#He truly didn’t want to be like them-but he fell down a slippery slope

[that-one-fandom-girl]

It also would make sense if part of why he broke down and cried after making Red Moon go away (besides the fact that he essentially killed her) was, like you were saying, that he had been controlling her every move and making her go most likely against her conscience, like both his father and Hawkmoth/Mayura had done to him and other sentis.

Now that we know about Colt Fathom, it gives insight to why Felix freaked out in “Emotion” over not being in control of his power as he snapped others away in anger, unable to bring them back. In an instant, Felix(a sentimonster) realized he was becoming his father.

Must have been one serious reality check for Felix.

[doctorreids]

folklore - spencer reid x reader

CHAPTER EIGHT - august 

previous chapter | next chapter 

word count - 1.7k 

a/n - see @ the end ! 

warnings: slight sexual content, nothing explicit though. 

“i never needed anything more, whispers of ‘are you sure?’ ‘never have i ever before.’”

The glare of headlights filtered through his car as he drove down the main street, few cars passed. Red and green lights mixed together as he reached each stoplight.

The reality of what he was about to do hit him, just 20 minutes from her apartment he thought about turning back.

The ‘what if’s’ swirled around in his head. What if he wasn’t good enough? What if he truly hadn’t changed and he was just kidding himself? What if she was better off without him?

He would be lying if that last thought didn’t make tears pool in his eyes.

The late-night drive, however, did remind him of August's past. When he pulled up outside her apartment when they had the rare week off and told her to get in. Alex Blake had kindly given them the use of her beach-side Hampton’s summer home. The five-hour drive stretched well into the night.

He could remember her laughter in the passenger seat and her soft snores as they travelled down the highway. Talking nonsense and playing ‘I spy’ to pass the time before the sun began to set, the sky turning from blue into a purple-pink sky with red hues.

Before she drifted to sleep she turned towards him and whispered, “Red sky at night shepherd’s delight, red sky in the morning shepherd’s warning.”

The memory made him smile.

It also made him wonder if this was worth it. If he was too late.

…

“So you’re telling me you’ve never played ‘Never Have I Ever’?” She giggled.

“Nope.” Popping the ‘p’, he shrugged.

Pulling herself onto his lap, she peered up at him.

“Well then,” she sighed comically, “guess I’m just going to have to take your Never Have I Ever virginity! Pass me the wine.”

Tipsy and thinking nothing of it, he passed her the wine.

Hours passed and the questions got dirtier and dirtier. No longer did he blush or feel awkward at her suggestive comments, he made them himself.

They were both slurring, roaring with laughter at times. He had never felt more whole.

“Awk, Spencer, pick your jaw up from the floor.” She straddled him, her finger traced along his jawline.

He smiled up at her before pressing his lips to hers. His hands rested on her hips, she was fully pressed into his chest. She toyed with the buttons on his shirts as he kissed her neck.

He could not describe the utter state of bliss he was in; all he could feel, see, and hear was her. Her soft whimpers at his touch, her soft butterfly kisses on his chest, her bright eyes staring back at him, so full of love and adoration. He never wanted that feeling to end. He had never felt braver as he slipped off her top, placing kisses down her stomach and her thighs, watching her body react to his touch and the soft gasps that escaped her lips. He was on a high that he believed would never end, her touch was like ecstasy, he was filled with complete euphoria.

Whispered ‘I love you’s’ passed between them, he finally knew how it felt to be a teenager falling in love for the first time. She was his true first love. She was the kiss under the bleachers that he never got. She was the prom date he had waited for. He felt 13 years younger with her - shy, bashful and unsure.

The universe and all its questions had all its answers when he was with her.

“august slipped away into a moment in time, cause it was never mine, and I can see us twisted in bedsheets, august sipped away like a bottle of wine.”

The memory of the past August made him smile. They spent the day on the beach, reading and Y/N pulling him into the water despite his protests of it being too cold. They cooked together, showered together, and spent every other moment with each other. If he thought hard enough he could still remember the smells of the local Italian restaurant, the smell of each bottle of red, white and rose wine they drank. He could recall every word that was said.

“I love you.”

“The earth has rotated roughly 212.9 times in the seven months we’ve been together.”

“Not a more accurate figure, no?”

“I’m not a calculator, my love.”

He laughs audibly at the memory. He took so much for granted; how she would listen to his ramblings about everything and anything, especially things she didn’t understand. She would listen so intently, her eyes following his every word and gesture, and she would try her best to talk about astrophysics or whatever his chosen topic was in her own vocabulary, in a way she could understand.

She thought his mind was amazing, he thought her mind was too.

She was patient. She was kind. She was kind.

The memories don’t feel like they are his. They are only a slippery slope into madness. Tempting him back to the days of curling up on his sofa clutching some novel that reminds him of her.

His copy of Pride and Prejudice is now completely worn as he finds himself reading it over and over, remembering the sound of her voice of one summer afternoon in which she read it to him.

He had it memorised cover to cover but he couldn’t bring himself to read it aloud, only her voice could gently relay one of the greatest love stories of all time. A story he had hoped they would rival.

Maybe it was too big of fantasy to maintain hope but without hope, he was lost.

He didn’t feel as though he owned the memory of the past August. Almost as though he was out of his own body, watching it happen. Watching things be so perfect and then watching them fall apart. It was a vicious cycle.

“your back beneath the sun, wishin’ I could write my name on it.”

The morning sun flooded the room as he rolled over to face her. The thin white curtains did little to keep the light out. He couldn’t figure out what time it was and he couldn’t be bothered to look at the small alarm clock beside him.

Her back faced away from him, soft snores came from her mouth. He traced his finger all so gently along the lace of her nightdress to the base of her neck, along the straps and soft cotton material. The sun illuminated her skin, an angelic halo encircling her.

Not even Michelangelo could paint something so heavenly.

Each time he looked at her he felt winded. He was not one to dwell on luck, he focused rather on what was guaranteed and soundproof, but he knew he was so lucky to call her ‘his’. To be able to hold her, to watch each sunrise and sunset with her, was everything to him.  

It was at this moment he decided on their future - the girl before him was the woman he knew he was going to marry. Someday, he promised himself.

“I can practically feel you burning holes into my back, Spence.’ Her laugh cracked with sleep as she turned to face him.

They lay there for a few moments holding each other’s gaze, irises swimming with love. He grabbed her waist, a soft muffled hum as she rested her hand on his chest.

“I can also hear you thinking. Penny for your thoughts?” Her voice was gentle.

He hummed.

“I think you can hear my aching head rather than my thoughts, sweetheart.”

“Aw, does poor Doctor Reid have a sore head?” She teased.

Lifting her head with his index finger, he said, “Now, what did I say about calling me Doctor Reid.”

“Ah, yes. How could I possibly forget! At least one of us can remember last night with some degree of clarity.”

He laughed, “I just have a hangover, I remember everything. Not like you on some of your girl’s nights with Garcia.”

Pulling her pillow from underneath her, she hit him with it.

“You promised you wouldn’t speak of that!” She groaned.

“And you promised you wouldn’t call me unless…” He trailed off.

He wished he could stay there forever as their laughter mixed together.

…

There are moments after laughing, those deep belly laughs, where silence fell upon them both and she would look at him with that mischievous look in her eye and he would fall over and over again.  It was pure, unadulterated joy as they caught their breath.

These are the moments he wishes more than anything that he could live once more.

The empty passenger seat reminds him of the silence of their apartments as they grew further apart. It reminds him when she would sit there and stare out the window without as much of a glance towards him. It also reminds him of the drive home from their august trip. She was glowing, happily chewing on a piece of candy or eating the Cheetos they’d specifically bought for JJ and claiming she would buy more packs when they got back. (She never did.)

Time seemed to slow as each stop light turned red. The drive extended by a few extra minutes. More time to psych himself out. To tell himself to turn around. To remind himself that she wasn’t his to lose.

She was her own person, it was the reason he loved her so. She couldn’t be owned by anyone. In another way, neither could he. Maybe it’s why they clicked together like missing pieces of a puzzle. It’s a possibility why they fell apart so quickly, those pieces must have gotten lost somewhere along the way.

He no longer felt the anxiousness of before, determination surged through his veins. Each red light he stopped at reminded him of each mistake, each time he missed the cracks and signs. This time, he promises himself, he would be better.

He took the next right, knowing that she was 10 minutes away.

He was 10 minutes away from either making the best or worst decision of his life.

600 seconds away from his heart’s home.

799.

798…

--

a/n: hi guys!! sorry for the long wait - results week was very weird for me, and i had to get my grades reassessed and that was another week before i found them out too (which i went up to 2A*s and an A which was way more than what i originally got) which was amazing! i’ve just been going through a rough patch mentally and i’ve been busy sorting out university etc. i feel as though i owe you all an apology for not updating as often - this chapter just took it out of me but i’m looking to update at least weekly or maybe twice a week!! thank u for all the support it means so much <3

taglist: @itsfangirlmendes @toosassy2handle @supernatural-strangerthings-1980 @rexorangecouny @myheartbelongsintz @toizerdecker @baddestbau​ @haylaansmi​ @hess016 @blameitonthenight21​

[meadowmood]

Ramdula’s Visitor

This the first short story upload I will be doing for all of the work I did for my senior show centering around my own stories and characters. If you would like to view the entire exhibition now, click this link! It includes a number of short stories, illustrations, and character bios for your viewing pleasure!

Read the story below the cut!

(content warning for themes of death, self harm, and suicide) A heavy feeling sunk deep into Beau’s bones that evening. She was sitting on the old woven chair outside of her home, wearing only a thin blouse and trousers. The air was warm, broken only so often by a cool breeze blowing across the meadow in which her home sat. What little light there was began to wane, and faint twinkles of stars began to peek their way into the sky as it darkened....

It was a beautiful night, but Beau was aware of none of it. Not the sky, not the breeze, and not the stars. 

Her eyes were glassy and seemed to stare at something non-existent. She had come outside to ground herself, to feel something beside the numbness that consumed her mind and body. instead she felt nothing. She sighed as she sat and stared out into the meadow, the only thing she could hear were the thoughts in her head. She was exhausted by her own mind. 

Why did something she couldn’t live without have to be so loud? 

It’s been so quiet in the house since Mara died, she thought. Mara had been her closest friend who lived in the house with her. Like so many times before, her mind flashed back to her death. They had been in the university lab cleaning up after class, chatting casually as they swept the floor and wiped down tables when a sudden large flash of light and a tremendous crash rang out. Beau fell flat on the ground under the force of the blast, suffering a few cuts and bruises, but when the smoke cleared and Beau came to, she was still alive and relatively unharmed. 

Mara was lying completely still, a single pipe running through her stomach. Dead.

Beau clutched her stomach instinctively as she remembered the sight. Apparently a student had failed to store a number of potions properly, and the resulting mix of chemicals and spells had been enough to cause an explosion. Thankfully no one else had been hurt. 

No one except Mara. 

Since then, Beau had dropped out of university. She didn’t wait to see how the school would bend over backwards to make it all okay, to pretend it never happened. She just wanted to go home. Except home was empty, and full of Mara’s things and memories of their life together. The life they should have had together. She held back tears as the wounds opened themselves anew and she felt rage within her at how unfair it all was. Why Mara? Why did her Mara have to be taken from her?

She had the sudden intense desire for numbness, for peace from her emotions. She couldn’t go back inside, nothing but hurt lay in there. 

She stared up at the meadow and her eyes landed on the forest that lay beyond it. She had never ventured into that forest herself, but people said that a reclusive spirit resided there, and Mara had always told her to be wary of it as the spirit could be malevolent. But Mara wasn’t here anymore, and whatever was in that forest might hurt her, hurt her enough that it would take all of the thoughts away, all of the pain. It would be quick, and she wouldn’t have to live in a home without Mara anymore. She wouldn’t have to live at all.

Before she could consider anything else she was running, the air growing colder as she neared the forest, the biting chill barely registering as she ascended the hill toward the trees. As Beau reached the treeline, breathing heavily from the run, she stared up at the massive pines, and before she could bear to give it a second thought, she ran straight into the trees.

Beau ran frantically through the forest making a tremendous amount of noise, breaking twigs and cracking dry leaves. Eventually she found herself making her way down a hill, its steep incline covered in wet moss and slippery stone. The slope caught her by surprise, causing her to fall onto her hands and knees. She yelled out in pain as she hit the forest floor, her skin stinging from the rough ground. She bit back tears as she held up her shaking hands, now covered in small cuts and debris. Before she could try and stand up she heard the footsteps of something large and heavy approaching. She turned to see a huge black dog. It was ginormous, easily meeting her eyes as she kneeled. Its long silky fur and pointed ears almost making it look like a grounded bat. Beau screamed and held up her hands in front of her, her body turning numb as fear washed over her. The dog stood still, and as she let her gaze wander from its piercing stare she noticed a great number of dogs behind it, standing just as still as their leader.

Beau broke the silence “KILL ME THEN!!” she screamed, waiting for it to attack. The dog simply stared back at her and tilted it’s head, as though it was trying to understand her. “DO IT!” she shrieked, almost pleading for the stupid beast to do something. “Go on! KILL ME!”

The dog walked closer to her and opened its mouth, its teeth white and menacing in the evening light. She flinched, waiting for the pain of the bite to come, but instead it grabbed onto her blouse. Beau put her hands down, confused, as the dog gently pulled on her shirt. A moment later she felt the other dogs behind her prodding her back, pushing her forward as the lead dog continued to tug on her shirt. She shakily got herself to her feet and began walking as the dogs continued to pull her, shuffling noisily as they guided her farther into the woods. 

Where are they taking me?

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As the sky darkened and the air chilled, Matthias stirred. He raised his head among the sea of black fur of his packmates and pricked his ears up at the sound of his master stirring in the floors above him. He jumped up and yipped at his pack to get up. The dogs all sleepily got to their feet, noisily ascending the stairs from the basement toward the castle throne room. They met her in the hall at the top of the stairs, Matthias running to his master’s side as she walked the boisterous pack down the hall. He kept pace with her as he stared up at her face. She was somber, as usual. Matthias tried to picture with difficulty the last time she looked truly happy. She made a noise and motioned toward the front of the castle. Matthias knew this to mean she wanted him to patrol the grounds. He barked and led his pack out of the castle, across the drawbridge and into the dark forest. 

As they reached the edges of the territory Matthias pushed his snout to the ground, forcing a myriad of smells into his nostrils. Images of running deer, rabbits, squirrels, and songbirds all flashed in his mind as he patrolled the outer edges of the grounds. His large black paws produced deep impressions in the soft soil as he padded along, the rest of his pack following close behind. They kept their ears pricked and tails held high, ready to alert their master of any intruders. The forest air was cool and quiet, the crisp air felt good on his thick coat, energizing him as he led his pack around the forest’s perimeter.

The silence suddenly broke as a twig cracked in the distance and the sound of something making its way into the forest shot through Matthias’s ears. Crackling underbrush, heavy breathing, and panicked footsteps tip-toed their way into his mind as he located the figure. He signaled for his pack to remain quiet. Together they walked low to the ground toward the mysterious visitor. As they approached he could see them more clearly. They were a small creature, running on two legs and heading toward the castle. He titled his head, observing them struggle and stumble through the dense underwood of the forest. They didn’t seem to know where they were going, and they certainly didn’t seem dangerous. Suddenly the creature tripped and let out a yelp as they fell forward. Matthias ran to the noise, closely followed by his fellow dogs toward the fallen figure. As he neared them he slowed his pace and approached them carefully, unsure of what to do until they turned suddenly and faced him, letting out another yell. He held still, taking in everything he could see of the figure in front of him. They appeared frightened, eyes wide and fearful as they held their hands in front of their face, ready to defend themselves. This was not a dangerous intruder, he concluded. 

The creature suddenly let out a sound, a garbled noise he found hard to understand. They were not speaking an animal language. He stood up straight and tilted his head, trying to at least make out a command or a familiar word. The figure repeated themselves, louder and more desperately this time, and he almost winced at the intensity of their cry. The noises were similar to his master’s, and he wondered if she could possibly understand the visitor. 

He walked forward slowly and opened his jaws, the figure flinching as they expected to be bitten. He instead clasped the cloth that decorated them and pulled them forward. His pack realized what he was doing and did the same, some gently pushing on her back encouraging them to move forward while the others began to bark and yip as they walked ahead. The figure stood up shakily, and with the dog’s gentle motivation they made their way to the castle. The creature was slow, and shook as they walked, but with a good bit of gentle pushing and encouragement Matthias was soon able to see the silhouette of the castle peeking over the trees. He ran ahead and let out a deep, haunting howl. As he did, a heavy clanking rang out into the night as a drawbridge lowered itself over a wide moat surrounding the building. He turned and called back to his pack, who excitedly pulled the visitor into the castle, anticipating meeting their master.

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Ramdula walked solemnly through the halls of her castle, tightly gripping the hilt of her sword as her large group of black dogs padded happily behind her. She entered the throne room and sighed deeply. She was barely awake and it was only early evening. 

“Matthias,” she called to her lead dog, pointing to the front of the castle. “Begin your nightly patrols. I am heading to the library.” The dogs perked up at the command and headed to the castle gate, barking excitedly as they thundered across the drawbridge into the trees. 

Ramdula watched them go and drew the drawbridge up again with a wave of her hand, heading toward the other end of the room and through a large archway. After making her way down a dark spiral staircase she entered the library, a huge, airy, and circular room residing in the underground beneath the castle. The air was cold and dry as she scanned the dark wooden shelves, flickering fireflies illuminating Ramdula’s path down the corridors, flittering soundlessly around her head. The library was like a maze only she knew how to navigate, the endless twisting rows filled to the brim with books, journals, and manuscripts. Sitting in between these shelves were old items of previous residents. Armor of fallen enemies, weapons, garments, and treasures of old all passed her as she looked for something interesting. After 345 years of life, she had just about read everything the library had to offer twice over, and she was immensely bored. With a glazed expression she scanned the shelves she had stared at for centuries, looking for something, anything, that she might have missed, forgotten, or looked over. 

Nothing. 

Everything was familiar. Everything was uninteresting. 

With a heavy sigh she reached for a sizable book with a soft red velvet cover, now faded and worn at the edges. It was a book of local folklore and myths, the stories it told holding a special place in Ramdula’s heart. They were her favorite in her younger years. She flipped through the yellowed pages, recalling every word as they flashed passed her eyes. She tucked the book under her arm, ready to take it somewhere comfortable to read when she heard a howl. It was Matthias wanting to come back in. It didn’t sound like an alarm, perhaps he was looking for something to eat before patrolling. Ramdula rolled her eyes and focused her magic on lowering the drawbridge, walking toward the spiral staircase as she did so in order to climb her way back to the throne room. 

As she walked down the hallway and turned the corner around the stone arch, she met a sight she never would have expected, not even if she had lived to be a million years old. A young, teary-eyed, bedraggled looking girl was standing in the middle of her throne room, staring at her like she was on trial for murder. She stood absolutely still for a moment and then looked down at Matthias, who had walked up to her and sat down at her feet, tongue hanging out of his smiling mouth. 

