#I can’t tell if it’s adjacent to me?? or farther away?? how is it possible to be right next to them and not slam the fucking walk

[weaselishmcdiesel]

You’d never guess who’s playing music again

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Concussion- Prompt Fill

Jon falls out of a Kayak

CW nausea, concussion, hospital mention

Thanks for reading! I am still accepting bingo prompts (Bing card by the wonderful @celosiaa​)! Tell me a character and which prompt, and let me know if you want art or writing! The starred prompts are ones I already have received, and probably have outlined! (I am much faster at art just fyi).  Sorry this one took so long, I wrote it a week ago and hated it! 

Jon doesn’t like the outdoors.  In his experience it’s loud or wet or sandy or bright or crowded or filled with bugs or hot or spider ridden or just generally uncomfortable.  

But that doesn't matter, because he needs to prove that things are alright with Tim.  He has finally earned enough trust or goodwill or something to be invited on a kayaking trip.  

Even back when things were good, Jon rarely got invited along to these things.  Tim knows Jon isn't the outdoorsy sort, but occasionally invites him so he doesn't feel excluded.  

A traitorous part of Jon thinks that he was only invited as a joke.  But more of Jon doesn't care if that is true.  He earned that invitation, and it doesn't matter that he is baking in the heat or that driving to the lake made him carsick or that he already has 30 mosquito bites and counting.  He.  Does.  Not.  Care.  

It doesn't matter because he is here with Tim.  And Tim is having a good time.  

They paddle around the secluded lake for a couple hours.  Jon almost has fun.  He isn't having a bad time.  Tim has been cracking jokes, and Jon is having something adjacent to fun.  Not to mention... it just feels damn good to be included.  Usually it's Tim and Sasha, or on occasion Tim and Martin.  Not that this is the first time since... everything that Tim and Jon have been alone together... it's just.... Kayaking is important to Tim.  And Jon rarely merits such a heartfelt invitation.  And even if it isn't really his scene.  It's worth the itchiness, and sore muscles, and carsickness and oppressive heat.  It is all worth it.  

Jon doesn't really know how he ends up in the water.  One minute he is breathing hard, his back and shoulders burning after all that paddling, trying to convince himself that he probably doesn't need his inhaler (that he left in the car in any case), the next... he is in the water.  Life vest dragging him towards the surface... or where the surface would be if the kayak wasn't in the way.  

He cracks his head on textured, blue plastic, and it doesn't even have time to hurt before Tim is hauling him out of the lake.  

He can't say it really hurts.  Just the surprise, and  the moment of timelessness and involuntary tears when something smacks a person from nowhere.  The brief moment of everything being a little too sharp and a little too blurry all at once.  

He coughs as he breaks the surface and Tim's strong arms lift him back into the kayak as if he weighs nothing (which... Martin would say is the case).  It's probably the firefighter training.  

Water is streaming off him, and there is some sort of weed tangled in his hair.  

"Boss, you alright, there?" Tim clapping him on the shoulder, almost knocking him out of the kayak again.  (Jon isn't sure if the fact that it is a two seater is better or worse).  "Whoa there!"

Tim is steading him again.  He's honestly feeling a little dizzy and a little distant.  But that's probably just the surprise, right?  Probably.  

"Not your boss," he grumbles, trying his best to scowl despite how Bright everything is, and how he really is very very damp and how maybe jeans weren't his smartest move today.  He lets that hang for a beat.  "...Thanks Tim."  

He offers a tiny smile, trying not to shrink in on himself, like he did... back then.  

"Fine, you alright, buddy?  What even happened?"

Jon shrugs.  "I'm in one piece, I think."  

Tim fishes in the water for Jon's dropped paddle.  "Maybe it's time we head back, wouldn't want that to happen again.  I need you in top form if you wanna come out again with me!"  

His head is starting to hurt.  

Jon flushes slightly.  "I'd... really like that, Tim."

Tim hands him back the paddle and they head back towards shore, and the car, and their respective domesticities.  

The headache isn't exactly gone by the evening, but it isn't bad.  Not worth telling Martin about, although he couldn't escape Tim telling Martin how he fell out of the kayak, and having Tim show Martin the pictures of one very damp and disgruntled Jonathan Sims dripping in the kayak, and Jon in Tim's spare workout clothes in the car.  And Jon looking faintly ill with ginger ale clutched tightly with eyes closed on the way back.  And of course the selfie with Tim giving him a sloppy cheek smooch while Jon wears a truly terrible hat that he has no idea why Tim owns.  

Tim stays for dinner.  

By the time that Jon wakes up, Martin has already left for work.  

His head hurts.  Not migraine bad, but he makes a mental note to tuck some excedrin into his bag just in case.  Best to be prepared for these things.  

He drags himself upright with a groan, trying to ignore the way that the room tilts for a few moments as he gets up.  

School.  

Right.  

He's got work today.  And as long as Martin isn't there to be disappointed in his decision making, a headache is not going to stop him.  

It's too bright outside, and Jon isn’t hungry for breakfast.  Tea counts as breakfast, right?  That's good enough.  There's milk and sugar in there... that has to have enough calories to count for something, right?  It's fine.  

Halfway through class, Jon has to sit down.  Abruptly.  His lecture trailing off into a dizzy silence.  

The headache has become too distracting, the tilting of the room around him making it hard to stay tethered to the Earth's gravity.  He presses the heels of his hands against his eyelids, trying to stop the listing of the room.  

He hears a student calling his name, but he can't make himself parse out who.  And the Eye doesn't seem inclined to tell him.  

Which is probably for the best, because he is beginning to wonder if he can take much more headache.  

He doesn't know how long he's been down, but Martin is there now.  

Fluttering hands, checking him for a temperature, coaxing him to look up, shielding him from the fluorescent lighting.  

Jon leans into the cool of his hand.  

Martin's hands in his hair, smoothing away the bedhead, Jon forgot about before leaving the house.  Jon making an embarrassing sound as he relaxes into the touch.  

