it, sweetheart? More boy trouble?" I don't know why, but this hurts me in a way Haymitch rarely can. It must show on my face, because even in his drunken state, he tries to take it back. "Okay, not funny." I'm already at the door. "Not funny! Come back!" By the thud of his body hitting the floor, I assume he tried to follow me, but there's no point. I zigzag through the mansion and disappear into a wardrobe full of silken things. I yank them from hangers until I have a pile and then burrow into it. In the lining of my pocket, I find a stray morphling tablet and swallow it dry, heading off my rising hysteria. It's not enough to right things, though. I hear Haymitch calling me in the distance, but he won't find me in his condition. Especially not in this new spot. Swathed in silk, I feel like a caterpillar in a cocoon awaiting metamorphosis. I always supposed that to be a peaceful condition. At first it is. But as I journey into night, I feel more and more trapped, suffocated by the slippery bindings, unable to emerge until I have transformed into something of beauty. I squirm, trying to shed my ruined body and unlock the secret to growing flawless wings. Despite enormous effort, I remain a hideous creature, fired into my current form by the blast from the bombs. The encounter with Snow opens the door to my old repertoire of nightmares. It's like being stung by tracker jackers again. A wave of horrifying images with a brief respite I confuse with waking - only to find another wave knocking me back. When the guards finally locate me, I'm sitting on the floor of the wardrobe, tangled in silk, screaming my head off. I fight them at first, until they convince me they're trying to help, peel away the choking garments, and escort me back to my room. On the way, we pass a window and I see a gray, snowy dawn spreading across the Capitol. A very hungover Haymitch waits with a handful of pills and a tray of food that neither of us has the stomach for. He makes a feeble attempt to get me to talk again but, seeing it's pointless, sends me to a bath someone has drawn. The tub's deep, with three steps to the bottom. I ease down into the warm water and sit, up to my neck in suds, hoping the medicines kick in soon. My eyes focus on the rose that has spread its petals overnight, filling the steamy air with its strong perfume. I rise and reach for a towel to smother it, when there's a tentative knock and the bathroom door opens, revealing three familiar faces. They try to smile at me, but even Venia can't conceal her shock at my ravaged mutt body. "Surprise!" Octavia squeaks, and then bursts into tears. I'm puzzling over their reappearance when I realize that this must be it, the day of the execution. They've come to prep me for the cameras. Remake me to Beauty Base Zero. No wonder Octavia's crying. It's an impossible task. They can barely touch my patchwork of skin for fear of hurting me, so I rinse and dry off myself. I tell them I hardly notice the pain anymore, but Flavius still winces as he drapes a robe around me. In the bedroom, I find another surprise. Sitting upright in a chair. Polished from her metallic gold wig to her patent leather high heels, gripping a clipboard. Remarkably unchanged except for the vacant look in her eyes. "Effie," I say. "Hello, Katniss." She stands and kisses me on the cheek as if nothing has occurred since our last meeting, the night before the Quarter Quell. "Well, it looks like we've got another big, big, big day ahead of us. So why don't you start your prep and I'll just pop over and check on the arrangements." "Okay," I say to her back. "They say Plutarch and Haymitch had a hard time keeping her alive," comments Venia under her breath. "She was imprisoned after your escape, so that helps." It's quite a stretch. Effie Trinket, rebel. But I don't want Coin killing her, so I make a mental note to present her that way if asked. "I guess it's good Plutarch kidnapped you three after all." "We're the only prep team still alive. And all the stylists from the Quarter Quell are dead," says Venia. She doesn't say who specifically killed them. I'm beginning to wonder if it matters. She gingerly takes one of my scarred hands and holds it out for inspection. "Now, what do you think for the nails? Red or maybe a jet black?" Flavius performs some beauty miracle on my hair, managing to even out the front while getting some of the longer locks to hide the bald spots in the back. My face, since it was spared from the flames, presents no more than the usual challenges. Once I'm in Cinna's Mockingjay suit, the only scars visible are on my neck, forearms, and hands. Octavia secures my Mockingjay pin over my heart and we step back to look in the mirror. I can't believe how normal they've made me look on the outside when inwardly I'm such a wasteland. There's a tap at the door and Gale steps in. "Can I have a minute?" he asks. In the mirror, I watch my prep team. Unsure of where to go, they bump into one another a few times and then closet