“Matthias, dear, what exactly have you dragged into my home?” she sighed, motioning toward the visitor. The black hound simply stared back at her, shifting his feet in excitement. Ramdula sighed again, and peered into his mind to see what happened. Within it she saw him patrolling, the figure running into the forest, their fear, and Matthias desire for understanding. 

“Hm.” she said, unamused, and turned to the girl, who went rigid under her gaze.

“Hello…little...person,” she began. “You have mistakenly wandered into my home, I presume, and have been escorted by my familiars who for some reason think,” she glared down at a perfectly unaware Matthias, tongue still lolling from his mouth, “I will have something to say to you besides ‘please leave.’ I am not sure why they have brought you here but you need not stay. Head along home now, no harm done, just…” she waved her hands in a shooing motion at the girl, “get along. Matthias can show you out.” 

Ramdula waited for a response, expecting the visitor to appear relieved at her dismissal, but to her unfortunate surprise the girl looked even more upset than before. 

“W-what?” she stammered, eyes going wide with shock. “That’s it? you’re not going to kill me?” She began to sniffle, tears began pouring down her face. 

“Oh, I feel so stupid, why did I even come here?” The dogs crowded around her and began to whine, licking the tears off of her face as she sunk to her knees. 

“I’m s...so sorry I don’t  know why I came here,” she cried. “I guess I’ll go now, and go…h-h… ho...” A fresh new flood of tears burst from her eyes as she tried to finish her sentence instead crouching forward and covering her face. 

Ramdula stood still, looking especially uncomfortable in the presence of this sobbing creature. She gripped the hilt of her sword in her palm and rubbed it nervously as she pondered how she could rid herself of this small, distressed child without making them even more upset. She had already asked them politely to leave, she was not sure what else she could do about this. She had a sudden intense desire to be back in the library. 

“Child, look. Listen please. I am not going to kill you unless you give me a reason to, which you have not done thus far so, um…please don’t cry, you may go back home unharmed,” Ramdula said, stepping a little closer. The girl looked up at her, her eyes swollen and red, she looked quite a mess. 

“Well if you’re not going to kill me then I am not sure why I am here. I’m not sure what I’m doing at all,” the girl admitted. Ramdula’s expression went from uncomfortable to confused, her brows furrowing as she tried to understand.

“You came here..to be killed?” she asked the girl, brows furrowed. “By me?” 

The girl nodded, and Ramdula tried to think of what in Lun’s name she could be talking about. That was it. She needed this incomprehensible little creature to give her a straight answer this very second. 

“Matthias, go fetch the crackers and tea from the basement.” Matthias scampered away as she looked at the rest of the pack. “You, blankets. You, a kettle. And you, cups. We are going to be here a while.” The girl uncovered her face and looked around as the dogs dispersed, scattering down the hallways and descending stairs in search of the items they had been assigned. 

“Child, it seems you have a story you need to tell, and you are going to be a right mess until you get it out. So first,” Ramdula said, crossing her long legs as she sat on the floor, “tell me your name.” 

The girl wiped her eyes and tried her best to sit up straight. “Beau, Beau Conway” she said quietly.

“Lovely to meet you, Beau Conway. My name is Ramdula, and this is my castle.”

Before long, the dogs all returned with their items (coated in copious amounts of drool), and they had set up quite the cozy atmosphere in the throne room with blankets, hot tea, and crackers. Ramdula conjured a magical fire in between them, and the warmth of the flames breathed new life into the throne room. With a cup of hot tea and several large dogs lying on her lap, Beau explained everything. She told Ramdula about Mara, how she died, and how everything had been tainted by her memory: her home, her school, and even her own mind. She couldn’t escape all of the pain and feelings that surrounded her. She had just wanted it all to stop. The thoughts... the hurt… the memories… she had just wanted to feel numb. 

“A-and I saw your forest, and remembered what Mara said, that there might be a malevolent spirit inside, that might hurt me,” she said quietly, “so I ran inside hoping something would end me before I gave it too much thought,” she sobbed, her eyes welling up with tears. “A-and you haven’t hurt me, you’ve been so nice, I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have come here and bothered you so much. I’ve just been stupid, I-I’m sorry” she started crying again, and buried her face in her hands. Ramdula looked at her, having remained quiet the entire time Beau had shared her story, and twirled her tea spoon in her cup as she spoke.

“Sometimes, we cannot control where our lives take us. I do not blame you for coming here,” she said, setting her cup on the ground carefully. “However, if you truly are seeking death, then I am sorry. That is something I cannot grant you,” Ramdula said solemnly. She stood up and stretched her huge wings out to their full length before folding them back into their resting position. 

“I cannot claim to know exactly what to tell you, Beau Conway. But I can say if your home is a source of pain for you, you may stay here for the night, and decide if you would like to return in the morning.” 

Beau lowered her head, still sniffling. 

“Thank you,” she said.

“For everything.”

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Beau was led by Ramdula to a spare room, a journey that took them down a myriad of twisting stone hallways. “The dogs can stay with you while I perform my duties for the night.” She looked down at Matthias, a slight smile on her lips as she looked down at him. “You have the night off, lucky dog.” 

She bid them all goodnight and disappeared down the hall, heading somewhere unknown. Beau entered the room and saw that it was a plainly decorated stone study with a large bed at the far wall. She crawled under the covers, still a little dazed from that evening's events. As she got herself comfortable, the dogs climbed onto the bed with her and curled up on every inch of the blankets that she didn’t occupy. She started to doze to the sounds of the dog's heavy breathing. Her thoughts unoccupied by grief as she drifted peacefully into a deep slumber.

Before Beau knew it, morning had come, and she awoke in the same place she had fallen asleep. None of it had been a dream, she realized. She sat up, rousing the dogs that were sleeping on the bed with her and rubbed her eyes as she made her way to the door. The dogs, now fully awake, all crowded around her, waiting patiently for the door to be opened. She turned the knob and was nearly pushed out into the hallway by the rush of excitement of the hounds as they ran down the long hall. Matthias stayed behind, nudging her gently in the right direction, and when they reached the throne room Ramdula was nowhere to be found. Matthias put his nose to the floor and barked at Beau to follow him, leading her past the archway down into a spiral staircase.

The dogs thundered down the stairs into the dark underground, Beau following them closely behind. As she reached the bottom the narrow corridor opened into a huge circular room filled with endless rows of shelves, and she found she had come into a huge library. Right in front of her in a massive armchair sat Ramdula, reading a large red book with worn edges. 

“Ah,” she said, closing the book and setting it aside, “you are awake.” She stood up to her full height, and for the first time since meeting her Beau realized how tall the spirit was, towering above her by at least several feet. “How was your sleep?” Ramdula asked, leaning down slightly to meet her eye.

“Good!” Beau replied, she reflected momentarily at how well rested she felt, her mind was the clearest it had been in months. “Really good, actually, best I’ve had in awhile. Thank you again for being so kind,” she said gazing into the spirit’s eyes.

“Do not dwell on it, it was nothing at all,” Ramdula replied. She turned around, picking up the red book again. “Do you like to read?” she asked.

“Very much so,” said Beau, admiring the books as she did.  “This library is stunning.” 

“Yes, it is quite a sight for someone who is unfamiliar with its contents isn’t it?” Ramdula said, sighing deeply. “Unfortunately, I have read every word contained within these walls, so I cannot say I share the same awe you feel now.” She held out the book she grasped in her hand to Beau, allowing her to admire it. “This one I don’t seem to tire of easily. It is a collection of stories you might find enjoyable. I definitely did as a young pup.” 

Beau held out her hands and grasped the book tenderly, almost afraid it would turn to dust in her hands. “Wow, thank you,” she murmured, enchanted by the book's intricate gold leaf cover. As she stared at it, an idea crept into her mind “Would you like more? Books that is. I have some at home.” 

Ramdula perked her ears up, sporting an unfamiliar expression of child-like excitement. “More books you say? Now that sounds interesting.” 

Beau grew more enthusiastic, happy she had piqued the spirit’s interest. ”Yes they are! And I would like to thank you for what you have done for me. I can bring some by tonight, would you want that?” 

Ramdula paused, considering the offer. “I would, actually,” she said contemplatively. “I am not very good around regular humans and the like, so I haven't added any new books to the library in centuries. It’s a shame, since it is a tradition of my ancestors to build the knowledge this place holds.” She stared out into rows of shelves before turning back suddenly. “You said you slept exceptionally well last night?” she asked, peering at Beau before continuing. “Let’s say you wanted to sleep here for the foreseeable future. When you did, I wouldn’t mind you bringing me a book in exchange for a night’s rest in the castle...hm?” 

Beau’s eyes widened as the proposition sunk in. “You wouldn’t mind?” 

Ramdula shook her head. “On the contrary, Beau Conway, you would be doing me a favor in exchange for small effort on my part. I would be delighted if you accepted.” 

Beau’s eyes shone with happiness at the idea, a wide smile breaking out across her face. “Yes, YES! I can definitely do that. I will be back tonight with all the books I can carry! Thank you THANK YOU!” she cried. Beau ran back up the stairs, book in hand and ready to head home, this time not dreading what she would see inside.

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

Ramdula watched her go chuckling as she disappeared up the stairs. What a peculiar person she was. She had an inkling that the most interesting thing Beau would bring back tonight was herself. She had to admit she didn’t just want the books, though they were quite tempting. She had actually enjoyed talking to someone besides the dogs for once, and to her surprise, looked forward to having company over for dinner.

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Matthias listened to the visitors footsteps slowly fade away up the staircase. He was happy to see they weren’t afraid anymore. He stared up at his master’s face, and for the first time in a long time, he saw content in her eyes. 

[ihavenocluedude]

Destruction of clothes

Agent Whiskey x Female!Reader

A/N: I finally finished it! Look between like insecurities of publishing smut for the first time as well as insecurities about writing it for the first time for a while (I tried once a few years ago to write it, I’m pretty sure I deleted the things from my google docs just a short time afterwards). But I really hope it’s good, I think it is?? 

Summary: You would never really confess to finding Jack 'Whiskey' 'cowboy douchebag' Daniels attractive, well that was until he helped you after a mission injury, starting to care for him and starting to not call him a douchebag, bitch or anything like that. And after that it was just a slippery slope to 'attacking' him on the jet after a mission. With both the mission injury and with the 'attack' there was two types of very different and light destruction of clothing.

Word count: 2 571

Ko-Fi 

Link to reading it on AO3 

Warnings: Smut, hair pulling, fingering, curse words so often you wouldn’t believe, fingering,Vaginal sex, like a second of a handjob tbh, also reader isn’t a total sub but neither is Jack. 

“Don’t you dare touch me!” You held your injured leg away from him, hissing your words in pain, you had worked with Whiskey for years now but it’s not like there’s any trust between the two of you. After all seeing him in the cocky cowboy mood all the time wasn’t really a stable ground for becoming friends. “Look I’ll just call for Ginger or something, go- Agh- go finish the fucking mission!”

“The mission can wait, your leg can’t. Can you just- Just let me help you dangit!” Of course he wasn’t sincere or careful with the situation but rather abrupt and demanding. As always.

“Fuck off Whiskey” You punctuaded your words with harsh breaths as you started to take off the flannel shirt you’d kept around your waist. The mission had for once let you be casually dressed, as tourists. Which was perfect considering the current situation. Ripping the flannel apart with shaky hands, wrapping the piece of fabric tightly above the bullet wound in your thigh. Well ‘thank fuck’ it wasn’t just that injury too, thank fuck to the scumbags that led you into the forrest. Not only had they put a bullet in your thigh but they’d also made you dislocate your knee when you fell. Wonderful.

“Go finish the fucking mission, I’ll still be here when you come back. Worst- worst case scenario I’ll call for backup to come save m-”

“Maybe you didn’t notice sweetheart, but you can’t really reach Ginger or backup out here, can you hear Ginger right now? Because I don’t. That bullet wound alone is an injury that needs to be treated now, I’m bringing you to the jet.”

“I hope you know that I hate you.” You muttered as he walked closer to you. Whiskey had done the mistake of trying to fight you once, whilst training of course. And while the man is good at fighting and he has his god damn whip and lasso, you were quicker. Did you truly hate the man though? No not really. However denial was always the biggest part in your co-workership “no you don’t find him attractive, no the things he does with his whip and lasso aren’t sexy, no you’re not falling for a man with a god damn cowboy hat”. But when it came down to the truth, yes you were attracted to a cocky man with a cowboy hat and a lasso.

Getting back to the jet? Easier said than done. Whiskey had slowly walked up to you until you told him to ‘hurry the fuck up’. You let him carry you like you were a sack of potatoes and you honestly felt bad for him.

Carrying someone for an extended amount of time = not easy.

“Are we there yet y’ think?” You were almost becoming bored, the pain of your left leg of course always there. But it’s not like you haven’t been shot before. You had sort of learned how to ignore it, sure it wasn’t foolproof and sometimes you just can’t ignore it. But at the moment all your attention was directed at the man carrying you. His eyes were always so dark, his nose was unique and just so beautiful in side profile. You tried looking away but what the hell were you supposed to look at? The trees? The sky? Why not just appreciate that you could maybe stare at Whiskey without as much suspicion than usual.

“Soon.” He muttered out, carrying a person isn’t easy and you did offer to walk when he had been carrying you for a while. But he refused… So here you were, still in his arms.

--- — —

When you did get back to the jet there was no time to waste really, Whiskey did what he could and that was that for now. Whiske-Jack had for the first time told you to call him Jack during his little examination of your leg. Sure it may be because you were calling him a bitch rather than calling him Whiskey, but still, you take your invitation when you can.

Not being able to see Jack flying the plane was a disappointment. He was always so focused, so in the zone and… unfortunately, he looked extremely hot while doing it. He was in control.  His moments in the pilot seat were the only moments you’d maybe admit to yourself that you were very very attracted to him. But at this moment you couldn’t see his tongue dart out to wet his lips absentmindedly, or see his eyes relaxing and narrowing every once in a while, no instead boredom was flooding your brain. Staring at the ceiling, laying on the small couch with your leg resting, tilted upwards.

— — —

As you got better from your injuries, he stuck around you. Every god damn step of the way. You had tried pushing him away, didn’t work, you tried to talk seriously to him, telling him to ‘stop pretending to care’ to which he replied: “Sweetheart I ain’t pretending”. It was upsetting, irritating and also just heartmelting. And during all of this, he was starting to open up, talking about his life before The Statesman agency, about his wife’s death and the therapy The Statesman agency had offered.

He started coming to the little medical bay of the headquarters to eat his lunch by your side, talking about what you like to do within your very little free time. Once in a while there’d be a ‘deep‘ moment, a moment where the two of you had actually shared parts of yourself no one knew about, it made your blood turn to ice. Were you really letting him get to know you? Was he just trying to gain your trust only to let you down?

Jack was after all one of those agents who’d risk anything to get the job done, on his own terms of course. But still he would do anything so what if gaining your trust, what if it was all just some ploy?

— — —

The day it all snapped, the moment where the relationship between the two of you changed forever, was the same day as a small mission. Nothing extreme, just you and Jack. During the flight to the mission you sat there in the co-pilot seat, practically staring at him. This time you did get to see his tongue dart out to wet his lips absentmindedly and his eyes relaxing and narrowing every once in a while. Jack however knew you were watching, of course he knew.

“Y’good over there darlin’?” He smirked, it wasn’t the first time he had called you a nickname but each time it made a shiver run down your spine. A small nod and your eyes darting away as an answer was all Jack got for now. You hadn’t intended to stare so heavily, but what can he expect, sitting there looking like that. He was a true distraction, which is why missions with him nowadays could become so… frustrating.

Trying to seduce some high-powered man during his gala was way harder when you heard whispered encouragements from Jack through your comms. Pure distraction. It was like he was doing it on purpose, whispering ‘good girl‘ when getting good information… Not fair.

During the mission he of course repeated this new habit of his, whispered encouragements, accompanied by nicknames that he knew affected you. So when you had finished talking to Ginger for the night, turning off your comms, that’s when you ‘attacked’, pushing him back against one of the interior walls of the jet. Your lips lingering just a small distance from his but not giving him the satisfaction.

“You do that on purpose, don’t you?” Your voice was determined but it sounded more airy than you had thought it would. Jack didn’t even seem surprised by this sudden ‘attack’, a smirk sitting confidently on his face.

“So what if I did darlin’?” Jack winks before placing his hands on either side of your upper neck, pulling your lips to his. Thankful that it all had just finally snapped together, you moved quickly. Taking his tie in your hand before tugging him over to the rather small couch in the jet. It wasn’t even a question of convincing him to sit down, but rather him crashing down himself, making sure to grab your legs so you’d land on top of him already, your free hand going to his shoulder.

“Then will you just take me already?” Your answer was of course rather delayed as your mouth had been occupied with his for the most of the time. His right hand’s fingers seemed at home in your hair but he did seem rather cautious about it. Well at least until you put your hand over his fingers, tightening the grip on your hair, lightly adjusting his hand to pull on it slightly, an airy moan emerging from you, showing your approval. “Perfect. Just like that baby.”

“Shit darlin’, you’re going to be the death of me.” His voice was practically a whisper as he stroked your thigh gently, leading his hand further and further towards your inner thigh. Silently thanking Peggy the fashion advisor who works for the firm for the fancy underwear you ‘had’ to wear for the mission. Even if she was annoying, some times… She came in handy.

One hand on his neck, wanting to grasp his hair harsh in your clutches, the other hand sitting on his shoulder, making sure his chest was now pushed up against yours. “Make me yours.” It wasn’t even a question as it came out of your lips, bringing out a groan from Jack. His finger finally really taking action and moving them slightly quicker to your core. Teasing a finger over the slit on top of the fancy and now soaked underwear, his smirk was almost more teasing than his fingers, that were now applying some more pressure. Your hips started moving automatically against his fingers.

“How long Jack?”

“How long what?”

“How long have you thought about me like this, on top of you, gripping your shoulder. How long baby?” Your words were more demanding than you had thought they’d be. The hand on his chest slid down to the bulge in his pants, lightly tracing it. Jack was a demanding man, he was usually the one in control, now there was becoming a balance. The sounds spewing out of his mouth was just egging you on, however you made sure to shut him up with your mouth. While his fingers slid the fancy underwear to the side, lightly circling your clit with his thumb and with his other fingers teasing where he soon would enter.

“Way too long Princess.” He grumbled against your lips as they parted, a gasp rising out of your mouth as he slowly eased a finger inside of you. It had been… a while. However the reactiveness Jack was getting out of you just made him want to hear more of the small gasps, the sound of his name, ‘Jack‘s slipping out every once in a while and the moans that were almost fighting their way out of you. The want to pleasure Jack as much as he was pleasuring you made you take off his belt, open his pants and take his dick out. Swiping your thumb over the tip before starting to move your hand slowly.

It didn’t take long at all for him to be able to sink another finger in you, going slightly quicker, your legs quivering at the pleasure. Not being able to completely focus on the moving of your hands, Jack took this moment of ‘weakness’ to slowly move the two of you to laying down on the jet’s couch instead of straddling. Taking a second just to look at you, starting to up his pace again after slowing down to be able to move you,

“This is art darlin’, you are art.” He growled as he started moving his mouth down to your collarbone, leaving a few small kisses every where; on your jawline, on your throat, slightly below your ear, and finally sucking onto your skin where your throat and chest met. Your hands resting and gripping his shoulders.

