Tumgik
#accidentally hit close on the file when i was coloring the background of the second one and automatically hit 'close w/o saving'
orokay · 2 years
Photo
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if u remember my mass effect ocs i have feelings for you
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artxyra · 4 years
Note
Can you do a continuation of my last ask (the chaos cult one) where the JL is going up against some big villain and they need a group of unpredictable people to defeat them. Cue Batman having a traumatic flashback. He just tells the others that he knows who to call and then leaves. The day of the fight they go up to Batman and ask him where are the people he called and what the plan is and Bruce just replies with "I don't know." The JL is confused and freaking out when suddenly the cult attacks.
Note: @wannajointhecrabcult, sorry your request took awhile to finished. The battle scene had me up in the air, but hey I hope you like it.  
It was rare for when the Justice League are facing a villain that they cannot face directly. They’ve been facing this villain for days, failing with each attempt due to a random interference or the villain switching up the game plan. The league of heroes was getting fed up.
“This is getting out of control.” It was Wonder Woman who throws her hand down against the table. She looks to ever one of her peers. She can feel the tension rising amongst them all.
“What can we do. He changes tactics every time we enter the field. One moment we are winning and the next we are defeated. I hate this.” Among them, murmurs of agreements follow. Everyone put in their two cents aside from Batman.
In deep thought, no one knows what the dark knight was thinking. That wasn’t an unfamiliar site though, so they all turned him.
“I have a plan.” He grunts, secretly hoping this plan doesn’t backfire on him.
Unknown to the league members, chaos has been recking the streets of Gotham and it wasn’t due to the Gotham major villains. No, it was done by his youngest son and his childhood friends. Every night is a new prank, experiment, and or challenge.
Bruce Wayne remembers the time, the Premier Chaotique invaded one of his business meetings with Tim. However, they didn’t do it in person, it was by slides. Tim had premade the business plans, in advance, and was too sleep-deprived to check the files the night before. Instead of being shown the actual presentation, everyone in the meeting was greeted with a video of Premier Chaotique pretending to be in their own meeting very similar to the one that was currently in session. Nathanial had been the presenter as Nino, Kim, and Chloe pretended to be the business partners. It was Damian and Marinette who had been making side noises in the background asking random questions interrupting Nathanial every chance they got. Of course, this got a good laugh out of the business meeting members, but a scowl from Bruce and a sigh of defeat from Tim, who was severely lacking caffeine but active.
The time after that it was prank war around the manor. It was a massive mess filled with water and paint balloons with the looming threat of turning it into a paint (or mud) ball battle. Bruce swears that if it wasn’t for Alfred keeping them in check, they (mainly Marinette and Damian) would have made it happen. This not only happened once but thrice all with different consequences and a massive cry for help. Had he known Damian would turn into a pranking teenager with the help of five others, he would have stuck with dark and stubborn Damian instead. Though he was secretly happy that his son was enjoying his teen years.
Dick and Jason tried to get into their little cult but were met with lies and deceit causing them to finally understand that Marinette is not just sunshine and rainbows but a cold-blooded prankster warrior.
Watching the Premier Chaotique wild videos, that he had bookmarked when the cult was trending, on his way back to the Batcave, Bruce can only internally sob. Post after post is filled with the latest spot and random information on what they were doing. He wouldn’t be surprised to see if that was just a cover-up to keep the GCPD off their trail.
“Please tell me that the manor is still intact,” Bruce asks, eyes close upon existing the Batcave and into one of the many halls of the manor. Alfred simply nods handing the man a towel and offers him a drink.
“Nino, Kim, Nate... I have a plan.” There went the peace as Damian makes his voice known. The Premier Chaotique enters the manor’s living room slightly exhausted but still filled with chaotic energy. Marinette and Chloe break from the group living the boys alone to plot their next escapade.
“Yo, lord dude, what do you have in mind?” Nino asks seemingly intrigued.
The three males listen closely to their leader. The plan was brilliant and chaotic. It involves surfboards, silly string, and heaps of cotton candy.
Once the Premier Chaotique cult had settled down to watch TV, it was then that Bruce makes his own plan known.
“I have a mission for you.” He states with little room for negotiation.
“What’s in it for us?” It was Chloe, the future lawyer or PR agent, asks gesturing to others, who all looks intrigued yet wary by this announcement.
Bruce sighs, whatever comes out of his mouth next could quite possibly come back and punch him in the face. “Endless amount of chaos, for if you take on this villain.”
Marinette narrows her eyes at the older man. “You mean that magician Mumbo who keeps evading you?” She counters. After a while of spending school breaks in Gotham, it didn’t take long for the Premier Chaotique (aside from Damian) to accidentally find the Batcave. They all promise to never speak of it to anyone outside of the Bat-fam or each other. Let’s just say, that was a rough day for everyone in on the secret prior to the exposure.
“Yes, Marinette.” Bruce nods as the sinking feeling of regard (or was it worry) fills his stomach. It wasn’t long before the intrigued looks turn turns into a mixture of mischievous evil. Heroes help them all if this plan ends up becoming something that was not in the favor of the league capturing this villain.
The day when the Justice League was called to apprehend their latest chaotic villain, a cold chill went down everyone’s’ spines. Unknown to everyone, Batman had unleashed an evil like no other upon them.
“With a wave of my wand, I shall disappear,” Mumbo announces.
“Batman!” Wonder Woman shouts as she takes her lasso and throws it to wrap around Mumbo. Mumbo’s eyes widen before ducking to the ground.
“Pesto!” Smoke covers the Justice Members all trying to escape. Mumbo skips over to be in front of them.
“Hey, B-man, yeah so, when is this plan of yours coming through?” Flash asks, running in place but then smoke coves him and now he’s a rabbit.
Batman doesn’t answer. He only grunts and tries to cut loose his bindings. Then an explosion happens in the background. Chaotic laughter, that wasn’t by Mumbo, fills the area. Another round of shivers goes down everyone’s spines.
Then there were lights, bright flashing lights, and an obnoxious duck honk. Vroom. A vehicle flies over their heads.
“Heck yeah, time to face the Premier Chaotique!” A voice screams to the heavens (it was Kim's). Once the car had drifted to the side, the side door slides open revealing two people in inflatable dino suits diving in the direction of Mumbo.
Mumbo barely had any time to conjure up a spell. This gave the Justice League members enough time to a safer position. For Batman, he only hopes that they don’t do overboard, but who was he kidding?
“Need a hand.” Batman looks up to see Nightwing, Red Robin, and Red Hood sitting on top of the building each holding some kind of snack.
“What are you three doing here?” He asks narrowing his eyes at his sons who smirk and gestures to the mess that is happening down below. The League members are heavily confused, but they were unsure whether to ask questions or just watch the scene unfolded.
Beats from a boombox play in the ground catching everyone’s attention.
The two dino suit wearers head butts the magician before disappearing. Mumbo produces his wand and twirls creating a smokescreen of dust particles. When the dust cleared, Mumbo was face-to-face with Damian, wearing a suit similar to Robin’s but replaced with paint splatters instead of its usual colors.
“I'm sure there's a peaceful solution here...” Mumbo starts as he pulls out a multiple color linked handkerchief turns into a lasso and sends it to wrap around Damian. Damian stands there motionless.
Just as the lasso wraps around Damian, a parachute appears over his head. The only facial expression on Damian’s face was a smirk. Within seconds, they were in a whole new world.
Mumbo not liking the gain these people had on him, summons bombs and throws them around him. The bombs hit nothing while a series of various laughter fills the area.
“Huh?” The magician is then twirled around to be faced with Marinette and Chloe both wearing a paint splatter design jumpsuit with domino masks. Marinette curtly nods her head and sends a wink to the magician. Chloe lets out a burst of chaotic laughter.
“Need a hand.” A giant hand appears feet away from the girls but as the hand makes it way over to the girls two motorcycles come slinging through the air. The girls hold out the hand to which the two riders grab hold and help them onto the back.
Mumbo dodges one of the bikes as it nearly skims his hat. He then crackles realizing that he has found a wonder opponent against his magician tactics.
“You boys and girls need to take a drink.” He states as he twirls his wand. A giant glass of water appears in the giant’s hand. Like a waterfall, the liquid pours on top of his opponents. He could hear the grunts from them as they land on the hard ground.
On the ground, Marinette glares at the magician all while keeping a knowing smirk on her lips. She could hear Damian rushing in the background grabbing the scooters and sliding them in their direction. Nino and Kim jump up and takes over their scooters and ride to attack the magician.
“Here have some flowers,” Mumbo says as he takes a boutique of flowers out of sleeves. The boutique is beeping and explodes on impact. The impacts cause the parachute to waver.
Slowly the parachute collapses. Standing on top of the hill trying to maintain the parachute form is Nathaniel who was simply struggling but one motion from Damian told him to stop.
“Well, that’s just great!” Chloe groans once she was out of the parachute gliding on her yellow scooter. Kim and Nino are okay and riding up the blonde.
“A bunch of kids, you sent a bunch of kids after Mumbo” Mumbo screeches to the Justice League but from his position, it was more directed to the Premier Chaotique. “This is nothing that’s what’s up my sleeves can’t help.” A robe sprouts out from Mumbo’s sleeves to wrap around Marinette, who was behind him. Simultaneously, the Premier Chaotique calls out "boss". From the JL’s position, Batman and his sons were all inching to stop Mumbo, but it was Nathanial that stops from and he was holding a camera in his hands.  
“You calling us kids?” The cult members aside from Marinette move to the show Damian trembling with anger.
“What of it?” Mumbo reinforce his statement. Marinette with an exasperated look on her face was silently gleaming.
“Oh, you shouldn’t have done that.” She says as her lips purse together to prevent her from laughing. Though she is slightly worried about what’s going to happen next.
“I’ll ask this again, are you calling us kids?” Damian asks with his voice rising with each word.
“Now’s he’s mad,” Marinette says quickly but returns to her innocent facial expression the moment Mumbo turned to her turn.
“They call us the Premier Chaotique!” He screams running towards Mumbo with his katana in hand. Not sure where he got the katana from. Seeing the running teen coming at him, Mumbo was quick to push Marinette in front of Damian but since her feet weren’t tied, she pushes herself out of the way, allowing Damian to continue his pursuit in harming Mumbo.
The Premier Chaotique winces (or provides commentary like a sportscaster, blame Kim) at the sight of Damian practically mutilating Mumbo. Marinette took this time to free herself allowing The Justice League, aside from the Bat-family cautiously walk over to the group.
By the time they all made it down, Mumbo was seeing stars, his outfit was unrecognizable, and Damian was holding Marinette in his arms keeping her away from anyone but his cult members.
“Good work, cult. We’ll take it from here.” Batman states ignoring the flabbergasted look of the Justice League. For the cult, they knew there was an underlying message within that statement which means that they will be receiving a full-on report back at the Batcave when he arrives home.
Bruce Wayne stands expressionless in front of his son and his son’s friend. The members of Premier Chaotique side eye one another with hidden expressions of laughter.
“Do I even want to know what you six, excuse me, five did whole under the parachute?” He questioned eyeing each of the kids including his oldest sons. There is a slight chance that those three managed to help the Premier Chaotique with some of the ideas.
“He’s not dead,” Damian shrugs.
“Besides B-man, what we did was practically child’s play.” Chloe states waving before turning to nails and scoffing at how they look.
Bruce groans and face-palms, “That was not, child’s play.”
“Hey, Mr. Dude, you promised us an endless amount of chaos…and we delivered.” Nino adds messing with his music player trying to figure out his next tunes.
“Bruce, we promise not to do any pranks inside the manor.” Marinette offers but before her cult members could protest, she continues with, “Will that satisfy your concerns?”  
Bruce knows there was a loophole in that statement, but he knew he wouldn’t get any information from them. Sighing, he wraps up the conversation and disappears to wherever he goes when beyond stress.
“Are you really not going to prank the manor?” Dick asks hoping that they will say yes. Marinette looks to her members and nods. This sends Dick crying in happiness and dragging Jason and Tim with him out of the cave.
“Are we really not going to prank the manor?” Nathanial asks.
“Of course not. We two options: real-life game simulation or turning the manor into a giant maze of falling dominoes. Which one you wanna do?” The smirk on Marinette’s face said it all. They were not done with being the Premier Chaotique.
“Game simulation!” They collectively shout. Far from the cave, everyone who will be indirectly affected felt a shiver go down their spines.
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neonhelper · 4 years
Video
vimeo
a gif tutorial by blakehelps
Hello lovelies! Many months ago I was asked to make a gif tutorial, and not as many months ago, I went ahead and recorded that tutorial! A lack of time has kept me from publishing the tutorial until now, as I’ve finally finished and typed out a written version to go along with the video. So above is a detailed video tutorial of how I make gifs (and, specifically, how I made the gif underneath), and below is a less detailed companion tutorial to go along with it. I hope you guys find this useful, and if you have any questions at all, please do not hesitate to send me an ask/im!
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What You’ll Need (1:10)
Photoshop (I’m using PS5)
A way to cap/extract your gifs (I’m using KMPlayer)
Here’s a tutorial on how to import videos into photoshop and extracting caps that way
TSC Footage (provided by me, to follow along!)
oliviaholt’s 2k18 action (give her post a like/reblog!)
Step 1: Capping (2:00)
Open up the KMPlayer, and click on the button in the top left corner of the screen. Click on “Open Files” & select the footage you’ll be using (in this case, open the TSC clip I’ve provided). Minimize the screen to a manageable size if it’s too large, then pause the video. Right click on the video and click on Capture >> Frame: Extract. If you don’t already have a folder in your library made for the caps we’re about to extract, go to your library and make one. Then, go to the box that popped up after clicking extract, and click on the little folder icon in the upper right hand corner next to Open. Select the folder you made for frame extraction. In the box again, make sure Continuously is selected under Numbers To Extract, Every Frame is selected under Frames To Extract, and Original Size is selected under Size To Extract. Now click on the video, play it, and pause it at Shelley’s face at the 17 second mark. Go back to the box and click Start. Then go back to the video and click play. Let the video play until the 22 second mark, or after Phoebe’s close up has finished, then click pause. Go back to the box and click Stop. You’ve now capped your clip! Go to the folder you made, and delete the excess frames we don’t need - we’re only looking for the close up on Phoebe’s face for this gif!
Pro Tip for the future: when capping this way, please make sure you follow what your screen is showing you > what the audio is telling you when extracting caps! For longer scenes, what’ll often happen is the audio will keep going scenes and scenes ahead while the visuals are still just showing you on the same 1 scene you’re trying to cap. That’s common, it happens often. Just make sure you do not stop extracting caps until you see the screen change to a scene you no longer what caps from. If you follow the audio and stop before the visuals have caught up to where you want, you’ll end up missing caps as the software did not extract all the caps from your scene. Follow the visuals, not the audio!
Step 2: Importing, Cropping, and Actions (6:45 / 8:15 / 12:20)
Now it’s time to open up Photoshop! Once open, you’re gonna wanna make sure you have the Animation box open at the bottom of your screen. If you don’t, go to Window >> Animation.
Next, we’re gonna go click on File >> Scripts >> Load Multiple DICOM Files, and select the folder that holds the Phoebe caps. Once it’s loaded, it’s time to crop! Click on the crop tool on the toolbar to the left (it’s the fifth icon down). At the top, there should be a place to insert your width and height for exact measurements. Go ahead and enter your dimensions. For me, because of an annoying transparent line issue I run into, I like to use the dimensions 278 px for width and 160 px for height - these are 10 pixels more than what I really want (268x150). But I crop it this way to get rid of my little transparent line issue.
For this gif, I want to really hone in on just Phoebe’s face, so I’m gonna Make Frames From Layers before I crop by going down to the timeline (aka the Animation box), and hitting the little drop down icon in the top right hand corner. After making frames from layers, I can see Phoebe’s face, so I’m gonna go ahead and crop my gif how I like so it’s more focused on her face/not as much of the excess background. After that, I’m gonna go up and click on Image >> Canvas Size, and change the dimensions from 278x160 to 268x150 then hit enter. Now my gif is sized the way I want.
Now to use actions! If you don’t already have Symphony’s (aka oliviaholt’s) action loaded into photoshop, then let’s do that now! You’re gonna wanna hit Windows >> Actions to open up actions, then hit the drop down icon on the right hand side in the Actions box that pops up. Go to Load Actions, then locate her action and load it in! Our frames our DICOM’s, so we’re gonna use her “for DICOM imports” action. Select it so all the actions are displayed underneath, and select the first “Select All Frames” (third down). Make sure the first frame in the timeline is selected, then hit the play button on the action. We’re starting the action on Select All Frames because we’ve already Made Frames From Layers, so starting the action off from the top won’t work for us. After the action has gone through our gif, we now have a colored, sharped gif that’s forever looped and timed to .06 seconds!
Step 3: Coloring (13:00) 
Now let’s color this gif! We’re gonna make Symphony’s base layers invisible by clicking the eye emoji’s next to those two layers. If you really don’t want them there at all, you can delete those layers, but I’m not too fussy on a neat work space right now so I’ll just leave them at invisible.
Now for coloring, I usually follow a similar formula. Start with a Curves layer, then a Levels layer, then a Color Balance if it needs it before going on to Brightness layers and Selective Colors or Hue/Saturation if they need it. This is no different! For coloring we’ll be sticking strictly to the Layer >> New Adjustment Layer options, which is where we can find all the coloring options I just mentioned. Coloring isn’t an exact science. I tend to fiddle around with dragging the layers for each layer until I get something I like. Luckily for this gif, I didn’t have to do really any color correcting, so it’s an easier gif to color.
For this gif, I go my standard Curves layer first and do slight adjustments to make the gif brighter. Then go on to Levels, where I make the blacks darker, the whites brighter, and then shift the middle tab over to the left to make the gif overall brighter and lighter. At this point, the gif doesn’t look to be leaning one way or another in hues that I’ll need to color correct, so I’m gonna go on and add a Brightness/Contrast layer to, again, make the gif brighter and up the contrast a little. After that I decide to up the saturation to make the colors pop a bit more, so I add a Hue/Saturation layer. The gif could be brighter so I add another Brightness/Contrast layer on top. And it could be a bit warmer, so I go ahead an add a Vibrance layer on top of that. Now, I’m satisfied with how it looks!
Step 4: Saving (17:00)
With the gif now colored, it’s time to save the gif. Go to File >> Save For Web & Devices. Make sure the Colors are at 256, the Dither is at 100%, the gif size is under 8MB (though I like to make sure my gifs are no bigger than 4MB), the dimension sizes are right at 268x150, and that the Looping Options are at Forever. Click play and watch your gif play through to make sure everything’s how you like it/there aren’t any accidental errors you missed, then hit Save. And you’re done! You should now have a completely done Phoebe gif at your disposal!
And that’s how I make gifs! I’m sure there are a zillion different ways to make them, some much better and more efficient methods than mine, but this is just the way I do them. This method works for me and leaves me satisfied with my gifs, so I’m satisfied with it. If you have any questions about anything I’ve mentioned here - if you don’t understand something, or would like more detail on something - let me know! I’ll be more than happy to try my best to assist you in whatever it is you need help with.
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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years
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70 for sternclay, nsfw please :)
70: you’re planning my best friend’s wedding which we find out the day after you drunkenly hit on me at a bar and I reject you.
“God I hope this guy isn’t a jerk.” Dani plays with her hair as Aubrey fidgets with her phone.
“Hey, if he is, you’ve got me as back-up.” Barclay pats her shoulder reassuringly, “plus, like, you two are the brides. You’re the bosses of the wedding.”
“If we really were the bosses, we wouldn’t be working with a wedding planner in the first place.” Aubrey grumbles. 
There’s a knock on the door and Barclay stands, “I’ll get it, you two finish mentally bracing yourselves.”
He opens the door to find a tall, dark haired man with bright blues and a well-cut suit staring at him. Their expressions morph to shock and recognition at the same instant.
“Hi, hic, big guy, what’s your name?” The man’s blue eyes are noticeable even in the dim light of the bar. 
“Barclay.” He turns on his stool, giving the man a once over that he can’t help but notice. 
“You, hic, here, hic, with anyone?”
“Nope.”
“Want to, hic, be?” 
The man is clearly built under his v-neck t-shirt, and Barclay would dearly love to get a closer look at his ass. Trouble is, his ass is having a hard time staying balanced in that chair. 
“Sorry, blue eyes, not tonight.”
The man slinks away before Barclay can even ask if he wants him to call him a ride. 
“I’m looking for Aubrey Little’s residence?”
“You found it. She and Dani are in here.” He ushers blue-eyes inside, doesn’t envy him the look of suspicion he gets from both women. 
“Good afternoon, Ms. Little and Ms. Coulice, I’m Joseph Stern, and I’m here to help your wedding go off without a hitch.”
“Great. Let’s get this over with. Honey, can you go get the notes AH Dr. Harris Bonkers put that down!” Aubrey dives off the chair, grabbing a phone charger from the jaws of the ten pound white rabbit. 
As one bride opens up her laptop and the other re-cages a disgruntled small mammal, Stern turns to him.
“And, um, how do you know the brides to be?”
“Dani’s been my best friend since middle school, so I’m her man of honor and helping with the wedding planning.”
“I see. Oh, thank you Ms. Coulice.”
“Dani is fine.” Dani returns to her spot in the loveseat while Stern sits down in a nearby chair with her laptop. He reads for several moments without comment, Aubrey trading worried looks wh Barclay and Dani as he does. 
“Are these the specific venues you have in mind, or just examples of the type of location you’d like?”
“Mostly examples.” 
“Got it. Would you mind sending me these files? That way I can have them as reference when I’m looking into possible venues.”
“You’re not gonna, like, try to talk us into the Yacht Club or something?”
Stern looks at Aubrey with a warm, polite smile, “Ms. Little--Aubrey--, your father may have retained me, but my job is to make the wedding as close to what you want as possible. I’m not here to undermine you.”
“O-kay” Aubrey still sounds wary, but she and Dani relax as Stern goes over his planning approach with them and works out a tentative schedule of meetings. When he’s done, Barclay offers to walk him to the door. 
Just as he steps outside, he turns, “I, um, I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention our exchange last night to either of them. Or to Mr. Little. It’s not a habit of mine, I just had a bit too much, um, liquid courage.”
“You got it. Kinda feeling like I dodged a bullet myself.”
“Oh?” A dark eyebrow arches playfully. 
“Rather not sleep with the enemy.”
“Wh-did you miss the part where I said I was here to help them?” 
“Nope, but you and I both know it’s a lie. You’re here because Aubrey’s dad has a bug up his butt about this wedding causing a scandal or not being fancy enough or some bullshit, so he called you in to make sure it stays bland.” He sighs, “Look, Mr. Stern, I’m sure you’re a nice guy, but Dani is like a sister and Aubrey is one of my best friends; I’m here to make sure the wedding is actually what they want.”
Stern pinches the bridge of his nose, “is there anything I can to convince you I’m not trying to make them miserable?”
“Yeah. Quit.”
“Not a chance.” Is the immediate reply. 
“Well, there’s your answer then.” With that, he shuts the door. There’s a frustrated huff on the other side, and then footsteps fading away.
--------------------------------
Stern sighs, checks his appearance in the front window as he waits for Dani or Aubrey to open the door. He’s been working with them two weeks now, and while both women (and Dr Harris Bonkers) have warmed up to him some, Barclay remains polite but distant the times they’ve crossed paths. Lord almighty Stern can’t believe he almost slept with him. 
Yes, the man looks like his wet dreams made flesh and yes, Stern would like to ride him like a show-horse, but what a nightmare it would have made this whole assignment. Even if Barclay’s reasons insult him, he’s glad they’ve settled on keeping their distance.
Maybe this more casual look will help the other man see he’s not some stuffed suit out to ruin his friend’s wedding.
“Oh, you’re early.” Barclay opens the door with his usual pleasant but cool expression.
“No, I’m not. It’s three.” 
“Wait, shit really?” Barclay pulls out his phone as they walk inside, “damn, I must’ve lost track of time when I was cooking. Oh. Uh.” He looks at Stern, apologetic, “and I have a text from Aubrey saying she and Dani had a change of plans and won’t be here until seven.”
“That’s not great, but it’s workable. I can leave and come back.”
“Don’t you live kinda far--uh, huh, she says for us to just test out the menu together and leave her and Dani some for dinner.”
“I guess we can manage tha--why are there ingredients and pots everywhere?”
“Because...I’m…Cooking?” Barclay glances sideways at him. 
“What happened to the entire conversation about caterers? When did they change? What’s-”
“Hold on.” Barclay raises one hand, voice calm and deep, soothing over Stern’s rising worries like waves over hot skin, “think you’re mixed up; we’re trying out the food for the rehearsal dinner today. The one I’m cooking. Not the reception.”
“Oh thank the lord.” Stern slumps forward on the counter, “I thought I was about to have a whole day of calling disgruntled employees to tell them to nevermind about a quote.”
“Nope. Now have a seat, look like you’re gonna pass out on Dani’s floor. You want something to drink? We got water, beer, iced tea…”
“Water’s fine, thank you.” He tracks Barclay through the kitchen as he retrieves a glass from an upper cabinet, shirt riding up to show a patch of a dark, fuzzy belly that Stern instantly wants to feel pressed against him as it’s owner pins him to the nearest flat surface. 
Cooking seems to relax the other man enough that he actually chats with Stern, rather than keeping their conversation focused on the wedding. Stern learns he’s a personal chef and cookbook editor, though his original background was in baking. 
“Okay man, I gotta know” Barclay stirs something cardamom scented over the stove, “what’s with the shirt?”
“It’s from the radio station that first broadcast the story of the Michigan Dogman.”
“The what?”
“The Michigan Dogman, it’s a cryptid, um, nevermind” he curses himself for choosing casual clothes, “it’s niche and nerdy, you don’t want to hear about it.”
“Wrong, now you gotta tell me everything.” Barclay grins at him over his shoulder.
So he does, gradually at first in case Barclay regrets pushing this geekery button and needs to change the conversation, but the other man simply listens, really listens, as he cooks while Stern talks about his journey to the radio station and his talk with the DJ who accidentally started a legend. 
They keep talking as they eat, swapping travel stories and book recommendations, Barclay laughing when Stern shares some of the more ridiculous requests he’s gotten while working as a wedding planner. 
When Aubrey and Dani arrive home, they take one look at him and Barclay, stopped mid-anecdote and smiling at each other, and trade a surprised glance. 
All Stern can think is you and me both.
------------------------------------
The planning goes more smoothly after that night, Barclay beginning to trust Stern more and more. Stern also learns that he trusts Barclay’s judgement , and the other man is invaluable in helping him narrow down options to present to the brides, both of whom are overall pleased with his work.
He’s particularly proud of his find for the wedding venue. The Madonna Inn is perfect, brightly colored and fancy but still just a bit kitschy, like the locations Dani originally showed him. Both brides were overjoyed, which is why all four of them came down for the weekend to make preparations and start scoping out vendors for the food and flowers.  Dani and Aubrey went back up to the city Sunday night, but he and Barclay are staying at the inn the rest of the week, Stern in hopes of having everything scheduled and coordinated and Barclay there in case he needs a second set of eyes (he’s working on a new cookbook and his clients are traveling, so taking the week down the coast is no trouble). 
Today has been a work day, but Stern is taking tomorrow off basically because no one has time to meet with him. So after a late afternoon spent lounging on the beach, the two of them go out for a leisurely dinner. On a whim, Stern lets Barclay select and order his meal for him. He doesn’t mean for it to be flirtatious at first, he just trusts Barclay’s culinary instincts and is tired of making decisions. But one look at Barclay’s face, his widening pupils and sudden blush, tell Stern all he needs to know. 
“You gonna be good and eat whatever I give you?” Barclay murmurs, so low he’s almost inaudible under the clank of silverware and hum of conversation. 
“Of course.” Stern puts on his sweetest smile, shores up his defenses against the self-doubt curling up his spine. He’s not fast enough, and so orders another cocktail. 
Halfway through the meal, he notices Barclay watching him, and another piece clicks into place; the cook keeps eyeing his lips and throat as he eats, often shifts in his chair if Stern makes a delighted noise after a bite. When dessert comes, the accidental sounds are replaced by deliberate ones and he luxuriates as he eats his tiramisu, licking the fork to be sure not a drop of cream is wasted. 
Barclay asks for the check, and two more slices of cake to-go, without ever taking his eyes off of Stern. He’s feeling confident, and a bit wobbly, as Barclay drives them back to the Inn, taking the larger man’s hand and pulling him towards one of the beds before he can even get the lights on.
A large, gentle hand on his shoulder, “no can do, blue eyes.”
“But I, hic, we, hic-” the world goes sideways as Baclay unlinks their hands. 
“Go get some sleep, Joe.”
He changes while Barclay’s in the bathroom, huddles under the covers and faces the window so the other man can’t see him burning top to bottom with shame. 
Things get worse in the morning; he’s awoken by a phone call saying the florist has an open slot to meet with him in an hour and so he throws on the nearest nice clothes and dashes out the door. That meeting is followed by a phone call from Mr. Little who is none to pleased with the location choice and Stern spends forty-five minutes convincing him that the Inn is perfectly tasteful and also it’s what the brides want and that counts for a great deal wouldn’t you agree?
His nerves are firing full-strength when he gets back to the room. Barclay, freshly showered and clothed, looks up at him from the bed where he’s thumbing through Cooks Illustrated, reading glasses perched on his nose. 
“Rough morning?”
“ Yes.”
He shuts the magazine “Do you wanna talk about it?”
“No.”
“Do you wanna talk about last night?”
“Also no.”
“Well, I do.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. You simply aren’t interested in me that way and I’ve made an ass of myself twice by misreading the situation.”
“You’re wrong. You’re my type, blue eyes-”
“Clearly not, since-”
“-When you’re sober.” Barclay sits all the way up, “which is why I wanna know why you only flirt with me when you’re so drunk neither of us can try anything.”