Until Martin reaches the crown of his head, and Jon hisses in pain.  

Martin has been talking to him the whole time, but the ringing in his ears has been too distracting to make out words until now.  "Jon?  Love, did you hit your head?  Can you look at me?  Tim said you fell yesterday, did you hit your head?"

Jon struggles against the painful light to meet Martin's gaze.  

Martin is shining a pen light in his eyes.  

Jon tries not to feel betrayed.  But the light Hurts.  And he just wants to go back to bed, and be held, or maybe have Martin bring him an ice pack, and he's starting to feel sick as well as dizzy.  

"Jon-love, we should get you to a hospital.  I need to get you actually looked at."  

Jon whines in complaint, but doesn't have the energy to argue as Martin guides him up, folding against Martin's chest, when his legs try to give with the pins and needles of inactivity.  

He doesn't want to go to the hospital.  It's bright and he is very tired.  And he feels so guilty that someone... probably one of his students called Martin in when Martin had likely just gotten off his shift and should be at home and sleeping and not scraping Jon's ass off the floor again.  

It hadn't been this bad earlier!  He's fine!  Really!  

"Jon-love, why didn't you say something?"

And Jon tries not to cry.  "I was fine... didn't hurt then."  

Martin tuts over him and holds him close.  

The hospital is just as bad as he fears, and he's pretty sure he guilty cried on Martin at least once, and possibly also took a nap in the waiting room, but when it's over, Martin shoos Jon into a waiting cab, and trundles them both home.  

Jon is dozing on the couch, because Martin is making dinner and he can't bear the thought of being farther away than one room over, and Jon has never been comfortable about the idea of eating in bed.  Breakfast in bed (Or dinner in this case) sounds good in theory, it just sounds messy and awkward in practice.  His phone has been confiscated after he sent a brief email to his students.  Martin wasn't happy that he already was ignoring the don't look at screens and don't think too much instructions.  

That will be an argument for tomorrow, and the next day until they eventually reach a compromise.  One Jon knows Martin won't be happy about, and one Jon will feel the bite of guilt over, but his students need him, and it really isn't a bad concussion.  He might let Martin fuss over him a little more than normal, but only until the extra work catches up with Martin.  Then it will be Jon's turn to look after him.  

“Jon, Tim just texted.  He says he’s sorry he didn’t know you were hurt, and that you don’t have to go with him again.”

Jon wants to cry again.  He breathes as deeply as he can, trying to draw courage into his lungs.  “Could you… tell him I Want to go?  I promise this won’t happen again?  I… had fun… and I want to go kayaking with him.”  

Martin enters the room with his phone in one hand, and a spatula in the other.  He kisses Jon’s forehead softly, and starts to type one-handed.   

“And please tell him to not feel badly?  I didn’t really notice until …well until you got called.  It was just a headache until then.  Not even a bad one.”

“Of course love, just tell me if it gets worse, alright?”

Jon hmms in agreement.  

[honeypwark]

[ Breaking and Entering ]

  ↳ Pre-Debut era

       ↳ Katie kidnaps Songi and Yuna. Chiyuu joins them as they go to their new dorm. They tell stories.

m.list

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The girls in the dorm all sleep peacefully. While the two smaller rooms in the dorm sleep two and four girls respectively, the largest room of the dorm is home to eight girls, all of whom are tucked into their beds comfortably and snoozing away. The room is neat and organized, mostly thanks to the eldest, Heo Songi. This means that when a figure silently eases the window open and slips through it to land lightly on her feet inside the room, there is nothing for her to trip on.

As if her motherly instincts kick in while she sleeps, Songi wakes despite the intruder not making a noise. Songi doesn’t understand the tingling feeling on the back of her neck until she looks out at the room and spots the shadowy figure. She freezes in fear, watching in horror as the figure walks across the room to the young girl that sleeps on the top bed of the far bunk.

The figure shakes Ahn Yuna awake gently. Songi can hear that she says something to Yuna but not what. Yuna doesn’t start screaming as she wakes and sees who has woken her, only sitting up and rubbing her eyes sleepily. The figure steps away from the bunk and tip toes across the room to Songi herself.

As moonlight is cast across the figure’s face, Songi’s fear is immediately gone and she rolls her eyes. She sits up as the figure gets closer.

“What are you doing here, Katie?” Songi whispers to her unhappily.

Katie Kim crouches beside Songi’s bunk and grins her signature cheeky grin up at the other girl.

“I’m here to kidnap you.”

Songi rolls her eyes, “Right.”

“Throw on a coat and meet me at street level.”

“Why?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I’m fine here, thanks.”

“Okay, guess I’ll just wander around Seoul at one in the morning with Chiyuu and Yuna without any supervision, then.”

Songi knows what she’s doing. She’s making her motherly instincts kick in, basically guilt tripping her into coming so the younger girls will have someone actually responsible to look after them.

“Fine.”

Katie’s grin widens, “Great.”

Katie walks back over to the window.

“Where you going? I thought we were going somewhere?”

“We are,” Katie assures her, “I have to get something from my dorm that would have made my breaking and entering venture much less successful.”

Katie slips back out through the window with a practiced ease that makes Songi uneasy.

Five minutes or so later, Songi stands outside of the apartment building SM’s trainee dorms are located in. Yuna stands in the February cold with her, another young trainee Kang Chiyuu at her other side. Chiyuu had already been waiting for them when they’d arrived.

“Where is she?” Songi asks.

Yuna just shrugs and tucks her face a little farther into her scarf.

“There she is!” Chiyuu says, pointing up and into the alley.

Songi steps around Chiyuu to look into the space between the apartment complex and the adjacent building. Descending the fire escape quickly is Katie, now with a backpack on her back. The Texan reaches the last landing and climbs down the short ladder portion. She jumps onto the dumpster then onto the ground without fear or hesitation.

Chiyuu claps happily as if applauding for a performance. Katie gives an exaggerated bow.