“Would you just hurry the fuck up- Shit Jack!” Slowly muttering out curse words as he focused his fingers on and around your clit instead, . However that wasn’t what you wanted, trying to sit up slightly or trying to pry his pants off with your legs and feet. “Get these off, now”

“Would you just relax?” He muttered back before slipping his fingers away from you, the cold air in the jet finally really hitting it as he dragged the panties off whilst backing off and dragging off his own pants as well. “Are you sure-”

“Yes.”

“Princess, do you have any-”

“-No but I’m protected.” You didn’t want to wait for him to finish his sentences, even if him saying ‘princess’ sounded heavenly. Finally the pressure of him grinded against you, before finally entering slowly. Jack had noticed the pressure around his fingers earlier, noting that it had been a while so as to go easy and slowly. Until you for probably the hundreth time in your life told him to hurry the fuck up. Like you had done on countless missions before and would do on countless missions ahead.

“Fu-uck.” He almost stuttered when he did finally slide all the way in, already applying a pressure to your clit with one of his hands as he knew he wouldn’t last that long. It had been a while for him too. Putting his other hand next to your head for stability as he started thrusting. Him feeling the tightness of you  and you feeling the fullness of him. Moans, groans and curse words were filling the jet quickly, Jack upping the speed of his thrusts, you clenching around him as you were starting to near your climax.

Finally reaching one of your hands to his hair, yanking his mouth down to yours to swallow his moans and for him to swallow yours as you climaxed. Putting a bit more pressure on your clit to make the feeling linger slightly longer, before he slid away his hand, not wanting to hurt you and instead grabbing the edge of the couch as hard as he could before speeding up his pace and finally reaching the edge you’d just been at and falling over it. His lips parting away from yours to instead suck at the skin of your shoulder, lightly digging in his teeth into the flesh.

“Well fuck, y’know Peggy’s going to be pissed at you.” You mentioned the fashion advisor as your breath finally calmed down a few minutes later, your brain no longer in the haze of Jack and realizing the small mistake you hadn't noticed earlier. 

“Hmm?” He hummed contently, resting his head on one of your shoulders, lying by your side, tracing shapes onto your other arm as he was almost on the brink of falling asleep.

“We never took off the dress, it’s expensive Jack.” You chuckled, Jack just shaking his head, about to slowly rise away from you before he felt your hands pressing against his back, pushing him back against your chest. Your voice lovingly explaining why a second later; “It’s already messy and… well sort of trashed baby, so don’t you dare leave me yet.”

A/N - It’s done! It’s finally done! Sorry for the really long wait, as I’ve mentioned this thing several times before. Hope it actually was like good quality as well. It definitely wasn’t rushed as you guys who’s seen the earlier posts know. Now Imma sleep, then tomorrow I’ll probably post part 5 of the Scotty x OFC ;) 

I will always love feedback so don’t ever be afraid to comment something or send me an ask, message or whatever. 

[ourardenoliver]

❤️ jack

❤  five times my muse says they don’t love yours, and the one time they admit it.

1. They're friends, although most of their interactions are limited to track & field practice. He takes great pleasure in confidently saying that she loves him really, to which Arden always shuts him down with a roll of her eyes. Even a platonic admission of love seems like a slippery slope, like she'll give him an inch and he'll run a mile.

2. The two are sleeping together and it's easy. Fun. Effortless. It's exactly what she needs as she gets over some truly terrible past relationship experiences, yet rather than acknowledging how much she cares and appreciates him; she deflects. Whenever his compliments become too genuine or real, she finds that taking off her shirt is a sure fire way to navigate things back to a territory that she's more comfortable with.

3. He calls time on their friends with benefits relationship, says that it's not working for him. Arden completely understands, knows that casual sex has never really been her thing. Their conversation ends a little awkwardly on both of their parts, which makes her lose her nerve -- she doesn't end up telling him that she loved their time together or that he's one of the most important people in her life these days.

4. He confesses that he loves her and she tries her best to let him down gently, to let him know that she doesn't reciprocate his feelings. It blows up in her face though and she ends up leaving his birthday party in tears. The thing that she doesn't tell anyone is that she really wished she did share his feelings -- she wished that she had some control over who she fell for as falling for Jackson would have made a lot more sense than falling for Joey.

5. Naturally, her pride, ego, and feelings were wounded when she tried to put herself out there for Joey, only for him to leave campus without even saying goodbye. It took her some time to fully recover from it -- time where Jackson showed up for her time and time again, despite the fact that it must have been incredibly awkward to help her recover from a heartbreak whilst he was still trying to get over her. The ironic thing is that whilst Jackson's feelings for her moved back to friendship, hers began to shift in the opposite direction. Still, she didn't say a word; knowing that she had lost the right to say anything to him about it.

+1. Arden knows that he's with Ivy now and believe it or not, she actually doesn't want to ruin things. She cares about both of them and they seem really happy together but she's fairly sure that if she doesn't say it aloud at least once, it might actually kill her. She gets her chance when she's leaving the Delta Psi house after studying with Noah and finds Jackson fast asleep on the couch downstairs; having fallen asleep watching a movie. "I really do love you, Jackson Archer", Arden says quietly as she gently throws a blanket over him and leaves the fraternity house without glancing back.

[sheabutterskyes]

The Mask of White Waters

XXIII | Favorite Things

–

 Isla was silent for a few moments, either gathering her thoughts or unsure if she was going to say anything at all.

“My life isn’t that exciting…” She was looking at Caia, they could feel it. “And my imagination isn’t much better.”

Caia kept staring ahead, “You seemed to have had some exciting times in the towns along the way.”

She shifted, “Sometimes too exciting.”

Isla fell into silence once more, leaving Caia’s ears nearly ringing from the quiet that surrounded them. The smell of pine was fast fleeting as the air around them became sharp, the cold of the night setting in around them .

The silence from Isla lasted long enough that Caia eventually glanced over to see if she had fallen asleep. She hadn’t. She was staring unseeingly ahead, only turning away with the trace of a smile on her lips when Caia’s gaze lingered.

“I was banned from the property of a wealthy family once.”

Caia had to hold back a laugh.

“I went to a party that our dancers had been invited to… did you know I’m a dancer?” She shrugged, “I think I’ve told you already.”

“No, you have not.”

“Oh…” She smiled, “I’m a member of the Shaubriand. Most of us come from the Stonefail region.”

That made sense. Her accent certainly did not fit with any of the areas they had passed through. And the dancing… well, that was somehow also unsurprising.

“Our group, the Shaubriand dancers, were invited to attend a gathering at a very influential man’s home. Not even to perform. I think that he wanted us there to improve appearance.” She hesitated, as if now trying to decide if that had been the case.

“There was music, dancing, drinks, I suppose all of that was typical of any other party. The guests were not so typical. They were not the type you would see frequenting even the nicest of markets or cleanest of streets. Not easy to get ahold of, but honestly they were often generous and kind. But among the people there, was one man who continued to come around, asking for a dance or starting a conversation. He didn’t exactly strike me as being generous or kind, and as the night went on, it was obvious that he was wanting much more than a dance or a conversation.”

Another thing they found unsurprising. So often humans disregarded others for their own selfish desires. There had been plenty of that type to visit the Lake of White Waters.

“It eventually came to the point where I considered leaving, but before that, I made several other guests aware of his increasingly problematic behavior. He found out, and in exchange began to tell people that I was the problem.” Isla tilted her head, “That wasn’t enough to get me banned though. I…,” she laughed, “I broke his nose.”

Caia nodded, “Of course.”

“It was an accident!” She threw her hands up defensively, her eyes watery with laughter. “He rushed up behind me to grab my arm while I was dancing with my friend.”

“And so you were banned?”

“That would have made sense. That’s what I thought at first. But it turns out I was banned for being discourteous.”

“Because you broke the man’s nose?”

“No. Because I rejected the advances of the host’s son.”

Caia laughed, an honest and true laugh born from the smile they had throughout Isla’s tale.

Of all the things she could share, this was what she decided on. So many of the things she chose to say held little importance; how many silly stories had she already shared, how often had she told them her favorite animals and colors and smells?

Caia crossed their arms. So many words of little importance, yet they only made Caia feel that Isla was worth getting to know. Was it worth the consequences? Almost Certainly not. Though they were well aware that they were already on a slippery slope.

“That was a really eventful night… and the last time I saw two of my friends. It’s a strange feeling; I figured it’d be them I’d be telling this story to at this point in time.”

This was another opportunity to stop from sliding further down the slope. But today they had all but pushed themselves to descend faster – telling her their favorite animal, giving her a ring, and most of all, encouraging her.

“Why haven’t you seen them?”

Further down the slope they went.

“A family situation called them away unexpectedly… they never did return to the group. Madelin and Harlan – they were siblings. They were like family to me, too. They came from a very different situation than I did, but we were inseparable from the moment I started training to become a dancer. They always made it feel like I was home when they were around.”

Caia knew what that felt like. They understood why the smile she wore was now strained with sadness.

“I haven’t spoken to my family since the day I left to become a dancer. They made it clear that they wanted nothing more to do with me if I chose that life path. So the Shaubriand became my family. And Hope.” Isla looked to Caia, “That… doesn’t sound good, does it?”

“It sounds like you didn’t allow others to choose your life for you.”

The tension she had been holding in her shoulder lessened as she turned her body to face them.

“Thank you for saying that. Sometimes it makes me feel guilty.”

Caia didn’t know what had weakened within them, and why they were beginning to wonder if it truly was bad to share favorite things, favorite colors and animals. Favorite memories, much-loved friends, family left behind. Was it truly so bad to want to know someone?

“You’re determined. That’s something to be proud of.”

“Do you think I’m determined or just stupid?” She asked with a playful smile.

“Determined,” Caia smiled too, “generally.”

Isla laughed, bringing her knees close to her body and hugging them, “Sometimes I really miss them.”

They nodded.

“Do you ever miss Kenelm?”

They nodded once more.

Of course they did. But by now, those feelings had become dull and distant. They preferred it that way, fearing ever having to revive them.

Though what they feared most of all, was that someday, they’d miss Isla just the same.

----------

 @alwolfesblog​ ))

[justalittlelitnerd]

Pretty Reckless by L.J. Shen

This book really surprised me not only because of the characters, but the writing itself was truly beautiful. In my own personal experience with romance novels they’re not always the best written and I think that has more to do with the industry and the genre and the lack of support romance novels and their authors get than a lack of talent on the writer’s part. Most romance novels are self-published with whatever resources or connections the author has in terms of editorial work which in the end just means the final result is *typically* (note: not always obviously) a little rougher than say if it went through the traditional publishing process where an agent works with the author for months to fine-tune the story before it goes to an editor who will then work for months to fine-tune the writing and on and on until it’s finally published. 

Sorry that was a long tangent just to say that I’ve gotten into a habit of skimming romance books because I’m in it for the characters and the romance and the HEA more than the writing itself (honestly characters and their relationships are far more important to me than writing), but I found myself taking my time with this book because there were so many beautiful lines that I wanted to savor. 

Basically, Daria Followhill and Penn Scully meet at age 14 when both their lives are falling apart in very different ways. Daria is teeming with the jealousy only a fourteen-year-old girl who feels her mother loves another girl more than her can feel and she finds herself in possession of a letter that would change everything. Penn enters, unaware of the letter’s contents or the effect it will have on his family, and in an attempt to win Daria’s attention he trashes the letter, leaves her with a piece of sea glass, her first kiss, and a promise of more. But the letter contained his sister’s future and when she thinks she didn’t get in she runs away from Penn and their abusive family, never to be seen again. 

Fast forward four years to Penn’s 18th birthday and it’s clear that a lot has changed, but there’s still an undeniable pull between the two. When Penn’s mother dies and his step-father kicks him out, Daria’s mom (who feels residual guilt over his sister’s disappearance) offers him a place to stay and he makes it his mission to make Daria pay for the role she played in what happened. But Daria’s already paid and is still paying. What neither of them expected was love. Or the return of a ghost.

*TRIGGER WARNING* in general there’s quite a bit of violence, mentions of rape/assault, and an abusive relationship between the principal and Daria which started when she was 14. 

All in all if you like classic enemies-to-lovers, fated romance, complicated family dynamics, tough guys with soft hearts, and dark elements with your romance than this book is probably worth a shot.     

Keep reading for the quotes!

Boys can smell heartbreak from across a continent. Even at fourteen. Even in the middle of an innocent summer afternoon. We girls have an invisible string behind our belly button, and only certain guys can tug at it. This boy…he will snap it if I let him.

He studies me with quiet interest as though I’m a painting, not a person. My heart is rioting all over, and the dumbest thought crosses my mind. Ever notice how the heart is literally caged by the ribs? That’s insane. As if our body knows it can break so easily, it needs to be protected.

My voice hardens around the words. Like tin. I’m desperate. I have no lead. I want to rip the world apart to find her, but the world is not mine to destroy. The world just continues turning at the same pace, because kids like Via and me? We disappear all the time, and no one notices.

His scent messes with my head. I want to reach out and caress his face. Kiss his wounds better. Beg for forgiveness. Curse him. Push him away. Cry on his shoulder for what we’ve done. For how it ended. For what we became afterward. Because I’m full of crap, and he is totally empty. We ruined ourselves the day of our first kiss.

She stares at me with the same wild gaze that made me give her the sea glass four years ago. As though I’m the most fascinating creature in the world. I want to pocket that look and save it for the next time the world lets me down. Which should be in the next twenty minutes.

Normally, he’d drag my ass out and give me a piece of his mind. Not today. He and I both know he can’t be that much of a hypocrite. If he saw someone hitting on Luna, he would rip them to shreds and dump whatever’s left of them on the side of the road. I’ve seen him screw people up for less than looking at her. The only problem is, Penn is not my Luna. We don’t have some long, elaborate, angsty childhood friendship that’s dancing on the edge of more.

“And miss out on all this delicious teenage angst?” I murmur, mesmerized by how beautifully she fits under my palm. As though she was born to have my hands on her. “It’s practically Netflix for free.”

“You’re Saturn,” she whispers. “Made of iron-nickel and surrounded by protective rings of ice and rock.” “How do you know that?” I smile, and I know the smile is warm. I know it’s fucking up something in her chest, and even though I shouldn’t, I like it. After all these years, I still want to ruin her. Then put her back together. Then do it again and again and a-fucking-gain.

He stops, cupping my face in his hands. His eyes twinkle, but maybe I see what I want to see. I didn’t mean to save him all my firsts. But it happened, and a part of me is glad that it did. Because he was the first boy to give me a gift. The first boy to kiss me. To want to become my friend not because I was popular, but because I was me. He was the first boy who noticed the injured animal behind the camouflage of hostility and tried to give it water and shelter.

Luckily, I have a lot of experience when it comes to fakeness. My personality is basically one hundred percent recyclable plastic. The only person who can still scrape a bit of authenticity from me is her brother.

The Scullys are too smart to fall for this type of Riverdale nonsense.

She is wrong. I can look at her face all fucking day. I wish it were a legit job so I could make money doing it. I would put in all the extra hours and become a billionaire within a year. (The math doesn’t add up, by the way, so don’t try to do it.)

My world, however, is narrow-pathed and dingy. I don’t believe in fairy tales. I think Shakespeare got it right. When two people try to go against the grain, they get fucked up. End of story.

“It’s not like that,” I say hurriedly. If I have to tell him what’s going on with Prichard, I will. I’m not proud of it, but pride is a very slippery slope where love is involved. Marx. Love. I don’t use the L word lightly. I don’t go around telling people I love pizza or chocolate or Riverdale. I like those things. Love, I save for the important stuff. But I am hopelessly, tragically in love with Penn Scully. That’s why I can’t really hate his sister. Not entirely, anyway. She is an extension of him, and he has my heart.

Love. Four letters can’t cover what I feel for Daria Followhill. They seem too trivial, too small, too overused.

And love IS humbling, I know now because I want to punch myself in the face for being the smug bastard who assumed he’d just walk out of this shit unscathed. The tin man didn’t ask for a heart—but got one anyway. I love you, Daria Followhill, and I think you love me, too. In fact, I think we fell at the same time. You, like rain, in drizzles, over the weeks. Me, like the fucking sky above my head, all at once, crashing without the faintest chance of stopping.

My mouth goes dry, and I shake my head slowly. She takes a step closer and folds my shirt under her palm so that the hole in my chest looks like it’s closing in when, in reality, it opens up like a shark’s jaw. “Everything I touch is tainted, Penn. Everything I want turns to ash. I spent the entire semester trying to be yours, but you’ve never once claimed my heart. I’m sending you to Adriana’s arms, not because I don’t care, but because I do. So much. Maybe too much. Because I screwed up so many relationships, the only way for us to heal is if I take myself out of the equation.” You are the fucking equation, I want to yell in her face. The riddle and the answer and the numbers within it. You’re math. You make sense.

“You were never a drizzle, Penn Scully. When I fell for you, you came beating down, and I felt you everywhere. You were hail.”

“I’ve loved you in secret, and I’ve loved you openly in front of both our worlds, and if you think I’ll stop loving you if you put an ocean between us, you’re dead wrong.”

I want her to tell me that I’m not the only one here feeling like every breath is a fucking nail jammed straight into my lungs. If this is what love feels like, it’s complete bullshit. I want my money back because Shakespeare was right all along. True love truly sucks ass.

I’ll go wherever Daria goes. Even if it’s straight to hell.

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. You know that, right?” No, I don’t, and I’m trying to tell myself not to get my hopes up because they are slamming their little fists against the door of my brain’s basement, wanting to gush out.

Last time we spoke to each other, she promised not to leave, but she did. I’m not taking any chances. She might as well file a restraining order because I’m not letting her out of my sight.

[corinthbayrpg]

NAME. Hudson Redgrave AGE & BIRTH DATE. 42 & September 14th, 1978 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He / Him SPECIES. Genasi ( water ) OCCUPATION. Head Museum Curator & Lead Archaeologist FACE CLAIM. Justin Hartley 

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: murder ) Five years. For five whole years, Hudson was the only child of the Redgrave family, born into a world filled with more questions and wonder than he could ever quite wrap his mind around. Ever the child dazed in the brightness of it all, he clung to every word his parents and grandparents ever told him, every museum that he could step foot in, each and every facet of the coven life bewildered him beyond comprehension, bright eyed and barely on his feet he was constantly fixated on things well out of his reach, never quite being satisfied with everything he could grasp comfortably. It came as no real surprise that when the day came that he was followed by his siblings, Hudson was dragging them through every door and passage of the countless museums their family was affiliated with, telling them stories, myths and legends that surrounded their world in particular, explaining every detail as if he’d read it from a book. In many ways, he took over the role of parent in every waking moment that their own parents couldn’t be there. His struggles became his own and while this didn’t bother Hudson in the slightest, he knew that he did nothing to help himself in the face of his siblings and choosing their worries over his own.