“Because...because approaching people like that makes me nervous. I’m already under enough stress as it, running block for Aubrey and Dani against Mr. Little without getting myself fired, and the thought of trying to flirt, it’s, everything starts going wrong, it will all go wrong and-” the panic is back, his composure leaving him and taking whatever respect Barclay had for him with it. 
“Joe, breathe.”
“Breathing is not the issue here!” 
Barclay stands, face calm, and walks over to him. Instead of stepping in front of him, he circles behind, and a hand rests at the base of Stern’s neck.
“Let’s try that again. Inhale, blue eyes, a nice long one.” 
Stern complies, Barclay’s voice carrying no threats but leaving no room for protest. 
“Breathe out, count to four while you do.”
Stern exhales, nerves diverting energy from panic to desire, Barclays fingers on his skin and dominant baritone in his ear. 
“Good boy. Do it again.”
Stern takes another deep breath, then another, over and over as Barclay leads him to the bed and slips off his jacket, followed by his shoes and socks. 
“That’s it Joe, you’re doing so good.” He sits beside him on the bed, stroking his hair and Stern follows his touch, “what do you need? What helps when this happens?”
“Something to, to focus on, until I calm down. Just not work related or too complicated.”
“Hmmm” a thumb brushes over his lips, then down his chin, “I got a few things in mind, but they’re pretty damn dirty. Should we try something else?”
“No, please, I, I want that, want, want to be good for you like that.”
“Okay blue eyes, we can do that. You gotta promise me you’ll say ‘stop’ if something doesn’t feel good, okay?”
He nods, heart shaking his ribs, and Barclay leans and kisses him once, tenderly, before laying back on the bed, hands resting beneath his head.
“Get my dick out, yeah, there we go, good boy, I want you to use your mouth, can you, OH, ohhhhyeah.” His cock bumps Stern’s cheek as his hips tilt, a response to Stern lapping teasingly at the base. He drags his tongue all the way up the shaft, takes the head into his mouth, doing his damndest to lock eyes with Barclay the whole time. 
“Babe, fuck, that’s it, oh fuck you look good like that, knew you’d look good with my dick in your mouth, been thinking about it since that first night.”
Stern whimpers, hungry for more and pushes his head down. Having Barclay’s cock in his mouth forces him to keep his breathing measured, and so he savors it, senses filling with salt and skin and lingering hints of soap. 
“That’s it babe, nice and slow, we got all day. Long as I get to cum sometime before noon I’m happy.”
Stern rolls his tongue over the tip as he pulls off, switches to kisses and licks as he slowly jerks him off. Occasionally he skates up, nudging Barclay’s shirt with his nose--his hands uninterested in leaving his cock--so he can leave deep, longing kisses across his stomach and hips. Every movement elicits a groan or a sigh, every kiss and suck earns him praise. It’s only when his hands are slick with pre-cum and his own saliva that Barclay bucks his hips more intently, growling when Stern takes him back into his mouth. 
“Shit you’re good at this, not, fuck, not surprised, look like you would be, like all you need is for me to take care of you and you’ll open that fucking perfect mouth whenever I ask FUCK, oh you like that, don’t you babe? Fuck, shit, like the idea of taking what I give you?”
He whines, rubbing his thighs together as Barclay’s cock bumps the back of his mouth.
“You got three seconds to decide how you wanna take this.”
Stern locks eyes with him again, and dips down the barest bit more. Barclay’s hands tangle in his hair as he groans “good boy” and cums, bitter and warm, down Stern’s throat.
His hands flop onto the bed, allowing Stern to sit up. 
“Did...was I good?”
“So fucking good.” Barclay thwacks a hand dramatically onto his forehead to wipe it, “do you want to keep going? Or do you want to stop?”
“I want” Stern presses his hand against his cock, as if this will help rather than make him wetter, “please, can we keep going?”
“Yeah” Barclay sits up, kisses each cheek, “pants and underwear off, leave the shirt and tie.”
By the time Stern is appropriately undressed, Barclay is back on the bed with the to-go box and  a plastic fork. He reclines on the pillows, box on his upper chest, “come straddle me, knees about here” he pats the bed near his waist. Stern scoots up into position, Barclay licking his lips as he does. 
“Good boy. Now, you’re gonna show me how you get off, so I can know just what to do tonight to make you cry into the mattress.”
“Fuck.” Stern gasps, fingers already rapidly stroking his dick.
“Mmmm, look at how slick you are. Think that deserves a reward.” He spears a piece of cake, “open.”
Stern opens his mouth, leaning forward so Barclay can more easily feed him.
“You do like being spoiled. I can work with that.” Barclay rumbles, pleased, when Sterns fingers work frantically after a second bite. 
“Please, Barclay, I want to kiss you, please say I can kiss you.”
“Not until you finish.” 
“The, the cake or myself.”
“Yourself, blue eyes.”
He’s panting now, sweat soaking through his shirt, and slowing his hand and hips to take the bites Barclay offers. When he cums it doubles him over, and as he’s bracing his hands on the headboard, trying not to collapse on his partner, Barclay moves everything aside and cups his face, gently guiding him down to kiss him. They stay like that as Stern slowly explores his mouth, tastes leftover cake and laughs when a coppery beard scratches his neck. And when he begins to drop, breath shallow and fingers shaking, Barclay rolls them onto their sides, holds him close. Tells him over and over that he’s proud of him, that he did so well, that he’s right here and he’ll take care of him, give him whatever he wants. 
“Honestly, breakfast sounds better than anything else right now.” Stern mumbles against his chest. 
“I’ll order us some. You still need me to dom you, or are you ready to start calling the shots again?”
“I don’t call all the shots.” 
“Just most of ‘em. Don’t tell anyone, but I kinda like that about you. You’re good at what you do.” Barclay kisses his forehead. 
“I...I think I’d like to rinse off while you order breakfast.”
Barclay offers one more kiss before they roll out of bed, has Stern’s robe waiting for him when he gets out of the shower and brings him the room service tray as soon as it’s delivered. They lounge together on Stern’s bed, watching the Inn come to life as the afternoon draws near. From here, they can even see the spot where their friends will get married.
“The ceremony is gonna be perfect.”
“As perfect as I can manage, yes.”
“You got a date for it yet?”
“No.” 
“You want one?” Barclay smiles at him, the sunlight making him look as if he stepped out of a daydream and into Stern’s bed. 
“Depends; would that date be you?”
“Yep.” Barclay kisses his shoulder.
“Well then,” Stern grins, tips his chin up for a coffee-flavored kiss, “there’s your answer.’
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mintchanniemint · 4 years
Text
[4:06 p.m] You just sat down at the table in a small Café near home. It was a sunny day, although you had to spend it working, but changing location helped you feel a bit more motivated. Working on your project in such a chill place, with soft music playing in the background and the sweetness of a hot chocolate, was really a great idea.
You put your laptop on the table, after ordering a cup of hot chocolate and a cookie. You were already savoring the taste of the little snack you were waiting for and you couldn't help but get a bit distracted, forgetting for a moment to turn on your laptop, and you just stared at the black screen for some seconds, a bit lost.
The sudden noise of chairs moving right behind you snapped you out of that state and you accidentally looked at the reflection on the screen of your laptop, recognizing a familiar figure sitting right at a table behind you. You gasped and quickly turned on the laptop and took out some notes and books from your bag, hoping you didn't get anyone's attention, when finally the waiter brought your beloved hot chocolate and cookie. You thanked him with a slightly embarrassed smile and quickly focused on your things.
It felt like an eternity, but only twenty minutes have passed. And the cute white mug that was once filled with chocolate was quickly empty and abandoned on the corner of the table, right next to the window. You sighed, looking sometimes at the notes on your desk, and sometimes at the people outside passing by the street, while eating the cookie.
Do I really have to do this? It's such a boring task...
You sighed again, silently arguing with your own thoughts. You had to do this! C'mon, you definitely had to go through worse and more boring things, so why complaining now?
Your eyes quickly shifted to the screen of your laptop, seeing again that the curly haired guy who was sitting two tables behind you was still there. You couldn't see much, but he was probably reading a book, sometimes writing something on a small notebook, and taking a sip from the mug right next to his hand.
He looked really focused, unlike you.
What are you doing! Stop getting distracted and finish this project! If everything distracts you, you probably would still be here by the time the shop closes!
You shook your head and tried to focus once again on your laptop, slowly typing on the keyboard. Your eyes kept taking quick looks on the reflection of the guy, who was peacefully minding his own business.
You didn't see each other too many times, but the few times you interacted, it really felt so nice. He always recommended you to get specific flowers for specific occasions, and whenever he noticed you were not in a great mood, he would always leave a note with the name of a flower that reminded him of you or that had a specific, cute, meaning.
So… What if you did something like that, too?
… Was it really the time to think that? No, no it was not. But how were you supposed to focus if your mind just kept getting filled up with thoughts about the green haired guy? You sighed, and quickly got your phone from your bag, searching for some flowers and their meanings.
You… Didn't really have any flowers with you at the moment, but you had tons of pieces of paper, and way too many pens and highlighters, so maybe…! You got slightly excited, and smiled at your own idea. Anything sounded nice whenever you wanted to avoid work!
You searched for a couple of minutes on different websites, when suddenly you found it. You slightly nodded while reading the description of that flower, and quickly checked if you had the correct color for that small drawing.
You were not a great artist at all, but you really felt like doing that, so you got a small piece of paper and drew a rose.
Mh… That didn't really look like a rose.
You huffed and got another small piece of paper, trying to draw it again.
You looked at it, and once again… That was not a rose at all…
Why is it so difficult!
You whined silently, but accidentally hit the table with your knee, and noticed that you got Chan's attention for a couple of seconds, seeing how he looked at your direction with worry in his eyes, but once he made sure nothing happened, he smiled. You were holding your breath as if you were trying not to get caught, and once you saw him focusing back on the book in his hand, you sighed in relief.
Ok, c'mon, you're wasting your already wasted time!
You got another piece of paper, and tried your best to draw that little rose. This time you were pretty satisfied with the result, and quickly got the peach pink highlighter in order to colour the flower and then leave a short message.
<<peach rose = gratitude>>
…Were you supposed to… Maybe write something else?
<< - y/n :) >>
Better.
Maybe, leaving your number? Was it a good idea? You hummed, not knowing if you should have written it or not, but whatever, if he doesn’t want your number he can just... ignore it, right? You nodded, agreeing with your own thoughts and quickly wrote your number on the top corner, right next to the flower you jutst drew.
You smiled and carefully folded the little piece of paper, leaving it next to your book. You wanted to give it to him when you were leaving, but you didn't really think that maybe he was going to leave before you did.
And that's definitely because you wasted some time getting distracted!
You bit your lip once that thought entered your mind, and quickly focused on your work, doing your best not to get distracted in any way, sometimes checking if Chan was still there, or if he was ready to leave.
And there it was. After nearly one hour, the finished project!
You were probably ready to present it to your colleagues that exact moment. You felt so proud you couldn't help but smile, even though your hands hurt a bit and you needed some stretching, so you carefully did some quick desk stretches to release some stress from your shoulders.
You were doing some lazy seated twists and right when you turned, you saw Chan right there. The book left on the table. This time he was focused on the notebook, while slightly bopping his head according to the beat of the music he was listening, the mint green curls gently caressing his forehead.
You smiled and finally turned off the laptop, putting it back in your bag with the various notes and books you used. After eating the last piece of cookie you left as a reward to yourself, you noticed the small piece of paper you folded earlier, with the idea to leave it to the curly haired florist. But was it a good idea? What if he thought you were a freak?
You were hesitant, but you had to do something!
You suddenly stood up, clearing your throat, a bit embarrassed. Before leaving the money on the counter of the shop, you quickly moved closer to Chan. You were just going to say hi, ask him about his day and “accidentally” leave the little piece of paper on his book! Great idea, wasn't it?
When you reached his seat, he quickly closed the notebook and looked at you, his cheeks getting slightly red.
You were a bit confused at his reaction so you quickly greeted him. He smiled at you and you chatted a little bit.
"I'm glad you were able to finish your project! It was a really fun show to see!" He jokingly said, probably he noticed all the random things you did, from sighing every 4 minutes to getting distracted looking at every single person entering the shop.
You laughed, a bit embarrassed. "Oops, hope I didn't distract you way too much though."
You said, pointing at his notebook and book.
"Oh, actually…"
He hesitated a bit, but then quickly showed you his notebook.
It was a drawing. “I have to admit the subject didn’t stay still for more than ten minutes, but I think I’m satisfied with it.”
More specifically, a drawing of you.
He looked at you, trying to decipher your expression.
You just looked at it, slightly shocked.
It was a drawing of you, even though it mainly showed your back, it was nothing special, just a quick sketch: you could clearly see small details like the laptop files, the pieces of paper on your table, the mug and the unfinished cookie in your hand, while you were looking outside the window. An added object was a flower on the table, it was a really beautiful one and there was a small arrow indicating it, with a little note on it. You smiled reading the meaning of the flower. It was not an existing one, he just made it up on the spot for the drawing, but he felt like it would perfectly suit you.
You loved it, and felt a bit embarrassed as well. You never thought anyone could use you as a subject for their drawing, and it felt… weird, but in a positive way.
He laughed, a bit embarrassed at how you were just staring at it, and slowly teared up the piece of paper from the notebook, paying attention not to ruin the drawing, and he handed it to you.
"You can have it!"
You gasped and quickly accepted the little gift, carefully putting it in your bag. But weren't you forgetting something?
Right! Your drawing! ...Was that even considered a “drawing”, though?
You handed him the small piece of paper, and held his hand for a second, that embarrassing feeling slowly growing inside. You were a bit scared of what his reaction could have been, so, as the great coward you can be sometimes, you didn’t really want to witness it.
"Please open it when you're home! I feel so embarrassed right now… I'm not good at drawing, but I tried!"
You spit every single word so quickly, it would have been a challenge for him to really understand what you said.
He just smiled, though, looked at your hand gently holding his, and thanked you.
"So… yeah, see you!” You said in a hurry, not able to take that embarrassment anymore, waved goodbye to him and quickly went in front of the counter to pay and leave.
Once one your way home, you couldn't help but feel your cheeks going on fire. The interaction was the bare minimum but at the same time it felt like you just talked for hours!
You smiled, thinking about the drawing he gave you, and thought that maybe paying him a visit at his shop again wouldn't be such a bad idea.
118 notes · View notes
sugaxjpg · 5 years
Text
event horizon; m
⤷  The city of Crystalfall had, just like any other small town, the good, the bad, and the ugly. You were familiar with the first one, and Min Yoongi, in all of his despondent and reckless glory, taught you about the rest.
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✓ Couple: Yoongi x Reader | Criminal!AU 
✓ Filed under: angst, fluff, smut
✓ Look out for: violence, drunk driving, and drugs; a relationship slowly getting toxic
✓ Words: 30,782 (yes, I know) 
Author’s Note: Inspired by the setting of “Riverdale”. I’d like to put out a PSA and say that this fic has moments that are quite toxic/abusive, and by no means I approve this kind of behavior, nor am I romanticizing this. It’s all fiction, and I treated it the best way that I could. Nevertheless, feedback is always welcome and, oh boy, I hope the ‘read more’ works on tumblr mobile. 
⤷ Song rec: Chase Atlantic - Triggered
⤷ This story is dedicated to @pantaemonium. Happy birthday to my beautiful, talented, unique wife. Love you lots. 
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According to physics’ theory of general relativity, the event horizon of a black hole is a point of no return. It does not matter how you have reached that specific part of the universe, nor how you feel once you touch its insubstantial traces ― in that speck of victory and defeat, the only thing that holds any sort of significance is the fact that, even against your best attempts, you cannot go back to where you once were. The gravity is too strong, the pull is more than you could ever take; you are trapped in a position paused in time, unable to comprehend the nothingness that lays beyond; how even the light curves and attempts to escape from that cosmic abyss.  
Your story began the same way it ended: with a poorly thought-out decision, and a promise of better days. For the lack of a better definition, Min Yoongi, with all of his melancholic and dream-like existence, became your event horizon.
Tempestuous and dense clouds had long fallen over the suburban town once you entered that pleasant diner place, hearing as the rhythm of the rain danced against the foggy windows, almost overlapping the dim ringing of the bell that signaled your arrival. With no hesitation, you walked towards your usual table, ordering a hot cup of chocolate after greeting the friendly employees, and waited for your friends to come to your peculiar reunion.
The diner, decorated by a clear 50’s style, was permeated by a delicate aroma of vanilla and cinnamon, holding tightly to the warmness that could not exist outside. For a few hours now, the summer rain had monopolized the small town, balancing out the overwhelming heat waves that had hit you the week prior. From the corner of your hot pink sofa, you watched the droplets running down the glass next to you and, even if for an instant, you swore you could perceive the characteristic smell of petrichor that came alongside it; floating amongst humid strands of glass and quivering branches.
Your beverage arrived in a couple minutes, faster than your friends did. The delectable taste of your hot chocolate, present in so many past meetings, awakened your nostalgia promptly. You had no idea why you had been summoned to the diner that summer afternoon, but the blunt request had been the first message that popped up on your group chat that morning, illuminating your screen the same way that the sun’s rays brought brightness to your bedroom. Joohyun’s text came in the form of an abrupt and dry “3pm at Mercy’s. Good news!!” followed by the confirmation from your other friends. It wasn’t as if impulsive meetings had never been set up in the same fashion aforetime, but it was odd regardless, especially because of the lack of details.
Joohyun had been your best friend ever since you could remember and, just as far back, you could recall occurrences in which her decisions snowballed into ridiculously large problems. Back in third grade, when she decided that she wanted to lie about who gave her the answers of a test and ended up involving the entire school board; or perhaps during your junior year of high school, when she accidentally started a sexual rumor about you after misunderstanding your euphemism in Biology class. You two were almost polar opposites, but, in the end, you complemented one another, and your friendship had a harmony that you struggled to put into words. The two of you just worked, and that was all you needed to know.
Yet, you were annoyed as hell at her. You hated her cryptic 10am messages.
The sound of the bell ringing called you away from your meditations, and suddenly you could hear the vague melody of an indie song playing in the background, coming from the speakers above your head — the composition came crashing on your perceptions like waves that broke at the bay, soothing your worries instantaneously. You had no idea how you hadn’t noticed it before.
You looked up and smiled lovingly at your approaching friend, eyes following the hypnotic motion of her mermaid-like hair, brown as chocolate, as she walked hurriedly towards your table. “There you are,” you spoke calmly, “I thought you wouldn’t show up.”
She breathed out and raised her eyebrows in a expression of exhaustion. You could see underneath her eyes the marks of her sleepless night, and had to fight back the blooming of your inner preoccupations. Perhaps you could ask her about that later. “Sorry, things are a mess at home,” Joohyun said, agile while placing her bag on the table and sliding on the sofa opposite from you. Against the bright pink leather, her slim figure stood out even more. “Were you waiting for long?”
“Five, ten minutes at most,” you responded — it wasn’t as if you ever expected for her to be punctual. “You know where the others are?”
Your friend nodded. “Hoseok and Namjoon are together, they won’t take long,” Joohyun told you, running one hand through her hair, trying to fix the mistakes only she could perceive. “They were driving by that fast food near the supermarket by the time I called, which was like, two minutes ago.”
You chuckled. “Checking to see if you would be last one to arrive?”
She sighed, shoulders falling in a silent confirmation. “You know me too well.” Then, before you could even consider an answer, her charcoal-colored eyes oscillated to the half-filled cup on your hand, her eyebrows raising in interest. “Let me have some, please. You know that I love hot chocolate.”
“I do.” You slid the mug towards her. You weren’t the biggest fan of the drink — it got quite nauseating after the third slip — but you had gotten it for your friend. You did know her very well, so you were positive she would be eager to get her usual sugar rush by the time she arrived. “Now, why did you call us here for? An intervention?” you asked.
Joohyun took a second to respond, closing her eyes to fully appreciate the rich taste that filled her mouth, and humming out in delight. It was fascinating the effect that hot chocolate had on her, it was almost as if her exhausted look had completely faded away by the moment she looked back at you, eyes slightly widened by animation. “Don’t you want to wait for them?”
“I’m curious, you know that,” you verbalized, a tinge of guilt staining your words. “There’s no need to torture me any further.”
And that was the complete truth. Ever since you received her message, that was all that you could think about. It was as if Joohyun’s text was the Sun, and your thought process circled around it like Mercury, fast and restless, waiting for an answer to appear in the star-covered horizon. It was far too tempting to be there and not wish for it to be uncovered immediately — besides, the boys wouldn’t care, you knew that.
Your friend smiled back, setting the mug on the wooden surface. Around its alabaster border, was imprinted the touch of her lips, red as cherry. “You’re lucky I can’t hold myself back.” She leaned forward on the table, placing her hands on top of yours in sheer expectation, her palms warm. The world came to a halt. “Okay, so... you know about The Cave?”
Your eyes narrowed in suspicion — you did not like that one bit. “Vaguely…”
But you knew about that place very well, and you were positive that, coming from her, such mention could never be the precursor of good news. The excited look that was projected over Joohyun’s doll-like features did not say that The Cave had been burned down or something alike, but that it was vivacious as ever, ready to take more victims in.
As much as you already knew where this conversation was heading, you still felt the impact of her words as they departed from her throat. “I might have gotten us a way in.” She smiled openly.
It was your time to lean forward, eyebrows furrowing into an image of your inner exasperation. “Joohyun, are you insane?” you whispered, guided by preoccupations. Not for you, but for her — she was going, regardless of your opinion. “That place isn’t for us. Do you want to be killed?”
Just as you had foreseen, your best friend disregarded your words instantaneously. “Oh come on, just—“
Once again, the ringing of the bell broke the serenity of the establishment, making the two of you move away from one another, backs pressing against your respective seats. The leather couch was often so comfortable, but now it felt like it was trapping you against the table, feeding off your nervousness and sticking to your skin; there was a bad feeling looming over your head.
From the door came two silhouettes — Namjoon and Hoseok — and the smell of fried food. Your stomach was fast to present its hunger the second that your eyes met the brown bags on their arms, slightly stained by circles of oil. God works in mysterious ways, after all.
Namjoon was the first one to speak, moving quickly to seat across from you. His pallid green jacket was covered in droplets of rain and, somehow, it matched the aura of that lugubrious diner flawlessly. “Hey guys.” He placed the food on the table, and angled his hips backwards, trying to place his body on the small space between the surface and the couch. “What did we — dude, just move over, it ain’t that hard.” He pressed his shoulder against Joohyun, who gave a little jump to the side while poking her tongue out at him. “What did we miss?”
Instead of answering promptly, your fingers were agile as you reached out for the brown bag. “Oh my god, fries,” you almost whined those words of relief as you peeked inside, salivating. Just then did you realize your lunch had been only a half-eaten apple, and your body could not be angrier at that poor fitness decision.
Hoseok scoffed as he sat down next to you. If you hadn’t been pressing against the opposite wall already, you were sure he would have asked for you to move over as well — the kid loved to take up space. “Your deduction is impeccable, Sherlock,” he told you with a grin. His dark red hair was one shade deeper because of the rain — it was a bit pushed back, but it still it managed to send droplets down his forehead. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
You nodded and shoved a fry in your mouth. The assuagement was immediate, and you swore you could hear a chant of angels inside your head. “Thank you,” you said — both at your friends and the faceless creator of such divine meal, “you guys are awesome.”
Joohyun’s fingers were fast to curl around the bag’s edge, pushing it towards her, “YN, give me some,” her voice came out in an order. Your eyes flickered between the fries in her hands and the empty cup of hot chocolate next to her as if to say ‘are you sure about that?’, a memo she promptly grasped. “Today is my cheating day. Let me live.”
Namjoon chuckled as one of his arms reached out to get the other bag, which the two of you had miraculously overlooked. Hoseok had been wise to get two extra-large portions, he had to recognize that. “Whatever you say, baby,” he mocked her, and then turned his head in your direction. The anemic lights of the overcast sky curled around his features impeccably, painting the picture of his puzzlement. “So, what were the two of you talking about? Sharing is caring.”
“Did you hear that? Sharing is caring.” You pulled the bag from your friend, ignoring her full-mouthed complaints. “Joohyun here was just telling me her suicide plan,” you complained.
The girl rolled her eyes, clearly irked at your up-right attitude. “YN, why are you so dramatic? I get that you’re the mom friend, but don’t spoil the fun.” She turned towards the newcomers with a fresh, commercial-worthy smile — another miracle that her teeth were not stained by her copious amounts of chocolate and fries, but that was a subject for another meeting. “Boys, I was just talking about that place, The Cave,” she explained.
Next to you, Hoseok stopped chewing. “The abandoned industry complex at the east side?” He swallowed the food with weird eagerness, his eyebrows raising in muted excitement — oh my god, did the other bag have cheddar on those fries? You needed to check it out. “Damn. What about it?” he asked.
She licked her reddish lips — both from excitement and the need to get the remnants of salt out of her mouth. Joohyun, once again, allowed for her inner exhilaration to push her forward on the table, her black eyes scintillating in a frenzy of adventurous emotions, pendulating between the two boys. “I might have found a way for us to go in,” she spoke out, her hiss-like tone making the entire scene comical — she looked like a supervillain, in the most awkward of ways.
And, of course, your friends reacted precisely as you expected them to — like kids.
The thrill that washed over Hoseok’s face made it seem as if he had just received a present, glistening inside his eyes like the stars that decorated the night sky. “Sweet!” he exclaimed, voice one pitch higher. “How did you manage that?”
You tugged the oil-stained bag out of his hands in a gesture that was a bit too harsh. Noticing that you had forgotten the cheese-free portion, the other girl acted quickly to get it. “Hoseok!” you reprehended, anguish filling your lungs. “It’s on the east part of town, in case you forgot. It’s a place for gangs and, I don’t know, contract killers,” you said, reaching down the bag. Definitely had cheddar on it. “Do you seriously think that’s a good idea?”
Unaffected by the urgency of your tone, Hoseok shrugged your worries away. “So? We just stay out of trouble. And give me back my fries.” He pulled the portion out of your hands. That constant fighting for food could not be healthy friendship-wise. “Go on, Joohyun, how did you manage that?”
Namjoon grinned wickedly. “Her boyfriend probably got her a free ticket.”
As he spoke, the other girl saw glimpses of his chewed food inside on his mouth. Joohyun cringed her nose in disgust. “Gross. First off, we’re not dating,” she hurried to deny, even if the pale shade of scarlet around her ears told no lies. You all knew very well that they weren’t dating because of the other guy — some weird outlaw from the sewers or something, a ninja turtle for all you cared —  hated compromise, and not because she didn’t want it. “Second: yes, he did get me in, but that’s not relevant. I can take people with me, so, please?” she whined, prolonging the last word into an irritating ‘pleeeease?’. “Guys? It’ll be fun.”
Hoseok drew back against the pink couch, running his hands through his wet hair. You had no idea how he hadn’t traced a path of orange cheese through it, but your friends seemed to be in the mood to do the impossible that day. “I’m in,” he said. Not a surprise.
Across from you, the other boy spoke up, “I might have to see when I’m free, but I’m in too.”  Namjoon agreed. “When is it?”
“Tonight,” she responded.
“Count me in, then.”
You groaned out in pure irritation. Quite honestly, your mood would’ve been so much worse if you didn’t have your escapism by food to tame the tides of your chaotic thoughts. “You guys can’t be serious,” you complained, looking around to see if, amongst any of their features, you could find any remnant of reason. Nothing. “Am I the only sane person left living?”
“Between the four of us, yes,” Hoseok answered, but did not seem to truly feel any sort of empathy towards your cautious attitude. If he hadn’t been eager to get a confirmation from you, he would’ve teased you much further. “You’re coming or not, grandma?”
You crossed your arms, defensive. “No fucking way.”
Namjoon raised his eyebrows as he shoved three more cheese-covered fries inside his mouth. You had started to think that maybe they should’ve gotten more. “So Miss Responsibility is just going to let her friends alone?” he teased, mouth half-full. He really needed to learn some basic manners.
You narrowed your eyes, looking your friend up and down. “Kim Namjoon, don’t you dare take advantage of my altruism.” You pointed at him. And it was your time to reach for another fry — rather angrily, if you could say so yourself. You couldn’t stay mad at them for long when your fingers were covered in cheddar. “Even if you have a good point,” you added.
“So…” Hoseok raised his eyebrows in unspoken expectation, leaning playfully towards you. “What is it gonna be?” he asked in a cheese-scented exhalation.
Your patience could only go so far. “Fine!” You threw your hands up in a theatrical signal of your surrender. The others smiled victoriously, sharing words of encouragement amongst them — a pack of demons, that was what they were. “But I’m leaving early, and I’ll complain the entire time,” you added.
“Seems good enough for me.” Hoseok placed his palms on the surface, and got up to his feet. “I’m getting us some more food, since the two of you seemed to forget that we are all sharing,” his eyes vacillated between you and Joohyun. “The usual?”
The table was filled with nods and hums of agreement and, in the next moment, Namjoon was getting up to go alongside Hoseok, claiming he probably would pick the wrong things — again. When you and Joohyun were alone once anew, your friend suspired, turning her head towards you.
Joohyun placed her palm against the back of your hand. Amongst the lines of her dark irises, you could almost read the the words that encompassed your head like vexatious insects — it seems like you will have to deal with it, “Loosen up, baby.” She pouted, crooking her head slightly to the side. Oh, she was finding joy in that small victory, and you knew it. “We’ll have fun, I promise. Something tells me that you might even find someone interesting,” she teased. “Only the Lord knows how much you need to put that sexual energy into something else… or someone, really.”
You scoffed, rolling your eyes at the absurdity of her claims. “You wish, Joohyun.”