“You couldn’t have just used the elevator?” Songi asks.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Katie says with a shrug. “Let’s go.”

“Are you going to tell us where we’re going?” Songi asks as she follows Katie down the sidewalk.

“You’ll find out when we get there.”

“So no.”

“Nope!”

Yuna walks beside Songi, her hand in the older girl’s. Ahead of them, Katie and Chiyuu skip and dance and spin around streetlights as though it’s not below freezing and one in the morning.

Chiyuu has always admired Katie. She thinks the older girl is one of the coolest people she’s ever met. Yuna also thinks Katie is very cool, but she’s much too shy to take after her like Chiyuu tries to. And Songi does not think that Katie is someone anyone should look up to as a role model. But try as she might, Songi can’t stop Chiyuu and the other younger female trainees’ idolization of Katie.

Eventually, Katie stops at a bus stop. She spins around and sits on the bench to wait. Chiyuu copies her movements and plops down beside her. Songi sits on Katie’s other side with Yuna.

“You know we can’t just go out anytime we want. We have a curfew,” Songi reminds Katie.

“Do you even know how to have fun?” Katie asks, not even sparing her a glance as she puts Chiyuu in a joking headlock and ruffles her hair.

“I know how to have fun!”

“Really? Then act like it.”

Katie lets Chiyuu go and they continue waiting for the bus. It comes eventually and the four girls climb on, sitting at the back as its only passengers. Chiyuu sits by the window and Katie sits beside her. Songi sits next to Katie again.

“I don’t like this.”

“What?”

“Breaking the rules.”

Katie laughs at that, “You are such a goodie two shoes.”

“I just don’t want us to suddenly not be able to debut because you’re dragging us to do something dangerous.”

“Relax, Songs, we’re not doing anything dangerous.”

“So that means we’re doing something stupid.”

Katie laughs again, “Would you chill out? Just enjoy the ride.”

When they get off the bus, they walk for a bit more then stop in front of an apartment building.

“What are we doing here?” Songi asks.

She leans over Katie’s shoulder as she inputs the pin to enter the building. Katie holds the door open for the other three then steps into the warm lobby with them. She rubs her hands together to warm them then presses her palms to her cheeks.

“Our manager told me where our new dorm is going to be.”

Songi looks around, “And what are we going here?”

“I may or may not have totally swiped the key from him.”

Katie digs around in her pocket and pulls out a shiny silver key.

“You WHAT?!”

Katie laughs, “Dude, chill. It’s literally our dorm.”

“You can’t just steal things from people!”

“It’s not really stealing if it’s ours.”

“Are you just okay with breaking and entering twice in one night?”

“I haven’t broken anything; your window was unlocked and I have the dorm key. So if you think about it I’m just... entering.”

“It-It’s not-“

“Come on.”

Katie grabs Songi’s wrist and drags her over to the elevator. They ride up to the seventh floor and get out. Chiyuu happily skips alongside Katie, the two beating Songi and Yuna to the apartment.

“Drum roll, please,” Katie says, waving the key through the air before inserting it in the lock.

She turns the handle and swings the door open with a big flourish.

“Explore, my children,” Katie says, gesturing to the apartment with wide arms.

Chiyuu grabs Yuna’s hand and tugs her off to go check out the inside of their soon-to-be dorm. Katie gestures again for Songi to enter. She does so with an unhappy huff. Katie enters last and shuts the door behind her.

Songi walks over to the kitchen, silently appreciating the clean appliances and countertops. She could put the toaster under those cabinets. A mug rack would look cute right there. She stops herself from getting too absorbed in possible decoration ideas and turns around.

She finds Katie in the living room, moving some bundles out of the corner and into the middle of the room.

“What are those?” Songi asks.

“Sleeping bags.”

“...for what?”

“Are we gonna have a sleepover!?” Chiyuu asks excitedly, returned from looking at the empty bedrooms with Yuna.

“Of course, we are,” Katie says.

Each girl grabs a sleeping bag, Songi albeit reluctantly. Once they’ve each claimed a spot, laying their sleeping bags out to make a misshapen square, Katie grabs her backpack.

“Okay, we’ve got skittles, seaweed chips, and sprite for Chiyuu- catch! Nice. Almonds and strawberry milk for Yuna, there you go. And applesauce and tuna kimbap for m’lady.”

Songi is surprised when Katie tosses her favorite snacks into her lap but when she looks up, Katie is already reaching back into her bag. She pulls out a couple paper plates and some candles, setting to work lighting them so they can have some light.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“One time my friends and I were having a prank war, so I got my friend’s boyfriend to take her out on a date so I could sneak over to her house and cover her bedroom wall to wall with three hundred photos of Nicolas Cage.”

Songi curls in on herself in laughter, imagining Katie’s nameless friend walking into her room to find it plastered with photos of the man from National Treasure.

“I once put my brother’s phone in the washer and ran it because he was mean to me,” Songi says.

Katie laughs, “You did something bad? I didn’t think you had the capacity for it.”

Songi throws an empty applesauce container at Katie. They both laugh and settle back into their sleeping bags.

After a few hours of eating snacks and telling stories, Chiyuu and Yuna are both passed out in their sleeping bags while the two older girls remain awake. Oddly enough, Katie and Songi have been getting along. There have been times when they’ve tolerated one another during training but they’ve never been able to talk with one another without any hostility prior to tonight.

“You know,” Katie starts, “For someone with a stick constantly up her ass, you’re not that bad.”

Songi gives a small scoff, “For someone stupid and reckless, you’re not so bad either.”

“What’s life without a little danger?” Katie counters.

They laugh.

“Do you think you’ll be able to stand being in a group with me?” Songi asks.

“Ooh, don’t push it.”

They laugh again.

It’s obvious the conversation has died, so Katie sits up and leans over to the candles that still burn in the middle of the four girls’ sleeping bags. Katie looks back at where Songi lays adjacent to her. She looks like she wants to say something more to her. But she doesn’t say anything, just blows out the candles and lays back down.