Throughout his years in college, it came as somewhat of a shock to find that Hudson distanced himself from his family and the spotlight of the coven itself. Finding that in order to set himself on the right path that he needed to understand life as everyone else saw it. Those years he spent living in crowded, loud and messy dorm rooms, Hudson disconnected himself completely from magic and every ounce of power his bloodline held, swearing off even the slightest use of it in some bid to appreciate what he had as more than simply a birthright. What he could do, the power that flowed through his veins was a gift and nothing short of that. It was here, however, that his addictive personality began to form. He is, and by no means has ever been addicted to anything at all, but he has and always will strive for something more. Something bigger — a more exciting high than the last. As formidable a force as any other might have been, with the famous Redgrave  name etched to his every choice, Hudson walked the slippery slope of drugs and alcohol until he found himself on a whole new path. One that he had never really been looked down upon, for he believed the skill in both light and dark magic created the balance that allowed their coven to survive after centuries, however, the further he delved, the more that of the light slipped through his fingers until he could no longer see the sky above as anything other than painted black and scintillated in a burning red flame that licked at every inch of his flesh it could reach.

Two long years left Hudson estranged from his family, his own refusal to return to them for a lack of understanding, a lack of wanting to be understood as he traversed the world on excavations and searches for items of worth that pertained to his new found brand of magic in particular. Cursed objects, relics, talismans, tombs of those long gone that could offer him a further insight, a further foothold into everything that plagued the world through the readings of darkness. It was this plight that very nearly took his life, at the transition of moons on his 29th Birthday, Hudson Redgrave committed the most unholy act of any witch. A blood sacrifice and was almost consumed wholly by the power at his fingertips once every ounce of his connection with Hecate became severed. Wiping out the entirety of a thirty mile radius of a South American village, the slippery slope he’d so easily fallen down soon became a fight to keep the gift he was once so thankful for, no matter how cautious he might have been to ever use again.

Clung to the precipice of his own death, elders of his coven sought him out, unknowing of the near act of treason he’d committed, drawing him back into the fold of the coven in the hopes rehabilitation from his misgivings would have Hudson see his own wrongs. Only, there was far too much to forgive and more still, that they’d yet to learn. Years passed and beneath the watchful eye of his elders, Hudson found it difficult to be in a room with the people he’d once shared everything with, dipping his toes in the darkness more than any witch within the Redgrave coven would do so openly, the effort to maintain everything that he can to fixate his near addictive personality on something else wore thin. With an eidetic memory, he flourished in his field landing himself as lead curator of the Museum of Natural History and buried himself in transcripts and artifacts, his interest in the new and alluring something he could never seem to shake. With the disconnect looming over his relationship with his family, there was far too much he didn’t know, and even more still that he wanted to find, the power at his fingertips not nearly enough. The premise of family, of their coven being his strong suit, a saving grace while so many are unaware of exactly how much so, Hudson spent what remained of his time ensuring that those within the coven; those in his family felt as comfortable as possible with who they are, that they understood boundaries save himself watching one of them pushing a tipping point they wouldn’t be able to come back from. Hypocritical as it were, he understood the grave choice he’d made and held little regret for it. Painting himself as something he wasn’t, for the sake off what his family might lose in ever finding out what Hudson had severed so easily. With the rising supernatural war of New York pitching the precipice and spilling out into the streets there were far too many things done behind closed doors for Hudson to ignore what he hid from everyone else. Allies created through the circumstance of the power he wielded grew out of nothing but none so withstanding as one with a vampire with a curse hanging over his head. Truly, it’d shown itself as nothing more than a grab for the power that resided with the curse. The black magic that rested within the veins of the undead all he could think about when he vanquished the spell that’d sought control over Nixon for so long and yet, what he found in the man beneath the curse was far more than he’d ever bargained for. A man with a heart that ceased within his chest that could so easily accept that his, live, beating heart could be just as hollow and cold was one he simply couldn’t look past. It was with the imminent implosion of power within the city that Hudson made the same decision he’d made once before. Leaving to satiate his own sanity and find something beyond anything he’d gained by severing his last connection with the world he grew up in. What he had simply wasn’t enough – not while knowing he’d lose it soon enough. Memories of pages filled with writings of a shifting balance that tore everything from those with magic within their veins and what that kind of power could offer him fell to the forefront of his mind as he swept his husband up in a search for a new brand of immortality. Following a trail that didn’t exist, it was only when Hudson acknowledged his husbands imminent draw to Greece that he noted the dark and ominous power that surrounded the city of Corinth Bay. Questionable as it were, his uncertainty far too difficult to swallow, it was something he hadn’t felt rattle his bones in far too long - and something like that, might have been exactly what he was looking for.

PERSONALITY

+ altruistic, protective, understanding, meticulous - unpredictable, unstable, cunning, secretive

PLAYED BY BECA. AEST. She/Her.

[oveliagirlhaditright]

Will of Light - A Light Sora/SoKai Story

The last thing I wrote for Sora’s birthday.

Summary: Sora finds a way to get a heart of pure light--and to even give others hearts of pure light--in order to try and prevent Heartless... which sounds wonderful, which will lead him down a slippery slope that he might not be able to come back from. SoKai. Destiny Trio, etc.

Will of Light

Kairi’s PoV "Sora, you had your light take in more light for me… how? Why?" Kairi asked the obvious, as she stood on the small islet where the paopu tree was. And she took in not only Sora’s pristine white outfit, but the fact that rays from the sun itself seemed to come from him now. "Weren't you light enough already?" It was insane to Kairi that he would think any differently, when he had the purest heart she’d ever seen and had done more than anyone else in the world had. "...No. And I felt I was maybe tainting you by even being near you, so I- I had to do something… Well, that’s part of it, anyway. I’ll tell you more later." "But…” Kairi started, as she took her shoes off so she could feel the sand beneath her feet. She needed to feel something real, because this didn’t feel like it was that at all. “Sora... aren't you worried that you'll have lost some of your personality and be 'boring' this way? “...Not that I ever want to doubt the light, of course... But when Riku and I had that spat after we lost you—and at first, I wanted to stay on the paopu tree and just wait for you... in thinking that you'd had to die at all, since I’d thought I could fight when I clearly couldn't—he oddly told me that if I did that, I’d be boring… “And that snapped me out of my funk more than anything else could have. Maybe because I was worried that I’d lose you then—when you eventually did come back—if I was like that… and aren’t you worried about the same kind of thing?” If she’d had to say anything to Sora to try and convince him this was, perhaps, a bad idea… she had no idea why she’d chosen to babble about him becoming boring in being pure light. Sora could never be anything but interesting, and Kairi knew that well. Everyone did, really. And how did she even know this was turn out badly? …When they’d been looking for Sora a few years back, Naminé had showed Kairi all of Sora’s memories. And she’d seen when Goofy had suggested that everyone’s hearts were full of light, the Heartless would probably go away and Sora had excitedly nodded his head. Was this the answer to the Heartless problem? Would it create a better world? What did she know, really, in order to doubt that? …And yet Kairi couldn't help feeling that this was much more wrong than the times Sora had been consumed by the darkness. Because even she—a being of pure light naturally—had access to negative emotions, but this Sora didn’t seem to have that choice anymore. "No... not really,” Sora answered the question she’d just asked, that she’d already almost forgotten. “And even if it is true… why worry about boredom when you can worry about the world instead?! Isn't that the reason you stayed behind for Riku’s—and my—Mark of Mastery, Kairi? Because you couldn't fight yet, and didn't want Riku or I getting hurt protecting you if something sprung up? You were thinking about the universe then." That was true. And it actually amazed Kairi that Sora had now seen that about her. In learning that he had fallen in love with her after she had him, she’d begun to think that maybe he hadn’t noticed as much about her as she had him… and that that was what had taken him a while to fall in comparison. So, if this Sora was so all-seeing and empathetic, could it really be a bad thing? “Sora!” Kairi exclaimed, touched, as she sprung forward to quickly peck him on the lips and had to giggle when he spun her around as he held her afterwards. “Kairi…” Sora whispered against Kairi’s forehead—that he’d just kissed—after they finally stopped. “I- I know I wasn’t always the best boyfriend to you in the past, and I apologize for that. I took you for granted and didn’t spend enough time with you. I see that now… And I feel perfect. Maybe like I was always meant to be, if Xehanort hadn’t interfered. And I think I should pass this feeling onto other people, don’t you?” With all of their moving around, the two of them lost their balance at this point and fell into the water that was far below them. And though it was quite a fall, Kairi barely noticed since Sora had used his newfound light magic to shield her from the impact. And as it stood, something more important had Kairi’s attention now, anyway. 'But what about Riku?' Kairi wanted to ask… but she didn't. Afraid of what Sora might say, and what the right answer should be. Riku had found the perfect way to walk the Road to Light and Darkness together: the Road to Dawn, so was Sora saying he should give up the darkness… or would he be the one exception to this new idea? And what if other people didn't want to give up their darkness? Seeming to sense she was troubled, Sora helped Kairi to her feet and kissed her ear as he put a strand of hair behind her ear. “Kairi… let’s get married. What do you say to that? You’re too polite to say so, but I know you think I’ve somewhat messed up with you in the past. So let me make up for it now!” “Sora!” Kairi exclaimed, truly in shock as she swatted his arm. “We’re only seventeen! And we don’t come of age on the Island until eighteen!” But even as Kairi was technically refusing Sora here—because they were still so young, and since she had the bad feeling that Sora was trying to manipulate her here (that she tried to stamp down)—she did think they could probably be engaged for a year and get married as soon as they turned eighteen. Maybe that was the best solution here, because—if she was being honest with herself—Kairi had dreamed of their wedding. And as Sora almost looked disappointed for a second (before it was gone so fast, she had to wonder if she’d imagined the whole thing), Kairi decided to spare his heart some as beings of pure light did… So maybe she and this new Sora weren’t do different, after all. “Alright, Sora. We’ll be engaged for a year and then get married as soon as we can! Lighten up!” Kairi said as she kissed Sora’s cheek, and little fish chose that moment to swim over her ankles. “To a year of engagement, then!” And Sora was spinning Kairi around in the air again—and oh, how it made her giggle—but she also couldn’t get over the awful sense that Sora was lying about much. ... The next few months on the Islands—as Sora and Kairi tried to convince their parents to let them marry, and Sora talked to everyone about lightening their hearts—passed by pretty normally. …Except that Sora was more respectful to his parents than Kairi he ever seen him be before—so much so, that he hadn’t see Riku or her for a while, when Sora’s parents had banned him from “seeing those he had traveled to other worlds for” for two days—and he was doing a lot more chores now… but Kairi supposed it was nice that he was closer to them than he ever had been before. Sora was also now cooking his amazing dishes for his parents, and her and Riku all the time now! And not even once complaining that they were using him, or exhausting him, or anything. The day he had actually succeeded in making her love mushrooms, was the day Kairi thought she'd died and gone to heaven. And Sora couldn’t have been happier that they were all happy, and was writing many nice journal entries about what he’d learned and “the wonders of understanding people’s feelings” But even so… Kairi—and Riku, too, she thought—still had their suspicions. And Riku was somewhat sniping at Sora even now, as the three of them sat atop the shack on the Play Island together. "So... how's your mission going, Sora?" Riku asked as if he were suspicious. "I still don't know how you found more of your own light to give yourself, and a way to give your light to others…" “I- I went to the Final World, of course Riku. It’s partly dream there. At least, the pathway that links to the Final World there. Dreams… and my heart. So if, in my dream, I want to imagine there’s more of my light there, I can. And through Chirithy’s help, I found a way to make it physical… to literally give more light to myself this way, and others.” Well, this was all news to Kairi. She hadn't known that Sora had been going to the Final World at all, and if she had she would have stopped it immediately! She turned towards him with a glare on her face now, and nearly slapped her betrothed. How dare he be risking his life like this, when they’d all just gotten him back?! "Sora, you can't do that kinda risky thing!” Kairi said with her hands shaking, as she started seeing stars and thought she was going to black out. “I don’t like this. At all! And I thought Chirithy was with Ven! Why did he go back? Or is it a new Chirithy, and-“ "Kairi KairI Kairi!" Sora tried to calm her, as he gently held her in his arms now and looked at her with the most loving expression he’d ever worn before "...I swear to you that it's going to be okay this time. Since the new Chirithy at my Station of Awakening knows that I fall asleep and end up there by accident a lot, he's given me an ability called 'quick sleep', where I'll wake up in three seconds after having fallen asleep… but I’ll have been there longer in the real world, of course. But three seconds in that world—in real world time—won’t hurt anyone." ‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep’, Kairi wanted to say… but she didn’t. Riku was absentmindedly nodding his head now, so maybe she was being the crazy one and all would be okay. But then again… Riku was just as selfless as Sora was, and would easily die for the sake of the world or someone else. Kairi didn’t know if she trusted either of them to be good judges about this, but for now… she’d bite her tongue. "Kairi... I swear I'm fine," Sora promised. And despite everything that had changed with him now, Kairi believed Sora's sincerity here. But she also realized… that he had no idea that she still had his qualms about what he was suggesting to people—for whatever reason—though at least he’d left Riku alone… And she must have still seemed shattered, because Sora took it up a notch even further. "Kairi... I'm asking you to trust me now,” he said now, as he kissed Kairi’s neck and Riku laughed (huh. This was a new way of trying to comfort her). “Please please please please do so, love." And with that kind of earnestness—and this sweet new endearment for her--how could she do anything but? Kairi leaned her head on Sora's shoulder then, and happily breathed in his scent as he moved her to sit in his lap. She wouldn’t lose Sora again. She just wouldn’t! "I have to wonder, though," Riku broke the silence, as he jumped down to try and spear a fish, "What made you first get the idea to try all this out, Sora?" And at this, Sora sat up straight a little and scratched his chin in thought, as if he hadn't really stopped to try and articulate it before. That surprised Kairi; she had imagined he at least told the King. "...I guess because of this pretty peaceful world I went to, with more elderly people there than anyone else? At least that I saw, I mean. I followed this old man… with pristine white hair but still some pep in his step, and watched him be in this play about murder... "But despite the fact that a neighborhood full of elderly people was putting on a play about murder… I swear I could sense so much light in their hearts! “Like, the man I was tailing was, to be honest, not the best actor in the world? But do you think anyone would dare hurting his feelings to tell him that? Nope! And it was actually pretty sweet. They instead tried to change the play to fit him, as best they could. "But anyway…. I guess there's proof that, no matter what—unless we change things—the brightest light will always cast a great shadow, because this woman in it ended up being a real murderer, unfortunately! “And the lawyer—the, umm, bad actor—had to figure that out with my help... Throughout the play, there was a line Matlock kept failing at saying: 'Murder, Miss Isabel, that's what it was..." And it was the woman who played Isabel who did it! And then Matlock had to say that to her in the courtroom when she was convicted... it was awful. “And after that, everyone decided to try and get rid of the darkness in their hearts. Even the lady who played Isabel. Yeah." Well, when Sora put it like that... Kairi could maybe understand where he was coming from. Seeing such a light place even have a darkness like that… it would make you hate the dark even more, wouldn’t it? And deciding that Sora probably was making a real utopia here, Kairi brought Sora’s hands to her face, and summoned the light out of them. “I’m curious now, Sora… can you add even more light to me? Perhaps the world will be even better that way.” And as Sora made will-of-the-wisps float around them, as Riku cried out to them both, he did just that.

[zacharybosch]

Playing God - chapter 4

dinner is served, with another beautiful illustration by @theseavoices!

chapter 1: tumblr / ao3

chapter 2: tumblr / ao3

chapter 3: tumblr / ao3

read Playing God chapter 4 below or on ao3

When Will finally returned home, it was past two in the morning. This wasn’t normally a problem as being tired and falling asleep were, like most human functions, entirely optional activities for Will. He would sometimes sleep just to pass the time or check out from existence for a while, or to give an authentic impression of just-awoken grogginess if he was expecting a visitor the next morning.

But on this occasion, Will did have a genuine feeling of exhaustion that he was unable to shake off. Growing his hair had certainly taken it out of him, but the most taxing part of the evening had been afterward, when Hannibal played barber in his marble monstrosity of a bathroom.

The knowledge of Hannibal’s odd affection for him had always been a little disturbing, but Will had managed to acclimatise to its various forms without too much trouble. Having Hannibal perform such an intimate service, however, was something that Will felt he would never get used to; it was all hands on necks and fingers in hair, and Will hadn’t realised just how touch-starved he was until he found himself leaning into the cradle of Hannibal’s palms.

It had always been too much to hope that Hannibal would just leave it as a simple haircut. He’d washed Will’s hair over the sink, prepped it with all manner of oils and sprays, and even performed a half-hour scalp massage. The effort it had taken Will not to just leap out of his chair and start rubbing himself all over Hannibal was phenomenal. He was so warm.

There had been a truly humiliating moment where Hannibal had dragged a comb firmly over Will’s scalp and through the damp ends of his hair, and it had felt so good that Will’s fangs extended all the way out before he realised what was happening.

“Does that always happen?” Hannibal had asked, combing through another section of Will’s hair, eyes alight with pleasure. “I had no idea you held me in such high regard.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Will gritted out. “It’s an involuntary reaction. They’ll tuck themselves away again… in a minute…” Hannibal hand sunk his fingers back into Will’s hair and against his scalp again, applying pressure with delicious expertise and making Will gasp for breath for the second time that evening.

“If they’re out,” Hannibal murmured, suddenly very close to Will’s ear, “you might as well put them to good use.”

For a few dangerous seconds, Will had let his head loll to the side, parted lips and razor-sharp teeth just a breath away from giving Hannibal what he wanted. The moment hung between them, syrup-thick, lethal.

Then Will had come back to himself, clamped his mouth shut, and remained silent and still until the haircut was finished.

Letting Hannibal cut his hair had felt like a very bad choice at the time, but as Will shook out his bedsheets to dislodge the light coating of dust, he reflected that maybe it wasn’t such a bad choice after all. It had done more to reel Hannibal in than any number of careful ‘therapy’ sessions had, even getting him to the point of suggesting that Will bite him. Of course, it also put Will on a very slippery slope, but if he could get Hannibal to admit what he was sooner rather than later, then the slope might not matter. As soon as Hannibal was out of the picture, Will would be able to pull himself back up onto an even keel.

As false hopes went, it was a good one, and Will fell quickly into a deep and dreamless sleep.

***

The next day, Jack ambushed Will in the underground parking garage after his evening subsistence appointment.

“Nice haircut,” he said, leaning against Will’s car door. “Hannibal have anything to do with that?”

“What? No.” Will was faintly surprised at the lie even as it rolled off his tongue, and ran a hand self-consciously over the back of his neck. “It just… needed cutting. What do you want?”

“I want you to talk to me.”

“About what?”

“You know what. You said it wouldn’t take long. That was almost two months ago. What’s happening?”

Will groped around for an answer. What was happening? He’d fully intended to go through with Jack’s plan as initially laid out: reveal himself to Hannibal, forge a connection, and make Hannibal want to reveal himself in turn. It was true that he’d thought it wouldn’t take long. But both Jack and Will himself had made the fatal mistake of assuming that Will was just a man like any other, and that temptation for him was just a matter of willpower, and not a full-body, bone-deep, inexorable pull.