She pouted. “We’ll see about that.”
Outside, the rain had stopped drumming against the opaque windows, and the fragile incandescence of the sun had started peeking over the diaphanous mountains of the storm clouds. There was a certain whimsical feeling to that scene, an uncharacterized emotion that resounded inside your chest, erupting in-between your lips in the form of a prolonged sigh.
If Joohyun had been mistaken that afternoon, that would have made the upcoming weeks much, much simpler for you.
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Crystalfall was, by definition, a small town.
With its astonishing twelve thousand inhabitants and mundane church meetings every Sunday, it stood as a gentle agglomeration of buildings in — as Hoseok would say — the middle of no place, right next to nowhere at all. It had received that name for its dazzling waterfall and source of drinkable water which had, primordially, catalyzed the migration towards the land, many years before you were ever born.
Just like most small towns, boredom was mandatory a good amount of the time, and there was little to no task to be fulfilled during summer break, once you went back to its veridian fields and sun-kissed afternoons, taking a time off university. In fact, besides Namjoon — whose family owned a considerably large farm nearby, and had to take his afternoons off to take care of the crops and animals —, none of your friends seemed to find anything thrilling to do, instead choosing to spend time in the house, watching movies or talking for hours about the most frivolous of subjects. And, quite honestly, you liked it like that. You had always appreciated the simpler aspects of life.
Crystalfall was no big deal, but it was home, and you loved every part of it.
Well, almost every part.
You had been lucky enough to be raised on the west side of town, where most of the families did. It was, as Joohyun would say, a sheltered castle of dreams, a countryside paradise — a boring piece of utopia. There was little to no crime amongst its inhabitants, and the biggest outrage that took place had been the time in which a few middle school kids dared to steal some bread from the chapel, a matter that rapidly got taken care of.
That, however, had been amongst the locals of the westside; the east didn’t hold the same amount of benevolence amongst its people. You hated to have your mind so fundamented on that basic dichotomy of good and evil, but it had been the only way you could describe the ridiculously large differences between the two parts of that same town. While the west was a “boring utopia”, the east bordered on a bone-chilling anarchy; the womb of a few of the worst criminals your state had ever had — gangs, murderers, drug dealers, kidnappers, rapists: you name it, they had it all.
You constantly felt threatened by that, like it was the presence of death itself looming over your life. As much as the thugs of the east side often messed around with their own kind and, besides that, you were sure that there were good individuals living amongst those incarnated devils, you could never really felt safe in those parts of Crystalfall — so, in return, you avoided it the best way you could. It worked. For some time.
Nevertheless, now you had thrown all those efforts out of the window, for your friends were dragging you right into the lion’s open mouth.
You could barely keep up with their pace as they ran down the deserted streets, their heavy steps reverberating throughout the obfuscous night. Joohyun’s hand was holding tightly to your own as she pulled you to walk faster, unable to hold back her excitement. She glimpsed back just so you could notice the phantasm of a smile being casted over her roseate, petal-like lips. Her hand felt warm and inviting against yours, contrasting with the hyperborean winds of dusk. “Come on, we’re late!” she exclaimed, almost as if talking to herself. “I promised him we’d be here by eleven.”
“I never saw you as someone punctual,” you complained, but were sure she did not hear your voice amongst the fragile traces of wind. Behind you, Hoseok and Namjoon were whispering something you could not catch.
The industrial complex had been deactivated around fourteen years ago and, now, it didn’t go beyond a mere phantasm lingering stubbornly amongst the memories of the senile locals. Nowadays, most inhabitants of Crystalfall knew it as the perfect spot if you wanted to meet your local drug dealer, or perhaps mingle with people that seemed to be a better fit for jail than for a small religious community. Bottom line: even if The Cave was the closest to a club that your town could ever get,  it didn’t mean it was a good alternative.
Through shattered windows came the dust-filled rays of a deep damascus light, casting down the earth that piled up on the outside of the relinquished complex and, as you moved closer, you could start to make out the vague melody of an Eagles song echoing past it. Instead of what you had expected, however, there were no gangs piling up on the outside of the abandoned construction, no obnoxious fights to break the tranquility of midnight. The Cave, in all of its hellish expansion, appeared to be bigger than you had expected, mayhaps because of the overwhelming desolation that impregnated each and every broken tile; each centimeter of the atmosphere. It was a zombified beast living off the liveliness of its occupants.
The four of you arrived at the large, corroded metal door. Joohyun said something to a couple of big guys that stood by it and, by the mention of her (not) boyfriend’s name, they appeared to put their guard down a bit. As much as they were not precisely frightened of the people from the westside, they were absolutely horrified at the concept of allowing undercover cops into their world, and the consequences they would have to face by the hands of their own counterparts.
Nevertheless, your friend took care of the matter rather effortlessly and, within a couple of minutes, the entrance was being unlocked for you. With a hesitant suspire, you followed the three of them into the epicenter of bad decisions that was The Cave.
Okay, perhaps you imagination had taken the best of your judgement, for you did not expect the decoration of the place. It wasn’t much — and by no means fancy — but it was gorgeous regardless.
The Cave still looked like an industry complex, with its large rectangular-shaped construction, wooden boxes and empty buckets piling up at the corners, and dense concrete floors, but whoever was in charge of changing up the place did not disappoint: the large metal bars that sustentated the tall triangular ceiling had been covered in christmas lights, pouring down the room in beautiful orange cascades; inducing the ambient to border on the spectral, since it was its only light source. All over the walls, kaleidoscopic posters covered up the dry grey painting and the broken bricks, speaking in silent promises — all-you-can-eat contest; make your bets at the winners of sunday’s dog fight; Maurice’s Bear: knockout version; and other advertisements for less puritan, adult-centered services. Not that dog fights were that good.
There was a strong smell of alcohol and something burning around the static air; the Eagle’s song had then changed into a band you did not recognize. Passing your eyes swiftly over the crowd, you could see some large men playing poker on a secluded table — one of which had an disgracefully large snake tattoo over his right cheek and forehead — and, right next to them, a group of girls laughing loudly at something they were discussing. There were other, smaller groups scattered around the place, talking vehemently in roaring voices, minding their own business as the night progressively moved forward.
“Won’t you look at that,” next to you, Joohyun’s tranquil voice sounded, dragging you back to your position. Her flaming crimson lipstick was burning under those conflagrant lights, standing out against her skin and her dark hair; curling upwards on her lips as a timid smile germinated upon them. “I see my man. I’ll talk to him real quick, I’ll be right back.”
Before you could even figure out what to respond, she had already tapped you on the shoulder, and was walking firmly towards a crowd of leather-covered strangers. You had no idea how she had seen her pseudo-boyfriend amongst them. You sighed. “Sure. Have fun.” You turned around to meet your other friends. “Seems like it’s just the three of us, g—”
“—Dude is that a dart throwing competition?”  Hoseok pointed across the room, over your shoulder, and Namjoon followed his stare with furrowed brows and the hint of competitiveness shining inside his eyes. Part of your soul cracked then: you knew exactly where that was heading. “I’ll totally kick your ass this time.” He laughed.
You opened your mouth to protest, but you were far too slow. In the short time span that took you to verbalize one syllable, the two of them were passing by your side, completely ignoring your presence. “Over my dead body, Jung,” you heard Namjoon snicker.
Exhaling from your nose, you closed your lips. “That’s great,” you mumbled to yourself. That night was going to be amazing, wasn’t it? “Predictable. But great.”
Then again, your adventure had barely begun. Out of alternatives, you found yourself going towards the bar and asking for a glass of water — the last thing you needed was to lose full control of your actions and moral judgement in a place like that, especially when you were taken there under the unspoken mission of babysitting your friends. You couldn’t allow yourself to be taken away by the compelling necessity that was to drown your problems away in oceans of cheap liquor, no matter how gorgeous those polychromatic bottles looked on the walls.
You had precisely ten minutes of peace before the changes in your life started to take place.
With your peripheral vision, you noticed a broad silhouette arriving, moving quickly to seat on the bench next to you. Primordially, you thought nothing of it — there was no reason to — and continued to pay attention to the flowery details of your dahlia-colored summer dress; thoughts traveling many miles away from that overflowing place. It was only when a voice — deep and thunderous — sounded next to you that you understood your position. “You’re here alone, sweetcakes?” it inquired.
Just by the tragic usage of that pet name, you knew the two of you were off to a rocky start.
Trying your best to keep your expression neutral, you looked him up and down — from his ginger beard to his piercing ice blue eyes, then back to the overabundance of reptiles tattooed on his exposed forearms — finally, away from him and back to the strangers in the crowd. The was the last thing you needed for that night was a viking cosplayer wanting to ask you out. “I’m with my friends,” you responded, rather dryly.
He hummed, and placed his arm on the counter. “No boyfriend, then.” The red-haired smiled openly. He was clearly a large guy, and from the bad side of Crystalfall — you had no idea how he could take rejection, and you weren’t very excited to find out. “You’re not from this part of town, are you?”
You decided to keep your posture as respectful and detached as you could possibly manage. Answers were difficult to come up with when you were that uncomfortable. “Is it that obvious?” you said, turning your head to take another peek at him. He was definitely much older than you, most likely around ten years, and his breath reeked of cigarettes and cheap alcohol. “I don’t want to be rude, but I’m not interested in finding a boyfriend either. If you know what I mean.”
“I do.” He winked. He did not know what you meant. “Maybe we can have fun just for ton—”
His speech was paused abruptly and, for an instant, a loud sound broke the static, followed by even a louder one, of flesh meeting leather. Your discombobulated mind needed a few instants to fully comprehend that those noises had been the sound of another man patting your viking counterpart in the back, perhaps with the force that could be comparable to a heimlich maneuver.
Ah, the night was getting better by the minute.
“Hey, man,” the newcomer greeted, skirting his large figure. As he came into view, you could perceive the petulant smirk that curled up on his flower-like lips, and the murderous glint that lit his dark eyes aflame. Quite the combo, if you could say so yourself. “It’s been a while.”
The red-haired man paused. His thrilled face withered into one that you could only describe as a mixture of irritation and apprehension — the same sentiment when a wasp is banging against your window, but you’re not insane enough to open the glass and watch as nature gets the best of you. Some things are better left unbothered and, apparently, that guy was one of those. “Yoongi,” he spoke that name as if it burned his tongue. “What can I help you with?”
His feline grin did not subside: in fact, you were sure it grew a few millimeters. “I’m glad you asked. I’m here to talk with an old friend.” He signaled with his head towards you — who, as anyone in that place could tell from your flabbergasted features, had never seen that man before in your entire life. “If you don’t mind, of course.”
Though, from his tone alone, it was clear that there was no space for debate. “I don’t.” The other man stood up, and only then did you realize the noticeable size difference between the two. In a way, that observation was chilling, for there was certainly some sort of compensation from the part of the smaller one — in that side of town, it was nothing good. “We’ll catch up later, sweetcakes,” the viking told you.
You opened your mouth to respond, but the so-called Yoongi laughed in disgust before you could verbalize anything. “No, you won’t.” He patted the guy on the back once again, this time a bit lighter; smiling freely as the other groaned something intelligible, then turned around to leave. “Keep movin’, dude,” he said, his speech clearly filled with mockery. “Let’s catch up later.”
Yoongi exhaled in artificial relief, placing his drink over the counter. The liquid was red as fresh blood, contrasting against his golden-kissed skin. “Well, he won’t bother you any further,” he told you, turning around to face the barman — who, you noticed, had been extremely entertained while witnessing that peculiar exchange. “Fill this up for me, man?”
The boy blinked, barely understanding the sentences that dripped in the space between them, before nodding energetically. “Yeah. Sure thing, Yoongi,” he agreed as he reached for the cup.
There was something about that man’s demeanor that got the best of you — perhaps the way that he held himself with such imprudent confidence, or the puzzle that formed just beyond his obsidian irises, inviting you to dive deeper into his mysteries. Phosphorescent, halcyon lights dripped down his features with perfection, his skin glowing slightly under the overwhelming brilliance — his semblance living on the thin line between human and seraphic. He was dazzling as a model, as desirable as the devil.
Yoongi looked just like a bad decision would, only a bit more tempting.
“That was a bit overdramatic.” You took a sip of water, trying to hide the smile that started creeping up your roseate-tinged lips. Even your friends would be able to tell that a guy like that could never mean good news — so why were you so drawn to him? It was so weird. “What are you, Yoongi, the big boss around here?”
Clearly he hadn’t been expecting that inquiry, for he promptly scoffed at your words. “Nah, not really,” he said, stare still locked to the barman, following the ruby liquid that was poured on his crystal-clear cup; two cubes of ice. “We don’t have leaders around here.”
“Anarchy. Always good for the soul.” You raised your cup in a silent cheer, watching as he laughed at your words — strangely, you found yourself enjoying that sound a bit more than you should. “You didn’t need to step in, though. With, you know, that guy.”
As he turned his head to find your eyes, you swore you had forgotten how to breathe for an instant. Underneath heavy eyelids, his look was sharp and gelid as a dagger, piercing directly at your soul. “Were you enjoying the talk?” he spoke slowly, voice an octave lower.
“Not at all.” You cleared your throat — you could not tell why you were so nervous all of a sudden. “Why the violence?”  
The charming stranger smirked. “I wasn’t violent.”
“Yeah right.” You rolled your eyes, and placed your cup back on the surface. Yoongi followed the motion of your slender fingers with clear interest, and his stare lingered on your skin, following up the path up your arms. “You slapped that man's back like he was choking on his inner demons.”
He shrugged, leaning against the surface with flawless grace — his every action was a dance, a frail path of endless daydreams being painted through the atmosphere. “It was nothing.” Yoongi ran one of his hands through his hair. His skin was marked by pallid blue veins, his hair was stygian as the nocturnal skyline, morphing into the adumbration of the poorly-lit room: you would be lying through your teeth if you claimed you didn’t feel attracted to him. That was bad. It was really bad. “So… you’re here with friends, right?”
“You overheard that.” You grinned. From the other side of the bar, the barman placed the drink on the surface with a mumble-like ‘there you go.’
It wasn’t a question, but he responded regardless. “Yes. And I overheard that you’re not from this part of town.” Yoongi spoke further, his sculptural lips forming his sentences with endless fluidity. He looked up at you. “What is a west beauty like you doing in a dreadful place like this?”
“Babysitting my inconsequential friends,” you overlooked his hidden compliment, even if you could not dissimulate the shade of geranium that bloomed upon your cheeks. “What is an east hunk like you trying to get out of a conversation like this?” you asked back.
He hummed and elevated one of his eyebrows. “You often have these trust issues, or is it just with me?” he provoked.
You smiled. “I often do. But you’re magnifying them.”
“Fair enough. You’re not from here.” Yoongi took his drink to his mouth, and the strawberry liquor — you assumed — stained his lips with an anemic shade of rufescent. “I’m just trying to get to know you. Which is hard, since you haven’t even given me your name yet.”
Presenting that stranger with any sort of information about you was most likely an unwise decision, but you did it regardless. “It’s YN.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Exotic,” he mocked, “I’m glad I got something out of tonight. Quite the day off.”
“Stop fucking with me.” You pushed his shoulder in a playful manner, watching as, on his lips, blossomed the traces of a diverted smile. He seemed to be such a nice guy, maybe you had judged him too soon. “Why, did my damsel-in-distress moment interrupt your business around here? Are you a dealer or something?” you joked.
Yoongi shook his head in a silent disagreement, forging a surprise far bigger than the one he witnessed. “Wow. Because I’m in a bad side of town? Talk about judgement.” He rolled his eyes. Then, against your expectations, his face grew serious, and he turned back to look at you. “But why? Want me to hook you up on some crack?”
Your lips parted in amazement. “I’m—“
He could not hold back his laugh then, and it was his turn to push his shoulder against yours. “I’m just messing with you, chill,” he said. “You should’ve seen your face.”
Overtaken by relief, you breathed out. “Damn, why did you do that for? I was going to say yes.”
“Sorry, couldn’t hold back.” He grinned — oh, he was definitely handsome. “I’m here just to have some fun, believe it or not. I was talking to some old friends, you know, catching up. Taking my mind off things.”
You agreed. “I should do that, but I’m constantly worried about something.”
“That seems like a chore,” Yoongi spoke with honesty, his tone as sacchariferous as caramel. Just by hearing his voice in such soft, casual manner, you could feel your chest being filled up with oceans upon oceans of interest, its growing tides crashing just at the bottom of your throat. That couldn’t be good. “What’s in your mind now?” he asked.
“My friends. Like those two, Hoseok and Namjoon, over there with the darts.” You pointed at the other side of the construction just in time to see Hoseok get the maximum ponctuation, his dart standing out right at the central red circle of the target. He jumped out in endless bliss, pointing at Namjoon and laughing victoriously. Next to you, Yoongi chuckled at the scene. “They love to go a bit crazy on the alcohol, and they always end up in insane places. This one time, Hobi took a cab and woke up two towns away, it was crazy.”
“Let me guess, you picked him up?” Yoongi asked.
You pouted. “It’s that obvious?”
“You seem like someone who would do that.”
“I’m his friend, it’s the least that I could do.”
“No one could’ve picked him up instead?”
You shrugged, unsure of what to respond. You didn’t know where the man was getting at. “I mean, I don’t know.”
“I do. I think he called you because he knew how you’d react.” Yoongi was talking fast, and saying all the correct words. You could tell that he had a sharp, quick-witted mind, for he responded to your sentences with zero vacillation — as Joohyun always said, smooth talkers are a dangerous type; they knew just how to carry you away. “You’d pick him up, maybe scream at him about being reckless, and let it pass. Am I right?”
Your shoulders fell in muted concordance. “Unfortunately.”
Yoongi smirked. “Thought so. You’re a Good Samaritan, west beauty.”
From the vague touches of playfulness amongst his precisely-built syllables, you though he might have been making fun of you. “Is that... bad?”
He took an instant before answering. “Not if you don’t overdo it. People might take advantage of that.”
You frowned and turned your gaze away from him, allowing for your attention to float back to your two friends. Hoseok and Namjoon were discussing loudly about one of them cheating, and nearby expectators were laughing along, perhaps a bit more invested than you’d believe possible: the two never had issues making friends. “I don’t overdo it,” you said in an annoyed whisper — it sounded as if you were trying to convince yourself.
“Yeah? So why are you here?” From your peripheral vision, you could see as he leaned his head to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of your dimly lit features. Still, guilt made your gaze oscillate to the opposite direction with almost flawless timing. “Throwing your night away because you wanted to make sure they were okay. They’re adults, you can’t babysit them forever. If they only get a pull on their ear every time they fuck up, they’ll never learn to weight the consequences.”
You scoffed, crossing your arms before your chest. You knew he was right. “Pretty talk for a guy in a thug bar.”
“That doesn’t invalidate what I said.” Yoongi spoke with tranquility, as if he already knew what your advances would be. It was odd, very odd — how genuinely he seemed to care, and how well he read you. “It’s like that saying goes: don’t set yourself on fire to keep other people warm. Help them out, sure, but I can tell you’re wearing yourself thin because of it. That’s not the best idea.”
You sighed. “I guess.”
He found your determination to keep your walls up to be, at the very least, entertaining. Still, he wouldn’t bulge — he never backed away from a good challenge. “Let me ask you something.” Yoongi placed his arm on the table, moving a bit towards you. His voice morphed into a profound, concentrated tone, words coming out in a whisper-like formation. Yoongi’s breath was sugary, carrying along the aroma of strawberry. “Would they do the same for you?”
Your eyebrows moved together, and you looked back to meet his stare. “How so?”
He shrugged and leaning back on his bench. It was a weird dance he was performing there — getting closer and then far from you, oscillating the inflections and volume of his mellifluous voice in a way to draw you nearer. “Would they pick you up if you were in trouble, would they accompany you somewhere they didn’t want to go because they were worried about you…? The list goes on,” Yoongi explained.
You thought for a second. Reality was rather dreadful once you came to terms with the fact that your friends weren’t as worried about your safety as you would like them to. “Joohyun would, I’m sure of that. She’s my other friend.” You cleared your throat. “But I’m not sure about the guys.”
Yoongi hummed, but did not buy the truth you were trying so vehemently to sell him. He examined your features like an attentive predator, trying to find the cracks on your mask. “Where’s Joohyun now?” he asked.
You knew exactly what his intention was the second that inquiry poured from his cinnamon-colored lips. “With a guy.”
One of his eyebrows raised. “She left you alone, then?” Yoongi questioned, traces of bitterness ornamenting his speech. “In a sketchy place, filled with strangers, knowing fully well you didn’t even want to come.”
You chuckled, humorless. “Yeah. Sounds so shitty when you put it like that, though.”
He sighed. “Tell me something.” Once again, he tilted his body closer to you. “Would you do that to her? If you had come to see me, and she was the one who was left behind, would you feel good about that?”
There was no need to ruminate on that inquiry, for you already knew the answer. “Not at all. I wouldn’t do that.”
Yoongi pressed his lips together and raised his eyebrows in an expression that spoke ‘that’s what I thought’. “Well, then that’s something to work on,” he said, then seemed to dive into an instant of thought. Maybe there was pity within his stare, but you could not be sure, perhaps you were just projecting. “Hey, all I’m saying is that you have to give yourself some value too. Gotta keep yourself together so you can help others with their broken pieces. All that crap.”
His words were so cliche that you would not help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it. “Where did you read that? In a minion meme for suburban moms?”
“I just came up with it.” He smirked, clearly proud of his impromptu work. “Cool, right? Some calendar shit right here.”
You took one of your fingers to your cheek and pretended to wipe away an invisible tear. “It was inspiring, to say the least.” You giggled. There was a certain insubstantial wave of security that encompassed his proximity, and it allowed for you to have a free conversation with him. That man was really something else. “Thank you, Yoongi. You’re cool.”
He raised his empty cup in a silent cheer. “Always a pleasure, YN,” he grinned, the lowered the object back on the table. Yoongi cleared his throat. “So... when do I see you again?”
You looked at him. There was something at work in your spirit that you could not quite comprehend — your eyes examined the exquisite person that was Yoongi, and it seemed as if your heart was filled with nostalgia, completely overthrown by a sentiment that did not belong alongside that stranger. Joohyun was right: smooth talkers were the worst, they could tear your walls down and make it seem like you did it yourself.
And that was your first mistake when it came to Min Yoongi: you trusted him far too easily.
“I’ll tell you what,” you started, turning around on your bench. Over the counter, your fingers were almost touching, and you swore you could feel the warm aura emanating from his skin. “Whenever you want to, I’m down.”
From the delight that was casted over his features, you could see that he couldn’t be more pleased at your response. “Alright. Let’s go have some fun one of these days.”
You leaned in, interested. “Got something in mind?”
“I might,” he disclosed with a grin. “Listen out. This might sound a bit crazy, but stay with me.”
So, you did.
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It was a bit over two in the morning and your companion for the night had already left when you reached out for your friend amongst a crowd of strangers, poking her on the shoulder. “Joohyun, sorry to interrupt, but I’m going home,” you said as she turned around, her eyes wide and cheeks painted by a faint tone of cherry. “You can get a cab, right? Hoseok and Namjoon will probably leave together.”
The response, however, did not come from her. “I’ll drive her home. I didn’t drink.”
You looked to Joohyun’s side, meeting the face of her (not) boyfriend. He was definitely not your type, and you were sure she could do a lot better if she didn’t have such a gargantuan weakness towards bad influences. Not that you could judge her after what you had pulled that night. “Alright, man that I don’t know,” you were sarcastic as you spoke, and you noticed that the unknown guy did not appreciate your attitude. “You’re good?” you asked her.
Joohyun smiled warmly at your protectiveness — you didn’t know then, but she appreciated it deeply. “I’m good, YN, you can go,” she guaranteed with a nod. “Thanks for the heads up.”
“Sure thing.” Your eyes flickered towards the guy for another instant, but he was already paying attention to a discussion that happened behind your figure, his lips somewhat parted as his eyes squinted in absolute attention. Quite the airhead that your friend had gotten there. “By the way…” You breathed out. “You were right. I did meet someone interesting.”
Her eyes lit up in a level of excitement that, almost certainly, had been enhanced by alcohol. “That’s great!” she exclaimed. “Tell me everything later.”
“Will do.” You agreed with a movement of your head. “Thank you for bringing us here tonight, and you—” You poked the guy, who blinked a few times as he crashed back into reality. “Thank you for getting us in.”
He mumbled something that you believed sounded like “whatever, chick I don’t know,” even if his speech was a bit too groggy for you to follow. There was no alcohol in his breath, and he certainly didn’t seem high. He just seemed a bit slow and, combined with his clear dislike for you, he most likely didn’t feel like having a proper conversation anyways.
Well, you took that as your invitation to leave. Next up, saying goodbye to Hoseok and Namjoon, and making sure that they hadn't stabbed each other’s eyes out with darts.
Their ebullient screams of exhilaration got to you before their images did, mingling with other, equally loud laughs. From what you could see, their little show of competitiveness had resulted in quite the audience agglomerating around the two of them, finding the situation a bit funnier than it was — and thank booze for that. You could only imagine what kind of circle of hell The Cave would be if most of its crime-leaning users weren’t drunk out of their minds.
“Namjoon, Hoseok,” you called out, trying your best not to get hit by one of the passersby. “I’m leaving. Are you guys alright?”
“Yeah, we didn’t drink,” Namjoon answered, his gaze still locked on the target. His fingers were holding his dart so strongly that his fingertips turned white, his concentration was so intense that he most likely didn’t notice his roseate tongue poking at the corner of his plump lips. “Can’t miss these shots.”
Namjoon made his sensational shot, but it came nowhere close to the central circle — in fact, it almost missed the target completely. Hoseok slapped his shoulder, unable to hold back a resounding laugh. “Clearly, you can. I’m still winning, man,” he teased. “Keep on trying, though, this is what dreams are made of.”
You could not help but smile alongside your friends, a certain sensation of amiability spreading throughout your chest. You really cared about those guys, and you were more than blissful that you all got a great night out of what, at first, appeared to be a nightmare. Perhaps they were right, perhaps you really should let yourself go more often.
But, well, you had already started, in a way.
With a final check on your friends, you allowed for your gaze to travel around The Cave for the terminal time that night. Truly, those christmas lights made everything much more ethereal, and you certainly wouldn’t mind coming back there another time — especially now that you knew someone of those lands.
Yeah, you wouldn’t mind at all.
Without further ado, you made your way to the front door, and welcomed yourself into the obfuscous veil of dusk. Around your legs, your summer dress danced, blown away by the tremulous touches of that hyperborean breeze. You placed your hands over your thighs in an attempt to keep the fabric in place, and stepped onto the dust-covered ground.
Yoongi was leaning against the brick walls, his black leather jacket morphing with the crepuscular aura of the night. Twilight danced on his skin as he raised his green bottle up to his lips, delighting on the ambrosial taste of his liquor. Once he heard you stepping outside, shoes making dry sounds against the earth, his head turned towards your figure. He smiled then, satisfied. “Said goodbye to the kids?” he inquired, even if he already knew the answer.
Your heart leaped inside your chest — he had scared you. “Yeah.” You inhaled the cool air. Behind your back, it seemed that the vibrations of the slow rock song stretched out into the infinity of the nocturnal winds, booming inside your spirit ― a clear cacophony if compared to the beating of your heart. “They didn’t seem to care much, they were kinda busy.”
“If they are your friends, they did care.” Yoongi took the bottle back to his lips, taking the remnants of the drink. The green glass used the luminescence of a nearby pole to cast emerald-colored shapes over his somber features. “Maybe they’re just taking you for granted. Happens.” He sighed once he lowered the bottle.
You looked at him and frowned. A dense mist had fallen over the asleep city. With its cloud-like nature, it curled around relinquished constructions and dispersed the lambency of fluorescent lights, those which flickered rhythmically amongst the colorless expansion, painting the white smoke by what resembled a purple hue amongst the penumbra of midnight. For an instant, you stood there, amazed at the way that landscape resembled a daydream; Yoongi’s image bordering on a mirage.
At last, you spoke out, and your words carried not the weight of certainty, but of fear. “Maybe.” You allowed for a despondent, timid smile to materialize at the corners of your rose-painted lips. “Do you go around coaching people or is it just me?”
“Just you.” Yoongi responded with no hesitation. Against the pallid touch of moonlight, he appeared to be a lost phantasm, a bittersweet soul looking for a way to anchor himself back to hope. Perhaps he had just found it. “Not a lot of people listen to me. I’m avoided most of the time,” he said, “Not that I care about it.”
Weeks later, you would ask yourself profusely how the hell you could have ignored the blatant red flag swirling in the air, right in front of your face. Then, however, you had succumbed to your ephemeral, curious bliss, and instead chose to ignore the warning signs that started to emerge within your head. “They should,” you told your new friend, hoping your words carried along the touches of your gratitude. “Thank you again.”
Yoongi smirked as he licked the remaining drops of liquor on his lips. “You’re welcome, west beauty,” he responded. “See you next week, then?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” you responded, voice dancing just above a timid whisper. Your timbre, as light and ethereal as a tulip’s petals, carried along into the cool breeze, dispersing into the skyline. It wasn’t just a promise, it was a request to the stars. “It’s a date.”
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The week that followed your night in The Cave passed in a rush of contrasting emotions and haze-covered dialogues.
After Namjoon had scrambled to arrange another meeting at Mercy’s the next day, you took your time hearing your friend’s stories about the former industry complex before you said anything about your upcoming adventure. The boys were clearly excited, talking continuously about the individuals they had met and the dart competition that, according to Hoseok, he had won; but, according to Namjoon, it had been a close tie.
“We’re even thinking about, like, forming teams or whatever, apparently some guys from the east side already have one,” Namjoon had vocalized, ignoring the other boy’s continuous protests. “But that’s about it. What you have to share, Joohyun?”