“Goodnight,” Songi says to her softly.

“Night.”

[simonlovelazy]

Unknown/MC (mysme)

Title: Bite the Bullet

Fandom: Mystic Messenger

Pairing: Unknown(Saeran)/MC

Tags: Mature (graphic description of death, sexual innuendos), contract killer AU

Word count: 2485

Summary: Some people have more reasons to complain about their job than others.

Written for @unknownzine​ Once again thank you for the opportunity, beta reading and all the patience!! With each turn, he wandered farther from the noise of the main street, and deeper into the forgotten parts of the city. The light from the scarce street lamps glided over the puddles and shook under his heavy boots. No one passed next to him in the narrow alleys, but he knew he wasn’t alone. Maybe this was what the prospective believers felt when he was running the “background check” on them – the intangible impression that a pair of eyes was fixed on their every movement, the rising sense of panic as they felt the phantom of his breath on their necks. But with the subtle difference that he couldn’t be more unfazed.             “It’s a good place, don’t you think?” Unknown said, turning lazily.             And there she was, his shadow, with her little mouth wide open in shock. Her hands, in turn, they didn’t even budge, the gun steady in their clasp. Unknown had to admit he was a bit surprised too – that a frail thing like that could have a reason and the nerve to try to eliminate him. 

          “Not much of a talker, huh? Or are you scared of me?” Carefully leaving the blind spot, and making sure his face was not exposed, he edged closer to her. The girl stood firmly with her gun still pointed at his head. Interesting. “I like it here because it never feels alone, you know?”            She visibly faltered, but wouldn’t look away from him. He wasn’t dealing with a complete newbie.            “Cameras. It’s the back of a pawn shop, after all.”            Recognition lit up her eyes, and she peeked behind him, just to find the ruthless lens staring straight at her.           He towered before her after closing the remaining distance in one leap. His one hand grabbed her chin in a way far from affectionate, while the other dismissively pushed the silencer aside. “You can’t shoot me here, sweetheart,” Unknown whispered in her ear.            She yelped in surprise when he yanked the gun completely out of her grasp, twisting her wrist in the process. And he didn’t stop there, having tucked her pistol next to his own, he continued squeezing her bones even tighter, just for emphasis. “Give me one reason why I should let you live.”            “It’s n-not personal.” Oh? Difficulties speaking with your jaw crushed?           “Let me go, and I’ll tell them I finished the job. That you’re dead. Just lie low for some time,” she continued despite his increasingly apparent amusement. “Okay, listen, I know who’s next.”           Lies, lies, lies. It’s even cute, in a way. She really thinks she can get away with this.            “Who sent you?” Another squeeze.           “I never met him directly. All I got was your photo, the date, and the place; all delivered to me by some unimportant minion.”             “Do you think I’m stupid? They told you about other targets, but you conveniently don’t even know who you’re working for?!”            “I don’t work for any organisation, but I do have ears, and I can put two and two together.”            “That’s even better. It means no one’s gonna miss you.”            There was a squeak, followed by the sound of metal slamming against the brick wall.            “Hey, kids! Why are you snooping around in here? Get out!”           All Unknown got to do was to rearrange his hold on the girl in a less suspicious way before he glared at the clerk standing in the door behind him. She stumbled back when he let her free.            “I’d show you how it’s supposed to be done, but it’s not my call. We’ll go on a ride instead; I want you to meet someone.” “Are you serious?”           “It’s really not the time to act like a princess,” her kidnapper hissed in annoyance. “I’ll kindly remind you that I have two guns, and you have none. Do you really think you’re in a position to make a fuss?”            “But you can’t kill me, now can you? You still need to wait for your boss’ orders, sweetheart.” MC knew she was pushing her luck with him, and hell, he really did have two guns, but it was still worth a shot. He couldn’t do anything to her till they got there – wherever this “there” was – and the more information she gathered before that, the better.            “I would be nicer to my future interrogator. And a bit more convincing – I don’t buy a word you’ve said so far.” There was no other addition, but a frown when he bent over the stick to cuff her.            “So you just so happen to have handcuffs at hand. Wait, I see – you’re this type.”           A stern warning lingered in his eyes. His hands were just as cold as they were in the alley, and not a tad more delicate. There was no point in fighting just yet. Soon, her hand hung limply from the handle at his car’s door as if she was trying to get some breeze under her armpits or whatnot.            He reassumed his place behind the wheel, turning the key in the ignition. A little dice dangled from its end. Classy.           “They weren’t meant for you.”            MC smiled wickedly. “Ouch. That’s not what a girl wants to hear. You could at least pretend I’m special.”           Her kidnapper turned to her quickly with a deadpan expression, before the car finally kicked in to the motion, and they left the parking lot with a crunch of gravel under the tyres.            “Where are you taking me?”           “You really don’t seem to get the situation, so I’ll spell this once more for you. You don’t get to ask questions.” He was squeezing the hell out of that wheel. “You’ve been following me for the whole day. Why?”             MC looked down on the frills of her dress, trying to burn the whole thing with her stare. She had really gone through this dumb masquerade for nothing, didn’t she? “They said it’s 3 million wons extra for every detail about you. Where you go, who you’re meeting up with – things like that. I was supposed to wait with the rest of the job for the moment when you’re done in the city.”            She could no longer recognise the landscape blurring behind him in the car window.            He slowly shook his head, “It means they don’t even kno —”           The momentary chaos was all too familiar – a gunshot and a jolt when the bullet pierced through the bodywork startling the driver, who almost lost control of the vehicle. MC lurched forward on instinct, tugging painfully at her right wrist. Obviously, it would still be too late to save her, had the shot been accurate. Not that she was the target.            “Who are they?!” Her kidnapper’s voice was unusually high-pitched.           She glanced briefly at him – and, wow, he got paler, if that was even physically possible. Then, sitting up a bit, she checked the wing mirror. A black, shiny beast – at least two classes better than their car – right on their tail, with a barrel sticking out from the driver’s side.            “No clue! Gimmie my gun back!”            “So that you can finish your job? No fucking way! I will lose them.” He stepped on the gas.            “It’s just one guy, and he’s also driving – I can handle him. Just give me the gun already! It’s our best shot!”           