Somewhere along the way, Will had stopped trying to actively resist. He was much further down that slippery slope than he’d let himself believe.

“Nothing!” Will said, too loud. “Nothing’s happening. He’s not giving me anything. He just keeps talking about the things he wants me to do.”

“Has he asked you to do anything illegal?”

No, just to bite him and drink from him and willingly smash my self-control into tiny little pieces, Will didn’t say. “Nothing illegal. Plenty that my Keepers wouldn’t approve of.”

“Forget about them. You need to do whatever is necessary.” Will made to protest, but Jack held up a hand. “Do I have to remind you what he did to Miriam?”

“I know what he did to Miriam! I see it every day!”

“Then why aren’t you trying to draw him out?” Jack bellowed, his voice echoing hollowly around the concrete pillars.

“I am,” Will said weakly.

“No, you’re not. If you were trying, we’d have results by now.” Jack drew a hand over his face and sighed. He looked exhausted. “You have hundreds of years of experience behind you. If you were trying, you would’ve had him wrapped around your finger within days. All you’d have to do is ask him where the smoking gun is, and he’d place it in your hands.” Will looked away guiltily. Jack was uncomfortably close to the truth. “Don’t let him drag you down to your base nature. You’ve been living clean for years. You’re better than that.”

That phrase, you’ve been living clean for years, was a favourite of Jack’s, and it made Will grind his teeth to dust. A well-intentioned, uncomfortable reminder that every day Will was choosing to let these people control him. “I’m know what I’m doing. I’d rather take my time than risk making a mistake and sending him into hiding.”

“The longer you take, the more chance he has to kill again. Don’t forget that,” Jack said, pushing away from Will’s car. “Have a good night, Will.”

Will remained fixated on Jack’s words for the entire drive home. It was an uncomfortable truth, but a truth nonetheless: he hadn’t been trying as hard as he could have. In the past, he’d had people signing over their life savings within minutes, declaring their undying love for him within hours, killing for him within days. Even Hannibal, for all his cunning and twisty side-stepping, would have a hard time resisting when Will was operating with his sharpest and most lethal state of mind.

But why hadn’t Will been trying? To say that he was scared of falling off the wagon would only be half right. The fact of the matter was that he was simply enjoying Hannibal’s company. Against his better judgement, against everything he knew about what Hannibal had done, Will found himself falling far too easily into a friendship in which he felt like an equal; not a tool to be used, or a monster to be controlled, but just a man to be liked.

It was too tender a thing to look at directly, and Will knew that it wouldn’t, couldn’t last. Letting it drag out like this was madness. He was only going to end up hurting himself when the time eventually came to deliver Hannibal to the hands of justice.

Upon his arrival at home, Will found a neat little card in his mailbox, inviting him to an eating-optional dinner the following night. It was these small intimate gestures, hand-lettering his invitations and fetching him glasses of water, that would leave such huge holes in his life when they were gone.

***

As a free vampire Will had generally been fairly neat when biting and feeding, but there were some occasions where, for various reasons, he’d had cause to go beyond the clean puncture of teeth and had ripped flesh from bone. Most of the time it had been due to a sudden and hasty getaway; it was not always so easy to cleanly detach oneself from one’s victim, and sometimes a small chunk of flesh remained in the mouth. The remaining few times had been purely for indulgence.

Every person had their own unique flavour, but each piece of meat was underlined by the same undeniably human taste. A taste that, once experienced, was difficult to ever truly forget, although as it had been many countless years since Will had last taken such a bite, the memory of it had become quite faded in his mind.

It all came flooding back, however, when he had his first mouthful of the dinner that Hannibal had finally persuaded him to eat. How could they all have been so blind? The Ripper was never taking surgical trophies. He was taking ingredients.

The meat said: I know that you know.

Hannibal must have figured out somehow that Will was on to him. Whether he knew of Jack’s tangled mess of a plot was still up for debate, but judging from the veritable eye-fucking Hannibal was giving him, it was clear: Hannibal knew that Will knew about him, and he was daring Will to admit it. It was an outrageously reckless power move, presenting Will with exactly the kind of evidence he needed to lock Hannibal up for life and trusting that Will just wouldn’t report it.

The meat said: You know, and you’re willingly eating the evidence.

He could tell Jack. He could take the plate right now, and flee from the house straight to Quantico. He could send the meat to the lab for testing. He could present this hard, undeniable evidence and get Hannibal swiftly brought to justice.

He could also take another bite of human steak and eye-fuck Hannibal right back.

The meat said: You know, you’re eating the evidence, and you don’t want to stop.

It felt alarmingly good to be played in such a way. Will was so used to being the apex predator, able to out-think and out-manoeuvre at a moment’s notice, that to be thrown something so brazen, so shockingly outré as to make his mind stutter and stall, was a new and bizarre pleasure.

With every bite, it became harder and harder for Will to keep his fangs from extending. The meat tasted so good, rare and bloody and everything he’d forgotten that he wanted. He knew what he must look like, shovelling great heaping piles of the stuff into his mouth and almost moaning with every slide of flesh over his tongue; he knew that Hannibal must be enjoying watching him as much as Will was enjoying eating.

Will looked up from his plate to see Hannibal across the table, food largely untouched. If Will didn’t know better, he could’ve thought that Hannibal himself was a vampire, so hungrily did he watch Will. It was intoxicating to be watched like that, not with fear or disgust as he had been watched so many times in the past, but with curiosity, desire, and shameless possessiveness.

And then there really was no hope left; Will’s fangs slid out with a curl of his lip and a quiet snick, and Hannibal was immediately standing at his side, and he was raising a hand to Will’s face, and he was dragging two fingers slowly over Will’s needle-sharp teeth.

Will didn’t hear his fork clatter noisily against his plate, and he didn’t hear the deep, almost purring sound he made when Hannibal placed his thumb and ring finger against his jaw to hold his head in place. The fingers on his teeth remained there, rubbing slowly.

“How many people have you fed from, Will?”

Will tipped his head back just enough for Hannibal’s fingertips to slide off his teeth and land on his chin, trailing saliva. “Thousands.”

“How many have you drained?”

“Hundreds.”

“How many have you turned?”

“None.”

“Never found another worthy of the gift?”

“Never found anyone I wanted,” Will said, taking hold of Hannibal’s hand where it still rested against his jaw and using it to pull Hannibal down into his lap. “That may be changing.”

Hannibal looked almost coquettish, sitting in Will’s lap and murmuring, “Have you met someone new?”

“I met him a while ago. But I’m thinking of him differently.” Will dropped his gaze to Hannibal’s lips and meant it to be a light, fleeting thing, but found that he couldn’t look away. “I know some things about him now that I didn’t know back then.”

“Good things?”

“Interesting things. I’m sure there’s more that he’s not telling me. I can see he holds secrets caged behind his teeth.”

“Perhaps he’s never found anyone worthy of those secrets.”

“He knows plenty of worthy people. But no-one he wants.”

Kissing Hannibal felt utterly inevitable at that point, so that was exactly what Will did. Jack’s words ricocheted around inside his skull, you need to do whatever’s necessary, and he almost wanted to laugh, sure that this wasn’t quite what Jack had had in mind.

Instead, Will threaded a hand into Hannibal’s hair and pulled his head back.

“Is it smart for you to be doing this? I might bite your tongue off.”

“As I might bite yours.”

“I know why I’d bite your tongue. Why would you bite mine?”

It was foolish to think that Hannibal would simply say, Because I’m a cannibal, of course, but when he just smiled in response Will couldn’t help the rising tide of frustration. It wasn’t even about getting the confession; the meat on their plates was all the evidence that Will needed. But Will just wanted some of Hannibal’s secrets in return for the ones Will had given him; he was potentially fucking up the whole plan for Hannibal’s sake, and Hannibal couldn’t even extend the courtesy of the truth.

It was too much of a snarling, angry mess to think about, particularly when he was already feeling so uniquely compromised, so Will stopped thinking and carried on kissing. Hannibal’s mouth was hot and wet and still filled with the taste of bloody meat, and Will let himself become lost in it.

[askthetriokzt]

Updated Info on the Thieving Duo

Doro Hayashi (or as the Media calls him) The Phantom Thief (39)

Quirk: Mummy Hands - Ghostly hands and arms that come out from his neck that hold no real mass and are able to phase through object and people, though at a price. In their natural state, they cant hold onto anything and if a living thing were to be touched by them, they would fall ill, and they would feel phantom pains at the spot they were touched, like a mummy’s curse. However, if they possess something like wrappings or bandages, they are able to physically hold onto things but they lose their ability to phase through things and can no longer pass on the mummy’s curse. Finally, the hands can change in size, ranging from as small as Doro’s real hands, or large enough to easily wrap around his own torso. Meanwhile, their reach depends on the size of the hands themselves, the smaller the hand, the longer the reach, though the absolute max reach they have is about 25 meters (about 80 ft) though, the most common reach is only about 20 meters (65ft) with the shortest reach dropping to only about 10 meters (32ft).

Current Status: Thief (though if current or ex is debatable), just broken out of jail

Doro didnt start off with a lot of luck in life, growing up in a very poor family which led to him being unable to go to school or being unable to eat much. Eventually, this led to a choice he had to make at a very young age; Stick to his morals and watch both his family and himself die, or toss those morals aside and survive. Considering how he’s still alive today, it's clear which choice he made. This was the start of his thieving career. At first, it was understandable, forgivable even, stealing just what he and his family needed, food, clothes, medicine, that was it. Sometimes, he would even take some rather shady jobs that needed his skills that paid well… But any unjust deed is a slippery slope that can lead to worse if one isn't careful, and sadly Doro fell hard. Over time, he began to steal more and more, starting off small with little trinkets here and there until eventually, he was just completely addicted to the rush and accomplishment thieving gave him. He was no longer a person just trying to survive, he was a dirty thief now. The only thing Doro had that wasn’t stolen, was that hat of his. He always wears, no matter what, though it’s been through some pretty rough times. It started off being full of feathers but once it was down to two, he was guarding it with his life, it was all he ever really had… until he met Chika one day, still a young teen (the full love story can be seen here). In the end, he ended up giving Chika a feather from that hat, leaving him with only one feather left, but it was well worth it. He honestly did try to give up thieving for her, but in the end, he wasn’t strongest to pull away from the strong grip the addiction had on him. Still, they lived together, happily, and became a well known thieving duo, probably up there with some of the best in the world. No matter what, they couldn’t be caught, no matter how hard the police and Pros tried, these two just seemed to always slip away… until they just seem to have vanished for several months. No stealing, no sightings, nothing until in April, they actually turned themselves in. Chika had become pregnant and the two of them had to make a decision; Keep their freedom but drag their daughter into a life without a single say in it, or give their freedom, give up the joy of raising their daughter, so that she could have a life of her own. It hurt having to leave but in the end, it was for the best.

Chika Yuru (or as the Media calls her) The Floral Phantom (38)

Quirk: Aromatherapy - The scent given off from the flowers in her hair are able to cure ailments. Sadly, she can’t help those with mental illnesses, just the kind caused by viruses, tumors, and bacteria. She’s also able to counteract her husband’s quirk. A byproduct of her quirk has caused Chika to have a rather high resistance to illnesses herself, and quirks that can cause things similar to illnesses, such as Midnight’s and Mustard’s quirks. She’s not immune though, there’s a limit.

Current Status: Thief (though if current or ex is debatable), just broken out of jail

Right from birth, Chika’s whole life was without a single decision made by her, everything was decided and done for her, who her ‘friends’ would be, how she dressed, what she did, ate, wore, everything and anything. Many would say that it wasn’t a bad life, and yeah in a sense things could have been far worse, she still had a roof over her head, food, clean clothes, but things also could have been far better. At times, Chika thought that her own family saw her as nothing more than just some kind of doll or trophy to parade around and control… could anyone really say that she was truly living? Until one day she met Doro, or well she came across this scruffy teen alone in the rain and offered him some kindness, though she had to be pulled away by her mom. Still, this act, one of her first few own choices, started a whole cascade of decisions that would one day lead her down the path that she walks today. Thing started off small and slow, the two just chatting and exchanging notes, then they would meet and hang out (usually meaning that she would have to sneak out), and these were just moments that made her so happy and she never wanted to give any of it up. She was living, she was learning things about herself that she may not have ever even thought of before meeting him. One day though, Doro came clean to her, told her about what he’s done and at this point, Chika had to step back and ask herself, did he really want to be with her or was it all just a trick to get to her wealth? In the end, she put her trust in him, after all, if he had wanted her wealth, there were plenty of opportunites for him to have stolen it all already, so why did he stick around? Though Chika did begin to notice something about Doro, how after he gave up on thieving, he seemed to have lost a bit of his light, his smiles didnt seem as big or as bright before, his eyes losing a part of their shine and emotion, his actions less energized and loud, in order to be with the one he loved, Doro had tossed a side a whole part of who he was as a person, and in turn, Chika had lost a part of the person she had fallen for. Yes, stealing was wrong, but it was a part of who Doro is and since she loved him, that meant she loved all of him, even the parts that he didn’t like. So she joined him on his adventures and the two of them became a famous thieving duo. Would it have been better to just have Doro give up on thieving for good? Maybe. Would it have been better to have just left Doro when he returned to thieving? Maybe. In the end, life isn't just about making the right decisions, but also making wrong ones, and this was something that Chika was going to do. Make decisions herself, even if they ended up being wrong. It was her life to live after all and if it meant tossing it away, let her have that freedom to do so. Besides, she was happy being by his side anyway.

[hiraeth-doux]

A Road Paved In Gold (5/?)

Summary: In Steve’s memory, the seconds, and minutes, and hours of that day blurred into one endless moment of aching uncertainty and bone-chilling fear, but if his calculations were correct, his watch stopped ticking at the exact moment when his plane had gone up in flames.

Steve Trevor was never meant to die in the sky above Belgium for the reasons much bigger than he could ever imagine, and when he didn't, it seemed like a miracle.

However, surviving came with a price that changed the course of his life, making him wonder if he deserved it.

A/N: You guys are so amazing! Thank you for all the love :) I do hope you’re enjoying the ride so far; I have some insane stuff planned for this story, so... I’m doing my best to keep the updates frequent, I promise. Dig in and please let me know what you think ❤ ♡ You’re wonderful!

AO3 |  Fanfiction.net

The fire in the sky is the brightest thing she’s ever seen. It hurts to look at it but she can’t turn away. She watches it grow bigger, brighter, consuming the darkness of the night. Trapped under several sheets of metal pressing her into concrete, she can’t breathe, can’t move, but it’s her fear that truly paralyzes Diana, the terror that keeps her captive.

Her chest tightens. She wills herself to wake up. Sure this can’t be real.

Above her, the air is frigid. It smells of acrid smoke. Somewhere to the right from her, she hears panicked yelling. Ares is close by – she can feel him rather that see him, and for a moment, she remembers why she is here. Yet, the thought is short-lived, fleeting. Her gaze is locked on the fire far above her, and somewhere there—

A scream pierces the night, deafening, full of pain, inhuman. Nothing like anything she’s ever heard before, and the sound of it rips her soul in half, splinters her heart, tears right through her. It takes Diana a moment to realize that she’s the one who is screaming, her vision blurred with tears and smoke. She can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t be.

“Let me do it. Whatever it is, I can do it.”

She closes her eyes and turns away, struggling to inhale, her chest heaving under her metal trap, her ribs protesting every move.

“There’s more to the world than this, you know,” Steve told her the previous night, gesturing vaguely around them, his voice soft, mellow somehow. She’s never seen him like this before.

He pulled her closer, running his hand along her spine, and her whole body angled to curve around him. She smiled, leaned into him, listening to his heartbeat, her fingers tracing the lines of his body in slow, possessive touches. There were questions she wanted to ask, so many of them. And it wasn’t just her curiosity that kept her awake despite the weight of the day and the warmth of Steve's body lulling her to sleep – they needed to get some rest; she didn’t know what time it was, the very concept of tracking it still alien to her, but the dawn wasn’t far away, and there was another battle on the other side of it. Yet, she didn’t want him to stop taking, the sound of his voice washing over her in soothing waves.

She can still hear his whisper, feel the electric touch of his fingers to her skin – careful, gentle, but not at all unsure. Can feel his hands in her hair and the taste his mouth of hers. And that bright dot in the pitch-black sky can’t be him, can’t be, can’t be…

---

Diana came to with a low groan, her body pressed down with something rough and heavy, a sharp edge digging into her shoulder-blade, holding her body in the kind of angle that made it hard to move. She tried to take a breath, but her ribs screamed in protest and she squeezed her eyes shut with a sharp gasp, waiting for the pounding in her skull to recede. Her ears were ringing, softening the sounds of the world like she was trapped underwater.

Someone was crying, a sorry, aching sound. A siren broke through the fog in her mind, but it was too far away, too—

Steve.

No.

Her fingers curled into fists, scraping over brick wall that was nothing but a piece of rubble now, a sob rising in her throat – pain and panic mixing together into something hot and consuming.

“Steve…”

She strained her arms, pushing herself up, brick and stone falling back, making everything around her shake, echoing somewhere beneath her as a pile of what had once been a building shifted. Diana shook her head, her vision clearing, the throbbing in her body slowly ebbing back.

The dust hadn’t settled around her yet, stinging her eyes, clogging her throat.

She inhaled sharply and coughed, calling his name.  

There were people gathering around, the sounds getting louder like a blurry picture zooming into focus.

She stood up and looked around, first in confusion, then more frantically, more urgently, trying to see past the destruction, shaky on unsteady feet.

A man with a crushed skull was the first one she saw, her chest caving in momentarily. But his hair was darker, and even though she couldn’t see his face, it wasn’t him, not Steve. Relief mixed with guilt flooded her mind. Surely it was wrong to be glad about someone else’s death, but in that moment, she didn’t care.

The police were already there, ordering everyone to stay back. More soldiers, too. They were calling for her, but Diana ignored them, too busy looking for—

Steve.

He was lying under a block of concrete, half-hidden, and it took her a minute too long to locate him, her mind swimming by the time she finally spotted him.  

Diana fell on her knees next to him and rolled him carefully to his back, cradling his head in her lap, hands running over his arms, his chest, skimming over his bronze skin, taking in the new scrapes and bruises, as well as the old scars that she knew better than anyone else.

“Steve, please…” Her trembling fingers touched face, running over his dust-covered cheeks. “No, you can’t--” her throat closed up. “Wake up, Steve. Please…” There was a bad-looking gush on his forehead, dark blood starting to cake over it, its metallic smell permeating her senses. “You have to.”

A scream bubbled up deep inside her, the pain wanting out, but her throat constricted and it came out as a low whimper. She felt like she was about to crack and fall to pieces, and maybe this time they wouldn’t fit back together. There were only so many times one could be hurt until they could no longer repair themselves, and she couldn’t bear the thought of losing him, again, not after everything they’d been through to get where they were now.

“Steve… stay with me. Please, stay with me.” She leaned closer to him, her tears falling on his face, leaving streaks on his skin as she felt her very soul tear to shreds. Her fingers pushed his hair back from his forehead, carefully, gently. “You can’t—we made a deal, Steve Trevor…” The words tumbled out of her mouth as she brushed a kiss to his temple, her voice nothing but a hushed, broken whisper laced with tears.