With a smile and a flick of her hair, the girl started pouring out her stories. As much as she promised to spare the spicy details of her romantic endeavors, she could not hold the same mercy towards the gossip that surrounded the group she had been thrown into. Joohyun spoke, in a voice as velvety and sweet as candy, about the time that someone was thrown over the bar and crashed against all the beverage; or about the man that constantly threatened to hang his counterparts on the christmas lights, but was terribly afraid of heights — making his plan virtually impractical.
Though, that was not the point of her monologue, and the two of you knew that very well. “But… there’s something else. Something more important.” She turned to you, a smirk already creeping up on her lips. “Isn’t it?”
You took a deep breath, and leaned back on the couch. All eyes were on you now, dripping seas upon seas of expectation. “Yeah…” You cleared your throat. “I might have… a date?”
Hoseok almost choked on his saliva. “Are you for real?”
“As serious as a heart attack,” you answered.
Then, as expected, the questions started flooding the space between your bodies. Who the lucky guy was, what he did, how in the living hell he managed to drag you out of your bed and into an emotionally threatening situation, so on. You answered them with a lingering smile on your lips and the sensation of change creeping up on your back; the feeling that something incredible was at work all around you.
It had been years since you felt that kind of infantile nervousness; the sensation of butterflies caressing the insides of your chest, their wings quivering in expectancy. As one day fell into the next and Yoongi’s messages became more and more frequent on the screen of your phone, that feeling only intensified, burning at the edges of your ponderations like wildfire, sending shivers up and down your skin. It had been an audacious — careless, hotheaded — decision, but you managed to neglect the consequences that approached on the horizon.
You could not comprehend the effect that Yoongi had on you and, quite frankly, it felt a bit frightening. Call it a crush, mere carnal desires, or the treacherous side effects of curiosity — the point was that, even against your best attempts, the idiosyncratic man kept returning to haunt the corners of your mind; his voice singing amongst your most profound of reveries, whispering the promises you could never wish for. If it had been anyone else to approach you in that place, you would have never accepted to accompany them in a date; so why had it been so easy with him?
Back then, you could not see the reality that curled around his figure like venomous, thorn-encrusted vines — Yoongi looked like a supernova, but he was just a black hole, sucking you into his gravitational field with every movement of his pallid lips. Though, some truths were very well hidden under a veil of enigmatic sentences and thaumaturgic glares. Eventually, they would all come crashing down.
Still, you were far from that fateful moment — a couple months, to be exact. No, you were still looking down to the abyss, still feeling the tingling of excitement washing down your figure. First, you had to fall to the bottom of the well and, only then, you could start your way up.
At last, the anticipated day arrived. Your animation awakened alongside the primordial traces of aurora, and the obnoxious ringing of your phone, which shook you out of a dreamless sleep. Upon answering the unfitting call, you were met with Joohyun’s voice on the other end of the line, wishing you good luck and requesting for you to keep her updated on recent occurrences. With a tender smile, you thanked her, and said that you would be more than glad to have a night of gossip after that entire deal was done with — fries, ice cream, and terrible movies; just the way you two adored so much.
Once you hung up the call, however, a new surprise awaited on your device.  
Slowly, you were starting to realize that you had a tendency to gravitate towards people that enjoyed cryptic messages far too much for your own liking — and your new friend was no different. Yoongi had texted you saying to meet him in the parking lot of a local supermarket, a bit after seven, where he would be buying some supriments for your undisclosed date.
Countless times throughout your week of daydreams and presuppositions, you had pushed the boy to share the surprise he had prepared for the two of you, but you remained unsuccessful. Yoongi would merely chuckle at your radiating desperation, claiming that all that you should know is that it was a special occasion, and there was nothing you could say or do that would make him change his mind about disclosing it. His one and only hint had been that it would be in a known spot around town, hiding in plain sight.  
But that didn’t help much, did it? It was a vague as possible.
Which, again, was a common theme with him.
Asymmetrical to the suspicions that started to propagate within your chest, you moved forward with your date and, before you could tell, the horizon had already adopted the lambent haze of the setting sun, burning amongst the buildings like a golden aura.
If one were to follow the path of the tenuous — yet dreadfully suffocating — summer wind throughout the pacate streets of Crystalfall, they might have catched a glimpse of your figure against the scalding sun. You walked towards the center of the town with your heart in your throat and your hands shaking, dress waltzing in the air alongside the rich scent of lilacs and roses — courtesy of downtown’s famous flower shop, always open for late lovers. All around you, vivacious trees trembled underneath the magnificence of the season, their leaves casting hypnotic shadows against the crepuscular asphalt, hiding in shades of green and brown.
It was an instant paused in time, paused in memory. Some days are so permeated by exquisiteness that you could not help but believe that they were made for grandiose purposes; that their heavenly symmetry could only mean the new beginning of a phase in your life. Either by coincidence or fate, that was precisely what that date was.
You saw Yoongi’s car — a black 67’ chevy impala — the instant that you arrived at the back entrance of the supermarket. Other than another blue truck at the edge of the parking lot, the place was completely desolated; its monochromatic cement painted by an intense hue of apricot, reflecting the overwhelming summer heat on your exposed legs. Not much later,  as you walked towards the vehicle, you saw the reason of your chaotic thoughts emerge behind it.
In the background, the sounds of the traffic was muted, and the trees had become static — the universe had come to a halt, and the only aspect still in focus was him. His hair was disheveled, slightly pulled back and touched by droplets of sweat and, on his lips a pout was formed, permitting for a prolonged sigh to depart from in between them, losing itself amongst the heavy atmosphere. You moved closer with hidden reluctance, accompanying the manner that the muscles of his shoulders tensed up as he placed something inside the car; his back curving so he could take a last look at the job he had done.
As Yoongi adjusted his posture and placed his hands over the trunk’s edge, ready to lower it, you swore your mind had gone completely blank. Instead of the leather jacket that your gaze had expected to meet, the summer heat had forced your new friend to cover his chest only with a white tank top. The piece of thin fabric allowed you to see his built in its full form and, more than that, paved the way so your eyes could trail up and down the black lines on his skin. Yoongi had always had a vague touch of demonic, wicked allurance to him, but that was just too much — that was temptation in its rawest form, wrapped in ashes and smoke.
Though, you had barely no time to fully take in what he was presenting you. Upon perceiving your presence, he looked up at you and his lips twisted into a cheerful smile. “West beauty,” he greeted, closing the trunk. Your eyes vacillated between his inky hair and the dark tattoos that covered up his exposed arms, drawings contrasting so beautifully against his skin. “You showed up.”
Fighting against the rapid beating of your frantic heart, you forced yourself to exhale your worries through your nose. With steady steps, you paused before him, paying close attention to the way that his caliginous eyelashes casted small shadows against his cheeks — every detail seemed to be precisely architectured so he could pull you deeper into perdition. “Wouldn’t miss it,” you responded, signaling with your head towards the car. “Shall we?”
He agreed with a nod, and made sure to open the door for you before swiftly moving to his seat. Once the two of you were inside and the low murmuring of the ignition broke the silence, your voice resumed. “By the way,” you begun, turning around and watching as he bucked his belt with a low clicking noise, “if you’re planning to murder me, I’ll kill you.”
“Seems like a fair trade.” Yoongi chuckled. “You can put the emergency number on dial if that makes you feel any safer.”
You forced out a sarcastic laugh, crossing your arms before your figure. Beyond the parted windows, a dense cloud covered the rays of the radiant sun, and the world fell into fugacious darkness. “Very funny,” you vocalized. “It already is.”
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Light had long vanished beyond the mountains once the two of you arrived at your destination — the waterfalls.
In all its natural purity, the cascades of Crystalfall stood like a forgotten deity against the horizon, crashing down on a valley encrusted by lime-covered rocks and altitudinous pine trees like an enormous lion roaring into the midnight, many miles away. The water was a bright shade of cyan once it was bathed by the lambency of daytime, though, at night, its translucent flow had succumbed into an abyssal tone of indigo, its droplets reflecting like pearls against the effulgence of the moon before, at last, they morphed into the furious white vapour that floated above the lake like smoke.
For the first time in you life, you fully grasped its magnificence.
You had gone there only once, when you were a kid, but the experience was impossible to compare. With Yoongi by your side, you could notice every little detail of nature reflecting within his figure — the crystalline beauty of the water drops that flickered like diamonds inside his eyes; the sound of whispering trees that echoed within his speech; the feeble caresses of the wind against your skin, resembling the ghost of his fingertips against your own.
After sneaking past the ocean of  dry foliage and unbothered animals, the two of you stayed just over a verdigris hill — where, even with the distance, you had a sensational view of those gargantuan landscapes, and the thunderous sounds of the water did not bother the volume of your speech. In an aura of romanticism that you had not expected, Yoongi had planned a picnic for the two of you — which ended up being an overabundance of sweets over a red towel. As you were starting to notice, he might have been a bit weak when it came to the flavour of strawberries, for that was the common element amongst his packages. Not to mention the main dish: strawberries and chantilly.
Though, you were not even close to complaining about any of that. Yoongi lived with a thin layer of bliss covering his every movement; his eyes continuously oscillating back to you, silently inquiring if you were enjoying his company, if he was playing his part correctly. And, heavens, he was. There was no way he could have made that first date any better.
Minutes decayed into hours and, before you could notice, the sands of time had passed by, echoing alongside the boisterous roaring of Crystalfall. With the same fluidity of the cascading waters, the two of you prepared your picnic, and dove into all sorts of conversations — hope-filled sentences; silent requests of a kinder future for the two of you; slender cracks of the past you sought so hard to cover. You came to understand the mystery that was Min Yoongi a bit better and, besides that, found out that the two of you weren’t as different as you first pictured.
He was an eclipse: dull and obscure, but surrounded by a threadlike line of light. Beyond the twilight, an entire universe was hidden.
At some point, as snow-colored clouds tenderly held back the silver illumination of the midnight moon, Yoongi held your hand; his thumb caressing your soft skin in a constant assurance of his presence. In an unforeseen flash of euphoria, you swore that your hearts were beating in unisound, and the ballad of nature could be heard alongside his mellifluous speech — those beautiful words he had no problem using to break your walls down.
You swore that you were meant to be, that he had been handmade for you to love.
Who were you to deny the requests of fate?
“You met me in a very weird time of my life, Min Yoongi,” you spoke out, stare scrutinizing every minute detail that whispered amongst the slender trees; trembling alongside the mumbling leaves. Life in Crystalfall might have been a simple one, but its paradisiacal elegance was not mundane whatsoever.
With one of his arms pulling his body upwards, he looked up at you — his abrupt gaze was blinding as a glimpse of sun through dense storm clouds. “Is that good?” he asked.
There was a second of silence before your answer came out. “You tell me.” You suspired, inhaling the cold mountain air, purifying your lungs. That had become your small fragment of heaven, and you wished you could stay there forever. “It’s so out of character for me to have accepted your invitation — like, come on, you’re from the east side, no offense. I met you last week, I  know barely anything about you.”
He raised one finger, pausing your speech. “Don’t forget that you met me in an abandoned factory that was turned into a bar for thugs.” Yoongi added, the hint of a smile creeping up on the corners of his lips. “Sounds like every parent’s dream.”
You chuckled, finding his reaction rather adorable. “You won’t have to worry about that. My parents are out of the picture,” you said. From the way that confusion was casted like a shadow across his face, you were certain of which doubt had sprouted in his head. “They didn’t die, don’t worry, they’re divorced. But they don’t speak to each other and sure as hell don’t speak to me.”
Yoongi turned his body around, his chest now facing you. Something gleamed within his semblance, but you could not define which emotion it was. “Well at least you know who your parents are,” he spoke. “I’ve skipped from foster home to foster home my entire life, raised in the streets, all that. Not the best of influences, if you ask me.”
“That’s so rough, sorry about that,” you attempted to verbalize your compassion the best way that you could, placing your hand over his. You could not even begin to imagine how it could have been for him — to be raised with no family, no safe port, surrounded by the worst that humankind could offer. In a way, it was no surprise that Yoongi had been attracted to the east side of town, you figured that it was the only reality he had ever known.
He shrugged it off, though, perceiving your empathy as an image of pity. Yoongi hated to feel vulnerable, hated to be treated as something to be protected. “I deal with it. I’m not the same person anymore,” he said. The boy must have seen the confusion that was projected over your features, for he hastly changed the subject. “Now you know more about me, though. You’re from here?”
“Kind of. Raised here, born four towns away,” you told him. “My aunt takes good care of me.”
He seemed puzzled at the prospect. “And she’s okay with this date?”
You took a deep breath and redirected your gaze away from him; the phantasm of a smirk already showing its signs. “Well, I didn’t exactly give her all those details about the thug bar. But she’s happy I’ve met someone,” you spoke. On your tongue, the sweet taste of chantilly still lingered, and it instigated you to reach for another strawberry. “She says that I needed  it.”
Yoongi hummed in an unspoken concordance, paying close attention to your moon-bathed features, seeking for cracks on your controlled demeanor. “You’ve been feeling lonely lately?”
In some way, his question hurt something within your spirit, throwing salt in a wound that you didn’t even know it was there. Though, there was a time and place to face those demons, and your first date just wasn’t it. “Not exactly. I just stay in my head a lot,” was what you responded instead. Even if you felt secure by his side, there were some parts that you simply did not share with anyone. “I love my friends to death—“
“—Even if they take advantage of your altruism,” he interrupted.
“They care about me, in their own way.” You took a bite of the strawberry, unable to meet his gaze — it was able to look directly at the most vulnerable parts of your soul, and that was the last thing you needed them. Smooth talkers. Always the smooth talkers. “Anyways, I love them, but we seem to always be in totally different frequencies, you know?”
“I do. I feel the same.” Yoongi intertwined his fingers on your own, making your gaze navigate back to his own — those pupils that held everything and nothing at all. “I think everyone feels left out at some given point of their life, it’s normal. It doesn’t have to be a bad thing to be alone, or even lonely.”
“I never really cared about it, it was kind of the norm of my life.” You breathed out, and looked down — your hands, bathed by the pallid, silver-like illumination of the moon, stood out against the deep carmine of the towel. “The more I grow up, the more I feel like I’m out of sync with everyone.”
“The more I grow up, the more I realize there’s no rhythm to follow.” Yoongi threw back, watching as your eyes widened in confusion. Your expression showed an emotion that he could not identify, as if you had just realized something important, something that had been hidden right underneath your nose. “Damn, west beauty, just march to the beat of your own drum, whatever works.”
You could not hold back a laugh — a tender, liberating chuckle that erupted at the bottom of your throat, exorcising all the mischievous devils that had been encompassing your head for too long. “Thanks, Coach.” You smirked. “Freud got nothin’ on your bar psychology.”
“Shut up, you brat.” He laughed, taking one of his hands to push your shoulder playfully. “You really got no respect, uh?”
You rolled your eyes. “Says the man who offered me crack.”
“Jokingly,” he corrected, “Also, before my goldfish memory makes me forget to say this, just enjoy the moment. Some things aren’t meant to be understood, and we can’t be narcissistic enough to feel like we’re the chosen ones, that we deserve a special answer. Just don’t be a prick, you know?”
“Wiser words have never been said.” You smiled longingly. Something was flourishing inside the walls of your fast-beating heart, and you could not control its roots radiating throughout your entire being. “You sound like you would like a simple lifestyle. You know, on the westside.”
“Yeah, maybe one day, when I’m tired and bitter, I can get a farm like the rest of the old people in Crystalfall.” Yoongi smirked faintly at the prospect — it didn’t sound so bad when he said it out loud. “I’d have to dedicate my entire life for that, though, and I can’t stay still for too long.”
You raised one eyebrow, placing your elbow on the towel, merely a few centimeters away from him. “You’re here with me now.” You lowered your body to the same position as his. He has so close you could perceive the sugary aroma that sprouted in between his lips.
His gaze fell to your parted mouth, somewhat stained by the red tinge of strawberry. “I mean in the same city.”
“Oh, so you’re leaving me the second this date ends?” you asked, playful.
He paused at that. Yoongi’s eyes were atramentous as the night that surrounded the two of you, but there were no constellations scintillating in his pupils — there was only a fathomless fall, an unsolvable puzzle. “I didn’t say that.” He took one of his hands to your cheek, caressing the place with his thumb. You heart got trapped in the confinements of your throat as, gradually, the boy started to lean in, his nose brushing lightly against your own. “Besides... I can make an exception for a west beauty like you,” he whispered.
Yoongi’s lips tasted like a storm, like he was hiding hurricanes beneath his tongue. The boy kissed you patiently, slowly, taking his time to caress your lips with his before he parted his mouth enough to deepen his actions. Your mind was miles away, but you had the impression you heard a low, shriveled groan reverberating in the space between your mouths as your tongues met. Time ceased to run for an instant, then, it all came crashing down.  
Your eyes remained shut for a second when the boy moved away, your full attention still focused on the phantasm of his kiss, the sensation that still waltzed on your lips. At times, merely the right kiss is enough to make someone fall — the precise impact that would make you lose your balance, to decay into the pit that was those amaranthine black eyes.
That night, at least, it was.
Once you opened them, you were met with a weak smile from his part. “Can I ask you something crazy?” Yoongi’s lips touched yours as he spoke.
“Depends,” you said underneath your breath, utterly taken away by his beauty.
With stardust in his eyes and the cosmos expanding at every inhale, Yoongi was the ruler of your own shared universe, holding your hands through the infinity of time and space. When he spoke, you felt as if his words were written in the stars, guiding you towards the future you were meant to live. “I want you to run away with me.” He took his fingers and placed one strand of your hair behind your ear. “Not forever, just for a little while. We can get in this car and just go around some places, be nameless for some time. I feel like you and I could use some relaxation.”
You raised your eyebrows, walking in the thin line between worried and intrigued. If it had been anyone else, you wouldn't have even considered such preposterous idea — however, it was Yoongi, and he knew how to push all the right buttons. “Like a road trip?”
He shrugged. “You could say that. What’s your answer?”
“Oh, what the hell.” You placed a small kiss on his lips, and whispered against his parted mouth. “I’m in.”
And then he took you for another kiss.
Right then and there, you made the decision that would shape the weeks to come.  There you stood, staring down at the abyss that was Min Yoongi, wondering what could follow your jump. The air was thin and smooth as silk, brushed against your skin like the gentle caresses of butterfly’s wings. It was static and devoid of sentiment; phlegmatic; empty. Beneath your feet, only darkness. 
“Whatever this is,” you thought in a flash of reason, “it isn’t love.” 
And jumped. Fell.
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The first three weeks passed by with little to no incidents, and you had started to believe you had found paradise on earth.
After you had accepted the man’s proposal for a miraculous getaway, the two of you made your plans as if it would be the last adventure of your lives — from the route that you would follow to the attractions you would see. Taking advantage of his free spirit’s memories, Yoongi made sure to highlight the best cities he had seen nearby, his face growing serious every time he looked up to meet your anxious gaze. He would speak smoothly then, following the rhythm of the melody only the two of you shared, and tranquilizing your negative thoughts promptly.
“West beauty, I want to share the world with you,” he would say, his fingertips touching the skin of your cheek as if he could write poetry on it. Yoongi’s voice was like a rich verse, a sublime rhyme that continued to echo within your soul. “I know it’s crazy, but I’m sure you'll love it. Just give me a chance.”
It was crazy, and you knew it. You felt as if you had been possessed by a recklessness that was completely alien to you — pushing you to pursue that insane road trip by the side of a man you knew nothing about, but yet that understood you so profoundly. Of course you were beyond worried — you had every reason to be — but, once again, you had long commited your first error, and your misplaced trust would take some time to fully disappear.
So you went forward with it. You came back home, invented some strangely believable story about meeting some college friends to your aunt, and packed your bags as adrenaline rushed through your veins, electricity sparking at your fingertips. You had spent your entire life following rules so thoroughly that the mere prospect of running away — for some time — with a man you barely knew was impossible for your aunt to even conjure. There was nothing holding you back from entering the most dangerous situation you had ever placed yourself in.
But oh well — some of the most unexpected blessings can disguise the most pernicious of curses.
Two days after your date at the waterfall, just as Sunday’s sun was starting to set, you met the boy at the Yellowside bridge — which connected the two parts of the town, split only by a slender river. Just as he had promised in a previous message, Yoongi had parked his cars amongst the veridian-painted trees, in a blind spot covered by bushes. It was a gorgeous afternoon: chilly, yet pleasant; silent, yet permeated by the whispering of leaves and the quiet crashes of the river’s water. There was a vague scent of flowers and humid ground mingling in the air, dancing along the singing of birds. It was perfect, after all.
Yoongi was leaning against the passenger side of his vehicle, eyes scrutinizing something on his phone. Behind him, the horizon was painted by thin brushstrokes of apricot and burning amber; setting the strands of his black hair on fire, shining like a golden aura around his angelic features. To catch him in such breathtaking landscape was an unique experience, so fantastic that your worries were silenced for an instant.
It didn’t take long for him to grasp the sound of your hurried footsteps against the dry foliage. “I’m here,” you said as he looked in your direction. Your hands were holding tightly to your backpack, and you felt like you carried the weight of the world in there. “Ready to go.”
In that simple sentence, you promised him everything that you had. And he accepted promptly.
Your partner in crime showed his gentlemen side that day — he opened the passenger door for you, then moved to place your backpack on the back seat, along with his own baggage. Yoongi’s car had the same scent as last time — strawberries, with a vague touch of mint.
The next instant, he was already sitting next to you and turning the ignition. “To infinity and beyond,” Yoongi claimed, closing the door with a loud exclamation. The sound resembled a gunshot to your arrhythmic heart, making it skip a beat. That was crazy. You were crazy. There was no way that could end well. “Let’s enjoy life together, west beauty.”
Nevertheless, as his car started to move, you didn’t verbalize any of your inner worries. A few minutes later, they were merely a ghost at the back of your mind — you came to the realization that the two of you had the world ahead of you, and it was yours to take.
In the progression of a few hours, the sky was painted by a deep shade of blue, then succumbed into a star-encrusted stygian. The roads expanded before you like paths into infinity, illuminated solely by the lights of his car — a small comet crossing the endless universe in respectful silence. On the radio, a slow song played on repeat, each melody decaying into the next one, dispersing its beautiful notes amongst the indoors air. With dreamy eyes, you followed the trees moving next to you, turning into a obfuscous blur of forms and sizes. A personal cosmos had opened itself for the two of you, and you adored the tranquility it brought along.
Three hours later, you arrived at the first of many motels. The purple luminescence of the neon sign ondulated on the surface of nearby puddles, a mystical aura walzed within every detail of that place. As you opened the passenger door and stepped into the cool air, you felt as if your entire life was opening like a flower in front of you.
In the strangest of ways, being on the run felt like home.
And so, you dove into it.
Before you could even notice, the days morphed into weeks, and the weeks into almost a month. Yoongi loved you kindly at first, taking his time to explore the nature that was born within your figure. He caressed your fingertips with endless delicacy, delighted in the honey of your tongue and drowned in your sweet soul, touching every crack, loving every wound. His hands were made of promises, his words were soft as silk and, together, they drew poems across your skin.
“I think that I’m in love with you, west beauty,” he would whisper against your mouth as the auric sunlight creeped through the cracks of the curtains, losing no time before dwelling in your kiss once again. Yoongi suspired against you, mind still slumberous, and limbs still intertwined around your half-naked figure. He was like the moon — mystic, lonely, overpowering. He controlled the tides of your ocean with endless delicacy, crashed against you and then retrieved back with tenuous kisses against your lips.
For those moments, you would feel free. You had convinced yourself, in a haze of impromptu decisions and impermanent pleasures, that you had fallen for him. You had sewed your mind in such way that you vehemently believed that you loved Min Yoongi just as much the moon loves the stars, like the clouds kiss the sun. You loved him like the Yellowside river’s water runs on, like the seasons pass, and you two were left with brown leaves and naked twigs — vulnerable and weak. You loved him like prismatic flowers blossomed during the spring, like earth embraces the cold droplets of the falling rain. You loved him like you. Like him. Like the two of you.
God, you loved him.
Yet, somehow, someway, you knew the two of you were not meant to last — so, you were left to whisper to him your deepest secrets, attempting to keep your head above water; your heart above desire, as you succumbed into the fathomless ocean that was Min Yoongi. You continued to fall for him, in between caresses, in between lamenting sighs; but, then, your every movement became coated by a thin layer of reluctance; the poltergeist of a broken heart beating inside the walls of your chest, banging against your ribs in unspoken pleas for mercy.
Those paranoid flashes of reason, however, did not last for long. Yoongi silenced your demons with the touch of his tender kiss against your lips, muted their whispering voices with the booming sound of clubs — asking for you to dance the night away, to be carried by the rhythm of freedom, to scream out in deserted roads and hear as your pain was washed away by the ice-cold winds of change. You did all of that for him: from the never-ending hours spent inside his vehicle to the constant moving between motel rooms, you accepted his words, took them as your personal truth, and allowed for them to guide you into a land where there were no problems in sight. A land in which he was your world, and you were his.
For some time, that was sufficient.
When Yoongi asked for more of you, there was no fiber in your being that even contemplated the idea of turning it down. As he kissed an invisible route through your neck, past the mountains of your breasts, and into the lines of your stomach, there was nothing within you that made you hold back the river of your own desire. In that muffled motel room, the only sound that pierced the static was the constant spinning of the fan’s blades, and your voice, tender as the vernal season. “Yoongi,” you mumbled against the skin of his neck, goosebumps spreading across your own. You wished to feel him so badly that it was consuming your soul, setting your mind on fire — there was nothing else that mattered. “I want you.”
And, heavens, only God knew how much he wanted you too.
Tracing the pattern from your clit to your entrance, Yoongi grunted as he felt your liquids running down his digits; listening to your soft sighs as he pushed past your folds, teasing his way in — but never fully doing so. For a few times, there was all that he did: brushing lightly his fingers from your opening to your clit, never applying the satisfactory pressure or entering you. You despised his patience sometimes.
In dissonance, as soon as he moved back his head and his hooded eyes met your own, needy ones, all the remnants of his self control were lost. He could tease you another time — then, he needed to have you.  
With a passionate kiss, the man took you in his arms and, with a strong pull, elevated your hips from the soft mattress; fingers not wasting a single second before pulling down the cotton of your underwear. He groaned against your mouth once he felt the sensation of your center against his hard, clothed member, pressing down just right.
An ambrosial taste of nectar was pouring form in between his lips, rushing through your veins, intoxicating your senses with its mephitic sweetness. Against your chest, you could perceive the fast beating of his own heart, resounding like drums inside your ears alongside a deep, rusty grunt of desire. “Baby,” he whispered — begged. “Let me have you, please.”
There was no need to ask, for you had already given him every sign of consent that he needed. Who would you be to decline such compelling proposal?
And so you gave yourself to him — again and again; until your legs were trembling and your weak lungs could not take in the dense air anymore. You gave yourself to Yoongi as if the world would reach its ending in the following morning; as if the pleasure of his enticing touches were enough for you to live on. You dove into the melody of his moans and whines; cried out in need as he prolonged your euphoria just a little bit longer; fucked you a little bit deeper; ruined you a little bit further.
In those moments, everything felt as marvelous as it could be.
Before you knew it, those instances had been incorporated to your routine. And, for that, Yoongi was dangerously creative. He would have you the way he wanted it, when he wanted it: he would fuck you mercilessly against the wall, take you in the hot tub at late hours of the night, would accompany you in your showers, making you beg for him with the right movement of his digits and the flick of his tongue.
You loved the way he looked then: his eyes so filled with flames; his breaths so raspy, so deep; his cheeks painted by a vague tinge of cardinal. Droplets of sweat decorated his abdomen and his forehead, shining around his opaque gaze as he took you deeper, rougher, whispering sweet nothings into your ear. “You’re all mine, west beauty,” he moaned out once, voice rotten by desire and certainty. “You take me so well, baby, I love you so much—”
He did, he really did. Yoongi, in all his breathless bliss, could only compare your image to the empyrean, cherubic beauty of angelic sculptures, embellished by the eroticism of forgotten nymphs. He adored the way your body — more specifically, your ass — moved as he fucked you so mercilessly from behind; jumping up and down on the motel bed at the will of his strong thrusts. “You like this, baby?” he asked in a hushed tone, fingers digging to the curvature of your waist. You cried out his name in a clear agreement. “Yeah? You like my cock? You like when I fuck you like this?”
“Yeah, oh my god,” you whimpered, turning your head on the pillow to look at him. God, your mouth was so swollen, you had been biting the pillow so hard you barely noticed it.
But Yoongi did. The dream of decorating such gorgeous, immaculate features — those lust-filled, cherry-painted lips he venerated so much — with the whiteness of his release made him thrust against you even harder. “You feel so good, you’re so tight,” he praised. It had become even more difficult to find the right words to speak now that his high was hanging like sword over his head. “You’re such a good girl, aren’t you? You’re so good.”
“Y-Yeah, Yoongi…” you cried out, hands holding tightly to the pillow as if it was the last fragment of reality that could chain you down to the delicious present of his actions. Your hair was disheveled, spread all over the mattress like a cascade. “Harder, please,” you requested in a whine.
Yoongi moaned again and again, opening his eyes just enough so you could perceive the way his irises shone in absolute concupiscence — he looked like something straight out of a daydream, a tempting demon lurking in the shadows of your desires; from the way his hair was gleaming in droplets sweat to his parted, gasping red lips. “Take it baby,” he said. Ordered. Once again, you did as he said, perking up your hips and feeling as he hit your sweet spot. “Yeah, that’s my girl, come on.”
Fuck, how he loved to have you that. Yoongi could cum just at the mere sensation of your wetness, the way you moaned and cried under his rough touches; fighting to reach your climax as his member thrusted in and out of your soaked center. He was so hard it was almost painful to endure, cock pulsating inside you as his hips slowly started to lose their precision, movements growing erratic, stained by pleasure.