MC was jolted against the door as the car turned, screeching in the last moment. Getting herself in place again, she fastened the seatbelt, going below her hanging arm. The good thing was that the streets were unusually busy for this hour, the bad thing – well, their excuse of a car wasn’t exactly a racer.            “How do they know I’m still alive?” her driver yelled over the engine, weaving between the cars.           MC scratched her chin absently. “They could send someone to check on me, but it only happens when... just who the hell are you?”           “Maybe you’ll live long enough to find out.” The way he said it, there could be a hint of a sardonic smile under his mask, but, really, there was no way of knowing.            “Well,” MC started, looking behind, but there was no shooter to be seen. “The money they offered for you seemed a bit too good to be true. Or easy.”            “Was it worth it?”            “Let’s say I’m having second thoughts right now.”            “Shit.”           It was almost too late when he noticed the side road. The sharp turn didn’t send her flying like the last time, but the car skidded on the slippery surface, nearly crashing into the pick-up on the adjacent lane. The loud thudding of MC’s heartbeat accompanied the honking of the annoyed driver they left behind.            Reckless as it was, it seemed that the sudden change of the route did the trick. They had been driving for at least 15 minutes without anyone trying to shoot them. Having got out of immediate danger, MC started to consider her options regarding the danger seated next to her. He turned into another desolate, outgrown road with determination that led her to believe that the meeting point with his boss was closer than she’d like.             “We’re out of petrol.” Her kidnapper announced in disbelief. “That bastard must’ve got the fuel tank.”            “How much more?”            “Nothing. We’re running on fumes.”           MC closed her eyes and put all the irritation that had built-up in the last 24 hours into a solid kick on the dashboard. He merely eyed the muddy footprint adorning his glove box.            And then, the car stopped.            The palms of his hands banged on the wheel as he exhaled heavily. He took the keys out and left without a word.           MC opened the door on her side and straightened her back with a groan. It was dawning already; the plane of navy blue shyly paled on the horizon. There was nothing around except for the waist-high grass smothering the road from the both sides. And no one in sight.            “Hey! Didn’t you forget about something?” She jingled her handcuffs.           The kidnapper had already managed to walk away quite a bit down the road. “No, I don’t think so,” he replied, without slowing down.           She cursed under her breath, looking around for anything to pick the lock with. But even if she found it, she still had no car keys, no clue where she was... “Wait! I know who’s next! And more things too!”            If he said anything, she couldn’t hear it.           “They said that when they’re done with you, they just have to deal with ‘the other one.’” With one foot on the asphalt and the other one pushing at the door, MC tried to rip off the handle in the final act of desperation. She turned her head to gauge his reaction. “Does it mean anything to you?”            All she could notice from that distance was that he was facing her, motionless in the middle of the road. One quick movement of his hand, and the mask fell to the ground. He rubbed his face as if he were trying to wake up. But suddenly, something came over him, and he was running back in her direction. It took one glance behind her back to realise why he was in a rush.            The hitman was back.            “Hurry up! Faster!”            Her kidnapper-turned-saviour was next to her in no time.           “Shit. Shit.” He was visibly struggling with the little key. “Don’t think it changes anything between us. You’re still going to the questioning.”            “Can’t wait."            The car was getting so close, they could hear it roaring. There was no time to lose, but something with the lock was clearly off.            It was an odd moment for an even weirder thought, the guy without his mask looked much younger than she had initially suspected him to be. He simply didn't belong here.            Someone shut the door mere steps away from them.           They were shielded by their own door, and now it was really a matter of seconds; he froze when MC snuggled against his torso, reached behind his belt, pulled the gun out, and leaning out of the cover, fired three silent shots.            The man fell to the ground in an instant. She came up to the body as close as the handcuffs let her. About 35 years old, average-looking. She’d never seen him before. Two wounds – one in the shoulder, another in his neck. She could have done better, but it wasn’t half bad for a right-handed person under pressure.            “Why?”           MC took her eyes off the corpse. Her kidnapper leant against the side of his car. His dilated pupils were glued to her with a sense of restlessness.            “Why did you do that?” When he spoke, there was a miniscule quiver to his lips.           “Would you rather have him kill both of us, or...?” It was his first body. This discovery was surprising, considering how he’d been trying to intimidate her this whole time.            He nervously grimaced. They were holding each other at gunpoint. Would he really be able to pull the trigger?            "They will come searching for you,” he stated.            “Not if I finish the job now.”            “Don’t,” he said quickly, “you can work for me.”            She couldn’t help but laugh. “What can you offer me? Health insurance? Early retirement?”           “The person that hired you is one of the most powerful people in this country. And he already knows that you failed once.” He motioned to the steady trickle of blood seeping from the corpse and running downhill. “Do you really think he’ll take a chance that you haven’t made a deal with me?”            Unbelievable. “So, what’s the offer?”           “We can help each other. I could make use of your personal... talents, and in return, you will be more than safe in Mint Eye.”            He stiffened when she moved her gun and put it back in its place. MC stretched out her left hand, “Deal.”             He shook it with an enigmatic smile.            "What are we doing about him?”            “Well, no one is going to look for him, I can guarantee you this. My bullets are untraceable, but the car...”            “That won’t be a problem,” he said, taking out his phone. “We’re not that far from Mint Eye.” With the body happily pushed into the grass, they sat on the bonnet and waited for transport. The relief was unreal when MC rubbed the red marks on her wrist. That is, until her new boss tugged her other hand and clasped it together with his.            “You can’t be serious.”            “Easy, princess, it’s just a cover story for when they come here.”            MC raised her eyebrows, “Kinky.”           They stared for a while at the sun languidly making its way up above the fields of green. Both of them tired of this day beyond words.            “What kind of job do you need me for anyway?”            He dragged on his cigarette with an expression of utter seriousness. “You will be my personal assistant.”  