themselves in the bathroom. Gale comes up behind me and we examine each other's reflection. I'm searching for something to hang on to, some sign of the girl and boy who met by chance in the woods five years ago and became inseparable. I'm wondering what would have happened to them if the Hunger Games had not reaped the girl. If she would have fallen in love with the boy, married him even. And sometime in the future, when the brothers and sisters had been raised up, escaped with him into the woods and left 12 behind forever. Would they have been happy, out in the wild, or would the dark, twisted sadness between them have grown up even without the Capitol's help? "I brought you this." Gale holds up a sheath. When I take it, I notice it holds a single, ordinary arrow. "It's supposed to be symbolic. You firing the last shot of the war." "What if I miss?" I say. "Does Coin retrieve it and bring it back to me? Or just shoot Snow through the head herself?" "You won't miss." Gale adjusts the sheath on my shoulder. We stand there, face-to-face, not meeting each other's eyes. "You didn't come see me in the hospital." He doesn't answer, so finally I just say it. "Was it your bomb?" "I don't know. Neither does Beetee," he says. "Does it matter? You'll always be thinking about it." He waits for me to deny it; I want to deny it, but it's true. Even now I can see the flash that ignites her, feel the heat of the flames. And I will never be able to separate that moment from Gale. My silence is my answer. "That was the one thing I had going for me. Taking care of your family," he says. "Shoot straight, okay?" He touches my cheek and leaves. I want to call him back and tell him that I was wrong. That I'll figure out a way to make peace with this. To remember the circumstances under which he created the bomb. Take into account my own inexcusable crimes. Dig up the truth about who dropped the parachutes. Prove it wasn't the rebels. Forgive him. But since I can't, I'll just have to deal with the pain. Effie comes in to usher me to some kind of meeting. I collect my bow and at the last minute remember the rose, glistening in its glass of water. When I open the door to the bathroom, I find my prep team sitting in a row on the edge of the tub, hunched and defeated. I remember I'm not the only one whose world has been stripped away. "Come on," I tell them. "We've got an audience waiting." I'm expecting a production meeting in which Plutarch instructs me where to stand and gives me my cue for shooting Snow. Instead, I find myself sent into a room where six people sit around a table. Peeta, Johanna, Beetee, Haymitch, Annie, and Enobaria. They all wear the gray rebel uniforms from 13. No one looks particularly well. "What's this?" I say. "We're not sure," Haymitch answers. "It appears to be a gathering of the remaining victors." "We're all that's left?" I ask. "The price of celebrity," says Beetee. "We were targeted from both sides. The Capitol killed the victors they suspected of being rebels. The rebels killed those thought to be allied with the Capitol." Johanna scowls at Enobaria. "So what's she doing here?" "She is protected under what we call the Mockingjay Deal," says Coin as she enters behind me. "Wherein Katniss Everdeen agreed to support the rebels in exchange for captured victors' immunity. Katniss has upheld her side of the bargain, and so shall we." Enobaria smiles at Johanna. "Don't look so smug," says Johanna. "We'll kill you anyway." "Sit down, please, Katniss," says Coin, closing the door. I take a seat between Annie and Beetee, carefully placing Snow's rose on the table. As usual, Coin gets right to the point. "I've asked you here to settle a debate. Today we will execute Snow. In the previous weeks, hundreds of his accomplices in the oppression of Panem have been tried and now await their own deaths. However, the suffering in the districts has been so extreme that these measures appear insufficient to the victims. In fact, many are calling for a complete annihilation of those who held Capitol citizenship. However, in the interest of maintaining a sustainable population, we cannot afford this." Through the water in the glass, I see a distorted image of one of Peeta's hands. The burn marks. We are both fire mutts now. My eyes travel up to where the flames licked across his forehead, singeing away his brows but just missing his eyes. Those same blue eyes that used to meet mine and then flit away at school. Just as they do now. "So, an alternative has been placed on the table. Since my colleagues and I can come to no consensus, it has been agreed that we will let the victors decide. A majority of four will approve the plan. No one may abstain from the vote," says Coin. "What has been proposed is that in lieu of eliminating the entire Capitol population, we have a final, symbolic Hunger Games, using the children directly related to those who held the most power." All seven of us turn to her. "What?" says Johanna. "We hold another Hunger Games