His climax washed over him, breaking upon his cloudy perceptions and erupting on the tip of his tongue in a long, drown-out moan. Yoongi could make a vouch in the name of the stars, in those glorious times of victory and defeat, that you were the closest to heaven he would ever get; the bliss in your eyes could never be comparable to anything else that he had ever witnessed.
There was one detail, though, that needed to be taken in consideration: those had been just your adventures behind four walls, in the confinements of your neon-lit rooms.
Other times, you two wouldn’t even get to the motel, and had to make good use of his car. And that was your favorite time. In all honesty, you did not hate it one bit — in a way, you preferred it over the bed, or any other location he had ever took you.
“You know I can’t hold back when you tease me like this,” Yoongi said once, struggling to park his car in a nearby alley. For all he cared, he could put it right beneath an open semaphore and have you then and there, open and ready for him. He didn’t care if anyone saw it, frankly, it only made his job a bit more fun. “Can you stop with that? Fuck,” he complained.
You smirked, and your hand brushed against his clothed member once again; fingers delicately tracing the outlines of his erection. In his black pants, his cock throbbed in the thought of how you would feel around it, the concept so concupiscent that made him bite his lower lip in sheer desire. There was only so much he could take. “Stop with what?” you teased, clicking your seatbelt in anticipation — the black stripe dragged against your chest, pushing your low-cut blouse slightly to the side.
Lucky for both of you, he wasn’t in the right mental state to play those tempting games, and his head had been utterly focused on finding a right place to camouflage his chevy — the alley ended up being a bit broader than he first thought, so it made his torturous times a bit easier to endure, even if he was growing terribly annoyed at the constant, mocking movements of your hands against his arousal.
To be fair, Yoongi was a patient man, but he had been bothered by your presence far longer than that. Ever since he had seen you get out of the bathroom with that luscious short skirt, your body had been all that he thought about — the repercussion of the bar’s song had turned into white noise inside his skull, the faceless silhouettes of strangers could never compare to the way the fabric moved upwards as you danced, presenting him with appetizing glimpses of your ass in that white lacy underwear.
By the end of the night, when the two of you were departing from that overflowing establishment, he could no longer keep his hands away to himself. Now, Yoongi was patient, but he was no prude when it came to public displays of his desire — his touches lingered from the sides of your breasts to the curvature of your waist; moving down to squeeze your ass as his lips sucked on the flesh of your neck, placing red-bitten caresses all over your skin. The motel was just too far away, and he needed to have you at that very instant.
The second that his car was parked amongst the consolidated shadows of a nearby construction, Yoongi helped you onto his lap, your back towards him, hands moving up and down your exposed thighs, seeking for the cotton of your panties underneath your devilish skirt. With his pulse echoing like thunder inside his head, the boy stared in hidden fascination as he pulled your underwear haphazardly from your center, presenting him with a luscious view of your dripping sex.
Producing a low, satisfied groan, Yoongi took one of his fingers to your entrance, delighting on your wetness. “Won’t you look at that,” he provoked, voice deeper than usual. “It seems like there’s no need for me to play with you tonight.”
You bit down on your lower lip, pressing your ass against his erection as if to prove your unspoken point: you weren’t the only one who had been a bit carried away. But, hell, could someone blame you? The simple hypothesis of being with Yoongi inside his car was enough to send shivers down your spine, the images of past meetings flashing like a projected movie inside your mind. The position and the friction that his car gave you was just perfect, and the thrill of getting caught by oblivious citizens only enhanced your excitement.
Yeah, the motel could wait.
“Lean over, baby,” Yoongi requested in a whisper against your neck, his hands moving upwards on your chest, pressing your tits together. The contact was rough, showing you just how much he needed to have you.
Placing your hands over the wheel, you did as he requested, listening as the sound of his zipper sliced the silence of the closed ambient. All over the rain-covered windows, thin layers of fog covered the outside world, blending with the obfuscous luminescence of nearby signs, bleeding in geranium and sapphire.
As Yoongi pulled down his pants and you heard the sound of plastic filling the air, your voice resumed its speech. “Don’t you want to turn on the radio?” you asked. “I know how much you love fucking me to some good music.”
“I do.” His palms came in contact with your waist, pulling you body back down on his lap. Against your asscheecks, you could feel the touch of his cock, hard and ready for you. “But I love hearing you more,” he completed.
Leaning your head back, you placed it against his right shoulder. Through the curtain of your eyelashes, you watched as he undressed you, opening the buttons of your blouse one by one. “Yoongi,” you called. “You can do this later.”
Light as a feather, his lips came in contact with your exposed neck. “I can,” he agreed, opening the last one. His palms traveled from your stomach to your breasts, cupping them over your bra — the same white lacy underwear that was driving him crazy. You moaned softly at the sensation of his rough touches, your ass perking up against his erect member. “I know I can. But I love when you get like this.”
You swallowed dry. “Like how?”
“Like this.”
As if he had been expecting your inquiry, one of his hands flew to his mirror, and oscillated it towards the two of you. On the reflection, you could see yourself — cheeks flushed, half-parted lips and hooded eyes — and the eroticism that gleamed inside Yoongi’s eyes. You had discovered that he had quite the liking for mirrors when, by mistake, the two of you had received the honeymoon suite of a fancy motel, and ended up with a mirror on the ceiling.
But that was a different story.
“Baby,” Yoongi called you, pressing down on your boobs with a bite against your neck. Against your back, his erection throbbed against your skin, and felt yourself clenching in anticipation. “I’m gonna put it in, alright?”
And you agreed with a hum and raised your figure a bit, because that was all that you could do then.
Yoongi rubbed himself against your wet folds once, twice, feeling their moisture as a deep groan broke behind his teeth. At last, just when you’re about to complain about all the time that he was taking, you feel the lethargic, heavenly sensation of his cock sliding inside you, stretching you out.
Then it was your time to steal the spotlight. With a heavy exhale through your nose and your palms finding support on the wheel, you begun moving your body up and down, dwelling in the aphrodisiac sensation of his member inside you. Some strange way, it felt a bit more personal than your lust-covered mind had foresaw — with Yoongi whining and moaning against your back, inhaling your sweet scent with every slow rise and fall of your figure. Every time your absent-minded gaze flickered towards the small oval mirror, you would see him, with his mouth parted and eyebrows furrowed in absolute focus, accompanying the bouncing of your breasts as your rhythm increased in speed, the sound of your wetness filling his ponderations with lewd ideas.
His digits dug deeper onto your hips as he felt the approaching waves of his high, unexpected and merciless. “Oh yeah,” he moaned out, throwing his head back. Yoongi’s eyes were closed in endless bliss, the sound of his flesh hitting yours repeatedly was all that he could hear. Underneath his thighs, the leather of his car seat was sticking against his sweaty skin. “Take it deeper, baby, come on. Fuck my cock.”
Once again, you could not help but fulfill his request.
As his cock pounded in and out of you, his own breathing was growing heavy under the angelic characteristic of your form; reason long forgotten. “Just like that, yeah,” Yoongi spoke in a whisper. Neediness was plastered all over his face, gleaming inside his irises as they fell to the obscene movements of your body against his. God, you were everything he wished to have at that time; the movement of your hips against his was driving him to the edges of his sanity. “Fuck, you’re so hot, baby, I can’t believe you’re mine,” he disclosed.  
“Yoongi,” you whimpered out his name in a personal prayer, knees and thighs trembling as you felt your delight increasing by the second. Your mind had went completely black, hyperfocusing on the hypnotic, harsh thrusts of his cock in and out of you, the rolling of his hips against your own, fighting for more. The heat in your lower body was becoming unbearable, ready to come crumbling down at any given instant. “It feels so good, I’m—”
He groaned as he felt your walls tightening around him. “Can you come for me, baby?” he asked. The sobs and whines that left your lips were as addictive as nicotine, immersive as the song of a siren; you struggled to blurt out a prolonged, moan-like confirmation. “Yeah? Do that for me, baby.”
Of course you could — for Yoongi, you would go to the moon and back. Euphoria took over your senses as your orgasm washed over you, his name coming out in broken sighs in between your swollen lips, dissipating in the foggy atmosphere of his warm vehicle. Behind you, the man cursed at the way your walls pulsated around him, taking him just right.
Yoongi placed his hands on your ass, squeezing your flesh strongly as you kept sitting up and down on his erect member. The man, utterly overwhelmed, whined against your neck something that resembled the fragmented syllables of your name, his cock filling you up again and again as his limit fastly approached. “I’m gonna come,” he moaned out, throwing his head back against the seat. His abdomen clenched, his lungs produced a trembling exhale. “Fuck, just feel me, baby, come on.”
Even if the ghost of oversentibility had started to haunt your bones, you ignored the exhaustion of you limbs, and continued to fuck yourself with his cock, waiting for Yoongi to reach his high. Instead, you focused on the luscious way that his voice resounded all around you as he thrusted upwards, diving into the astonishing way you wrapped around him.
It did not take long for Yoongi to find his release, holding down to your hips as he did so. With a few terminal, spasmodic movements, he finally came undone, and let go of your figure for an ephemeral second.
Though, you knew that it would take a bit more than that for him to be fully satisfied.
“Look at that, what a mess.” Yoongi chuckled behind you, and his index finger met the path between your folds — you were so sensitive that you leaned forward, placing your hands on the wheel for support. The sound of wetness was lewd, but you loved it, and you loved Yoongi’s touch even more. “So much fucking cum,” he praised, breathless. “You take it all so well.”
Your lips were swollen from both his touch and the constant biting from your part, and they pulsated as you attempted to form a comprehensible sentence — with the afterglow of your orgasm still weighing down on your muscles, and his fingers tracing circles up and down your core, there was not much left for you to work with. “I should…” You swallowed dry, fingers holding tightly to the leather as he moved towards your clit. “I should clean up.”
“Why? We’re not done yet.” He chuckled behind you, the sound reverberating inside your bones; sending shivers down your spine. You knew that devilish tone like it was your second language, it was his way to telling you that the two of you would not be getting any sleep anytime soon. “Let’s get to the motel first.”
Of course, the fun was barely starting.
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However, as much as those first weeks had been incredible, every sea of roses still had its thorns.
There were other, less pleasant times in which his presence wasn’t that perfect. Instances in which strangers at the bar would widen their eyes once they met his, or perhaps would whisper cautiously once your partner was recognized, their previous conversations turning into alarmed whispers, following the same melody as the hissing of water against burning charcoal. Your gut warned that something was wrong, that a piece of the puzzle wasn’t fitting, but you ignored it. Call it love, call it idiocy, even innocence — the point was that Min Yoongi had you at the palm of his hand, and even the biggest of red flags couldn’t wake you up from your enamored fantasies.
Well, at least not yet.
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Hoseok [11:02pm] Hey, where are you? We’re worried, Namjoon said he couldn’t speak to you, and it’s been almost a month since we saw you.
-
You [09:38am] Hey, I’m out of town with a friend. I’m safe, don’t worry about it. Sorry I couldn’t answer sooner.
Hoseok [09:38am] Damn. When are you coming back? We need a to talk about a problem real quick.
You [09:43am] I don’t have a prediction. You’ll guys will have to figure that out without me.
-
With a low hum of approval, Yoongi slided your phone towards you across the white-painted table. “Nice one,” he praised. “Baby steps, I guess.”
You nodded as you inhaled deeply, fingers moving to lock your device again. In the background of the establishment, the ringing that signaled the arrival of another customer ressounded. “I’m really holding back to ask what it is, though,” you said, “what if they’re in trouble?”
He shrugged, clearly not worried at the prospect. His hair, crepuscular as a raven’s feathers, contrasted against the golden luminesce of the afternoon sun that came from the restaurant’s window — in a way, the place reminded you of Mercy’s and, combined with Hoseok’s messages, you only missed your friends further. “You’re not the only person in town. They’ll figure it out,” he spoke as his fingers traced the pink straw of his strawberry milkshake. “Besides, they waited two weeks, it’s probably not that important. Just ignore them.”
Unable to continue staring at the dark screen of your phone — you felt as if it would light up again at any given second — you turned it around, facing your pale yellow cover instead. “You’re probably right.” You sighed. You certainly did not feel as if he was, though. “This feels wrong, I don’t know. I’m not used to saying no to my friends when I know I can help them.”
One of his hands reached out for you, and the warmness of his palm met your own. It was bizarre: his expression did not hold the same amount of heat. “Hey, listen,” Yoongi spoke almost in a whisper as he leaned in closer to you, as if he had been sharing a secret. “I know you’re a very non-confrontational person, alright? I get it. But listen: can you imagine if people didn’t defend themselves ever? Because I don’t know if you’re aware, the world isn’t filled with good intentions.”
You licked your lips, trying to find the words to respond with. There were traces of vanilla stil hiding in your mouth, and the sweetness of it made you nauseated. “I know, Yoongi, but these are my friends,” you responded.
Once such a serene experience, now the mere holding of his gaze felt alien to you. You continuously felt as if you were being analyzed under a microscope, as if you tiniest of actions could be a reason for his disapproval to flourish again. “I know, baby,” he said back, leaning his head slightly to the side. “That doesn’t mean they wouldn’t take advantage of you.”
Your eyes flickered between the world outside and the fathomless expansion of his irises, trying to find a way out of that conversation. You hated when he talked to you like that, like you were a kid. “Your point?” you asked, rather emotionlessly.
He suspired. “My point,” he said, leaning back against his seat. His hand felt like fire against your own, burning your spirit to ashes. “is that there are bad things in the world, and we don’t run away from it. We face it, head high, even if we’re scared shitless, and we tell it to stick it right where the sun doesn’t shine. You can’t allow people to take advantage of you when they are fully aware of their actions, do you understand me? You deserve to value yourself more than that.”
As you were starting to learn, Yoongi had a tendency to monologue about the most tedious of subjects, verbalizing each word as if he was absolutely certain of its veracity — as if you were far too dumb to realize something so obvious. “That isn’t exactly nice of me,” you said.
“You can be nice without being used as a rug.” He took a slip of his milkshake, and it was finally over. Your vanilla drink was practically left untouched, and the ice cream was now a warm, thick liquid at the bottom of your tall cup. “You know that saying, ‘treat others like you’d treat yourself’? Yeah. I think you need to work on the second part, and internalize a little bit of that love towards you every once in a while. They’ll live without their helicopter mother around.”
You chuckled at that last part. His words seemed empty, but you still found yourself leaning towards them — damn smooth talkers. There was no other kind as manipulative as they were. “I’ll try.”
Yoongi smiled openly, victoriously. You had forgotten to look away from the eclipse, and now it was blinding you, muting your senses. “You better,” he verbalized, pushing his empty cup to the side. Every movement was choreographed, every sentence was practiced into a splendiferous delivery — now, the grand finale. “Because, you know, I don’t want you being all walked over by those people. You should, like, just block them at once. I can tell how their messages make you anxious.”
You smiled weakly, attempting to keep your own act together. “Thank you, coach. I don’t think they are, though,” you said. But you didn’t know anymore: Yoongi’s words always made so much sense. How could he be wrong when he was claiming to want the best for you? Your thoughts were a miscellaneous of excuses and torn-apart conversations, flying in circles, pathless and disoriented.
“You’re welcome, west beauty.” He winked at you, then placed the palms of his hands against the table, using it as a sustentation to get up to his feet. Yoongi’s figure, wrapped in that infamous black leather jacket, was now a vortex of twilight amongst a prismatic landscape, sucking all the light in, pouring nothing of it out. “I’ll pay the bill, just a second.”
“Alright.” You nodded, and watched as he walked towards the counter.
That conversation, however, left a sour taste on your mouth, and the faint touch of a bad feeling just at the bottom of your stomach. As if guided by an impulse you could not comprehend, your hands seeked for your phone in a rush of adrenaline. You turned around, and were met by a new cascade of texts from your friend.
-
Hoseok [10:13am] It’s important. You’re with someone from the bar, right? I can’t recall his name rn, but we have to talk.
Hoseok [10:14am] The guy that Joohyun was hooking up with was very alarmed when he found out that you had been seen with him. He’s not good news, I need to know that you’re actually safe.
Hoseok [10:15am] From what I’ve heard, he has fucked some people over, and now he owes them money for some weird job. The guy didn’t know much, but he knew it was bad, blood was spilled and shit.
Hoseok [10:15am] Namjoon heard some dark stuff as well
Hoseok [10:15am] His name’s Yoongi, right? Min Yoongi or something like that
Hoseok [10:16am] Ring me up when you can, alright? Let’s have a talk. I’m worried sick.
-
Your heartbeat increased once your eyes met every new word, fingers growing weak around your phone. It was as if Hoseok’s messages has shaken awake the worries that had been silenced within your chest, chained by the ties of denial. Once your story ended, a few weeks after that day, you would look back at that very instant and, in a bitter memory, would claim that it was when you begun to see beyond the good — and into the bad and the ugly — of who your lover really was.
“Ready to go?” Yoongi’s voice was piercing, making your heart skip a beat. You looked up at him with widened eyes, mouth slightly parted in a way to form words you couldn’t build. You were nervous. He noticed it. “Is everything alright?” he asked, suspicious.
You cleared your throat and placed your phone back in your pocket. “Yeah, sorry,” you said, forcing a timid smile. “Let’s move.”
Later, in an impulsive decision made at two in the morning, you deleted the texts you had received that afternoon. That was what Yoongi would have wanted. He would tell you that he was no longer that man, that you had nothing to worry about. Everything was going to be alright, and he was there to protect you, not hurt you. He would never do something like that. And, for the time being, you would believe in that.
However, as you would soon come to understand, Min Yoongi was a huge, disgusting  fucking liar.
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Trouble started showing up eventually, and your make-believe paradise progressively transformed into inferno.
Every time Yoongi showed you a glimpse of his darker side, you overlooked it. You buried your preoccupations underneath the cold motel sheets, hoping they would never be uncovered, that the monsters underneath the bed would never come back to take what you owed them. However, there was a point that it reached dangerous levels, and you could not pretend as if everything was okay any longer.
It started gradually — minor discussions over stupid matters; bar fights, which caused a bloody nose here and there; stealing; reckless behavior on the wheel. One day he was stealing expensive champagne from local convenience stores, the next he was gifting it to you like it was his very own version of salvation, promising you he had bought it instead.  One day he was pushing you away and, the next, he was holding you tighter than ever before. It was emotionally exhaustive, psychologically torturous, to follow the harsh — sometimes unpremeditated — switches of his personality. You constantly felt like you were walking in a place filled with mines, ready to be exploded at any given second.
There were two occurences, though, in which you truly feared for your life. Moments in which all your excuses, all your justifications, fell flat in face of real threat. There was nothing you could tell yourself that would mask the true nefastus aura that surrounded Yoongi once he got into that wicked state of mind — he was just like any other reckless beast from the east side, and he had no worries for your well being. Whoever that version was, you did not love it.
The first one was at the parking lot of a club.
Yoongi had nurtured the awful habit of, just as the night was starting to get tiresome, he would disappear, claiming he saw someone he knew amongst the crowd or, if he was at the motel with you, you’d wake up in the middle of the night to find him gone. Just like all bad things in life, you managed to get used to it and, after the fifth time that it happened, your sadness had turned into a slight displeasure at the pit of your stomach.
More often than not, he would come back as if nothing had happened, and would not answer any of your questions about where he had been aforetime. That was what you had expected that special night, but neutrality was the last thing you received once he reappeared.
Like usual, Yoongi had vanished to talk to some faceless old friends, and you were waiting for him outside of a booming club. For twenty minutes you stood there, alone, leaning against the cold wall and watching as drunken groups staggered in and out of the booming construction — lovers holding onto one another; friends laughing loudly against the wind; or perhaps loners trying their luck for the night.
At some point, a man joined you outside, claiming he just needed to smoke a cigarette. “Rough night?” he asked.
“Rough month,” you responded, friendly. “I’m waiting for my boyfriend,” you said. If you could even call him that. “He usually takes his time when his drunk.”
He nodded, and continued the conversation. The stranger was particularly nice to you. He kept the dialogue somewhat casual, and maintained a respectful amount of space between your bodies. You were under the impression — which quickly got confirmed — that he only wanted a friend to talk to, and wasn’t trying to get anything else out of you. Comforting, the feeling allowed for you to relax under his presence, and you though, in an instant of bliss, that perhaps the long wait for your boyfriend wouldn’t be so bad.
More often than not, you were incorrect when the subject was Min Yoongi.
He came out of the club like a tornado just at the instant that you were laughing at something the kind stranger had said, and he opened the double doors with a movement far to rough for your liking. There was barely enough time for you to look at him, lips slightly parted in surprise, and to take in the uncharacteristic expression that had overtook his features, barely illuminated by the phosphorescent lights of the construction.
Yoongi was not sober, that you could tell. His posture was a little curved, and his eyes were not as white as you would like — besides, his forthcoming actions worked in the favor of your thesis.
He didn’t take long to jump into conclusions, for his vision and mental processes had been funneled by primordial emotions. “And who the fuck are you?” Yoongi spoke out in a groan, his speech slightly dragged. He looked directly at the other man, and took a step closer. “What is this?”
You swallowed dry, and tried to reach out to him. Next to you, the stranger threw his cigarette on the concrete. “Yoongi, it’s fine,” you said. He pulled away from your grip. “We were just talki—“
Now, Yoongi might not have been the biggest guy around, but he was certainly one of the fastest. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He swiftly walked past you and pushed the man away with all the force he had, stepping in front of you with determination bleeding from his red-tinged eyes. You didn’t know if he was drunk, if he had consumed something else, but, frankly, that was the least of your worries then. “Stop looking at my girl like that, you cunt,” he spat.
Your eyes widened, pulse increasing to a point in which you believed your heart would just give up at any point. Through the anemic clouds of nicotine-painted smoke, you saw as the other man’s gaze faiscated in anger, his hands curling into fists. “Yoongi, he wasn’t—” you started, but it was already too late. The other man’s punch had sliced through the air and hit your boyfriend directly on the nose, sending him to stagger backwards. “Yoongi!” You called out, horrified.
Still, he wouldn’t back away. With the animal gaze that overtook his caliginous eyes, you were absolutely certain he had taken some sort of drugs, for he barely touched the blood on his nostrils before he was charging forward at the stranger; looking as if he had barely felt the impact, even less the pain.
Everything that followed had been saved like a blurry sequence of events inside your head. You could remember Yoongi charging towards the other man, punching him straight in the face with a groan and then, even less than a second later, the stranger had charged against him, throwing the two of them on the asperous concrete. You had no idea how, but Yoongi had been able to throw his weight over the man, and rolled around his figure so he would be on top.
The second that he started throwing constant punches against the other guy, something inside of you screamed that you had to stop that before it was too late — after all, there was no one else around.
With a bravery that did not belong to you, your fingers hooked on the collar of his shirt and, with a force that was moved by your panic, you mustered enough strength to pull Yoongi up by a few centimeters. You were by no means strong enough to take his entire body away from the other man, but the pull seemed sufficient to make him lose his balance. “Stop! The two of you,” you cried out and, with another pull, Yoongi rolled to the side, getting away from him. You took the chance and held your hands out, each of your palms facing a different man. “That’s enough, come on.”
Much to your relief, the kind stranger seemed to agree. “This is bullshit, man.” He spat, staining the concrete with his blood. His face was covered in splashes of purple and red, and the scene was terrifying to witness. As he spoke, blood splattered out of his mouth, covering his teeth in a thin layer of maroon.“You’re fucked up.”
Yoongi breathed out, enraged. “Stay the fuck away from her,” he ordered. You wanted to help the other man just as much, but you were afraid of how Yoongi would react. “I know what pieces of shit like you want.”
The other staggered to get back on his feet and, for an instant, you thought he would fall back down. It was bad — very bad. “Whatever, dude,” he said, his speech slightly groggy. Running the back of his hand against his nose, a thick trail of carmine was imprinted on his skin. He groaned. “You’re fucking crazy.” Then, he locked eyes with you. “You should get out of… whatever the fuck this is. Before it’s too late.”
You swallowed hard, but did not trust your own voice to formulate a sentence in regards to that. “You… should call someone,” was what you said. “It’s not looking good.”
He nodded and, with a mocking grin, mumbled something you didn’t quite catch. You were worried sick for that stranger, but you couldn’t even show it. Next to you, Yoongi’s eyes were burning with the endless flames of his anger, following the silhouette of the man as he turned his back to the two of you and moved closer to the club. “Let’s get outta here,” he whispered, “That guy is coward enough to call the cops on me.”
Unable to think of anything else, you did as he requested, helping him to get back on his feet. Yoongi’s face was by no means as bad as the other guys, but his nose was bleeding and trailing red paths down his face and onto his lips; there were dark purple marks beginning to show around his cheekbones and jaw. His eyes were bloodshot, and you did not have the courage to ask him what was in his system — to be fair, you didn’t even want to know.
The two of you walked across the construction in absolute, sepulchral silence, following the path of your arrival. Yoongi didn’t want to pay for a spot — fifteen bucks an hour was absurd —, so he parked his car in an alley nearby, where he was sure no one would complain. He seemed to have calmed down throughout those transitory instants of quiessence, for even his respiration had taken a much more tranquil rhythm. You though, in a flash of assuagement, that he had come back to his normal, collected state.
Though, it wasn’t the right conclusion.
Before you could even react, you felt his hands holding unflinchingly to your shoulders, forcefully pushing you against the asperous, frigid brick wall of the alleyway. Your eyes widened in a mixture of surprise and horror, watching as his own, blood-colored gaze scrutinized every minor detail on your semblance. Yoongi’s red-stained mouth was curved downwards and his eyebrows were hanging low, twitching lightly as he bit back his fury.
With a hard-bitten groan, he placed a bit more of his weight on you. It didn’t really hurt, but his actions had chilled you to the core. Then and there, you could swear that he was able to murder someone. Perhaps he already did. “Fuck, don’t get in the middle of my shit!” He warned, fingertips digging to your shoulder blades. You could feel as his blood dripped down from his bruised knuckles and onto your exposed skin — the warm liquid seemed like a horrible forewarning. “You want to make me look like I’m a fucking pussy? Is that what you want? You wanna make me look like I can’t take a half-assed beating?”
Overtaken by trepidation, the words seemed to refuse to leave your throat. Your mind had turned into a blank canvas, painted by the scarlet and cimmerian shades of his devastating acrimony. You dream turned into a nightmare right then, paralyzing your members and soul. “No, I didn’t—”
Yoongi grunted. “You know what? Spare me of that bullshit. Doesn’t matter.” He interrupted, pushing you one more time before staggering away from your trembling body, his arms weighing down next to his fast-breathing chest. You were not sure if he was talking about the situation, or you. “Let’s go back. You fucking drive, I’m too wasted for that shit,” he groaned, and threw the keys your way. “If you crash my car, I’ll kill you.”
Which flawlessly ties into the second instance in which you feared for your life. It took place about two weeks later, when Yoongi had changed his mind about the dangers of driving under the influence, and swore he was more than capable to get you two from the bar to your motel.
Then again, Min Yoongi was a liar.
The car ruptured the night like a shooting star, passing by the tall trees in a blur of headlights and worried screams. The mumbling of the motor chilled you to the bone, shaking inside your chest like the drumming of a war; and the sudden swerving of lanes — which happened every time Yoongi saw an upcoming curve — seemed to be the last action that you would ever witness. He maintained the velocity much above the speed limit and, every time you asked him to reduce it, he would raise it even further just to delight in the way your panic increased.
Yoongi looked at the open road like he had been possessed, his unfocused eyes barely seeing something beyond his hooded eyelids. “It’s a highway, not a fuckin’ roller coaster,” he had complained, licking his lips. The car was impregnated with the strong smell of alcohol, and you thought you were going to throw up at any given minute. “Can you stop—“ He burped. “Fuck. Just stop screaming.”
Still, you were in under no condition to be rational. “Yoongi, slow this down!” You cried out in horror, fingers clenching to the leather of the seat. Your nails were already hurting because of how much they were being pressed down against the thick fabric, your heart seemed as if it was about to stop. Next to you, the half-open window sucked out your hair, blowing the dense summer air onto your face at full speed. “How much did you drink?”
You had the impression that the man tried to smirk, but he was too far gone to fully control the muscles on his face. Instead, the corners of his mouth vaguely turned upwards, his expression bordering on the one of a serial killer. “Doesn’t fuckin’ matter,” he told you as his fingers tightened on the wheel. Only one hand was guiding the car, for the other was hanging tightly to the — stolen — beer bottle he had brought along. “Shut up, damn, why are you so loud? Loosen up a bit. Shit.”
The wheel turned and there was a vague scratching of the wheels against the asphalt as he struggled to make a tenuous curve — you could already see the car losing its path and crashing against one of the thick pine trees, killing the two of you instantly.
Yoongi took his bottle to his lips and chugged the rest of it down, not hesitating for one second before throwing it out of his window with a crash you could barely hear. The white lights of the poles flashed over his features like a movie was being projected onto him, presenting you with a person you did not recognize.
“Yoongi, stop this car right now.” You banged your hand against the door, trying to get his attention. The motor groaned as the man pressed down on the gas pedal, making his stance known, and pushing your back against the seat with the new acceleration. Trees were passing by in disfigured blurs of black and brown, and you were sure you were starting to lose blood pressure because of the stress you were under — it wouldn’t be the first time you fainted because of panic. “Oh my god, I’m gonna die.” You cried out, breathless. “Please, Yoongi—“
Yoongi took the back of his hand to clean his stained lips, and then looked at your direction — you didn’t know if his attention on the deserted road would make any difference at that point. When he spoke out, the nauseating smell of alcohol burned down your throat. “As much as I want to right now, I won’t flip this shit over,” he told you with endless annoyance, his eyes filled with a mixture of disgust and petulance. You didn’t know who he was then, and the fright that you felt only increased once you met the eyes of that stranger. “But only if you shut the fuck up. Do that for me, princess, and you won’t have to worry about a thing.”