[justimajin]

A Lone Wolf’s Howl ☾ Part 8

⇾ Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

⇾ Genre: Angst, Fluff, Action, Eventual Smut

↳ Werewolf AU

⇾ Words: 4.6k

⇾ Warnings: mentions of blood 

⇾ Summary: Jungkook and you have been like two peas in a pod for the majority of your lives; whether it was going through the ups of downs of the horrid teenage change, to transitioning to the racing world of attempting to be adults. Simply put, you’ve been inseparable and glued to each other’s sides longer than you can remember. But one fateful day seems to completely change everything you had faith in and you begin to wonder if there was ever a time where you and your best friend even knew each other’s true colors.

⇾  Moodboard Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

“Y/N.” 

A smile is on your lips, turning to view the wide expanse of the training camps over the horizon. Majority of the members are female, training in black armour and bursts of orange flashing through the bright blue sky. From a distance you can see them, and an ancient smile carefully watches them from afar, fascinated by their range of progress. 

“They’ve improved.” You note it down, drawing out her thoughts already. 

A deep chuckle resonates from the bottom of her throat, “Of course, they are trained by the best.” 

A small smile arises on you from that, feeling the slight breeze against your cheek as you sit down on the flourished grass. “Why do you only watch them? Why not fight alongside them?” 

Although she smiles, it doesn’t capture the melancholy look residing in her eyes, the way they spoke of a tender story filled with too many sorrowful words, “My time to fight has come to an end.”

The slim fingers reach out, cold against your cheek but still filled with a gracious amount of warmth, “Go on now, do not keep your sisters waiting.” 

You nod, hurriedly getting up and mummering words before casting your sword, rushing towards the other children practicing. For the briefest of moments, you turn – you know she will be there, like she has always been, carefully and cautiously looking after you. It's foolish to even doubt, but it brought down the uncertainty brewing inside you. 

She smiles; dressed in hooded black robes and old silver eyes watching you run away. You instantly beam, drawing your sword out as a sign of respect before bowing, but when you lift your gaze a swirling breeze passes by. 

She vanishes into thin smoke and you’re only left behind staring with torn eyes, the silver now shifted to gold.

***

Uncomfortable silence rests within the four walls of the room, a sense of defeat mixed in with utter disbelief spreading across. No one dares to break the tense silence, instead, Hoseok and Namjoon continue to hover over the gray bed as Namjoon cuts white strips of cloth at the speed of light and hands Hoseok any necessary supplies he needs. There is no exchange of words, only the shared need to keep going. 

Yoongi and Jimin stand off to the side, watching the two work together diligently with stern eyes and silently hoping to themselves that the unconscious wolf doesn’t remain in such a battered state. Taehyung is nowhere to be seen, resting in an adjacent room after pushing himself past the limit and needing his own recovery.

A series of footsteps draw them out of it, both of them turning to view Seokjin joining them before he quietly whispers among the dead silence. 

He keeps his eyes trained on the wolf as well, not invested in giving Jimin any eye contact at the moment, “How is he now?” 

“Not good.” Jimin states, crossing his arms with a sigh when he watches Hoseok wipe the sweat trailing down his forehead, “They’ve been trying to stop the bleeding, but the wound is too deep.” 

Seokjin hums, eyes still latched onto the wolf who doesn’t seem to be waking up anytime soon. “I wasn’t expecting them to be so powerful, let alone put on such a fight. To think they would injure Jungkook…”

Jimin stiffly smiles, “Seems like he wasn’t the only one injured during the fight though.”

Seokjin raises a questioning brow at that, but Jimin’s eyes trail elsewhere, locking onto a certain individual currently huddled on the floor in a fetal position. 

He’s taken aback a bit, not quite expecting you to be watching the wolf get treated just like the rest of them but from a farther distance away. He carefully observes you, noticing how your knees are brought up to your chin level and how your eyes are cracked with streaks of red. However, you don’t even turn in wonder when he’s blatantly staring at you. Instead, you keep your eyes trained on Jungkook only, like a shadow in the background. 

Hoseok’s coarse words drag him out of it, causing him to redirect his attention over to the attending pair. “It’s too much.” He wipes his forehead again, this time shaking his head at Namjoon, “The bleeding is too much.” 

It’s almost as if Hoseok looks towards Namjoon for answers, a solution, anything that could possibly help, but the blank expression the man gives him in return only serves to cause his desperate one to fall even more. He clenches his teeth, stepping away from the bed with remorseful eyes and Namjoon lets out a deep exhale, scrunching his brows and setting his lips into a firm line. 

They both back away from the table, a helpless sight dwelling in their eyes when they left to simply watch, watch as there’s nothing else they can do. 

From behind the shadows, you see the whole ordeal play out and you abruptly rise from the ground, exiting the room with a vicious swipe of your sleeve against your eyes. 

***

It’s just like a tug of war. 

A part of you is screaming on the inside, telling you to go back and watch something that deep down, you never even wanted to see unfold. However, there’s another part that’s seemingly dragging you away from it all, completely evoking something else you didn’t even realize was inside you. 

Fear. 

Fear of losing Jungkook. 

Despite everything, your training, your upbringing, your chosen path – there was a part that truly didn’t want to see Jungkook becoming the final end to it all. 

Deep inside the whole twisted scenario, you were silently wishing Jungkook would be alright. 

Your hand rests against the wall as you force yourself upright, coming across the same window that you had witnessed countless rays of orange. That same day, Jungkook had left you with a hug, a silent message that there was a chance he wasn’t going to come back. 

But you wanted him to. 

You always did. 

“Y/N?” 