How many times could she watch him die before she herself ceased to exist?

“And a deal a is promise,” Steve echoed faintly, his eyes fluttering open with effort. “And a promise is unbreakable.”

Diana froze, her eyes snapping open. He winced, blinking away the dust and coughing, her palm on his cheek and his chest moving, struggling to take a proper breath.

“Steve…”

“God, what happened to—” He grimaced and raised his hand only to drop it back down with a surprised hiss. “Have you noticed… that we never use the doors anymore? It’s either windows or—” he coughed again. “Or this.”

She laughed, a short, choked sound, disbelief mixed with relief, and pulled him closer, her heart beating somewhere in her throat.

“Ow!” Steve stiffened, his face contorted with pain.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Diana murmured, kissing his brow, her fingers stroking his face, his hair, unable to stop smiling through tears. “Don’t move. It’s going to be okay, you’re okay. I promise you.”

“You know, we need to stop meeting like this,” he muttered, slipping into blackness again.

---

He was dreaming.

For the first time in two decades, he was dreaming not of blood and loss but of a young boy with perpetually skinned knees and a gap-toothed smile whose hair was always tousled by the wind. There was an old biplane on his grandparents’ farm, broken beyond repair but too heavy for the truck for haul it off to a scrap yard. The very same one that his father flew until he could no longer kick the life into it.

The biplane was rusty, the yellow paint peeling off its cabin and wings, and by the time Steve Rockwell Trevor was old enough to climb inside, all the controls had gone missing as well, taken out to replace something or other. Steve loved it more than anything else in the world - not just the sum of its parts that formed the wings and tail and a slippery fake-leather seat but all the places inside his head where the plane could take him. All the places that weren’t middle-of-nowhere rural Midwest where he was stuck every summer. The places that mattered.

Sitting inside that rusty thing that was good for nothing, not even to hide from the rain, his feet too short to reach the space where the pedals used to be, Steve would imagine soaring into the sky and circling over the barley fields and the endless expanse of flat land, peppered with farm houses and barns and herds of apathetic cows and sheep, all the way toward the cities on the horizon. He would touch the sky and let the sun decide his course. And he would be free.

There was an attic in their house – a dark, eerie place with low, sloped ceiling, stuffed with boxes and broken furniture his grandfather never got to fixing, and it was the one place where no one could find him if he wanted to escape. On the dusty floor, Steve would make paper planes, and imagine, imagine, imagine that one day…

He woke up slowly, his mind foggy, the dream clinging to his brain like a cobweb, pulling him back in and pushing him out.

“Angel,” he rasped, his mouth too dry to speak, when his eyes focused enough to see a woman with black hair spilling over her shoulders sitting beside him, looking more like an apparition than anything else.

Diana.

“They told me you might be delusional,” she shook her head, smiling softly.

“What…” he licked his dry lips and swallowed, trying to find his voice, his throat raw and every inch of his body aching. “Paris.” His heartbeat stuttered, sprinting into a race as his memories came rushing back in. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He tried to sit up, but the room tilted and swayed around him, a jolt of white-hot pain shooting from his shoulder and down his arm. Steve clenched his teeth, stifling a groan.

“Don’t move. Steve, I’m okay. Everything is fine.” Her hands were on his shoulders, pushing him back into the pillows, her face hovering over his. He relaxed under her touch, soothed instantly.

She smoothed down his hair and stroked his cheek, her skin pleasantly cool against his.

“Where are we?” He asked quietly as Diana sat down on the chair next to his bed, his eyes darting from her face to the ceiling to her face again, and to the window, and back to Diana as his mind started to clear, somewhat.

He was in a hospital.

The realization was surprising, almost shocking, the pieces of a puzzle not quite fitting together. And yet, the ever-present smell of disinfectants mixed with the whiteness all around him and the rumble of voices that buzzed like a beehive on the other side of the plain door were unmistakable and impossible to ignore.

“London,” she responded.

His eyebrow quirked in curiosity. “London,” Steve echoed. “And… how did we get here?”

She let out a short laugh, and it was pretty damn hard not to notice that even though she was putting effort into keep the smile in place, her lips were quivering ever so slightly as worry pooled in her dark eyes that looked like she hadn’t slept in a long time. Or like she cried. Neither thought sat right with him.

“You probably don’t want to know,” Diana said, clasping his hand between her palms and kissing his fingers. There was a tiny frown creasing her forehead, and his hands itched to smooth it away. She was so beautiful.

He missed her, too. Missed her the way he tended to even when she was right there next to him, even when he didn’t know that he did. And seeing her now was the only thing that mattered, her gaze tired, but also full of start. Infinite worlds and the entirety of the universe in the eyes of the woman who saved him in more ways than one.

Steve offered her a crooked smile. “I probably don’t,” he breathed out. God knew he would find out eventually, but right now it felt like too much. “Are you really okay?”

She rested her cheek against the knot of their hands. “I am, I promise.”

She’d swapped her armour for a much less conspicuous skirt and blouse, and the feeling inside him was trepidation mixed with panic. There was a gaping hole in Steve’s mind between the morning in Paris filled with softness and the warmth of her body against his, and now, and he couldn’t look away from her. Losing her became such a natural thing it started to terrify him to the core.

He wasn’t joking when he admitted to not sleeping much because he feared he might wake up without her – there was an even-present undercurrent of fear coursing beneath his skin, a constant tug in the pit of his stomach that she was going to – POOF! – disappear. She’d always felt like a dream, like something entirely unattainable. A mirage that could disappear before his eyes. Even before, in the time right after the first war, he would lie awake at night as Diana slept next to him, unable to believe his luck and whatever providence made their paths cross.

His chest felt tight at the thought of not having this. Her. Them. Even now, he almost expected her to vanish like a billow of smoke.

“I love your smile,” Steve murmured, his voice dropping to a whisper and his fingers running over her knuckles. “You have the most beautiful smile in the world.”

“I thought I lost you.” Diana’s whispered. “When I couldn’t find you, I thought…” She swallowed and pursed her lips together. “There was a man there. A dead man, and it thought it was you, and--”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He pulled their hands to him and brushed a kiss to her fingers. “A promise, remember?” There were words, perhaps, to describe how hollow he felt for doing this to her, to making her feel this way, but he didn’t know them, and all he could do was to hold on and hope that she understood. “What happened?” He asked after a few moments to break the silence that felt like it could shatter and cut them with its sharp edges if they allowed it. “It’s a bit fuzzy.”

She relaxed momentarily, leaning closer to him a little, propped on her elbows on his mattress, her features softening. “The bomb… You got lucky when one of the walls didn’t collapse, it sheltered you.”

“And, ah…” Steve’s gaze shifted to the newly noticed bandage running across his chest. He looked at her quizzically, trying to grab a hold of the thread of reality that seemed to be slipping away from him.

“Your collarbone is broken,” she added, which probably explained the way everything was so blurry around him and why the words that he meant to keep locked deep inside him were tumbling out of his mouth without his say in it. Morphine, he guessed. It made sense. “And you have--”

“A concussion,” another voice finished for her.

Diana turned around, and Steve’s gaze shifted past her shoulder.

It wasn’t that much of a surprise to see Etta standing in the doorway, a busy hallway bustling with commotion behind her back, regarding him with mild exasperation. She was in her late 50’s now, if Steve was not mistaken, but her eyes were the same, sizing him up in that odd way that was somewhat apprehensive but not as shocked as he expected, and Steve wondered in the back of his mind just how long she’d been around, what Diana had told her.

“I can’t believe you never said anything me,” Etta threw her hands up, stepping into the room, and his lips quirked a little.

She must have had to hold it back for quite a while.

Still. He gave Diana a reproachful look.

“I had to call her,” Diana said, nonchalant.

“You’re impossible,” Etta rolled her eyes, and just for a second, Steve thought she would smack him. God knew he probably deserved it.

She didn’t, though. Instead, she gave him a long, contemplative once-over, curious now more than anything else.

“I didn’t think--” Steve started, still finding it pretty hard to keep his thoughts from scattering around.

“Obviously,” Etta interjected with a snort. She huffed through her nose, and shook her head, making Steve feel like a naughty child who got caught stealing cookies from a jar before dinner. “Well,” hands on her hips, she regarded him without much sympathy, “now that you’re awake and quite clearly not dying, your girl here needs to eat something.

“Oh, no, I don’t,” Diana started to protest.

“No, go,” Steve insisted, his eyelids already dropping and his brain feeling uncomfortably heavy in his skull.

“Poor thing was stuck here for ever,” Etta added, and muttered, “God only knows what you’ve done to deserve such devotion.” And then, as an afterthought, “Not that I want to know anything about that.”

“Go,” Steve repeated, his grip on Diana’s hand loosening. “I’ll be right here.”

---

He was asleep when Diana returned, her heart feeling lighter by the moment when he eyes fixed on his form, his chest rising and falling slowly under the blanket, his hair ruffled and his features relaxed. The early evening light coloured the room in hues of purple, softening the edges of reality.

She lowered down on the side of the bed and reached over to brush his hair back from his forehead, careful not to wake Steve up. He didn’t stir, though. Didn’t so much as move aside from leaning a little into her touch, aware of her presence even in his sleep, and this smallest tilt of his head filled her with so much affection she could barely stand it.

Earlier, she didn’t have it in her to tell him that when she found him, his chest was crushed, his pulse barely there, his body broken beyond repair. The wall that she claimed saved him had actually crushed him under its weight.

When she found him, he wasn’t breathing.

Until he was.

Until they were here and the men in white coats who claimed being the best healers around were promising her that he wasn’t in any danger. That there was nothing that they couldn’t fix about him. And she didn’t know what to make of it.

Until she was calling Etta, unable to find the words to explain what happened.

He didn’t need to know that. Diana wished she didn’t either, the image of it still raw and fresh and frighteningly vivid in her mind.

You’re fearless, Steve told her once, a long time ago, and at the time, she laughed it off, insisting that everyone was scared of something. At the time, she didn’t quite figure out yet that the one thing that terrified her the most was the chaos of his world. There were so very few rules – to life, to war, to anything, really. She was not used to experiencing loss. She was not used to how fragile lives were.

Not as far as he was concerned.

His eyes fluttered opened slowly; he blinked a few times, waiting for his vision to adjust. “Hey.”

Diana smiled and shook her head. “Sleep.”

“I’m not tired,” Steve slurred, making something warm unfurl in her chest.   

“Liar.”

He chuckled. “Never. Not to you.”

She refused to think about being one now.

“I found this.” She reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled out his watch.

It was in the pocket of his jacket that she found in the rubble later on when she went looking for her shield and the lasso buried under a pile of brick and concrete, trying not to think of how breakable everything around her was, how there could still be bodies trapped under the collapsed building. There was nothing she could do for them now, but the pain for the loss was squeezing her chest still. Merely thinking of losing Steve was unbearable, and her heart ached for those who the deceased – killed – left behind.

Steve’s good hand closed around the watch, his thumb running along the leather strap and over its white face. “Still ticking.”

Diana leaned down to press a kiss just below his hairline, where the cut that had been bleeding so profusely a few days ago that she thought it would kill him was nothing but a pink line that would turn into a scar before he knew it. His cheeks were covered with 2-day stubble, and he looked tired even when he was asleep, world-weary in a way she hadn’t seen him before.

But so very familiar. So very hers.

All her life, she’d known only one home – a place that held the memories dear to her heart. But no one told her before that a home didn’t need to have walls. Sometimes it needed to have a crooked smile and a heartbeat and the eyes so blue she was drowning in them every time she allowed herself to forget to hold on. Sometimes, it was that simple.

Still ticking, she thought as he drifted off again.

---

“At least here… I’m free.”

Steve’s jacket held the warmth of his body and smelled faintly of male and soap and smoke, and Diana wrapped it tighter around her shoulders as she watched the Chief poke at the fire, sending handfuls of sparks into the air, his posture relaxed to a degree. As much as it could be in the middle of something that was tearing the whole world apart.

The Evening Hate was a very appropriate name for the midnight fire, she thought if a little absently, equally dumbfounded and awed by the men’s ability to sleep when the ground was shaking beneath them. Charlie wandered off to cool down but Sameer was snoring quietly, and Steve’s breathing was deep and even, his face relaxed in a way she didn’t remember.

Diana tore her gaze away from him and studied the Chief, his face streaked with shadows.

“So you’re not afraid to die for this, then?” She asked, gesturing toward the tent behind her, curious.

He looked at her, his eyes glinting with amusement. “I will not die in this war.”

Diana’s eyebrows arched. “How do you know that?”

“I just do,” he shook his head, chuckling under his breath.

“What about them?” She nodded toward the sleeping men, her eyes narrowed ever so slightly and her head tilted to her shoulder. People, she had learned quickly, were very easy to read. Even the notorious spy let his guard down when he didn’t know anyone was looking. But this particular person sitting in front of her allowed nothing to betray his thoughts, which left her intrigued and more than a little wary. Not alarmed, though – Steve clearly trusted him, and she was learning to trust him. And yet...

The Chief glanced at the swaddle of coats and blankets that moved slowly as his friends slept, his brows coming together as his eyes lingered on Steve for a brief moment longer. He looked Diana square in the face then, the gaze of his black eyes piercing her with its intensity.

“None of them will,” he responded softly after a few moments, and she knew that he meant it. “I know who you are. What you are.”

“What I am…?” She echoed, not quite certain how to take it.

His chin jerked toward Steve. “He does, too. He’s just doesn’t know it yet.”

“How can he not know that he knows something?” Diana smiled, thinking that he was teasing her.

The Chief added another log to the fire. His face grew serious. “Sometimes, it takes a lot of bravery to believe something that you don’t understand.”

---

The only time Steve had ever been to a hospital was after his first tour, back in the States still, when he stupidly dislocated his shoulder and was sent to the infirmary. The one thing he remembered from back then was a heavy smell of everything that was the damned hospital that seemed to haunt him for weeks on end after he was discharged. It was like it lodged itself into his throat and seeped into his skin, and no matter how many times he bathed and washed his clothes, he couldn’t help but feel like he was carrying an entire ward on him.

And it was that again, but so much worse, too. It turned out that a person could only sleep for so long, and once the medication started to wear off and the fog had lifted, he found himself bored out of his mind. Reading was giving him a headache, and the crackling radio at the end of the hallway was hard to hear, and being bedridden for most of the day was driving him insane. And worst of all, he wasn’t allowed to shave. Apparently, they were not trusted with any sharp objects – the logic he didn’t quite understand, but even his barely edible lunch only included a fork and a spoon.

It was ridiculous, really.

“Get me out of here,” he begged Diana two days later.

“I will, as soon as you can stand without swaying,” she gave him a pointed look, remaining unmoved.

He flashed a grin at her. “I thought you liked swaying.”

She adjusted his pillow. “Nice try.”

He hated the time when she wasn’t around, when the minutes stretched endlessly and the nights were unbearably long and his thoughts were so loud he could hardly stand it. There was only so far a man could run away from himself.

Etta came over, too, although she was worse than Diana in that she didn’t want to tell him anything about the outside world. He’d heard the snippets of the conversations between the nurses about the Germans leaving France for good, about the overall panic among the troops, about the shift in power, the allies gaining some leverage at last. They promptly ignored his questions though when he asked them to elaborate.

“All I can do is stare at the ceiling,” he told Etta when she managed to kick Diana out ‘to get some fresh air’, taking her turn in babysitting him.

“Beats being dead,” she pointed out without much sympathy, making him smirk. “I can’t believe you never told me,” she said once more, and Steve flinched a little. “You could trust me.”

“I know,” he admitted. “It wasn’t about that. I didn’t want—” he cleared his throat. “It didn’t seem fair to put something like this…”

“You really are a moron,” she interjected, shaking her head. Then glanced toward the door to make sure that no one was there, and dropped her voice. “Just so you know, the British Intelligence appreciates your invaluable input.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “The letters… Did you…?” The ones that Diana must have salvaged, he figured.

“Delivered where they belong,” she promised. “Just keep it between us. You’re not supposed to be thinking about any of this.”

His smile softened. “Thank you, Etta.”

“You always have to do it the hard way, don’t you?” She muttered with a hint of exasperation.

Man, he missed her, Steve thought.

He got a ward-mate, too. A 60-something Irish colonel called Hector who spoke excessively in monosyllabic words or grunts and who slept most of the time – so much so that Steve didn’t even know what was wrong with him that he needed to be here at all. He tried to entertain himself by playing the guessing game but it grew old pretty fast.

Suffice it to say, he hated this place.

“Stay,” he asked Diana on a Friday night, feeling like a few more hours in this room, and he wold start climbing walls.

Leaning against a couple of lumpy pillows, he was half-sitting in bed, his fingers playing lazily with hers as he cradled his left arm to his chest in a sling.

“I think it’s against the rules,” she pointed out.

Steve caught her gaze and held it. “We can make our own rules,” he suggested quietly, letting go of her hand and wrapping his arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him until their noses were almost touching and her eyes were the only thing he could see. Her breath was falling on his cheek, and Steve grinned when she failed to bite back a smile.

“You have an awful lot of those, don’t you?” Diana murmured, and his mouth went dry.

“You can’t blame me.”

Someone cleared their throat loudly behind them, and Diana pulled away just as Steve's roommate shuffled into the ward, walking toward his bed and deliberately not looking in their direction. He continued to ignore Diana entirely all through the past two days, much to her general confusion and Etta’s outrage. Not that either of those things made much difference.

Diana bit her lip, and Steve tried to hide his chuckle behind a cough.

“And now Hector here is scandalized,” he muttered, his hand finding hers again and his thumb running discreetly over the inside of her wrist where Diana’s pulse stuttered a little under his touch.

Her brows pulled together. “Why? We’re not doing anything.”

And what a shame it is, Steve thought – couldn’t help it, really.

“Because there’s a beautiful woman visiting me and not him,” he replied loud enough for Hector to hear, but the other man only snorted in response. “And maybe it’s making him a little uncomfortable,” Steve added softly, only for Diana.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” She inquired, clearly entertained.

“Well, um…” Steve shifted under the thin blanket and glanced away, the tips of his ears turning red. “I wouldn’t call it that,” he responded vaguely, finding it hard to keep a straight face.

She laced their fingers together. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

“And bring back my shaving cream,” he grimaced, scratching his scruff.

Diana smiled, her voice dropping when she spoke like she was telling him a secret, “I like it.”

“I wish you didn’t have to leave. I already miss you,” he rubbed her knuckles with his thumb and kissed them.

She ran her hand through his hair and leaned it to brush a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Tomorrow.”

---

She did not come back in the morning.

Or in the afternoon.

And by the time Etta showed up in the evening – and after Steve had already learned just how dedicated the hospital was when it came to keeping the people from getting out – he started to feel like he was losing his mind, his stomach clenched into a tight knot and his heart about to shatter his ribcage. There was something disturbing about thinking that the worse case scenario was her leaving, but he couldn’t shake that idea, his mind stuck, running through their conversation from the previous night, dissecting it piece by piece, turning the words inside out to see if he’d missed anything.