Even against every nerve in your body, you did as he requested, and bit down on your lower lip. At some point, tears started wetting your cheeks, but you ignored them. Eventually, tough, the car began to slow down.
About ten minutes later, you two arrived at the neon-bathed motel, and Yoongi crashed in bed with a final cascade of curse words and complaints towards you. You only felt relief once you realized he was sound asleep and, even then, you could not rest for the entire night. You were terrified.
The last drop, however, was in the final night you two passed together.
Yoongi had mentioned that one of his old friends was in same town as the two of you, and asked if you would like to accompany him to a local bar, if you wouldn’t feel too left out, since he needed to have a private conversation with the man. As much as the requested was a bit offbeat, you accepted it regardless, for you felt it would’ve been better than to be alone in a small room with poor TV signal, and worries bubbling at the bottom of your stomach. It was better to be with him than to wonder where he was, and that you had learned the hard way.
The two of you arrived there a little past midnight, and were amazed by the slow movement — most of the tables were empty and there were, at most, fifteen other people, staff included, in that secluded ambient. Before you could even mention it, Yoongi briskly excused himself, said that he would be having his “important discussion” for some time, and claimed that under no circumstances were you to interrupt his exchange — unless, of course, it was urgent.
Out of alternatives, you turned to face the shelves decorated with prismatic bottles. As you walked towards the counter, throat arid as a desert, you thought about the night you met him under those auric christmas lights, when he swore he could give you everything and a bit more. Yoongi had made sure to show you — again and again — how your friends had been selfish when they left you behind to fulfill their own objectives, but he was doing precisely the same thing then.  
You were sure he would have a flawless justification hanging just at the tip of his tongue, though, as he always did. Yoongi wasn’t the biggest fan of being held accountable for his mistakes, and he wouldn’t start now.
With a disinterested expression hanging over her features, the purple-haired woman that worked at the bar moved closer to you. She held a piece of grey fabric in one hand and a cup in the other, and didn’t seem as if she was in the mood to make any friends. “What can I get you?” she questioned politely.
You licked your lips and thought for an instant. Behind you, two figures sat down, facing one another. “Just water is good,” you said, “thanks.”
She nodded and moved back to reach for your drink. It arrived much, much earlier than Yoongi did.
You sat there for some time, waiting as the night dragged along; filled by the exhilarated screams of embriagated customers and the constant buzzing of animated conversations. Exhaustion had overtaken your limbs, tingling on your fingertips and ruling over your mind by the time that one hour had gone by — and, with it, five glasses of water and two small trips to the bathroom. Maybe you should have stayed at the motel.
Lamenting the adventures you never got to live, you raised your gaze from the counter, and turned around on your seat. If you adjusted your posture and inclined your neck just enough, you could see Yoongi and another silhouette talking at the corner of the bar, completely immersed in a secretive subject. You thought about asking what it was about, but you were sure he would not share it — Yoongi was a man sustantained by secrets; a petulant monarch sitting in a throne of poorly constructed lies and enigmatic whispers.
Every time you looked at him you would picture a scene: the two of you trying to finish a puzzle, but there’s a piece missing. You don’t know if it’s with you, if you lost it, if you can’t find it. Or if it’s with him. If he’s hiding it from you. In a speck of courage, you would dare to take a look at him, meeting those eyes that are both everything and nothing at the same time. Empty as black holes, full as the brightest star. They push you like waves, then pull like the cold tides. There’s echo e and there’s muffling. There’s him. You don’t know who he is. Then you understand, once again, that the puzzle will not be completed, and you can only guess what that final piece would present. Perhaps one detail would change it all, perhaps it would have been precisely what you had always envisioned. You will never know. He hid it from you during all that time, and you doubted it would ever see the light.
Though, you soon would get an idea of it.
Behind you, a loud cough resounded throughout the establishment. “You saw him right?” One of the men asked, his voice so deep that, for an instant, you thought it was the same guy that bothered you in The Cave, months ago. The story was repeating itself, after all, in the most hypocritical of ways.
But no, you were too far away from home. It wasn’t him, and your friends were nowhere in sight.
The other hummed in concordance. “The Yoongi guy? Yeah. He got here with some chick I didn’t recognize.” He stopped once a sequence of deep, painful coughs ruptured his speech — you did not need to know him to be sure he was a smoker. “Fuck— Not that I expected it would be the same as last time, but ya know.”
“Yeah.” Another long pause. You felt as if your heart was just about to jump out of your chest; your fingertips were sweaty and quivering against the corner of the table. “You think they got him?” he asked.
“Nah. If they did, he wouldn’t be here, he’d be behind bars, where he fuckin’ belongs.” The other laughed. Paused. More coughing. “The guy knows what he’s doing around these streets, it’s not for nothin’ that he’s always on the run.”
The other scoffed at those words — as he spoke, clear traces of jealousy reverberated alongside his voice. “He thinks he’s some hot shit. One of these days we’ll find him dead in a ditch.”  Then, a chuckle. “Can’t say that I’ll miss him. He’s bad news. I feel sorry for the girl he dragged into this. I wonder if she knows.”
“She doesn’t, they never do. For sure. She should get the hell out befo—”
But you weren’t listening any longer. That had been the last drop.
In an impetuous wave of anguish and betrayal, you got out of your seat and looked around to find him. He, who had played you so effortlessly; he, who had completely ruined you with his omissions and imprudent actions. Negligence personified; hypocrisy in flesh. Min Yoongi, in his natural inhabitant.   
The man was the personification of Crystalfall — oscillating between the wickedness of the east and the utopian, artificial benevolence of the west side. You had been a fool to believe he was merely switching between extremes: Yoongi was both of them at the same time, and there was no way that you could have a touch of paradise unless you were ready to face the flames of hell.
You were not. Would never be.
Amongst the crowd, you saw him. Yoongi seemed to be in a heated discussion, speaking fervently with another man — his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth verbalizing poisonous words, head shaking to present his full frustration to the stranger. You wondered as he would punch him too if things got out of control; wondered if he would do something even worse. If one day you thought you knew Yoongi, that certainty had been too far for you to reach.
The other man ran one hand through his curly hair as you walked closer to them, disheveling his pale blonde strands with an anguished groan. He had deep violaceous marks under his eyes and, amongst the freckles on his skin, there was the obvious white line of a fresh scar. “All I’m saying, man, is that you have to get the fuck out,” he spoke with urgency, the same sentiment that gleaned inside his wide hazel eyes. Preoccupation fell like a stone at the pit of your stomach. “They know where you are, and they’re not being throw in prison for what yo—“
Yoongi saw you before he could finish. “—Hey, baby.” He cleared his throat, eyes darting to the man on his side. You knew him well to know that he was ordering the other to shut up before things got worse. “You’re good?”
Reluctant, you took an instant before responding — the stranger looked at you with cautious eyes, measuring your presence. You felt threatened by his rough posture, as if he could jump on you at any given instant. “I’m sorry to interrupt. It’s urgent.” You looked back at Yoongi with hollow irises, chest completely overwhelmed by a mixture of panic and disgust. “I heard some things about you and I… I wanted to talk.”
He opened his lips to respond, then seemed to take an instant to organize his thoughts — you could tell that he knew what it was about; the truth would be uncovered sooner or later, and it was time for him to pay his debt.
Yoongi sighed deeply. “Come on, baby,” he motioned with his head towards the exit. Beyond the wooden entrance, the night was darker than ever; merciless and algid. “Let’s continue this somewhere else.”  
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The outside of the bar reminded you of the night you met him, the promise you made to meet him again. You should have never accepted his date proposal, you thought in a glimmer of betrayal and disgust, you should have listened to your gut and never got close to that awful place.
With heavy eyelids, you blinked lethargically, barely feeling the comfortable warmth of Yoongi’s hand at the bottom of your spine as he walked you out of the establishment. You were tired, and had been for as long as you could recall. That memory could trail back to a couple of weeks or a plethora of insomnia-filled days ― not even that certainty you could rearrange. Then again, exhaustion was a paradox of itself: you were too fatigued to even care. You just wanted to sleep. Everything else could burn to the ground, for as much as you cared.
Well, everything else but the reason why the two of you had left so suddenly.
Even turning your head seemed like a huge task ― so, as you spoke, you did not. You proceeded to look straight ahead, underneath heavy lids, waiting for his car to mysteriously materialize into focus as you two walked down the relinquished streets.“Yoongi,” you called out, “you have to tell me what’s going on. You keep protecting your secrets, I don’t know who you are anymore.”
He chuckled as if he had been expecting that inquiry for quite some time. His hand trailed the invisible path from your back to your shoulders. You had started to despise when he touched you there. “I’m not protecting my secrets,” he guaranteed, “I’m protecting you.”
You took a deep breath, measuring his expression — where you once saw everything, now there was nothing to be found amongst the traces of his celestial features. Yoongi was completely hollow on the inside. “And why the hell would you do that?” bitterness countered your speech as you spoke out.
Yoongi crooked his head to the side, looking at you with endless adoration. There was an instant, mercurial and tenuous as the midnight breeze, in which you actually considered that such emotion could be genuine. Though, as he spoke out, his voice came out with no inflection, no sign of it. He was a liar, as you were starting to figure out, but a bad one regardless. “Because I love you, west beauty,” he confessed.
But you didn’t believe that. If Yoongi had told you that before everything else — the reckless driving, the stealing, the violence — you were sure you would have been head over heels for him, convincing yourself that he was your soulmate, the one you were supposed to be with forevermore. You were naive then, but now… now you were just tired. “You don’t mean it,” you said.
He was unaffected by your words. “I do.”  His hand caressed your cheek, and you fought back the need to pull away — so, instead, you just looked to the side, trying to ignore the warm poison that dropped through his touch. Everything felt so fake now, so calculated. “Hey, look at me,” Yoongi requested.
“What?” You did as he asked. Looking into the depthness of his pupils, you thought, even if for an instant, that he could see your soul projected at the bottom of your irises — naked, stripped of pride. It felt pleasantly awful; horribly intimate. It was natural, in the oddest way imaginable. Yoongi knew who you were, but you could not say the same about him. “What are you looking at?” you whispered. His other hand moved to your cheek, then placed a string of hair behind your ear. “You,” he replied, now cupping your face.
You took a split second to examine his face. Yoongi’s eyes were obscure — tenebrous as the night sky, fathomless as the secrets that echoed within his head. When you looked at him, there was nothing but his  piercing gaze; no sound but the harmony of his low, whisper-like timbre. You were completely trapped by the event horizon of his venom-filled aura, held hostage by the tranquility of his hand against your skin. His gravity was too strong. You were being sucked in. You inhaled deeply, trying your very best to organize the catastrophe of your hurricane-like ponderations. “You always stare at me, you know that?” He pouted, leaning his head slightly to the side. “Is there a problem with that?” You did not respond, for you could not find an answer. “Do you even realize you’re doing that?” Yoongi smiled. “Do you even realize how gorgeous you are?” he threw back within a heartbeat.
In the rapid instant that took you to digest the depthness of his words, your mouth hung low. In the following second, you were pulling yourself together. “Of course, I’m a catch,” you joked, unable to take that unforeseen complement. You were never the best when it came to that, so irony was quite often the miraculous escape you went for. “You’re lucky to have me.”
But were you lucky to have him? It surely didn’t feel like it.
However, Yoongi’s words left his plump lips with every ounce of honesty he could possibly arrange, “Yes,” he whispered lackadaisically, leaning in. “Yes, I am.”
Before you could verbalize the thousands of sentences that bolted throughout your mind, every conceptualization ― no matter how big or small ― dispersed into white noise. Your lips touched and, for a moment, you swore you could taste the stardust that melted at the corner of Yoongi’s lips; the constellations that were built and destroyed by the low, feather-like sigh that reverberated against your mouth. The pressure of his kiss was not prolonged, but ephemeral ― and, just are you were starting to melt under its touch, he pulled away.
When you looked back at him, you suddenly did not recognize him anymore. You had to say that it was one of the most terrifying, mind-bending experiences to look someone in the eye and realize, like a thunder that ruptures the skyline, that their semblance had switched into a persona you could not comprehend. Yoongi’s eyes were empty, devoid of any feeling he had presented previously. Abruptly, he was the same man that drove his car so recklessly; the same that would overstep his alcohol consumption; that would take drugs, steal, and push you against a cold brick wall in a fit of jealous anger.
That self-destructing man coexisted alongside the one you had fallen for, and you couldn’t tell who was about to take the lead. “Let’s go back to the motel, alright?” He requested, placing his hand on your lower back once again. “We should have a talk.”
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As you would soon discover, that conversation was nothing but the calm before the storm.
No one told you that the cupid’s arrow could hurt so much — that the piercing of your skin wasn’t desired, but an endless anguish to, perhaps, have your chance at a delightful love story. No one told you there could come a time in which you would repudiate it, and the anguish you would feel when pulling it off could be even worse than the way it hurt you aforetime.
Still, you were about to find out that falling out of love what much more difficult than it seemed.
The bedroom door closed behind you with a dry clicking sound and, for a moment, it was the only perturbation that filled the consolidated atmosphere of that motel room. At first, none of you turned on any lights, so the only source of illumination come from the outside neon signs — it came in stripes, casting their lines of turquoise and violaceous over the messy bed. Yoongi never ordered room service, he said it spoiled his privacy.  
“What was that about?” your voice resonated in the darkness, hesitant and rotten by agitation. At first, it found no answer.
Yoongi walked towards the bed with his head hung low, paying more attention to the motion of his feet against the pale pink carpet than the anguish that blossomed inside your chest. “Nothing,” he spoke in a mumble.
You took a step in his direction. “Yoongi,” you called again, this time more desperate. You were so tired of his secrets, of his half-assed excuses. “Stop it. Tell me what’s going on.”
He scoffed at the impatience that permeated your words, finding your nervousness to be a bit pathetic. In his mind, it wasn’t as if telling you something would make any difference at that point — it was still his cross to carry. “I owe money to some guys. Sue me.”
Upon hearing that forsaken confession, the clouds of anguish that circumnavigated your head exploded into nothingness — then, into outrage. Bitterness hung at the tip of your tongue, dripping out like a serpent’s venom in between your syllables. “Yoongi, you need to tell me what in the hell is happening.” You walked closer to him with heavy steps, even if they got muffled against the fluffy ground. “We can work on this together.”
Mercurial, the man moved around the room as if he already had his every act perfectly architectured — just like the night you met him. One second, he was standing by the bed and, in the next, he was getting on his knees and pulling his large backpack from under it. “We can’t. Not this time.”
“What do you mean? Why are you getting that?” the questions continued to pour out of your lips, even if you already knew what his answer would be. You were not half as naive as he thought you were: you just needed to hear it from his mouth. Closure what the minimum he could give you. “Yoongi? Talk to me, I’m not asking anymore.”
The man stood up with a long groan, and threw the object over the bed — it bounced twice, sliced by the phosphorescent lights from the outside. “God damn it, I—” He ran his hands through his hair, pulling at the roots. If you hadn’t been so monopolized by frustration, perhaps you would have been a bit more cautious at the words that you threw his way — after all, Yoongi had showed you countless times that he wasn’t the king of mature decisions. “I have to leave.”
Another step closer, and now you were right besides him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
He threw himself on the mattress, shoulders falling in defeat. You couldn’t read his expression, it laid somewhere melancholy and disgust — not much different from your night at the highway. “I can’t stay anywhere around here, and I can’t take my car either,” Yoongi explained a bit further now, taking his time to measure his erratic words before they left the captive of his chest. “I have no money to pay them back. Not the amount they want, at least.”
You suspired, and sat down next to him, fingers interlaced over your lap. “So?” you voice came soft, in a whisper.“We can get more time.”
“This was my extra time.” He snickered, sarcastic; gaze lost on the thin blue lines that casted its brilliance over his fingertips — his knuckles were forever marked by bruises, decorated by marks of his past fights. Perhaps those scars had been there the night that you met him, you just never noticed. “In case you didn’t get it, I’m in no place to bargain. If I stay, they’ll murder me, or sell my organs in the black market so I can pay for what I owe them. Simple as that.”
You licked your lips. “Maybe we could—”
“—We couldn’t do anything. You’re annoying the hell out of me with all of these questions,” he interrupted, absentminded. Every time he got detached in such abrupt manner, you knew he was trying his best to control his anger.
Yet, you were in no position to care about his feelings at that point. “Yoongi,” his name came out weakly in between your lips and, for an instant, you asked yourself if you had even vocalized it at all, “look at me.”
He blinked lethargically and did as you requested. “What’s wrong?”
What was wrong is that you had made the mistake of thinking that he could change if you loved him hard enough, but that was clearly not the case. There was something sparking inside his clouded, luciferine eyes that told you everything you needed to know — he held no regrets. He was mad at getting caught, not at his past actions. “Tell me something. And don’t lie to me.” You placed your hand on his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin underneath of palm. “What did you use the money for?”
Then, he did precisely what you expected he would: he lied through his fucking teeth. Yoongi got the checklist of his poor acting skills and crossed out everything that gave it away — the oscillation of his gaze towards the left, the flaring of his nostrils, and the licking of his chapped lips followed by a dry swallow. You knew him too well, you were no longer buying that cheap mask he used.
“It wasn’t anything illegal,” he verbalized with artificial tranquility, even if you could tell from the inflections on his timbre that he was, in fact, extremely bothered by your interrogation. “I was paying my friend’s rent. He was short… for the past six months. He was going to be kicked out.”
Liar. Min Yoongi was a fucking liar. You just needed one simple question to break the false placidity of his tone, and you could move on from there with much more facility — lucky for you, you knew exactly what would work.
“Why can’t you call the police?” You inquired, forging innocence.
Bingo.  
He raised his hands in a mocking prayer, looking up at the ceiling. “Why can’t I— because!” Yoongi exclaimed, his voice bordering on a scream. Once again, his demeanor switched faster than you could follow. “Fuck, don’t you understand? This money is dirty, this is from stealing and murdering, not honest work in a fucking farm. If the cops knew I was aware of that, which I’m sure they will figure out, I’ll go to jail. I’m guilty by association.”
Then you saw it: something else flickering inside his irises, perhaps a hint of guilt — not because of his past actions, but because of his current one. Yoongi was lying by omission. “That isn’t everything, is it?” You asked him, eyes narrowing for a millisecond. You were trying your best to keep your expression under control so he wouldn’t feel as if you were judging him — which you were, and rightfully so. “Did you do something else, Yoongi?”
Yoongi was delicate — but not the same manner that a butterfly is, or maybe a torn-apart flower. He was delicate as a missile, ready to detonate at any given second. And, at that instant, you had pushed the big red button. “We have to do what we can to survive, alright? It’s not the time for miss perfection to come out and judge a reality she doesn’t understand.” He threw at you, getting back to his feet. You had never seen him like that, so rough, so defensive. “I might have some blood on my hands, I might not, it doesn’t matter now. There’s nothing you can do about it, so it’s better if you don’t even know. I’m not that person anymore.”
Bullshit.
You inhaled profoundly. “If you just let me speak—”
“—There’s nothing to be said. Deal with it,” he interrupted, pointing at something behind you. “Hand me that shirt, do something useful for once.”
With a sigh, you did as he requested, even if you preference would be to choke him with that old, stained piece of fabric. “You’re just gonna leave me behind, I assume,” you spoke out with patience, teasing your way into every new word with endless nausea. After all that had happened, you didn’t know if you wanted to be around him anymore.
“Yeah, sorry about that. Shit got out of my control.” Yoongi ran one hand through his raven hair, disheveling it a bit further. He seemed to be thinking a billion things at the same time, for his speech came out in a wave of rapid words, barely any connection between them. Amongst the darkness of that motel room, he looked like a frenzied demon looking for another soul to feed off from; since, apparently, he had gotten tired of playing with yours. “By the way, before I forget, I need you to get my car and leave it by the bar we met. I’ll ask a friend to pick it up, and you can get a cab nearby.”
But you didn’t care about any of that — fuck, you might even set that piece of shit car on fire if Yoongi continued with that damn attitude. “When are you going?” you asked instead.
He cleared his throat, shoving his clothes into his backpack. “Tomorrow morning, the earlier bus they got.”
With a suspire, you got back to your feet, looking down on him. “Which is?”
“Old Mountain, 5:15am,” he responded. “I already checked and bought my ticket, don’t worry about it.”
“Of course you did.” You chuckled, humorless. Your chest was utterly empty, devoid of any sort of emotion, and your eyes had started to burn under a thin curtain of tears — you would break down at any given second now. “Before you went out to meet with your friend and decided I was a boring game all along, I assume. Something else you forgot to tell me? Maybe how I’m completely worthless for you?”
Yoongi groaned, allowing for his inner infuriated to drip past his lips. “Oh my god, can’t you shut up for one damn second? Let me think.” He placed one hand on the bridge of his nose, trying to figure out if there was something else he needed to do. “Fuck, I don’t have to tell you everything. Learn how to respect people. I didn’t think I’d be the one to teach you that.”
Oh, that was just rich. Talk about reaching limits — you had just flung yourself over yours.
“No, I cannot shut up, you fucking megalomaniac asshole,” you spat out ― shock value long forgotten. For an instant, you couldn’t recognize the roughness within your own voice, nor the way it curled around you like thorns, piercing your skin with gushes of adrenaline. You had been bottling up your emotions for too long now. “You were the one preaching for weeks about how I should stand up for myself, and now that I do, you’re telling me to quiet down? You’re full of bullshit, do you know that?”
Yoongi looked up to meet your gaze, slightly flabbergasted. Something told you that he didn’t expect you to throw the same rudeness back to him, and he didn’t appreciate it in the slightest. “You know that’s not what I fu—”
You rolled your eyes. “Whatever, I don’t give a fuck what you meant,” you threw back, chest bubbling up with fury. “So you can get your bag ready, and I can get mine, and we can both pretend as if we don’t mean anything to one another tomorrow. Seems alright?”
His eyebrows moved together, forming a frown. You hated how he was the one pretending to look so confused, when you were the one who had been taken away from the truth. “Baby, I don’t—”
You took a step towards the man that you once loved, moved by an anger that did not belong to you. “Don’t fucking call me that, you selfish little prick.”
Yoongi stood up from the bed, his fists clenching — regardless, you could see it in his eyes that his demeanor was vacillating, uncertain how to deal with your explosiveness. But of course he did not want that: he wanted you to be quiet, for you to be agreeable. He wanted you to feel bad for your empathy, to focus on the love that — supposedly — you could only get from him. Yoongi wanted you at the palm of his hand, and he didn’t want you to talk back. “What the hell do you want from me, you crazy b—”
Then, something broke inside of you.
Like a switch had been turned on in your mind, you recalled every horrible experience you had by his side — the drunk driving, the pointless discussion and violence, the emotional manipulation. You had never been important to him. He didn’t care. He didn’t love you — if he did, he would have never placed your life on the line, he would have never blamed your kindness for the evils of the world. Yoongi despised your altruism because he wanted you to normalize his nightmarish behavior, so you could think that, perhaps, it had been your fault for being too sensitive.
When, all that time, it has been his fault for being corroded by egoism; reckless, and self-destructive. Min Yoongi was drowning in his own sins, and he was pulling you down to the bottom with him by convincing you that you couldn’t swim.
“—Fuck you, Min Yoongi!” you almost screamed, tears accumulating at the corners of your eyes. For an instant, the man remembered your first night together, the diamond-like droplets that came from Crystalfall. “Fuck you for making me believe you were different, that you actually cared about me. Fuck you for using me, for taking advantage of who I am. You have no right to do all of this to me and then just drop me like I’m nothing, alright?” Your hands curled into fists, and you pushed them against his chest. You wanted to punch him until his rib cage caved in, and you could take his heart in your hands so you could see if it ever even liked you — if it could even beat at all. “You’re just like the people you criticize, you hypocritical son of a bitch. You can’t keep your fucking word!”
Yoongi raised his hands in a quiet surrender, trying to stop the advances of your punches. “YN, please listen—”
“You fucking listen!” You cried out, the last word morphing into a frail whine as his fingers curled around your wrists, pausing your movements mid-air. You were too exhausted to fight, and he was using no force to keep you still — he didn’t need to. “You can’t pay back the money you got, you can’t keep your fucking word to me, you can’t do shit. You’ve been lying to me since day one, haven’t you? You’re playing with me. All this t-time, yo-you’ve—” hiccups interrupted your speech, “Fuck!” you exclaimed, and pulled away, turning your back from him.
In an explosion of anguish that was utterly alien to you, you acted out in sheer despair. The closest object to you got the tides of your anger thrown directly at it, and, with a strong motion, you hit it with all the force you had stored in your bones. The lamp shattered against the wall with a loud exclamation, and it was the final dot your argument needed. The room withered into silence instantaneously, Yoongi’s limbs were frozen in time. Seems like both of you changed through your little adventure — weeks before you had ever met him, the mere idea of damaging property was outrageous for you.
Now, it was nothing but a shattered lightbulb, and pieces of old wood all over an ugly pink carpet. How poetic.
You sniffed. “Don’t worry about it. I have the money to pay,” you told him, voice bordering on a mumble. The flame of anger that had been motivating your speech was completely gone then, leaving behind a trail of white smoke and regretful decisions. You had never felt that empty in your entire life. “I don’t owe shit to anyone.”
The motel room was static for a breviloquent period, filled only by the constant blowfly-like sound of the fluorescent lights flickering over your head. You wished you could turn back time, that you could warn your former self to jump off that sinking ship before it trapped you beneath tempestuous seas, making you unable to breathe. You wished to tell yourself that Yoongi’s kiss tasted like a storm because he hid hurricanes behind his cool facade; that his touch was catastrophe personified, destined to break you down into utter pandemonium.
But you couldn’t. You could only fix your world from that point forward.
Your breath was caught in your throat as you felt his arms curling around your waist, pulling you into a tender hug. His chest, rising and falling rapidly, met your back promptly, Yoongi’s hair fell over your clavicles as he leaned his forehead against your shoulder. Some part of your foggy mind warned that he wasn’t trying to calm you down, but to make sure you would not leave him behind then.
“Yoongi, don’t—” You choked on your own speech. Your throat was dry, your nose was clogged. Nothing was right anymore, and his touch felt like it emanated venom. You wanted him gone, you wanted his atrocious touch far away from where it could corrode you. “Please, don't hug me, I can’t deal with this right now.”
“I’m so sorry,” he spoke against the curvature of your neck, his voice coming out muffled and weak against your skin. You could feel him his cheeks getting wet by crocodile his tears, but you could no longer buy any second of his pathetic little act. Every emotion you ever had towards him had been replaced by utter disgust; and every emotion he ever swore to have towards you had morphed into the nothingness he truly felt. “I can’t believe I did this to you.”
Until the last instant, he would play the victim. That wasn’t his story to tell. “You’ve ruined me, Min Yoongi,” your voice came out firm, like an order; a certainty. There was nothing more that he could take away from you, for all that was left was the same merciless willpower that he had once swore to uncover; the lack of compassion he so desired to achieve. You would not bend. Not for him.
“I know, baby, I know,” he whispered and squeezed you tighter in that fake hug —  but his timbre already too far away for you to listen, his touches were shallow and his arms felt like snakes getting ready to suffocate you. It didn’t matter anymore. “I’m so sorry, please, forgive me— baby, I’m so sorry.”
And, for the first time since you’ve met the human-shaped catastrophe that was Min Yoongi, you didn’t have to look at him to know that he was lying.
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You [04:23am] hey, hobi. sorry I’m messaging you rn, I can’t sleep
You [04:23am] there’s a lot in my mind
You [04:23am] i’m coming back home, alright? tomorrow
You [04:24am] tell the others to meet me at mercy’s, 3pm.
You [04:24am] i have a lot of stories to tell
-
You [04:56am] i miss you guys
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When you would start to think about how much your soul has changed through it all, you used no words — but an image. You would think of an empty, cerulean-bathed cave, with cold, frozen waters and sharp stalactites. You’d think of an ongoing, periodic sound of something dripping, and the upcoming darkness of the corners you could never see. You would think of gelid emptiness, of deprivation and misery; of crystals made of ice, and of touches of white and blue. You would envision a place that dances between the omnipotent trepidation and the enchanting beauty; a place that is awfully human, yet remarkably devoid of any sort of compassion.
You fell in love with Min Yoongi — or, rather, who you thought he was. You feel in love with a man that was kind and loving, you held your hand as you were about to fall asleep, who caressed your hair as the morning sun slipped past the cracks on the curtains. You fell for the man you had seen at the bar, who took you to witness the beauty of Crystalfall, who promised a world in which the two of you could reign supreme. A man that would ask you to scream on a desert road so you could scare away your demons, not a man that would, instead, yell at you into submission, and shape you into a person you could never be.
You surely did not fall for who he really was. Never in your life would you love someone who put your own line so selfishly on the line, driving embriagated, refusing to slow down even if you begged for him to do so. You could never love someone that was so filled by jealousy that a mere talk with a stranger was seen as a threat; you would never find alluring the way he slowly pulled you away from your friends, convincing you that they weren’t good enough — no, they were far from perfect, but they would never do what he did to you. They would never ruin you, would never leave you behind to rot from the inside out.
When you were to come back to Crystalfall, you were sure they would be there for you, and Yoongi would be far, far away.
The previous night was spent with open eyes and fast-beating hearts. After Yoongi’s terrible attempt at an apology, you removed yourself from the room with a half-assed excuse, and said that you would come back later to help him pack — which you never did. In a state that laid between grief and indignation, you sat down outside, hugged your knees, and forced yourself to look at the neon lights of the motel’s hot tub, trying your best to find the answers you could never reach.
And, for the rest of the night, there you stayed.