A voice snaps you out of your thoughts, not hearing their light footsteps trail after you once you left the room. What throws you a bit off guard isn’t the fact that he followed you, but how for the first time, he seemingly looks at a loss. 

“What?” Your voice cracks just as another wave resurfaces in your eyes. Bringing your arm up, you attempt to quickly swipe them away again, but this time it isn’t as easy. 

An arm comes around you and you’re taken by surprise when Jimin encases you into a hug, but it only serves to have it all hit you at once and the tears drench your cheeks at an alarming rate. You don’t mean to, but you cling onto him desperately when you can’t keep yourself upright anymore. 

“Shhh.” Jimin whispers, placing a gentle hand on your head, “He’ll be alright Y/N, I know he will be.” 

“How can you say that?” You suck in a harsh breath and your shoulders shake within his grasp, “There’s so much blood and he isn’t waking up, h-how can you s-say that…?” 

Jimin holds onto you tighter, “He’s strong. Much stronger than he looks. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened.” 

“But it’s the first time it’s happened because of me.” You choke out, “I was so angry at him about everything that the thought of losing him…” 

A rush of tears hit you again and your words are silenced, clinging onto him again. The list could on – what you wouldn’t have said, what you should have said, what could have been. In that moment, you were void of any anger you had against Jungkook when all you felt was anger towards yourself. 

“Y/N…” Jimin separates from you, holding onto your shoulders and somberly looking into your wet eyes. It’s odd, you had never established any type of relationship with Jimin for you to be pouring out all the chaos havocking inside you right now, but there was something, something that made you feel almost at ease being with him. 

Your eyes widen, truly getting a closer look at him when somehow the pieces begin to come together. 

The silver-blue hair, the way he approached you with the hug, the way he held you in his arms an- 

The look in his eyes. 

“You…” A shaky finger points to him, “You saved me…” 

There’s grief reflected in his eyes, watching you with bitter tenderness, “You remember.” 

He smiles at your blatant confusion, stepping closer to you and it’s when you notice that there was something pleasant about having him near you, like it was almost reassuring. You can only freeze in place when he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, hovering his hand near your neck before stepping back completely, “And you can sense it too.” 

He whispers it so quietly that you barely catch it, but you press onto the question you want an answer to, “Why did you save me?”

Your expectation starts off with a range of answers, perhaps he didn’t know you were a slayer at the time or thought you had needed help from being caught in the crossfire of the hunt. However, he simply replies with a collection of words that have you shaken to the core.

“You’re my mate Y/N.” 

You take a step back, any coherent words stuck in the base of your throat, “I knew it was you from the moment I first saw you.” A hopeful smile laces on his lips, yet its paired with dark eyes, “But I was too late.” 

Your hand automatically reaches out and touches the faint tracings of Jungkook’s bite, now completely healed with only a scar remaining on the skin. Jimin’s eyes follow the movement and it strikes you at how contrasting emotions his eyes hold. On one hand, they hold such tenderness and comfort, but at the same time they’re twisted with reality, a reality that can never happen. 

“When Jungkook bit me…” 

“So that I wouldn’t be able to get to you first.” Jimin regretfully says, “He knew I would have claimed you as my mate if I did.” 

“But why?” Your hands fall down, not being able to follow along as you take a step closer to Jimin and raise your voice, “Why did he claim me?”

Jimin’s words silence your thoughts completely, “Because he loves you.” He looks at you straight in the eye, “And decided to choose you. Wolves only mate once in a lifetime, you know that Y/N.” 

Your mouth falls agape, “I-I…” 

“You’ve chosen him too, whether you know it or not.” Jimin states it as a fact, causing you to look at him in more disbelief, “If I was currently on that bed right now injured, I know I wouldn’t have caused this same reaction.” 

He gestures to your red swollen eyes and frenzy appearance, causing you to stumble even more on generating any possible words to counteract. It drops onto you like a brick; why Jungkook didn’t choose to tell you anything, why he was fighting to keep you safe. 

He chose you even when you didn’t think to chose him. 

However, that doesn’t mean his way of choosing was right. “Jimin… “ 

He raises a hand and smiles, “Don’t. What’s done is done.” Narrowing his eyes, he looks down, “But I do think you should at least give Jungkook a chance Y/N.” 

You nod, being able to come to terms with yourself more. Although you hadn’t been expecting Jungkook to be hiding such a thing from you, it can’t overshadow that you do care about him, no matter how many times you tell yourself you don’t. 

And Jungkook cared about you through the silence. 

Raising your head, you’re about to thank Jimin for letting you know the truth and helping you, but the words are caught in your throat when you notice the slumped figure against the door, holding onto it for dear life as he smiles through his exhausted expression. 

“Jungkook!” Instantly you rush over and notice the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead, his wet hair sticking to him and the dark circles underneath his eyes. 

His eyes brighten when you come closer to him, but then they trail over to the person standing behind you and he settles down onto that field of vision. You’re not sure if its perhaps because he was injured, but Jungkook isn’t able to maintain the contact when his gaze falters, fixating itself onto the ground inside of looking straight at Jimin. 

It takes you a moment to decipher it, but it clicks in right away when his entire stance is too recognizable. He sucks in a deep breath, his grip tightening on the door, “You told her everything…didn’t you Hyung?”

Your eyes turn wide and you wonder how long Jungkook had been standing there when you were conversing with Jimin. 

Turn to view Jimin’s expression, you can see the surprise wash over his features too until it contorts into something else, like he was swaying into acceptance gradually. It’s strange for you – how it was almost like you were dangling in between both of them, so close to the whole situation and yet so incredibly far away. 

Jimin sighs, taking light footsteps closer to the door until he stops completely in front of it. From your view, you notice how his expression is now absent of the same hints of resentment and detest conjured up in it prior, sharing the same stance that Jungkook holds. 

He reaches out, placing a hand on the younger member’s back before he pats, “It’s alright.” 

Jungkook instantly looks up, tired eyes growing in size and flickering over the blue-haired man’s face. “In the end you chose each other and I’m not going to stand in between that.” 