She wouldn’t, he thought. She wouldn’t just leave because—

Because what? Because he wanted to believe that she wouldn’t?

The thought made him feel sick, made the walls spin around him for the reasons that had nothing to do with his damned concussion.

She promised, he thought desperately. She promised…

And so when Etta stepped into the room, he was on the verge of jumping out of his skin.

“Steve--”

“Where is she?” He demanded, all too aware of the edge in his voice and not giving a shit about it.

“Look, if you would just--” she started, “—calm down, first of all.”

His shoulders slumped and he stopped his frantic pacing, freezing in the middle of the room as the world fell back somewhat, like someone pulled a bag over his head, making it hard to breathe and impossible to hear anything outside of his own mind.

“What happened?” He asked, so very close to actually screaming.

Etta’s eyes flickered toward the other man in the room before she grabbed Steve by the elbow and dragged him unceremoniously into the hallway and toward the fire escape staircase that seemed to be the only relatively secluded place in the entire building.

She pushed him through the door and shut it behind them, cutting off the voices of the doctors and other patients, and thank god the god-awful medical smell that was the real nightmare of this place.

“It’s the Germans,” Etta hissed as if someone could still overhear them. “Something’s—something’s up, they’re panicking.” She swallowed uneasily. “They’re burning down the camps.”

“Oh god.” His insides dropped, air wheezing out of him. “Did she go there?”

“Steve…”

“How did she even know--” he started but cut off abruptly when the realization dawn on him, nudged by Etta’s suddenly evasive gaze.

“Well…” She drawled. “How was I supposed to know that she would—Okay, I probably should have.”  She admitted. “There was a letter… the British intercepted a letter, and I—I’m sorry.”

“I’ve gotta get out of here,” he muttered, and ruffled his hair, running his hand over the 3-day stubble on his chin. Then leaned closed to Etta and whispered urgently, “Please. I can’t stay here. Not when Diana is—out there, somewhere. I can’t.”

Etta shook her head vigorously and even took a step away form him for good measure. “She will kill me. Really kill me. With a sword.”

“I can’t stay here,” he repeated, half frustrated, half pleading.

“You have a head trauma, Steve,” she reminded him. “What are you planning to do, exactly? Swim across the Channel? Do something smart that would get you killed?”

“I mean, I don’t know--”

“Well, maybe you should start with that.” Her voice wasn’t harsh but it wasn’t particularly kind either, and her gaze was daring him to protest.

She had a point, Steve had to admit that. He hated it when she had a point.

Etta’s expression softened and she let out a slow, steadying breath when he wisely remained silent. “You trust her, right?”

---

He did. He trusted Diana more than he’d ever trusted anyone. It was himself that he didn’t know what to do with.

For the sake of well-being of the patients, the hospital limited the war news for their charges to a minimum, and the old radio was often tuned to one of the music stations that were of no help to him. He could feel the shift in the air, something was stirring, but Steve couldn’t put a finger on what it was, and the time stretched painfully, one agonizingly long minute after another.

Even Hector who had no idea what got Steve looking like a caged animal seemed to have tuned down his displeasure over the unwanted company – anyone’s company, for that matter. Granted, it would feel like a victory only if he bloody cared.

As it was, however, he chose not to.

His broken bones ached dully, making him aware of every move he made, every breath he took, distracting in the way that he didn’t find welcoming. Pacing the room left him dizzy, sitting on his bad was akin trying to rest on a bed of sharp nails. Nothing was right, nothing felt comfortable, and he regretted more than anything not convincing Etta to help him leave. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to help – hell, he had no idea where she was, but at least he wouldn’t feel so helpless and useless, and everything about him itched to go back home where even the walls offered comfort.

He was stretched on top on his blankets sometime after midnight the following night, staring sightlessly at the ceiling, his mind on fire, while his neighbour snored peacefully ten feet away from him when the door opened, revealing a familiar silhouette that made Steve’s heart trip over itself standing in a rectangle of light.

For a moment, he thought he was dreaming. It was late, the lights long out on the entire floor, and he had worn himself thin with worry.

But then Diana crossed the room in two swift strides, graceful and soundless as ever, and was lowering down next to him. Steve met her halfway, pushing up to sit and reaching for her, wrapping his arms around her, feeling so light with relief that he thought he would float away if he let go of her.

“Thank god,” he breathed out.

She was shaking ever so slightly, small tremors that reverberated into him, and she smelled of smoke and blood and all the things Steve didn’t want to think of. Yet, she was here, warm and real, and he couldn’t catch his breath because until this very moment, he was thinking he would never see her again.

Steve kissed her temple and buried his face in her hair, breathing her in. The cold of the early winter was clinging to her skin, her armour, her lips, and he seemed to not be able to hold her close enough.

“Are you okay?” He asked softly once his heart was no longer lodged in his throat, nearly choking him.

She nodded and took in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you hurt?” Steve pulled back just enough to see her face, make sure she was real. He smoothed down her hair, ran his thumb over her cheekbone.

“No,” Diana whispered, touching her fingertips to her cheek. “I shouldn’t have left… like this.”

“It’s okay,” he shook his head, smiling faintly before he pulled her to him again. “I thought you…” He swallowed, unable to utter the words that were coursing through his system like some vile disease. Now that she was back, the idea seemed ludicrous, impossible, and he was suddenly overcome with guilt over doubting her. Steve exhaled slowly. “I’m glad that you’re back.”

“They really wanted to do it, to burn everything to the ground,” she muttered into his shoulder, her voice breaking.

“Shhh.” He kissed her hair, his hand running soothing over her back.

“The way they were talking about those people… They called them ‘meat’, ‘disposable’. They said--”

“Diana…”

“I don’t understand how...” Her words were barely audible, soft in the night, and he could feel her heart bleed like it was his own. Steve’s eyes dropped shut as he willed her pain away. “They were saying those awful things about real people, and they talked about them—How could they be so cruel? How could they… how could you be like this to one another?”

Steve let out a long breath and leaned back against the pillows, taking her with him, cradling her to him like a child who was lost and sacred, careful to be quiet, less concerned about the comfort of his neighbour and more about losing this moment if the other man woke up.

He wanted to ask her questions about where she went and what happened and whether she really wasn’t hurt because it scared him to see her life this. It scared him to know that he couldn’t make it go away for her, make it better somehow. But there were answers that no one wanted to hear, and moments no one wanted to relive, and maybe in another lifetime they would be luckier not to have to go through either.

“Because it’s not Ares. It’s not gods that make us this way. Sometimes, it’s what we are.” Steve said softly, not sure if she was listening or not, the words finding it hard to claw their way out of his throat. “But there are good people, too. So many more of them, and they’re worth fighting for, you know?” She was crying now, soundlessly, his shirt damp with her tears, and all he wanted to do was keep apologizing over and over again, I’m sorry you only get to see us at our worst. I’m sorry we’re not as good as you thought we were. I’m sorry the world can be ugly sometimes, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… “It’s over now. I promise you it’s over.” His bad shoulder screamed in protest, but he couldn’t bear the idea of letting go. “I can’t fix it all. I don’t think anyone can. But we’re doing what we can, and… you saved them all, you saved so many people.”

“I don’t understand… I don’t understand why there must be so much pain, why you would choose to cause it to one another,” her voice was soft, and muffled by her uneven breathing.

In the darkness of the room dispersed only by the strip of light under the closed door, everything looked smudged somehow, the sounds swallowed by the shadows, and yet at the same time, everything about his moment felt impossibly clear. He could smell his soap and the sun of Themyscira on her skin, his thumbs running over her back, their faces almost touching. Steve swallowed hard when she took in a shuddered breath, acutely aware of every point where her body was pressed to his.

“We’re not perfect, but we’re not that bad,” he continued, more out of need to fill the silence than anything else. It was hard to think when she was this close, so close he could no longer feel the numbing bone-chill settled deep inside him. “So long as we don’t give up on each other.”

For all he knew, they were not talking about the war anymore.

Her breathing evened out eventually, falling in sync with his.

“Don’t go,” he muttered when she stirred.

“I should let you rest,” Diana responded softly.

He chuckled under his breath. “I’ve been stuck here for five days. I think I’m done with resting.”

She stayed quiet for a while, her fingers closed in a fist around his bunched shirt, flexing with every inhale and exhale.

“I was thinking… Will you come with me?”

He pecked the top of her head. “Anywhere.”

“To Themyscira.”

He went still when her response landed on him like a punch, knocking him off-balance, the unexpectedness of her words leaving his mind reeling momentarily.

“Are you going back?” He asked in a strained voice, wondering what the right answer was. Was she planning on leaving regardless of his decision?

She lifted her head to look at him and then shook her head after a short pause, her words nothing like what he thought they might be, “I don’t have the answers you’re looking for. But they might.”

To be continued.... 

[murcciervo]

Klance SNOWY DAY

I told you I was going to write this! I just didn’t give you all the fair warning this would be so cavity inducing and sweet it hurts. ENJOY

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"I don't know if this is such a good idea guys." Hunk fidgets from side to side, pulling on the ends of one of his gloved hands. "That hill looks really steep and I don't know about you guys but I don't want to end up in the hospital!"

Lance snorts, setting up the snow sled saucer on the top of the hill and stares down the open street before him, grinning. "Hunk my man, calm down. The streets were closed down due to the icy roads. We'll be fine." Lance assures as he prepares himself.

"Yeah, uh, no. What if someone didn't get that alert and then a huge semi is driving down the street and you get ran over by all like what, TWENTY TIRES… Lance! I do NOT want to be killed by your family!" Hunk looks around as Pidge sets up her phone, ready to capture the great shot of either Lance falling on his ass off the sled or shooting into the sky from a bump. Either way, she was ready for this, adjusting her glasses as Hunk continued to shout his disapproval of their game.

"Hunk, chill dude! Everything will be fine!" Lance shouts over Hunk's voice as he steadies himself over the sled.

"Lance! Seriously! I do not want your sisters coming after--" And before Hunk could even finish his sentence, Lance ran off the edge of the slippery sloped street and crammed into the small sled, happily screaming down the hill with a "Whooo!".

"Oh no! He's gonna die Pidge! Lance is gonna die and then we're gonna die because his family is going to kill us for letting Lance be an idiot and I can’t die so young Pidge! I can't!" Hunk rushed out as he tried his best, but completely failed, not slipping down the street as he followed after his friend. "I can't die and not have asked Shay ou--ah!"

"This! Is! Awesome!" Echoed down the icy street as Lance's sled caught up in speed, the snow loosing it's fluffy, puffed image to a more slippery and possibly dangerous sleeked ice. This was exactly what he needed. To be out here with his friends, finally enjoying himself after that horrible break up. He had forgotten how much fun it was not to worry about for getting yelled out just to hang out with friends.

Nothing could make this day go wrong, except for that unsuspecting poor asshole getting in Lance's slays direct line of contact. "Oh SHIT!"

Keith loved the snow, loved how you had to bundle up with layers, upon layers of warm clothing and scarfs. Especially the scarfs, did Keith mention the scarfs? And having an actual legit excuse to go outside in the snow, like the fact that "Takashi! You literally only have RAMEN in your house! You have no right to worry about my well-being! This is the most bachelors of bachelor's home I have seen!"

So, bags in hands and a full week worth of groceries, Keith and Shiro walked side by side… well more like Shiro six steps ahead of him because he did not appreciate the beauty that was winter as Keith did, as they made their way home to cook dinner.

"I would have never taken you as the chef type, to be honest, Keith." Shiro hummed, shivering as he tried to warm up.

Keith gave him a noise of acknowledgement. "It comes with living by yourself for a while and then having useless boyfriends."

Shiro nodded. "Never thought that would prove as a qualifying learning experience in your life."

"I'm full of surprises, Shiro." Keith grinned, "You will never have a dull moment… with--" And just like that, like a flash of light-- well more like blue-- Keith now found himself in the arms, wait no, lap, the lap of a stranger. An asshole who had just quite literally swept him off his feet and down the steep slope of the main road, leaving behind a jogging Shiro with a simple "KEITH!" In the trail of rising snow behind them.

Holding on for dear life, Keith would know his voice would take a toll for how loud he was yelling, but perhaps the stranger beneath him had the worst of it all, as Keith screamed into the poor man's ear and clutched onto him for dear life.

This had been the last thing on Lance's mind, Hunk was right, he was going to get killed. Either by the current, and may he add very cute, stranger in his lap or death by ice. Lance would have taken another better look had it not been the fact that, you know, they were both about to probably die.

Lance tried his hardest to control the sled, and he's sure they both saw the impending doom that was about to overtake them both, if their escalating screams and grip on each other would say otherwise as a pile of snow came into their view. Both boys yelled to the tops of their lungs as the round sled collided with the top of the snow pile, sending both bodies on top of it into the air and towards the snow covered ground.

If Lance's mother had taught him one thing in his life, it was to always be a gentleman, and so that is exactly what he did. As they both came down, he made sure to take more of the fall as the stranger landed right on top of him as they slid down the slippery slope into a pile of soft snow.

Lance was shocked though, he would have expected that the man who fell on top of him would be far more heavier than he was, was this dude made of fucking feathers or something like serious--- "Holy shit."

Keith blinked himself out of his haze, staring down at the stranger beneath him. He didn't know if he should beat the hell out of this asshole or laugh his ass off because he was right, never a boring day in his life. But Keith did neither, instead his face flushed a light pink, why was the guy staring at him so much, feeling bashful Keith looked away.

When Lance had seen the boy fall on him he hadn't quite appreciated how beautiful this boy truly was. Now here he was, staring down at him. This fair skinned beauty with eyes far more beautiful than any starry night. Lashes as dark as the night sky and long, that fluttered against his cheeks. A splash of red against his cheeks, nose and ears, this man was adorable. And don't get Lance started on the boy's lips. This man had to be an angel because Lance had never seen anyone as beautiful as this stranger.

Reaching out to brush speck of snow off this raven haired beauties hair Lance couldn't help but let the words fall from his mouth. "Hey, the names Lance and--" Lance was ready to set forth his smoothest and suavest pick-up lines he could throw out but the moment he stared into the man's eyes, who were more like the milky way in its array of blue and purple hues he was left speechless. Swallowing a lump in his throat Lance's head went blank before blurting out "Wow." Lance let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. "You literally just-- you're just--" a lazy smile inching across his face, damn he was fucking gone. "God you're beautiful."

Keith froze in spot, staring down at the man underneath him, he felt his body burn up, heated under this… loving gaze of this stranger. His face reaching temperatures he never thought he could feel, especially against this cool air, as he reached to push back his hair and then "Oh…" The stranger had just called him beautiful and yeah, Keith could feel his face heating up to a ridiculous temperature so he could imagine how beat red his face looked. So out of nervousness and just giddiness, from being flirted with from such a good looking guy, Keith did what anyone else would do in his position. He started to laugh, no… he was giggling. God, if Shiro could hear him, he'd never hear the end of it.

Lance would swear to you, that at that moment he heard angels singing when this stranger began to laugh. God… how could one person be so freaking pretty? "Uh-" Lance smiled, starting to laugh himself before they both broke into a fit of laughter.

After a few moments of uncontrolled laughter, Keith sat himself up, slipping away from this Lance underneath him, before giving him a shy smile as he stood to his feet. "Keith. My names Keith and I have to say that you're the worst driver." He motioned towards the sled a few feet away from them.

Lance took the hand with glee, standing up and dusting himself off as he gave Keith a shrug. "I'm not that bad… I can drive pretty well usually, just not on ice." He smirked, still holding onto Keith's hand he took a step closer. "You look cold, let me buy you a hot chocolate for almost killing you?"

Keith giggled again, smiling up at Lance, he was taller than him. He really liked that. Looking around at the snow Keith leaned in a little closer, relishing in the heat radiating from their bodies being so close together. "So long as you're not driving in that sled again, I would like that."

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HA HA I am trash who doesn't know how to write. I gave up towards the end because my head stopped thinking about KLANCE and starting demanding me to listen to my STOMACH who demanded a sacrificial sandwich. SO enjoy my crappy little fluff

[onewfantaesy]

In bullied au, one of the things Taemin truly resented about the whole bullying thing was that it put a strain on his real relationships with other people. He was constantly lying to everyone about being fine and okay, and it just took its toll on him. Plus, those other idols would sometimes interrupt time he had with other idols under SM who he was actually sort of friends with.

In this au, Taemin also had the biggest, hugest crush on Amber, and the idols who bullied him just constantly got in the way of that, especially when they sort of pieced together that Taemin liked her.

If SHINee and f(x) ever promoted around the same time, Taemin would try to go see them so he could say hi to Amber. He would tell her bad jokes that Jinki would tell at the dorms or in the van on the way to a schedule, and he hoped that she would like them. She always laughed, and he would smile so much wider when she did. 

Whenever SHINee and f(x) collaborated on something, Taemin would wiggle his way next to Amber just so he could be next to her. If they were all backstage, he would bring her waters or snacks or anything so he could have a reason to talk to her. 

Everyone knew Taemin liked Amber, it was just a fact. No one told Taemin that they knew, but everyone knew. Amber was pretty oblivious to it at first, because she just thought Taemin was being nice, but then Luna and Krystal were just like, “He’s doing it because he’s got the biggest gosh dang crush on you and it’s honestly embarrassing. Both of you are so embarrassing. Him because he’s trying so hard, and you because you’re so oblivious.”

The whole “Taemin has a crush on Amber” thing started around Lucifer promotions, and by Everybody promotions, it was just so bad. He liked her so much, and she didn’t really know what to do, and neither of them were allowed to date so it was just a slippery slope neither of them knew how to navigate. Plus, she liked him back, but it was hard to tell in that situation if she liked him like that and not just as a friend.

What made it worse, however, was the fact that these other idols were starting to realize that Taemin liked a girl. The girl idols did not take kindly to that. They would wait until he was around Amber to drag him away somewhere, and he was always too shocked to do anything about it. He didn’t want to say anything because he didn’t want people to find out, but he thought that Amber thought he was some little man-whore who was going off with all these different girls. 

One time, Taemin swore the girl who pulled him into an empty room waited until she heard Amber walking by to push Taemin out into the hall. He was shoved into the hallway, Amber and Krystal staring at him with wide, shocked eyes, and all he could do was try to swallow the lump in his throat when the girl strutted out of the room giggling.

“Taemin?” Krystal asked. “Are you alright?”

“Mmhmm,” Taemin hummed, his voice higher than usual. “Fine.”

“Your shirt’s inside-out,” Amber told him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Is it? Oh,” Taemin said, ignoring the last question. “Stylist must’ve messed up. Didn’t notice. I’ll, uh, see you later, I gotta, um, go.”

He hurried down the hall to go back to the dressing room.

She thinks I’m easy, she thinks I just fuck girls backstage and don’t even bother to put my shirt back on right, she thinks I’m disgusting, he thought to himself.

He was out of it for a few days after that. He didn’t really want to talk to anyone, he didn’t bring Amber any waters or any snacks, and he didn’t tell her any dumb jokes like he usually did. He thought she didn’t want anything to do with him, because why would she after catching him coming out of an empty room with another girl?