You had been expecting for the monsters underneath your bed to crawl out of the shadows and take you down to a place in which demons could torture you forevermore, but you never considered the fact that, perhaps, the real monster had been by your side all along, toying with your emotions and sending you to the edges of panic. Once, you had compared Yoongi to the moon, but forgot to bring up his dark side — the piece of nothingness that could not be illuminated even by the brightest of stars.
You had been naive to compare him to anything but a black hole.
Yes, he had been raised in hell, had walked through a life of crime and was presented only with the worst that life could offer. But until which point could his past excuse his present? You had chewed on on that question for days on end, but still could not find a proper response to it. Some of your thoughts were utterly condemning, saying that it was all on him to blame; while another part of you leaned towards the other extreme, claiming he was merely a product of his twisted story, and needed just a bit of kindness to change his ways. You were sure the answer laid somewhere in the middle, even if you doubted you could ever fully discover it someday. If Yoongi had not passed through all of that, would he be any better? Perhaps he would have been worse? You could never tell. All you knew is that he would not be the one you met that somber night at The Cave, and certainly not the one you had fallen in love with. And those were the positive memories you chose to carry along with you at the day of his departure. You had not fallen in love with the man you drove to the bus station, all covered in blood stains and scars, with deep puddles of purple underneath his tired eyes, but the kind, charismatic man that had took you to the waterfall, who had adored you as if you were his own masterpiece.
You did not fall for a monster, and it wasn’t your fault that he changed into one.
“You have everything you need?” your voice came out soft as you spoke, stained by melancholy. Next to you in that claustrophobic car, Yoongi nodded slowly, his hair contrasting against the foggy, rain-encrusted windows. “Okay. Let’s move before you miss your bus.”
Just like the night before, that morning progressed in a quiet, phlegmatic blur of heavy hearts and discombobulated thoughts — from the instant you two took his bags from the truck of the car, to the very instant Yoongi checked his ticked one last time, pointing at the bus he was supposed to catch. Through all, you were trying to keep yourself together: you could cry later in the car, or maybe in the arms of your friends, but not then. Not in front of him. Not when you swore that your dignity would be the one thing left standing after he had ruined everything else.
You would survive. It was not the first time that someone believed that the world was about to reach for a catastrophe far too big for it to handle, only to continue living through the ashes and the smoke. Vivacity would come again — with someone else, somewhere else. Kinder times are always waiting ahead.
As he involved you in a warm hug, you felt your soul cracking. You knew, at some level, that the two of you were never meant for do or die: you could never last. “Goodbye, Yoongi,” you verbalized those words with care, paying attention to the sour taste that they left on your tongue. It wasn’t just a farewell, it was a promise to the stars. “Take care of yourself.”
Yoongi held you into that hug for a little bit longer. What once felt like a comforting touch, was now suffocating you into a reality you were not meant to face. “Goodbye,” he whispered back as he pulled away, then took a step behind. For a moment, there was only the low humming of the bus’ motor reverberating in between your bodies. “Let’s meet again someday.”
“Definitely.” You nodded. But you knew you wouldn’t — the two of you were toxic for one another, and some things were better left in the past. That, at least, was what you hoped would happen.
He placed his right foot on the first step of the bus, then turned back to look at you. Yoongi’s eyes were overflowing with despondency, and you were certain, even if for a mere, short-lived second, that he was going to cry. “I love you, west beauty.” The man spoke with endless calm, yet profound adoration. It was the last time he had ever said that to you. Perhaps the last one ever. “Stay out of trouble, alright? You deserve a better life than whatever I had to offer you.”
You hesitated for an instant — those words, once so inviting, now crashed like cold water against your skin. Fyodor Dostoevsky once wrote that “being in love doesn’t mean loving”, and that had been the sentence that was echoing in your mind ever since Yoongi told you he would leave. You were in love with him, absolutely and wholeheartedly, but you could not love him. You barely knew him, he was a stranger from the east, a formless shadow filled with acrid demons. If that was love, you didn’t want to be loved.
“I love you too, Yoongi,” you lied — you could do that so effortlessly now, and you knew that he was the one to blame. “Will you come back to visit me someday?”
He simply nodded, uncertain. He couldn’t promise that, and both of you knew that very well. It was for the best if he didn’t.
Just as quickly as Min Yoongi came into your life, he departed from it, crossing the midnight sky like a comet; leaving only a diaphanous trail of ice behind. One second he was there, looking at you against the cadaveric luminesce of the cloudy sky, and on the next instant he was turning his head and walking up the steps of that old bus, leaving you behind like your story never held any sort of significance. Maybe it didn’t — not for him.
The doors closed soon after, and you stepped away. The bus was a pale blue shade, a pale blue feeling; its motor’s purrs resonaning alongside the raindrops that started to pierce the skyline. Completely numbed by his departure, you could only watch as the vehicle trailed away with a loud vibration, grey clouds of smoke exploding in thin exhales on its back. The smell of burning gasoline was strong and merciless, and it felt as poisonous as the sentiment that begun blossoming at the basis of your throat.
With a final inhale, you turned your back to the man you once fell in love with, and started following your own path.
Your story began the same way it ended: with a poorly thought-out decision, and a promise of better days. For the lack of a better definition, Min Yoongi, in all of his despondent and reckless glory, became your event horizon.
And, once you crossed it, there was nothing left of who you once were.
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roominthecastle · 6 years
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Okay but Sting’s Desert Rosé... I am officially fixated on this one
bc Cheers!!!!
bc I’m almost sure it’s Michael’s handiwork. He has the ability to construct such things + a history of hiding puns in them, e.g. “Strangers Under the Train” & “Bend It Like Bentham” can be spotted in the background in his trolley problem simulation (TPS)) + Janet doesn’t leave the tape room
bc it specifies that the bar serving as a framework for this (forbidden) meeting w/ Eleanor is named after Sting’s Desert Rose which Sting described as a song of romantic-sexual longing placed within a larger philosophical context - “romantic love as an analog for the greater love of God” [x] and thus redemption (see the “Redeem Yourself” poster on the wall by the door).
Now overthinking/reading into things is my forte, and that’s exactly what’s happening behind the cut, so beware:
The puns in Michael’s TPS have direct relevance not only to the “practical nature” of the simulation at hand (strangers are literally under the trolley as they keep mowing them down amidst spurting blood and flying body chunks that “curiously” only hit poor Chidi despite Eleanor’s close proximity), but also cleverly hint at Michael’s own feelings on the issue that won’t get revealed until later. Bentham’s famous “greatest-happiness principle” governs his actions when he chooses to sacrifice himself to give Eleanor & the others a chance to secure passage to the real Good Place where eternal happiness awaits. He “bends it like Bentham”.
IF we can take TPS as precedent (and that’s a big if, I know, but it’s fun), then Sting’s Desert Rosé is also likely to be more than just a simple pun. Then it is both relevant to the practicalities of the situation at hand (it is a bar that serves wine) and to feelings which have not been articulated yet and will come into play later. Michael’s solution to the trolley problem (self-sacrifice) develops silently and remains in the background until a situation demands its disclosure. The implication of Sting’s Desert Rosé is a feeling of deep longing for the love of a woman and even that of a higher being (God) - a painful desire to return to the “good place” (or the “pre-fall” condition).
Michael is already invested in how Eleanor sees him and he also wished to follow them to the real Good Place, but since he is still a demon, gaining both her & (the show’s version of) God’s love (=entry) must feel like a long shot at best. I think he became painfully aware of this as a result of those ethics lessons and his billion failed attempts to sneak into the Good Place. All this likely informed his trolley problem solution, too. Being made aware of how fundamentally disqualified he is hasn’t enabled him to change it, it just made him feel miserable since the longing is still there, a longing no other “sane” demon has. Yet it doesn’t stop him from trying to help the others, which makes me wanna wrap him in an eternal hug.
If we look at the lyrics and compare/contrast them w/ the show, several thematic similarities emerge. (ofc these could be entirely accidental and/or irrelevant, but they are still there, imo)
“I am looking for myself and my loved one”
The Algerian Arabic intro (which sounds almost like a prayer) sums up Michael’s journey of discovering what it means/feels to be human. Such a journey inevitably involves the pains & pleasures of choice, of identity forging, and the experience of love (returned or otherwise). Janet started out as an anthropomorphized mainframe and now, after a social “evolution” induced by environment interacting w/ some unique “susceptibility”, she is questioning what/who she is. Michael is in the same boat: he started out as an office drone demon but that’s not quite what/who he is anymore. Both were obedient workers “pre-programmed” to serve but now they make their own paths separate from their kind. They threw out the rulebook and are actively choosing the recipients of their devotion, even when those recipients can no longer remember them.
“I dream of love as time runs through my hand those dreams are tied to a horse that will never tire My life is for you”
Janet gravitates toward Jason and Michael toward Eleanor in particular. They have to let them go at the end of S2 as another round of experiment kicks off, but one connection, in form of ticker tapes, remains and we can see them holding and reading these w/ unwavering commitment. It’s likely just a coincidence but a very nice one still, so I am going there: the word “ticker” can refer to a watch (and thus time), the heart, and the machine connecting Michael and Janet to Eleanor and Jason respectively.
The titular desert rose is not without concrete relevance, either. All her life Eleanor lived in Arizona which is home to several deserts (Sonoran, Mojave, Chihuahuan). This is at the core of one of my favorite gags where Michael keeps asking the freshly rebooted Janet for Eleanor’s file, and she keeps handing him cacti instead. Then, when she finally produces the file, it still has a bunch of cactus pictures in them. If we roll w/ this desert connection, then Eleanor = desert rose def works too (+ she is wearing red in the bar scene)
“This memory of Eden haunts us all This desert flower This rare perfume, is the sweet intoxication of the fall”
The fall and Eden are key elements in Genesis. Eve shares the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil w/ Adam and they get booted from paradise. Something similar happens in the show, too, albeit w/ some neat twists. Eleanor insists that Michael attend Chidi’s ethics lessons (=“tree”) where they acquire knowledge (=“fruit”) of, yes, good and evil. She shares it w/ him and it changes Michael, which leads to his disobedience or “fall” and ultimate banishment as their “good place” gets completely disassembled.
Michael has a spark of deviance in him from the get-go, an innate urge to color outside the lines, but he starts to cross them in earnest only after Eleanor enters the picture. First, it’s in the form of 802 reboots, which is 800 more than he is authorized for, but he gets fixated on besting her. The 2nd big moment is when he takes his senior staff pin (the very symbol of everything he ever wanted) and pins it on her, irrevocably betraying everything he previously stood for. He pulls a sort of “reverse Lucifer” (his “rebellion” takes place in the show’s approximation of hell and is driven not by pride but by humbling himself) but it’s patterned on the fall of man. This mix of demonic and human heritage would be very in-keeping w/ his character: a demon longing to experience what it’s like to be human.
“No sweet perfume ever tortured me more than this.”
It is one of the greatest sources of irony in the show how the torture master ends up tormenting himself with and within the very framework he constructed for others. At the end of those 802 reboots, nobody is suffering more than Michael. His subordinates may be frustrated but they eagerly turn his failures to their advantage while the ultimate responsibility still rests w/ Michael who, already after the 2nd failed reboot, runs the very real risk of dying the only death his kind is able: the eternal shriek. The four humans endure a measure of psychological-emotional torture, but they forget all but the last week of their afterlife due to rebooting, whereas Michael remembers everything. He has to endure failure over and over again bc Eleanor keeps figuring him out, upping the pressure w/ each reboot, and, finally, exposing him to blackmail by his own underlings. This is when he reaches complete isolation which is a special kind of hell even within hell.
This 1st type of torture Eleanor (unwittingly) puts him through is mental in nature. She repeatedly hits him where it hurts the most at that time - his sense of intellectual superiority -, gradually evicting him from a life he’s known since forever. The direct continuation of this process is when she makes attendance of Chidi’s lessons compulsory, which again forces him to fully confront the fact that he’s not always the smartest guy in the room, not always in control, and - most importantly - that it’s okay bc the others are there to help and guide him when he’s in need.
This breakthrough gives way to the 2nd, more complex phase that involves (social) emotions that tend to develop as a result of cooperation (esp the kind Team Cockroach engaged in). We can already see their effect creep in when e.g. Michael is plagued by fear at the possibility of losing his friends or when he experiences the first sharp pangs of remorse. He is no longer immune to the full palette of “human suffering” bc he cares and even loves now, and it all stems from and loops back to Eleanor. She is the one he desperately clutches after the dangers pass, it’s her disappointment that slices through him even though he let the rest of them down too, and it’s her “progress reports” that fill his life after they have to part ways.
In this new phase he is forbidden to help or have any kind of contact, but when he can no longer stand doing nothing, he has to risk everything again in exchange for a few minutes w/ her. He could have easily nudged her in the right direction w/o revealing himself - the way he did when he saved her life. But no, this time he shows himself, prompts her to just ramble on about Kangaroo Jack, which, objectively speaking, is an insane risk to take when you can get caught every second, so you know Michael only took his feelings w/ him and left objectivity behind, and, at the end of it all, she still looks at him and sees a total stranger bc this is the only way for her to gain entry to paradise.
Now that’s some exquisite torture in a bar named after a song of romantic-sexual longing placed within a larger philosophical context.
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glitched-lullaby · 6 years
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Chikuzu Chizuku
OC Template by @izukulove
Finally did a full profile for him! Read it below the cut. (Sorry mobile users)
Full name: Chikuzu Chizuku
Pronunciation: [Chih-koo-zoo] [Chih-zoo-koo]
Meaning of Name: I heard his given name the dream he came to me in, but I couldn’t remember if it was Chikuzu or Chizuku, so I just decided to make both of them his name.
Hero/Villain Name: Devil☣ist: The Gaseous Hero
Nicknames: Chi-san, a multitude of others
History of Nicknames: Chi-san is what a lot of the UA staff and student body call him as it’s easy to mix up his given and surname. A multitude of cute nicknames have been given to him by his friend Gray.
Aliases: The Gas-masked Assailant (more on this further down)
Nationality: Japanese
Affiliation: UA Academy Staff
Quirks:  Gaseous Breath and Devil Morph
 Age: 22
Gender: Male
Orientation/Sexuality Preference: Gay
Birthday:
Appearance:
Eye color: He has three irises that range from bright yellow to neon green starting from his pupil. His sclera are black.
Eyewear: He sometimes wears sunglasses to hide his eyes.
Hair: Mulberry
Height: 5’8”
Body build: Average, very very average.
Complexion: Tan/light brown
Handedness: Right
Movement: A bit clumsy at times, also prone to sometimes shaking due to anxiety
Posture: Somewhat curled inwards, which manifests as slouching, slumping, and wrapping his arms and tail around himself.
Voice: Sounds faintly hoarse.
Speech Mannerisms: He tends to stutter and stall a lot in his speech when he’s nervous (which is about 90% of the time), though he speaks much more coherently when he’s comfortable. He speaks quietly, though not so quiet that people can’t hear him.
Defining physical traits: Eyes, small horns, demon/devil like tail.
 Statistics:
Power: ★★★☆☆ C
Speed: ★★★☆☆ C
Technique: ★★★☆☆ C
Intelligence: ★★★★☆ B
Cooperativeness: ★★★★★ A
Extra Explanation: He still has a lot of training to do, but he’s willing to work with anyone that doesn’t have an incompatible quirk (ie a fire based quirk)
Quirk and description: please view image profile
  Clothing:
Uniform: At school he wears a button up shirt, slacks, boots, and a flu mask or his half-face gas mask.
Casual outfit: Usually has a hoodie, jacket/cardigan, or a scarf on along with a flu-mask. Sneakers or boots for his feet.
Preferred outfit: Hoodie, sweat pants, sneakers, half-face gas mask.
Hero costume: Half-face gas mask, green-tinted goggles, two belts with pouches on, mini poncho, long sleeved shirt, gloves, cargo pants, and sturdy boots. It gives off a post-apocalyptic vibe. He usually has his horns a bit longer and his tail a bit shorter when he’s in his hero gear.
 Equipment / Support Items: In the pockets of his belt, he has a few first aid supplies and specialty flu masks (made to give to victims and allies to keep them safe from his quirk). He also has a few other bits and pieces in there that I can’t come up with off the top of my head.
 Characteristics:
Personality: Due to a childhood of bullying, he’s very reserved and anxious. He’s constantly paranoid that people will think he’s a villain based on appearances alone and tends to get skittish around certain types of people/heroes because of it. Despite that, he’s a very friendly person and does his best not to make assumptions based on first impressions. He wants to keep an open mind and even help comfort people who are in situations similar to what his was.
Big Five personality traits: anxious/paranoid, submissive, friendly, open-minded, cautious.
Most prominent personality trait: ANXIOUS
Best traits: Most people who know him consider him to be very friendly and understanding. He thinks his quietness is his best trait, as it means he’s not bothering anyone.
Worst traits: He’s tends to be a push-over as he hates conflict. His general submissive and quiet attitude also means that he doesn’t always speak up when he should.
Likes: His friend Gray, All Might and Deku, quiet places
Dislikes: Endeavor and like-minded heroes, open flames/sparks, confrontation
Quirks:  (not the superpower but little silly things they do)
Fear: Coming face to face with Endeavor (again), being mistaken for a villain
Skills/Talents: Due to his quirk, he’s studied chemistry extensively.
What his self-image is like: pretty negative, though it’s slowly getting better
Coping mechanisms: hiding away in a corner or in his room, curling up on himself in fetal position, breathing out colored smoke
Any life motto or quote they live by: Don’t judge others based on what they can’t help.
 Health:
Physical: Doing well, but needs to get into better shape for hero work.
Mental: His mental state is in pieces, though he’s slowly getting better.
Emotional Stability: Haha… what’s that?
If faced with crisis, what is their go-to: could be any based on the situation, though flight is the most likely and is very closely followed by freeze.
Habits: Tends to breathe out a bit of smoke when he sighs.
 History & Background:
Upbringing: Nothing much to note here.
What did they enjoy most about their childhood?: Not much.
What did they hate most about their childhood?: The constant “teasing” (read: bullying) from his classmates that he looked like a villain and he quirk was a very villain-like quirk to have.
Post-High School:
After he graduated from high school, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He was scared of applying for any sort of normal job in case he was turned away due to his appearance, so he eventually decided to do “underground” jobs. Most of what he did was delivery for questionable people, though a lot of the people he worked for where people who were down on their luck or didn’t want to be out in public for whatever reason (mostly quirk related problems). During this time in his life, he lived in a mostly abandoned building in a hideout he put together himself and wore a full faced gasmask near constantly.
The Gasmasked Assailant:
The area around his hideout was a very bad area with a lot of criminals and villains causing trouble. One night, one of the common local scuffles escalated out of control and Endeavor along with some other heroes ended up being called in. Though he normally watched local conflicts from a balcony near his hideout to make sure it wouldn’t move into his building, Endeavor’s presence drove him to hide inside.
Endeavor suddenly burst through the wall after being attacked and scared the daylights out of Chikuzu. When Endeavor turned around, his freeze instinct turned to fight, and he transformed his tail into the shape of a blade in preparation to defend himself. As he lunged forward and reached for one of the vents on his mask, Deku suddenly grabbed him and carried him out of the building to a safe location. This all happened within the span of about 10 seconds.
After asking why Deku “saved” him, Deku explained that he thought that Chikuzu was just a terrified civilian who was fighting back against one of the villains, and didn’t notice Endeavor through the doorway until after he had entered the room. After hearing Chikuzu explain his side, Deku told him that he would cover for him in the event Endeavor had mistaken him for a villain.
Later that night, Endeavor filed a report on a villain he could only identify as “a Gasmasked Assailant.”
Chikuzu threw out his full faced gasmask and switched over to convenience store flu masks.
A few days later…
Chikuzu happened to run into Deku and went over to thank him. After some conversation and a coffee, then decided to stay in contact via Line message. Deku promised not to out Chikuzu out as the Gasmasked Assailant.
Slip of the Tongue and Employment at UA
After a string of odd events including Deku running into Chikuzu while out and about with All Might and then accidentally spilling some of Chikuzu’s history to All Might, Chikuzu was invited to work at UA as part of the general staff and also train there to become a hero if he desired. Chikuzu hesitantly accepted, but after meeting with Nedzu and explaining his full situation then still being welcomed as a staff member, he accepted whole heartedly. He’s extremely grateful to everyone involved in integrating him into the staff.
He lives on-campus in the staff dorms and works mostly as a go-fer, though will substitute for teachers or do any other errands that might need doing.
Shortly after moving into the staff dorms, Chikuzu ran into a former classmate named Gray Mellion who had become a reporter. The quickly hit it off and starting messaging and hanging out with each other.
Current Dream: to get out of the shadow of his past
Long-term goals for Future: become a support hero, have a stable mental state
  Relationships:
Gray Mellion
Status: Former high school classmates turned close friends
How well they get along: Ever since running into each other recently, they’ve become friends and gotten very close. They often hang out with each other when their schedules line up.
What Gray thinks of him: A person who’s been broken down by their past, but is gradually picking up the pieces and putting them back together kintsukuroi style. He has a strong admiration for Chikuzu for coming out of a very dark mental place with a desire to help people instead of a desire to get even.
What he thinks of Gray: Very reliable best friend; the human equivalent of a blanket cocoon.
What Gray calls him: Chikuzu (his given name), Chi-kun, Chi, Chizu (from his surname), C.C., a variety of other pet names. He switches it up a lot.
What he calls Gray: Gray (his given name)
 Midoriya Izuku
Status: Friendly acquaintances
How well they get along: fairly well
What he thinks of Deku: An amazing person who saved him from the biggest mistake of his life (even if Deku didn’t know it at the time). He thinks Deku is going to be an amazing hero, and is already a hero in his eyes.
What Deku thinks of him: Someone who’s been in a very bad place and is trying his best to get somewhere better. Deku likes to check in on him every now and then to make sure he’s doing okay at UA.
What Deku calls him: Chizuku-san
What he calls Deku: Deku (his hero name) or Midoriya-kun
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guiltfreeicons · 7 years
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Cropping & Editing Icons in GIMP
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Hello everyone!
This is Bubbles-mod here with your second tutorial! Like Jerry-mod, I’ll also be going from start to finish on how I crop and edit icons on the wonderful program known as GIMP. GIMP is a lovely alternative for anyone that’s seeking Photoshop and cannot afford it because -- guess what? It’s free! It’s also able to run on Windows, Mac OS, and Linux which makes it very versatile. Whether you’re an old timer with GIMP like myself, or a newbie, I’ll guide you through the many steps on how to complete this. And if you don’t have GIMP and wish to learn with this tutorial you can grab it from here!
That being said there is a few things you might need while working with this tutorial.
                                          Important things to have
Of course having a method of downloading your video is a must. So there’s many sources you can get videos from, youtubemp4s converters and also Kissanime/Kisscartoon (the latter once they get the site back up and running).
Next you’ll need your trusty GIMP program.
Then we’ll need my favorite plugin: BIMP -- the Batch Image Manipulation Plugin which you can also get from here. Now if you’re not familiar installing Plugins, I recommend following the instructions they have there as this won’t be the main focus of my tutorial.
Finally, you’ll want a frame ripper. The one I tend to use DVDVideoSoft’s Video to JPG
One other script that can be added is the ExportAll script. This just allows you save all the images you have opened at one time to a location. This comes in handy if you don’t want to save images one by one later on while cropping. It is not necessary needed. Remember to add it to GIMP like you would any other script/plugin.
Now, this is going to get a bit image heavy so I’m going to be putting everything under a cut from this point on. Good luck and happy iconing everyone!
Step 1: Making your Frames
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So upon opening DVDVideoSoft’s convertor, you’ll receive a screen very similar to this:
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Most of the buttons are pretty self explanatory with adding your video file and the output location. The one thing I want you to pay attention to is that the setting I have at the far left for frames. I always go with every 10 frames no matter what project I’m working on. It does offer other options, but this gives me the most frames to work with -- minus the option for every second but that’s a bit too much. Once you have everything in order, go ahead and click that convert button and let it do its thing!
I will forewarn, depending on how long the video is and how fast your computer is, the time can vary. If you don’t believe your video is powerful enough then play around with some of the setting until you find one that works for you!
Step 2: Pick your Frames
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There isn’t much to add for this section here. Like Jerry-mod mentioned, I too can agree this the worst part. You’ll have to scroll through the frames you have to select the ones you wish to keep for iconing. I recommend either deleting the frames you don’t want as you go OR set up a folder to stash the frames you wish to keep and then delete the folder containing the miscellaneous once you’re done. I tend to flip back and forth, usually going with the latter if I plan on cropping more than one character from a video.
So let’s move onto the next step once you’re finished!
Step 3: Loading & Cropping
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Okie dokie! Now that we’ve selected all the screencaps we wish to use, let’s go ahead and open up GIMP. Once it’s open, make sure that you have it in Single Window mode. You can check this by going to Windows and clicking Single Window -- or if it has a check by it then you’re good! Next, let’s go back to the folder that contains all the lovely caps you’re going to be using today.
Since I’m using a windows computer, I’m afraid I only know this command, but what we’re going to do is select the very first image in your folder. Once that’s done, press the Shift key on your keyboard. Then, if you have arrow keys, move down until you’ve selected 25 images. If you don’t have arrow keys, your mouse can suffice. You’re more than welcome to do more or less than 25 images, but I like working with this multiple.
Now that they’ve all be selected, we’re going to drag them over to our GIMP window where GIMP will now help us out and load all 25 images into separate tabs.
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Pretty handy eh?
Now it’s time to set up a few things before we start cropping. If you’re unfamiliar with the GIMP tools it’s this guy:
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And these are the settings we’ll wish to make for it in the dialog box:
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That way while cropping, your images will keep to the size of a square. You can navigate to the different images just by clicking them and the arrows on the left and right side so you can pan through more tabs if your screen resolution isn’t big enough to have them all on one line. Once that’s completed, it’s time to save these bad boys.
Step 4: Saving the images
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If you didn’t bother saving my ExportAll script, then you can save/export these images as you normally would in GIMP under the File > Overwrite [filename]. However, if you did use my script, then I’ll show you how to use it real quick. Like you would with saving a regular image, you’d click File but now you’ll go to a new option I’ve given you called Save All:
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Selecting it will give us a new dialog box that we’ll have to work with. In it you’ll select the folder that your screencaps are located and you can leave the rest of the information alone.
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Now go ahead and click okay and let the script run so we can move onto your next set. Just don’t forget to close all these lovely images as you move through each set. Close All can also be found under File as well. Once you’ve completed all of your cropping it’s time to move onto the next phase.
Step 5: Make the Border
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I know what you’re thinking. Bubbles-mod, why would I make my border now when my images are still so gigantic? Don’t worry there silly, we’ll worry about that in a few. The reason I like to create a border if I want to use them on an icon is because batching allows us to color them, resize, reshape and add a border all at the same time! It’s pretty snazzy. But if you already have a border in mind, then go ahead and skip this step.
So before we move onto that, likes go ahead and make an image the size that you’re going to make your icons. For simplicity, I’m going to make a canvas of 100 x 100. You can do this from File > New
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Now if we’re sticking to square icons then this will be a piece of cake! Let’s go ahead and select the color we want our border to be. As you can see from above I’m going with a dashing fluorescent purple to meet Lady Wifi’s needs. Next, we’re just going to fill the box with the paint bucket tool. Then, select the Square Select tool from your tool box. It sort of looks like a rectangle:
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Fix up it’s settings like we did before with cropping so it can have an aspect ratio before we start our selection on the square. Now how much you select is up to you. Keep in mind, we will be deleting the content of the square we’re selecting so if you want a really big border then make it a smaller selection. Otherwise, making a very huge selection if you want a thin one. Once it’s done hit the delete key.
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Now you’re probably wondering if this happens so to you, what to do about this white background? Not to worry! Just go and right click on your background layer so we can add an Alpha Channel:
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And then we’ll happily hit the delete key again and now we have our square border!
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Now if you’re going for a circle icon border, the steps are pretty much similar. Just instead of the Square/Rectangle select tool, you’re going to want to use the circle one:
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Like before fill in your canvas, select the tool, change the aspect ratio and create your circle size. Now with Circle, you’re going to want to do something instead of deleting your selection. I want you to copy it. You can do this with Ctrll+C and then make a new layer with Shift+Ctrl+N or selecting Layers > New from the top bar. Now paste that circle you copied into the new layer.
At first you may not see anything different, but that’s because we have to delete our bottom layer. So we’ll need to right click and select Delete Layer:
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Now you should see the circle you were looking for! Now we’re back to our old steps with the rectangle, we just need to select the Circle tool again to make the selection of the Circle that we’ll be deleting this time. Like before this is also your call for the size border that you want.
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Once you’re done remember to save the border so we can move onto our next phase: Batching!
Step 6: Batch to Resize Images
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Now we’re at one of my favorite parts in the entire tutorial. Batching!! Now I hope you already downloaded the Batch Pluggin before starting and set it up, otherwise you’ll have to close GIMP out first so it can reload with it properly added. Great! So we’re going to open up the Batch by selecting it from the File Menu and you should see its entire name:
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Go ahead and selection and you’ll get Batch Manipulation to open!
Since we finally have it open, let’s do the easy stuff like add in the images we’re going to use and also select their output folder. I suggest making a new folder so you don’t accidentally overwrite your old ones. Once you’ve completed that I want you to click on the giant plus sign with add below it.
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These options will allow you to complete different services for your icons! Most of them are pretty self explanatory but the one I want you to focus on first is change format. I love my icons always in the .png file so if you like that as well, go ahead and select it so that will be the first task it will complete. After you’ve made the option, you will notice the BIMP is allowing you to add another option. This is when we’ll do our resizing by clicking Resize.
In Resizing, I always select the radio button for “Set Exact size in pixel” so we can set the complete size of our image. The width and height boxes is where you can finally select to make our icons go to the size of 100 x 100.