using Capitol children," says Coin. "Are you joking?" asks Peeta. "No. I should also tell you that if we do hold the Games, it will be known it was done with your approval, although the individual breakdown of your votes will be kept secret for your own security," Coin tells us. "Was this Plutarch's idea?" asks Haymitch. "It was mine," says Coin. "It seemed to balance the need for vengeance with the least loss of life. You may cast your votes." "No!" bursts out Peeta. "I vote no, of course! We can't have another Hunger Games!" "Why not?" Johanna retorts. "It seems very fair to me. Snow even has a granddaughter. I vote yes." "So do I," says Enobaria, almost indifferently. "Let them have a taste of their own medicine." "This is why we rebelled! Remember?" Peeta looks at the rest of us. "Annie?" "I vote no with Peeta," she says. "So would Finnick if he were here." "But he isn't, because Snow's mutts killed him," Johanna reminds her. "No," says Beetee. "It would set a bad precedent. We have to stop viewing one another as enemies. At this point, unity is essential for our survival. No." "We're down to Katniss and Haymitch," says Coin. Was it like this then? Seventy-five years or so ago? Did a group of people sit around and cast their votes on initiating the Hunger Games? Was there dissent? Did someone make a case for mercy that was beaten down by the calls for the deaths of the districts' children? The scent of Snow's rose curls up into my nose, down into my throat, squeezing it tight with despair. All those people I loved, dead, and we are discussing the next Hunger Games in an attempt to avoid wasting life. Nothing has changed. Nothing will ever change now. I weigh my options carefully, think everything through. Keeping my eyes on the rose, I say, "I vote yes...for Prim." "Haymitch, it's up to you," says Coin. A furious Peeta hammers Haymitch with the atrocity he could become party to, but I can feel Haymitch watching me. This is the moment, then. When we find out exactly just how alike we are, and how much he truly understands me. "I'm with the Mockingjay," he says. "Excellent. That carries the vote," says Coin. "Now we really must take our places for the execution." As she passes me, I hold up the glass with the rose. "Can you see that Snow's wearing this? Just over his heart?" Coin smiles. "Of course. And I'll make sure he knows about the Games." "Thank you," I say. People sweep into the room, surround me. The last touch of powder, the instructions from Plutarch as I'm guided to the front doors of the mansion. The City Circle runs over, spills people down the side streets. The others take their places outside. Guards. Officials. Rebel leaders. Victors. I hear the cheers that indicate Coin has appeared on the balcony. Then Effie taps my shoulder, and I step out into the cold winter sunlight. Walk to my position, accompanied by the deafening roar of the crowd. As directed, I turn so they see me in profile, and wait. When they march Snow out the door, the audience goes insane. They secure his hands behind a post, which is unnecessary. He's not going anywhere. There's nowhere to go. This is not the roomy stage before the Training Center but the narrow terrace in front of the president's mansion. No wonder no one bothered to have me practice. He's ten yards away. I feel the bow purring in my hand. Reach back and grasp the arrow. Position it, aim at the rose, but watch his face. He coughs and a bloody dribble runs down his chin. His tongue flicks over his puffy lips. I search his eyes for the slightest sign of anything, fear, remorse, anger. But there's only the same look of amusement that ended our last conversation. It's as if he's speaking the words again. "Oh, my dear Miss Everdeen. I thought we had agreed not to lie to each other." He's right. We did. The point of my arrow shifts upward. I release the string. And President Coin collapses over the side of the balcony and plunges to the ground. Dead.

#Mockingjay

[gatheringbones]

The people Jesus loved were shopping at The Star Market yesterday. An old lead-colored man standing next to me at the checkout breathed so heavily I had to step back a few steps. Even after his bags were packed he still stood, breathing hard and hawking into his hand. The feeble, the lame, I could hardly look at them: shuffling through the aisles, they smelled of decay, as if The Star Market had declared a day off for the able-bodied, and I had wandered in with the rest of them: sour milk, bad meat: looking for cereal and spring water. Jesus must have been a saint, I said to myself, looking for my lost car in the parking lot later, stumbling among the people who would have been lowered into rooms by ropes, who would have crept out of caves or crawled from the corners of public baths on their hands and knees begging for mercy. If I touch only the hem of his garment, one woman thought, I will be healed. Could I bear the look on his face when he wheels around?

the star market, by marie howe

#Poetry #still a fave