When she started bringing him waters and snacks and telling him bad jokes, he could only smile and laugh and thank her. She didn’t start coming to his dressing room for a few weeks after she and Krystal saw him in the hallway, but it was better than nothing. 

But when she heard about the way girl idols treated him after everything came out a year or so later, she thought back to when she saw him with his shirt inside out and wanted to throw up. He wasn’t sleeping around, he was being harassed, he was being molested, and no one ever did anything.

She started thinking back to how other male idols would say things whenever Taemin was around her, how he would deflate when they came near them, and how sometimes they would pull him away and say it was for “guy talk.” She felt like an enabler, that she just let it happen right in front of her and didn’t do anything.

“We all did, though,” Krystal told her one night. “No one did anything. We all saw it right in front of us, we just didn’t think it was actually happening.”

“I heard one of the managers say it had been going on since their Amigo promotions,” Amber said. “How could it go on that long and no one ever noticed?”

“He was good at hiding it,” she said. “They all were.”

“But he’s okay now, right?” Amber asked. “It’s stopped?”

“That’s what they say,” Krystal said. “Jongin said even he didn’t know about it. Jongin is his best friend, and if he didn’t know about any of it, how would anyone know if it had started up again?”

Amber shook her head, not knowing what else to say.

When her phone dinged a couple minutes later, she looked at it and laughed.

Would you maybe wanna get dinner with me this week?

“I think he’s okay,” Amber said, showing Krystal the text.

Krystal snorted, “Please keep count of how many dad jokes he makes.”

Amber laughed and fell back against the couch while telling Taemin they should get dinner that Wednesday.

“The best part about his dad jokes is that he doesn’t even realize they’re dad jokes,” she said. 

“He’s a walking dad joke.”

“That’s what I love about him.”

After they got dinner that Wednesday, Taemin and Amber walked around for a little bit. When it got a bit colder, Taemin took his jacket off and smiled.

“What do you get when you cross a cow and a goat?” Taemin asked.

“I don’t know, what?”

“A coat,” Taemin said with a grin, and he held his jacket out for Amber to put on.

Amber could only laugh and put her arms through the jacket, and she smiled the entire rest of the night.

[new-face-of-fear]

Disconnected

There was something amiss, and Bray couldn’t put his finger on what.

There was no reason that it should be the case. Catrina was here with him, returning to his side after just a day away to stand with Mil in the Temple. Isabella was happy as could be--she had her new puppy to show off, and her and Robert had been building a super secret clubhouse that none of them were allowed to see yet. Luke, Erick, and Braun were all okay--well, Luke and Braun were as okay as they could be given their current situations. He had triumphed over Seth twice in two nights. He had punished him for speaking out against him. For calling him a coward and a fraud. That was what he had wanted, and he got it, and he should have been happy with that.

But something was still wrong. It gnawed at him as he went around doing his duties on the compound. He preached his word, visited with his various brothers and sisters on a one on one level, gathered the kids up for a few stories he had saved especially for him--he did these things with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, and he felt like he faked it pretty well, but he still knew the truth. And that truth gnawed at him still even in the evening, while he helped Cat to make dinner, while they all ate, while he, Cat, Isabella, and the dogs watched some cartoon movie she had picked out...he tried not to act distracted, but he felt like his mask was starting to fail. It had become harder to hide behind it when it was the people that mattered most to him.

He refused to actually speak of it though, primarily because he didn’t actually know what to say. There was nothing around him that was currently spiraling out of control, and nothing to suggest something was about to explode. It just...it felt like it was something inside of him. Something that was bracing for something worse. Something that was telling him this peace wouldn’t last. The trouble would find them again; it always did. Maybe it would be on a personal front here at home, or maybe it would be on the professional front--the latter was more likely, considering his shitty luck. Every time he won and took a step forward, he inevitably pissed it all away and took three steps back. Even when he succeeded, he found a way to fail that much more spectacularly. It plagued him, and made it harder and harder to walk into the doors of the arena every week.

While Isabella pulled Cat into her room because they needed “girl time”, he found himself going out to Abigail’s tree, climbing up it so he could sit up on the branches. Climbing trees had been one of his ways to hide as a child, because his dad was usually too drunk to climb up after him. Of course, he wouldn’t be able to hide later if he fell asleep--he was still having that fucking dream where his father would find him and set him on fire. He had gotten used to it in a way, but sometimes he still fell out of bed, yelling and scrambling for protection. He hadn’t told anyone the details of it. Not even Cat. There was something more shameful in it than the others. Something that made it harder to look at himself in the mirror after he had it, and he didn’t want her to feel the same disgust he felt whenever he looked at his own reflection.

He dug his nails against his arm, his stomach coiling and muscles twitching. He couldn’t let himself keep thinking, but it was hard to push it all away. He tried harder, but all he could think of was what would push it down. What would take the edge off, at least for a little while. Booze. He didn’t want to think of that, but the craving was something he found creeping up on him more often than he was wanting it to. He had opened a door to a path he had swore to avoid. He had yet to take a drink in his home, had yet to truly let it poison him like his father had, but he was on a slippery slope. He needed to quit being weak. Needed to quit giving into vices. Especially the booze. He didn’t crave the pain pills like he was the fucking booze. He had a taste for it now. Could drink more without getting sick. He was adjusting to it, and that should terrify him, but the only thing that scared him was how much he didn’t seem to fucking mind it.

Tell someone. He needed to say something. Whether it was to Cat or Luke or Isaac--just someone who could help him needed to know. But even as he had the thought, he knew he wasn’t going to do it. He had barely had it in him to admit what he had done after Luke had called him out after the drunken texting incident. He couldn’t reveal just how weak he was. How lost he had gotten. How much like his father he was after all.

“Bray?” He had gotten so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn’t heard Cat coming until she was standing under the tree, looking up at him with a slight frown. “Darling?”

“I’m fine.” The words felt like a pure lie just coming off his tongue. There was no way she was going to believe him. But he pushed that thought aside as he climbed back down. Once his feet were planted on the ground, he brushed off his pants before giving Cat a kiss, giving her his best smile after he pulled away. “How bout we go to church?”

Normality. That was what he was going to embrace. If he got lost in it then his feelings would settle themselves out.

At least, he hoped so anyway.

[idolizerp]

[ LOADING INFORMATION ON 99 TRAINEE JIHO…. ]

DETAILS

CURRENT AGE: 20 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 15 SKILL POINTS: 03 VOCAL | 04 DANCE | 04 RAP | 04 PERFORMANCE

INTERVIEW

the way people see you, your image, is arguably the most important aspect of an idol. the perfectly crafted piece of a an ever growing puzzle, forced into being not too much but never too little. a person being poked and prodded at, never alone and never safe, as a mold for whatever their company wants from them. it’s unavoidable. however, in an industry full of fakes, it’s easy to forget that they’re people and go nabi is a pitch to show just that. naturally, no company in their right business mind would let an idol run free and do as they pleased. but they can give that illusion.

nabi isn’t a very memorable person—not exceptionally attractive, no unique personality traits, nothing to make you take a double take. at first glance, he’s exactly the person that a company would turn away or change completely. boring was the word that followed him whenever he went. he was the standard korean teenager—innocent yet mischievous and someone to go to just if you wanted to talk or hang out. he was the simple boy next door that no one ever looked twice at, a background character in the life of everyone else around him. but he still had star quality. an undeniable charisma and charm to him whenever a mic was put in his hand or when the music cue sent him straight into his dance. his plain features and blank page of a personality gave room for someone else to be born with each stage performance. whethis he was meant to be cute, a bad boy or even sexy when he got old enough, he could become that person with the power and skill to back it up. one would assume a company would love to shape him, love to break him down completely to build a new, to paint a masterpiece on the canvas. however, things don’t always go the way we expect.

as of now, his company is simply allowing his to be hisself—or at least a heavily censored and far more glamorous version of it. they’re trying to ride the “refreshing little brother” vibes until the end. idols people can relate to in the sea of fakes and perfection, the man mothers and fathers love as much as their children, the easily marketable type. he’s not too much, not too little. the perfect cool resting area that seemingly gives no one a reason to despise him and everyone a reason to like him. the perfect contrast from the powerful yet graceful performance he always gives. his rather plain personality makes his stage presence seem even more impressive, appearing as if a switch inside him is flipped as soon as music plays. his reverse charms never fail to put smiles on the trainers faces and even those of the othis trainees, breaking whatever idea they have of him and never repairing it. however, the slippery slope he’s forced to operate on makes things much harder for him. he has to know when he’s blending in too much or not enough, when he’s being more annoying, and what jokes are appropriate. despite the leniency he has when compared to a lot of his fellow trainees, he still has to work hard to be, well, himself as odd as it seems. how much of himself is a little too much?

BIOGRAPHY

MAY 2003

as only a small child, things that catch go nabi’s attention for long are few and far between. his short attention span latching onto the newest colorful and unknown thing but this, this he loves with all his tiny little heart.

watching his older sister perform with members of her dance academy with his mother holding tightly to his small hand and his father resting his on his head of silky black hair was like witnessing someone perform magic. he doesn’t understand it, but he doesn’t feel he has to. his naturally curious self doesn’t think he needs to look deeper, to know what it means, he just loves watching, admiring. go nari moves with passion and confidence. she knows she’s good and she wants to show that off, drawing all eyes on her despite the group around her. nabi wants that too, he wants to be just like nabi when he grows up. his tiny body and high pitched voice expresses only that dream as they walk home as a family, nari holding her younger brother in her arms and their parents follow behind. his excited babbling and wild gestures makes the family laugh, they love radiating from them and making even those around them smile.

JANUARY 2004

the night of nabi’s first performance, he spends most of his time crying into his sisters arms. after he begged and he pleaded with his parents, they allowed his to join a simple dance class, geared more toward diversity in the craft rather than one genre. he’d excelled, truly, especially when it came to areas like hip hop and contemporary but he was still a child and he was dreadfully afraid to get up on stage.

in the days leading up to it, he wanted nothing more than for the day to come quickly so he could perform with everyone and even do the solo he was assigned for doing so well. it was all he’d ever talk about, even to strangers on the street. it was clear he wanted it more than anything, but when the time came he couldn’t do it. his arms had wrapped around his sister’s neck and never let go, no matter who tried to talk to into it. he was scared. so so scared. it wasn’t like when it was just his, the other kids and the teachers. this was real. parents and other people would be watching his all by himself. it was too much. so he continued to cry, small body trembling with the intensity of his sobs. “ nabi-yah, why are you crying? don’t you want to go up and perform for everyone? “ he’d always loved his sister’s voice, it was nice and calming, perfect for her dream of becoming a singer. despite his still hiccuping sobs, he opened his tightly shut eyes to look at her, bottom lip trembling. “noona, I’m scared.” he admits, tiny fits holding onto him so tight his nails left imprints in his palm through the fabric of the shirt.

“ that can’t be true! the nabi i know was so excited to be here and do his solo. he was ready to travel in time to get here“ his eyes narrowed at her but he wasn’t crying anymore. “ the nabi i know is really strong and brave, even more brave than the big boys at the park, “ nabi started to smile and so nari continued. “ he’s even more strong than me. the nabi i know is going to do amazing on his stage. “

and just like that he went. running to jump in line with all the others just before it was time to start. despite the obvious jitters, nabi performed amazingly and with a big smile, one that made his eyes crinkle and his chubby cheeks becoming more prominent. at the end, his tiny little hand reached as high as it could to wave to his sister who was smiling just as proud as their parents.

JUNE 2008

on june 23, 2008, the go family spends their time together celebrating. nari had been scouted by a company, she was going to live her dream. nabi was happy for him, he really way. she was the one who made him realize he shared the same dream and passion—the desperate want for that stage and the natural talent just for it. it was what she always wanted. and yet he still felt that she shouldn’t go. that she should just stay with them, be his older sister. once she was gone, that was just it for them, for a long time. the times they spent practicing together at the dance school she attended, the times they would sneak midnight snacks together with hushed laughter, the times he’d be so overwhelmed he could only cry. being aware of that, knowing he wouldn’t have his rock anymore, felt like some was stripping him of his whole world. he was dependent on her, way too much, but she was the person that made his who he was. he didn’t feel whole without her.

on the day she moved into the trainee dorm in Seoul from their humble home in Chuncheon, he spent the night crying in his room. he was happy for her, so so happy, but the ache in him overpowered it. it wasn’t like she was far, just a few miles away, but that made it even worse. the thought that the two would drift apart and become to separate so close together hurt him. it had always been them against the world but now nabi was alone.

JUNE 2011

by the time nabi was 13, he’d gone through changes. changes in his appearance, changes in his personality, changes in his interests. despite that, his one constant remained his love of dance. with his sister away, working to achieve her dream, and him not being very popular among his peers—just fading into the background as he did but that was okay—he fell completely and happily into his dancing. he was too old for the group he used to be in but not skilled enough to run with the big boys at a dance academy, still very juvenile. however, when the open events happened, he made it to everyone and was always front and center with a determination to make his sister and even himself proud. it was this that got his noticed, what got his a place at the most popular dance academy in the area once he was old enough. they were nothing special or unique, not so close to the hub that was Seoul, but solely having the opportunity made him feel like he was on top of the world.

he worked hard, as hard as he could, every single spare moment he got. by day, he was a diligent student. ranked average in his class, loved by teachers, participating but not showing off. just typical. but by evening, when he was assigned new choreo, he became a superstar. the sharp eyes, the fluid movement, the beautiful smile just at the end to contrast with his intense performance and bring everyone around his to a sense of awe. it was only natural the next step was to get his an audition. it was lucky for his, that he didn’t even need to go looking. with his activity at the academy, every single free moment being spent learning and performing different choreo—original and cover, it made sense he was in a majority of their posted videos. even if he wasn’t the center or focus, he still managed to draw attention. he showed he was there and he wasn’t going anywhere. it was the perfect aura to get attention from a scout.

JUNE 2013

after spending less than years with the dance academy, nabi had discovered how to make dance his own. it used to be his connection to his sister, the thing the go siblings shared. in nabi’s mind, they’d always been a pair but the longer they went apart, he knew that had never been true. it was always his holding onto her, afraid to take a step away. as he went through his dance classes, he learned to take that step. to make it his, no matter whose it was.

given his roots in a variety of dances, he was versatile and never made an attempt to settle. constantly stepping out of and redefining his comfort zone was what made dancing fun. he never wanted to get comfortable—he was a pusher. when things stopped being challenging, they got boring and dancing offered his not only happiness but also an escape. an escape from his boring everyday life in his boring home in Chuncheon. it was exciting with so much variety. he never thought of it as good or bad, impressive or underwhelming. it was just his.

so never in a million years would he have expected to be contacted by a scout. he didn’t believe he was “talented” or “perfect for become an idol”, he just thought he was hard working and a good student. but the sweet talk and the thought of being able to be with his sister again, to be close with her again. being an idol was never his dream but he supposed he could make it be.

JANUARY 2015

nabi lasted less than two years before he broke. it wasn’t the workload—piling the intense schedule of a trainee to the life of a student was hard but he kept his grades up just as he had before and he never fell behind—nor was it the homesickness that got so many. it was an injury.

through his years in dance he had suffered injuries of course, sprained ankles and broken arms. none of it ever worried or stopped his for long. he was one to bounce back, bright smile on his face as he yelled to others to keep up. but this. this stopped him dead in his tracks.

it wasn’t during a solo practice session, just him and the music that ran through him as he moved. it was during a monthly evaluation. all eyes were on his, some with awe and others with envy, as he moved to the rhythm. despite being in his own beautiful world of dance, his facial expressions were always in check. wink here smirk here. it was all going well, so everyone thought. until he fell.

his moves weren’t particularly complex, just fast movements and turns. and yet it still broke him down. the immediate reaction was that it was a simple broken ankle. it wasn’t a big deal, despite the terrible pain. he would simply spend time healing at home and then be back. even if it ruined his evaluation, he was still be fine. he thought that all the way to the emergency room, even after the inflammation and pain set in. he was going to be alright.

he’d torn his meniscus, he learned with his mother holding onto his hand tightly. she’d spent the time the doctor was away crying, feeling guilty for her baby getting hurt. nabi had been assuring her the entire time up until he heard the news. it was a white-white zone tear, a bad one in other words, and would require surgery. as a dancer most of his life, he knew what meniscus tears were and how people rarely recovered fully. returning pains, the occasional lock of the knee. all things that would hold his back. still, nabi wanted to have hope.

JUNE 2016

nabi was healed—had been for a while—and yet he was hesitating to dance for the first time in his life. everytime he took a step to go for it, to shine like he always had, he would break out in a sweat. he was at high risk now, with his surgery. it was almost guaranteed he’d have trouble with his knee down the road, 15 to 20 years away, and the more he pushed himself the faster it would come. but he was fine, the doctor assured him. he was fine, he assured his mother. he still spent nights in the practice room crying into his hands. he’d have to go home, give up on being an idol and living the glamorous life. he had to. he couldn’t keep this up, not with the fear of ruining his knee again or worse. but he stayed.

he worked, harder than anyone else. he didn’t have a choice. but he couldn’t be trusted to dance front and center, not by himself and not by his company. he started being trained in other things, rapping was something that truly clicked for his. maybe it was his vocal tone or it was the contrast between the harsh way he delivered his lines and his sweet facial expressions but whenever he practiced, it brought smiles to his trainers faces. but he felt he could do and be more. he’d already lost his biggest asset and strongest skill. he wanted, more than anything, to make up for it. that didn’t mean it wasn’t hard, didn’t mean he didn’t spend late nights practicing and early mornings studying for school in a few hours, didn’t mean he didn’t absolutely hate it. but he’d made it this far. he’d made it this long. he had to stay. what else would he do?

singing and rapping was never something he loved as much as dance. he simply tolerated it. it was his only option, he tried convincing hisself. he couldn’t trust hisself to be relied on to be center and deliver excellent choreo like he used to. he’s was too scared and he didn’t have anyone to convince his he could do it all on his own. if he was just a rapper or a vocalist, he could give excuses to cover his mistakes. it was the wrong reasons but he worked and worked, diligent as always.

AUGUST 2018

now nabi’s waiting. waiting for an opportunity, waiting for his confidence to come back, waiting for it all to come crashing down on his. waiting. having given up his possible dance position, all the fun and excitement of it all was gone. all of it had simply become routine. wake up early, spend an hour training, showering, going to school, coming back to train until late at night, study, go to bed. repeat, repeat, repeat. even as others around him came and went, whether they debuted or couldn’t handle it all, he still stayed. even if he himself no longer wanted to be there, he stayed and he waited. what he’s aiting for, he wasn’t sure. he just continues his routine, continues being a creature of habit. after five years, he doesn’t see a point in leaving anymore. even if he hates rapping and loathes his singing voice, he does it. it’s what’s asked of him after all.

he wants to learn to be happy. learn to appreciate and love himself, grow confident and who he’s becoming. but it’s hard to let go of who he was. he was always the dancing machine, the one to own the spotlight. but now he hides, shrinks away from the center and lets others take his place. it hurts. it’s him keeping himself here, him keeping himself locked away and trapped, letting every opportunity slip away. but that’s okay. so he just waits. waits and hides away.