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Go ahead and click okay so we can add our next step.
**********  (only for circle icons): **********
Now if you want to make circle icons, we have to resize all of our icons to this perfect shape. BIMP can allow us to do that as well. So when clicking the plus/add button, select “Other GIMP Procedure”. A search box will appear along with many other options that GIMP can complete. In the search box the term we’re going to look for is “round” and you’ll see a few return results. The one we wish to go with is the “script-fu-round-corners” so click it.
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On the right side you’ll see a few other options appear on the right side of the box like above. The only thing we’re worried about here for now is the Edge Radius. Change the value to 50 so you can get a complete circle. I’ll leave it to you to play around with this later to find out what other values and the drop-shadow can do. After changing the 0.0 to 50.0 let’s click OK so we can move onto our next step: our border.
**********  (end of only for circle icons): **********
In the add options, you want to select “Add a Watermark”. This allows you to make watermarks in a text or image, we want to go with the image option. From the dropdown, navigate to your border image and open it. You don’t have to mess with any of the other settings of the box there so yours should look like this:
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You’re free to hit OK from here. The final step is renaming the images. That’s because DVDVideoSoft gives files really long names. If you have no problem with this, you can skip this last add on. Otherwise, hit the plus add again and pick “Rename with a pattern”. It has a few options to pick from but for simplicity, go with the option to rename them increasing numbers or the ## as they suggest:
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Now you can hit okay once again so it can return you to the BIMP main console. We’ve finished making all of our selections so the final step is to hit Apply to allow it to run. Depending on how many files it is the time length can vary but once everything is complete you’ll get the solid green bar, notifying you the process has finished and whether or not any errors occurred. If you’ve finished with zero errors, you’re in business! Go ahead and close out BIMP and GIMP and navigate to your output folder to see your final results:
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lunerainbow · 7 years
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Like the Constellations - Chapter 2
Work Summary:  After Dan had released his debut album Sunset, he was under a ton of pressure to keep up appearances. Everything changed too quickly for him to handle. In comes Phil. Smart, funny Phil. The boys meet twice. Once when Dan is in disguise, pretending to not be an international pop sensation, and once on the set of the music for the song Sunset. Phil doesn’t know that his Dan and the Dan he’s working with are the same person, and as much as Dan wants to tell him, he can’t. Not without breaking the appearance he has struggled with for so long to maintain.
Read Chapter 1
Read it on AO3
Chapter 2
“Come on Phil! We have to watch this!” PJ dragged Phil over to the TV. PJ had turned it on and was streaming some interview from Radio 1.
“Remind me why you are forcing me to watch this again.” Phil sighed and allowed PJ to watch his show. Phil then looked at the TV and saw the radio DJ that PJ liked. “Oh. I still don't know why you like him so much.”
PJ just shushed him and went back to watching the interview. “I’m not watching it for Chris.”
The DJ that Phil was referring to asked the guy he was interviewing a question. “So Dan, what was your favorite song from Sunset to write?”
Phil didn’t pay attention to this Dan guy’s answer. “If you aren’t watching it for the guy you have a low key crush on, then why are you watching this?”
Phil half expected PJ to ignore him but, not looking away from the TV, he responded. “Dan Howell just released a new album and his manager contacted the company about producing a music video and I really want to be able to direct it.”
“That would be your biggest project to date right? If you got it that is.”
“Yeah and I liked the album and I think getting to work on the music video would be great for my portfolio. Now shut up. I’m trying to watch.”
“Yeah Sunset was fun, but it was a shit ton of work. Wait shit. No swearing on air. Crap.” Dan on screen blushed from his mistake. Phil thought it was amusing watching a man dressed in pastel colors, with a flower crown no less, swear. It almost seemed like the antithesis of the young guy’s personality.
“Wait is he the guy who the media is currently raving about?” Phil asked, trying to put the pieces together and figure out why this guy seemed familiar.
“Yeah.” Phil knew that PJ was trying to ignore him but it wasn’t working. It was very hard to ignore Phil and PJ knew that if he didn’t respond, Phil would continue to pester him until he finally did. Therefore, it was just easier to give short, one word answers.
“Would I be correct in assuming you already bought the album and have been listening to it on repeat?”
PJ responded by throwing a CD case at him. Predictably, Phil did not catch it and instead it hit him in the face. “Thanks PJ but that hurt.” Phil picked up the case and turned it over. The album art was a picture of a sunset but instead of having the normal reds and yellows of a sunset, it was all pastel colors and the silhouette of a boy was sitting in front of the setting sun with the name of the album written with stars.
As Phil was contemplating the aesthetic of the album art, Chris just so happened to ask Dan about that. “So @flowerfun1289 on Twitter wants to know how you picked the album art.”
“Well this one day we had a big photoshoot, both with a green screen and on location. The photographers took probably over a hundred photos and after that they sent them off to a graphic designer to edit and make them into fully fledged covers. Then after they were done, the potential covers were presented to me and I chose the one that made it onto the actual album.”
““I like to have some amount of control of the stuff connected with my music unlike some people who will just hand it off to some poor graphic designer without any idea what they want and expect them to make it perfectly. I actually originally wanted to design the cover myself as kinda  a tribute to my YouTube thumbnail making days, but I had to focus on other things. Nevertheless, I think the cover is perfect and so much better than I could’ve done,” Dan explained.
“Dan you do realize the entire internet now wants to know how much that picture was edited, right?” Chris asked
Dan just winked in response.
“Again with the winking? You cheeky little sh--”
“Next question Chris,” Dan stopped Chris from swearing on air, like he had accidentally done a few minutes prior.
Phil immediately had so much more respect for Dan. As an editor, he could relate to the graphic designer that Dan spoke of. There were some directors who just handed him a flash drive of all the raw files and told him to get on it. These were the same people who yelled at him for not editing it properly because it didn’t fit their vision. This was thankfully mostly through email but there was the occasional director who took the time to yell at him in person.
Just then a phone starts ringing, playing All Star by Smash Mouth. Dan immediately flushed and tried to casually turn it off without removing it from his pocket.
“Oh come on Danny. How unprofessional,” Chris tutted. Meanwhile Dan was still struggling to turn his phone off. “Why don't you just answer it?”
Dan’s eyes immediately went as wide as a plate. “No no. Please don’t.” Dan had finally managed to extract his phone from his jeans after giving up trying to turn it off through them.
Chris immediately reached over and snatched it from him. “Oh look. It’s his mum. Why is the ringtone for your mum All Star? Seriously Dan? Better question: should I answer it?” Without waiting for an answer, he answered the phone and put it on speaker. “Hi Dan’s mum!”
The voice on the phone responded. “Is that Chris from the radio? Where’s Dan?”
“Yes this is Chris. As for Dan, well he’s currently live on BBC Radio 1. Wave hi Dan.”
Dan certainly did not wave hi. In fact, he looked like he wanted to disappear and honestly Phil couldn’t blame him. His own mother was a bit … what’s the word? ... enthusiastic whenever she called him on the phone. And she did the typical mum thing where she said whatever came into her head.
Dan suddenly stopped trying to turn invisible and snatched his phone back from Chris. After getting a good grip on it, he said quickly, “Gotta go mum. Gotta finish this interview. I’ll call you later! Bye, love you!” He hangs up the phone before his mum can say anything else and shoved it unceremoniously into his jeans. Continuing on as if nothing had happened, Dan continued to answer the questions Chris asked him.
“So Dan, earlier you mentioned that one of your favorite songs to write was Eclipse. @spaceisvcool wants to know what song do you think was the hardest to write.”
“Constellations was probably the hardest for me to write. As many people have pointed out, it's very different than the rest of the album and took me out of my comfort zone slightly. I actually tweeted some of the lyrics earlier. @danisnotonfire if you wanna hit me up. Hashtag cheeky spon.”
“It wouldn’t be an interview with Dan Howell without some shameless self promotion in there somewhere.” Chris shook his head.
“You know it.” Dan gave one of the cameras a wink.
The interview continued and Dan kept giving well thought out answers. Phil found himself liking this Dan guy. He seemed very enthusiastic about his music and liked to be involved with it. He wasn’t just some guy with a pretty face and a pretty voice.
Soon the interview was coming to a close. “This is Dan and Chris, signing off on BBC Radio 1. Bye!” Chris and Dan waved to the cameras as the subtle background music faded out, to be replaced by the next show, to which Phil didn’t get to see what it was because PJ immediately clicked the TV off and set off to who knows where.
After the interview was over, Phil went and listened to Sunset. He had to admit, it was good and he could see why people loved it so much. As a fellow lover of space, the space theme of the album was very pleasing. It was a little strange to hear the album after hearing the singer Dan talk about it for almost an hour. He almost felt like Dan’s own views on the album were influencing his own, but hey, what can you do?
Phil downloaded the album to his computer and put it on his phone. Unfortunately Phil’s job as an editor did not allow him to listen to music while he edited footage, but Phil knew that if he had a boring desk job, this would be the perfect music to listen to while doing mind numbing work. Instead he had to sit in near silence while trimming clips down millisecond by millisecond until it was perfect
He checked his email and saw that he had yet another email from the filmmaker asking him to do even more stuff with the footage and told him which stuff needed to be changed even though Phil had done it exactly as originally asked to the best of his ability (the instructions weren’t super clear). As if Phil wasn't doing enough on this project already.
Okay. In five minutes I will start this , Phil told himself. Five minutes later, he was researching the boy from the interview. Apparently, like PJ, Dan had gotten his start on the internet. He had posted both covers and original songs on a YouTube channel, which he now posted the occasional vlog on. His second channel posted full length, high production music videos of the few singles he had made before Sunset. Dan was obviously talented and Phil wondered how interesting it would be to work on a danisnotonfire (an amusing contrasting name from his apparent personality and branding) music video, even if he would be working behind the scenes.
Needless to say, Phil didn’t get around to editing the video before it was time for dinner, which would be saying something if dinner wasn't in like half an hour.
Phil could hear PJ in the kitchen making god knows what. PJ liked to experiment with everything and this included food. Only this didn't work out too well some of the time. Phil could only hope that he did not have to experience the cranberry and cheese flatbread fail that PJ had subjected him to last week. This had given them both food poisoning. Never again , Phil vowed.
“Hey PJ what’s for dinner?” Phil called across the flat. Underneath the loud noises PJ was making by banging pans around so much, Phil swore he could hear a familiar song. How one person could make so much noise while cooking was a mystery to Phil.
“Why don't you get your lazy arse in here to see for yourself?” PJ called back. Typical PJ. Phil didn’t know why he put up with him half of the time.
They had been friends since university when they were both struggling to get through the film production degrees they had chosen, PJ in video production and Phil is post production. When PJ started making videos for YouTube in his own time, he asked Phil to help him and naturally, Phil agreed, if only for wanting to have practice editing. (He did have to act in the films on occasion, which wasn’t too bad.) And they had been working together ever since.
Phil sighed and dragged his ‘lazy arse’ over to the kitchen. PJ was making some pasta dish which explained the large amount of banging from pots that Phil had heard.
“You’re listening to Sunset again? I’m starting to think you’re a tad bit obsessed with it,” Phil accused PJ, whose back was currently turned toward Phil so he couldn’t gage the extent of his reaction. But Phil was fairly certain he was blushing slightly, if PJ’s slightly hunched shoulders were anything to go by.
“No!” PJ defended himself. “I’m just researching for the music video.”
“You mean the music video that you don't even know if you will be working on or not? Be careful with that. If you seem a little too eager they might not give you the job and that would suck for you.”
“It would suck for you too, you know. I know you hate your current job ‘cause of the director who shall not be named and if I got assigned something as big as this, they would have to give you back to me,” PJ reminded him.
After PJ got noticed on YouTube for his filmmaking skills, he was hired by a rather respectable London film company, which benefitted Phil as well because PJ refused to sign on with the company if they didn't bring Phil on as well, to which they thankfully agreed, if only because they had a need for another experienced editor. Phil now was one of the most requested editor for other filmmakers, but he preferred working with PJ. It also helped that PJ all but refused to let any other editor work on his projects unless Phil said that he needed an assistant editor, but for the most part it was just the two of them at the head of their projects.
Phil shot PJ a look. They didn’t talk about how Phil really didn't like the filmmaker whose stuff he was currently working on and they both knew that the only reason he took this job was because he needed something to pay the bills. Phil was currently looking for any excuse to pass the rest of the editing along to another editor, even though he was nearly done, and the best excuse of them all was PJ needed him for a job.
Phil knew he owed a huge debt to PJ and as much as Phil didn’t like it, it was true. Phil would much rather have gotten where he is by his own doing. Whenever he voiced these concerns, PJ told him to “shut the fuck up” because the only reason they agreed to hire Phil because he is good at what he does and PJ would never have gotten noticed if it wasn’t for the superior editing along with his own creativity.  
“I wish, but do you really think you have a good shot at getting the job?”
PJ stayed silent for a second, thinking about it while he stirred the noodles in the boiling water. “I think I have a decent shot. I’m one of the only relatively senior filmmakers who doesn’t have another huge project going on right now. But it’s hard to know for certain. I’m not even supposed to know about this. I just happened to be getting coffee at the same time as a couple higher ups were discussing how Howell’s manager contacted the company.”
Just then the timer dinged, signaling that the pasta was done cooking. Phil got up from the seat he was currently occupying and went over to help PJ. “What are you putting in the pasta this time?”
“I was thinking shrimp.” PJ showed him the sauce and shrimp that he was working on.
“Smells good. Better than last week's fail.”
“Don’t remind me. Smelled, looked, and tasted horrible. Tasted even worse coming back up. Never again.” Phil had to agree with this.
After dinner Phil went back to his computer. He put on his headphones, wiggled the computer mouse to wake it up, and pulled up the editing software. Phil edited the rest of the video and added all of the (in Phil’s opinion) quite unnecessary and distracting flairs as requested. He emailed the filmmaker yet another copy of the hopefully finished film file, sat back in his chair, and took his headphones off.
I wonder if I could ask the higher ups for permission to never edit for them again. I don’t think I can deal with another project like that, Phil thought. As if the higher ups were psychic, his computer dinged, telling him he got an email from work. When Phil clicked on the email, he saw that it was addressed to him and PJ. In the subject line were the words ‘New Project?’.
Right as Phil was going to call down the hall to ask PJ about it, he heard a quite unmanly, very excited scream. Next thing Phil knew, the door to his room banged open and PJ ran inside. Just the fact that PJ had run showed Phil that PJ was very excited about something and Phil would have to be an idiot to not be able to guess what this something was.
“Phil, Phil, Phil! They picked us!” PJ informed him.
“Slow down PJ! I haven’t even read the email yet.” Phil knew PJ would try to tell him only the important parts and to avoid this, he put his noise cancelling headphones back on and read the email.
Dear Mr. PJ Liguori and Mr. Philip Lester,
Recently our company was contacted by the manager of the up and coming pop star Dan Howell, Miss Elise Herden, asking if we would be interested in making a music video for Mr. Howell’s song Sunset from his recently released album of the same name. After further conversations with Mr. Howell’s manager, we have decided that you two are the best team for the job. Please come in to the studios next week to discuss further details with Mr. Howell’s manager. Also note that should you choose to accept this, all projects you currently have will either be postponed or given to another crew. If you are interested in this project, please reply to this email as soon as possible.
Sincerely, Heather Mitchell, Head of Project Management at Fibre Optic Films
After Phil had finished reading, he took his headphones off once again and turned to PJ who was standing anxiously waiting for him to finish reading the email. “So we are going to do it right? Cause I will force you to if you don’t say yes so help me God, Phil.”
Phil rolled his eyes. “No PJ. I don't want to do it. Never in a million years,” he deadpanned. PJ’s face immediately dropped. “I’m just kidding you dingus. This could be the opportunity of a lifetime. Of course I will do it.”
PJ let out the breath he was holding. “Good. For a second there I thought you were serious.”
“Do you really think I would turn something this big down? This is literally the opportunity of a lifetime.” Phil had pulled up an email to reply.
Dear Mrs. Mitchell,
I would be happy to work on this. Thank you for choosing me and PJ for this. When next week do we need to come into the studio? I would also greatly appreciate it if you could email Miss Herden and let them know I look forward to working on this with them. Thanks in advance!
Sincerely, Phil Lester, Senior Editor at Fibre Optic Films
PJ looked over his shoulder. “Oh yeah. That’s probably a good idea. Accept before they can give it to anyone else. I’m gonna go do that.” He left Phil’s room to go write the email and Phil is left sitting there in silence, trying to process that this is happening.
Phil checked the rest of his emails and saw that another director had emailed him back answering some questions he had with her project. Phil read through the email and pulled up the project. After watching though what he had so far, Phil was stuck. He didn’t know how to do what he wanted to do. After staring aimlessly at the footage for a few more minutes, Phil sighed. He needed to get out of the flat.
“PJ!” he called out. “I think I’m going to go into the city for a bit. I might not be home until late so don’t bother waiting for me.”
“Got it. I have the flat to myself for the next couple hours. I think I’m going to blast Sunset on repeat until I get back.”
“Dear god PJ please don’t. You’ll irritate the neighbors.” PJ was already playing the album and Phil extracted himself from his chair in front of his computer.
Phil made sure the footage was saved to the cloud before grabbing his laptop and putting it into his computer bag. While he did prefer to edit on his desktop computer, as it was much faster, Phil didn't mind editing on his laptop when he needed a change of scenery.
On his way out of the flat, Phil makes sure to grab the essentials. He had locked himself out of the flat way too many times and he didn’t want to deal with trying to get PJ to stop howling with laughter and  just let him in.
Phil wandered around for awhile while listening to Sunset. Phil, thankfully, had had his headphones in his pocket otherwise it’s quite likely he would have had to go back to the flat and get humiliated by PJ.
Once Phil got to the local Starbucks, which was surprisingly busy for the time of night. Phil ordered the first of his much needed coffee and sat down at one of the few empty tables, which happened to be near an outlet. Phil pulled out his computer, plugged it in and just started editing.
Some time later, the length of which unknown to Phil, as he was in Editing Mode, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Looking up as he took off his headphones, he saw a pair of soft brown eyes.
“Hey can I sit here?” Brown eyed boy gestured to the empty seat across from Phil. “Everywhere else is full.”
Album Art For Sunset
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galucy-blog · 6 years
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Acer Spin 1 Review
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  The Pros Sharp, colorful display; Attractive metal chassis; Comfortable keyboard The Cons Below-average battery life; Small storage drive Verdict A fantastic budget 2-in-1, the Acer Spin 1 provides a premium metal design and one of the most colorful screens you can get for well under $350. It's not difficult to find a 2-in-1 that costs under $400, but in this price range, you normally have to settle for a system with a dull, low-res screen and so-so build quality. Enter the Acer Spin 1 (SP111-32N-C2X3). One of the best laptop values around, the $329 Spin 1 has a sleek, metal chassis, a snappy keyboard and one of the most colorful screens we've seen on any laptop at any price. Acer even includes an active, pressure sensitive stylus in the box. While we wish the battery life were better, this 11.6-inch laptop is the best budget 2-in-1 you can get and one of the best sub-$400 laptops overall. Design The Acer Spin 1 doesn't look anything like a $329 laptop. Its gunmetal-gray aluminum chassis stands out in a price band where cheap, glossy plastic is the norm. I particularly like the subtle, cross-hatch pattern on the dark gray lid and how it contrasts with the shiny, silver hinge area. Thick screen bezels, however, keep the inside of the system from looking quite as stunning as the outside of the package. At just 2.65 pounds and 11.4 x 7.9 x 0.56 inches thick, the Spin 1 is thin, light and compact enough to take anywhere. Competitors such as the Dell Inspiron 11 3000 2-in-1 and HP Pavilion x360 (11-inch) both weighed 3 or more pounds and were 0.2 to 0.3 inches thicker. Like any 11.6-inch laptop, Acer's 2-in-1 may seem a little too small for adults who want a larger keyboard and screen and a more substantial object to balance on their laps.
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When you're buying a sub-$400 laptop, build quality is always a concern. However, the Spin 1 feels solid and sturdy. The hinges, which bend the screen back 360 degrees into tablet or tent modes, were strong and tight, offering just the right amount of resistance. The keyboard didn't suffer from flex, like we see on many affordable laptops. During the test period, I also accidentally knocked the laptop off of my desk and onto a carpeted floor and it suffered no noticeable damage. If Acer can put a 1920 x 1080 IPS touch display this vibrant on a $329 laptop, why can't manufacturers offer this kind of quality in their $800 and $1,000 laptops? Ports For a laptop this thin, the Acer Spin 1 has a decent selection of ports. On the left side, you'll find a USB 3.0 port, a full-size HDMI out connector and a microSD card reader, which could help increase the laptop's paltry 32GB of storage. The right side holds a USB 2.0 port and a 3.5mm audio jack.
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Display The 11.6-inch screen on the Spin 1 is so bright and colorful that it has caused me to question my assumptions about the laptop industry. If Acer can put a 1920 x 1080 IPS touch display this vibrant on a $329 laptop, why can't manufacturers offer this kind of display quality in their $800 and $1,000 laptops?
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When I watched a 1080p trailer for the Last Jedi, the red wall behind Kylo Ren and some billowing red smoke really popped while the foliage on Ahch-To was alive with rich green shades. Fine details, like gears in Luke's mechanical hand and the rocks that Rey levitates, were sharp and clear. According to our colorimeter, the Spin 1 can reproduce an impressive 129 percent of the sRGB color gamut, about 26 percent more than the ultraportable average. The Dell Inspiron 11 3000 2-in-1 and HP Pavilion x360 both offer far fewer colors, hitting just 81 and 70 percent of the gamut, respectively. Acer's 2-in-1 is also extremely bright, hitting 349 nits of brightness in our tests, which is 22 percent above the category average. The Inspiron 11 3000 2-in-1 is 12 percent dimmer than the Spin, but still bright, while the Pavilion x360's screen returned an awful 193 nits, which is 44 percent less than Acer's laptop. Acer's 2-in-1 blew away my expectations with a snappy, responsive keyboard. Audio The Acer Spin 1 offers decent but unimpressive audio output for a budget laptop. When I played AC/DC's "For Those About to Rock," the music was a little tinny and was loud enough to fill only a small room. However, I've heard far worse tinniness on much more expensive machines. The Spin's storage is so small that we didn't have enough free space to use our entire set of files. Keyboard and Touchpad When it comes time to type on most budget laptops, particularly 11-inchers like the Spin 1, I gird myself for an unpleasant experience. However, Acer's 2-in-1 blew away my expectations with a snappy, responsive keyboard that didn't have any of the flex or key stiffness I often see on much more expensive systems.
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The keys have a solid 1.4 millimeters of vertical travel, which is pretty deep for a system this thin (1.5 to 2mm is typical on a full-size laptop) and require a 67 grams of force to actuate. Using the keyboard, I achieved a rate of 101 words per minute, with a 3.5 percent error rate on the 10fastfingers.com test, which is right in the middle of my usual range. The 4.1 x 2.3-inch buttonless touchpad provided accurate navigation, without any jerkiness. It also responded immediately to multitouch gestures such as pinch-to-zoom and three-finger swipe. Pen Experience While many 2-in-1s either have no compatible pen or make you buy one separately, the Acer Spin 1 comes with a stylus that supports 1,024 levels of pressure. About the size of a traditional ballpoint pen, the Acer Active Stylus felt really natural in my hand, though pressing its tip against the screen definitely felt like I was pushing plastic against glass. More expensive 2-in-1s, such asthe Surface Pro, offer stylii that do a good job of simulating the friction you get from writing with a pen on paper, but you can't really expect that feeling from a $329 laptop.
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The Active Stylus worked fairly well during my testing, but I did experience some lag while drawing lines in the Fresh Paint program. However, when I wrote into the Windows 10 handwriting recognition box, the system quickly and accurately recorded my words. Strokes were thinner or thicker, depending on how hard I pressed. Performance Despite modest components that include an Intel Celeron N3350 CPU, 4GB of RAM and a 32GB eMMC storage drive, our review configuration of the Acer Spin 1 was a decent multitasker. With over a dozen sites open in Chrome and a 1080p video playing in another window, I experienced just a little bit of lag when I changed tabs and had to wait for the focused web page to render. (Chrome reloads pages on tab focus when you're low on system memory.) The Spin 1 scored a modest 2,806 on Geekbench 3, a synthetic benchmark test that measures overall performance. The Pentium N3530-powered Dell Inspiron 3000 2-in-1 was 21 percent quicker and the Pentium-N4200-enabled HP Envy x360 was a full 77 percent ahead of Acer's 2-in-1.
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You probably don't want to crunch large spreadsheets on the Spin 1 very often, but its capabilities are in line with or better than direct competitors. Acer's 2-in-1 took 9 minutes and 45 seconds to match 20,000 names with their addresses in OpenOffice Calc, which is 43 seconds slower than the Pavilion x360, but nearly 6 minutes quicker than the Inspiron 11 3000. There isn't much room on the Spin 1's 32GB of internal storage, but the eMMC drive is quicker than those of most devices in this price range. The Spin copied 2.59GB of mixed media files at a rate of 83.5 MBps, which is 150 percent quicker than the Inspiron 11 3000 and 45 percent faster than the Pavilion x360 took to complete the same test with 4.97GB of files. The Spin's storage is so small that we didn't have enough free space to use our entire set of files. Unless it's the kind of low-end game that involves cards or falling pieces of candy, you probably won't want to play it on the Spin 1. It returned a score of 24,193 on 3DMark Ice Storm Unlimited, which is far below the average ultraportable, but within range of competitors. The Spin 1 came in around 5,000 points ahead of the Inspiron 11 3000 and roughly 5,000 behind the Pavilion x360. Its gunmetal-gray aluminum chassis stands out in a price band where cheap, glossy plastic is the norm. Battery Life If you're planning to take the Spin 1 with you, be sure to pack the charger. The convertible lasted a modest 6 hours and 44 minutes on the Laptop Battery Test, which involves continuous surfing over Wi-Fi. That's enough time to get you through part of a work or school day, and it's nearly identical to the Dell Inspiron 11 3000 2-in-1's mark while besting the HP Pavilion x360 by about an hour. However, we prefer 8 hours or longer from an ultraportable.
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Heat The Acer Spin 1 stayed cool throughout our tests. After we streamed video for 15 minutes, the touchpad measured 82.5 degrees Fahrenheit, the touchpad hit 88 degrees and the bottom reached only 94.3 degrees. We consider temperatures below 95 degrees comfortable. Webcam The Spin 1's 640 x 480 webcam is pretty awful. A selfie I took was both particularly grainy and blurry. Fine details like the hairs on my beard were hard to make out, and colors like the blue of my shirt and the green of the wall behind me were muted and inaccurate. Software and Warranty For a laptop with just 32GB of internal storage, the Spin 1 has an awful lot of unnecessary pre-loaded software. So plan to spend a few minutes in the control panel, hitting the uninstall button. Acer Portal contains the company's abPhoto, abFiles, abMusic and abADocs services, all of which sync different types of data across all of your devices. Both Portal and Acer Care Center, which lets you check system health and download updates, run in the background at all times. They can't be closed, so if you don't want them, you need to uninstall them. Acer Collection contains a set of tiles that link into the Windows Store so you can download recommended apps such as Drawboard PDF editor and, oddly enough, Yahoo mail. In addition to its own utilities, Acer has thrown on some third-party bloatware, including Amazon, Netflix, WildTangent games and Evernote. There's also the standard set of Microsoft handpicked bloat that we see on every Windows 10 device, including Asphalt 8, Bubble Witch Saga and March of Empires. Acer backs the Spin 1 with a standard one-year warranty on parts and labor. See how Acer fared on our Tech Support Showdown and Best and Worst Brand Ratings. Configurations Our review configuration of the Acer Spin 1, which goes by model number SP111-32N-C2X3, costs $329 and comes with an aluminum chassis, a Celeron processor, a 1080p screen, 4GB of RAM and a 32GB eMMC storage drive. For $429, you can get model number SP111-32N-P0FA which has a faster, Pentium N4200 CPU and a more-generous 64GB of storage. Depending on where you shop, you will see older versions of the Spin 1 selling for $300 or less. Target, for example, has a Spin 1 with the same exact specs as our review unit, but a plastic chassis for $249. We haven't tested these other models, but if they have the same components, they should offer a similar experience to the unit we reviewed.
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Bottom Line With its snazzy design, responsive keyboard and brilliant display, the Acer Spin 1 sets a new standard for budget 2-in-1s. Only its below-average battery life prevents us from giving it a higher rating. Because of its small screen, limited storage and low-end processor, this convertible works best as a secondary device for people who already have a primary PC or as a child's computer. But if you want a high-quality, low-cost 2-in-1 for some quick drawing, web surfing and light productivity or school work, the Spin 1 is the best choice. TECHNICAL SPECIFICATIONS CPU Intel Celeron N3350 Operating System Windows 10 Home RAM 4GB RAM Upgradable to 4GB Hard Drive Size 32GB Hard Drive Speed Hard Drive Type eMMC Secondary Hard Drive Size Secondary Hard Drive Speed Secondary Hard Drive Type Display Size 11.6 Highest Available Resolution 1920 x 1080 Native Resolution 1920x1080 Optical Drive Optical Drive Speed Graphics Card Intel HD Graphics 500 Video Memory Wi-Fi 802.11 a/b/g/n/ac Wi-Fi Model Bluetooth Mobile Broadband Touchpad Size 4.1 x 2.3 inches Ports (excluding USB) USB 3.0 Ports (excluding USB) USB 2.0 Ports (excluding USB) Headphone/Mic Ports (excluding USB) HDMI USB Ports 2 Card Slots microSD Warranty/Support one year warranty Size 11.4 x 7.9 x 0.56 inches Weight 2.65 pounds Company Website www.acer.com   Read the full article
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