Jimin smiles, perhaps the first time you’ve seen him genuinely smile and Jungkook’s shoulders sag down, as if he had just let go of a breath he had been holding in for far too long. “You’re still like a little brother to me after all.” 

You stand to the side when you can clearly see the water surfacing in Jungkook’s eyes and you find yourself smiling when Jungkook nods and Jimin’s pats his shoulder again before leaving. He sends you a look before doing so, the same one he had given Jungkook as a way to settle that everything was going to be okay. 

After Jimin leaves, Jungkook attempts to stand up straight from the door frame and instantly you rush over. You let him loop his arm over your neck, resting some of his weight on you and limping himself over to your bed. He plops down with a sigh and you stand in front of him, watching him occasionally wince as he tries to readjust himself. 

After a moment of silence, you softly speak up, “How are you feeling?” 

“Tired.” He manages to get out, swiping his sweat-drenched hair back and rubbing his half-awake eyes, “And sore.” 

You hum, eyes trailing down to notice that his entire torso was soaked with sweat and the light traces of crimson started to peek out from under his shirt. Reaching out, you plant a hand against his forehead and the heat isn’t drastically high, making you let out an exhale of relief. Jungkook watches you, his doe eyes carefully watching every single one of your moves despite still being in pain and you find it hard to ignore his gaze. 

“Were you worried about me?” 

You nod and Jungkook can’t take his eyes away from how vulnerable your own eyes look, like they were faced with something they didn’t want to see. “Namjoon and Hoseok had given up.” 

“Seeing you…like that, I thought…” You exhale, your orbs suddenly filling up water and threatening to drop down your cheeks, “I thought you were going to die.” 

Your voice cracks at the end and Jungkook immediately reaches out, interlacing his hands with yours, “Hey.” You look up with glossy eyes, looking into his tender ones, “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“I know, I just- “You sniffle, the words dying out in your throat when you hastily pull up your sleeve to wipe the falling tears. However, Jungkook doesn’t allow you to when he pulls you closer to him and wraps his arms around you. 

You don’t realize you’re trembling until your hands come around his back, watching yourself crumble in his arms when you didn’t even think you would have gotten a chance to see him again. At the thought of that, you press yourself tighter against him and Jungkook flinches, making you realize that he had just woken up after being injured. 

You immediately detach from him, noticing him holding onto his wound carefully but still offering you a genuine smile, “Sorry…” You whisper and he shakes his head, as if it didn’t even matter because he was holding onto you. 

Sitting down on the bed next to him, you face the doorway, “Jungkook.” 

“Hmm?” He pushes himself back a bit, relaxing his shoulders. 

“Before you came, I…I talked to Jimin.” You attempt to bring your eyes over to look at him, but they falter and land onto the ground instead, “He said, well,” You take in a deep breath, “He said he was my mate.” 

When he remains silent, you continue, “If he was my mate, then why did you mark me Jungkook?” 

He doesn’t speak, not a single word and it starts to eat you up when the seconds keep ticking by. From the corner of your eye, you can see him frowning already, like he was attempting to put his thoughts into coherent sentences. You know Jungkook isn’t the greatest at explaining and that he needs time for that, but the amount of time he takes just makes your heart sink further and further down. 

When it becomes too much, you turn yourself fully around to view his expression and you’re taken aback by what you see. 

It’s something you rarely see cross Jungkook’s features, only arising in the tensive of situations, such as discovering earth-shattering news. 

Fear. 

His eyes are blown out and his jaw is tensed, but his expression changes when he notices you staring at him. 

“Y/N I- “ 

“Do you love me?” 

If you thought Jungkook’s eyes were wide before, they stare at you in pure horror now. 

“Well I-I, when y-you put it like that, I-I-“ 

“Jungkook.” He immediately stops his broken rambling, growing silent as he turns to you, “Real words, please.”

Jungkook sighs, his head falling down as if he had just lost a battle he knows he can’t win, “Yes.” 

If you had thought learning of this news from Jimin was bad enough, hearing Jungkook directly admit it has the air knocking out of your lungs. You can only resort to simply staring at him, in a mixture of both awe and confusion. 

“Since when?” 

“Since forever?” Jungkook looks up, appearing so similar to a child being discovered of doing something wrong, “I don’t know what to tell you Y/N. I’ve loved you for as long as I can even remember.” 

“But I’m your friend, and you had so much else going on. Those girls-“ 

“An attempt to forget about you.” Jungkook bitterly chuckles, “Really, a bad choice.”

Your jaw drops down and you freeze. The fact that Jungkook, this whole entire time, was harbouring feelings for you while you were fixated on him being in a good relationship for his own sake, leaves you with no words. 

“Y/N…” Jungkook’s hand faintly touches you and draws you out of your impending thoughts, causing you to face him with the same guilt-stricken expression, “I had always hoped that maybe,” He sucks in a breath, squeezing his eyes shut before looking at you more determined, “You’d be willing to give me a chance?” 

You stare at him with wide eyes. 

“But I do think you should at least give Jungkook a chance Y/N.”

Jimin’s words ring in your mind like a bell and you attempt to process all this, process how your best friend was in love with you for so long. You look up, meeting Jungkook’s expectant innocent eyes and a part of you really wants to give in, knowing how much you love your best friend and can’t stand anything ever happening to him. 

However, something sparks in your mind, an image of two people lying lifelessly on the ground and an image with a roaring fire before your eyes. An image filled with only blood and left with remainders of tears, an image that seemingly rips your heart out when you can only stare at Jungkook with broken eyes. 

“Jungkook.” He leans forward instinctively, eyes growing in size and intent on your words. You sigh, planting your hand over his, “I-“ 

The door comes bursting forward, a mop of brown hair flashing before your eyes at the doorway, “Y/N!”

You and Jungkook both jerk away, staring at Hoseok when he heaves a breath, “Namjoon needed to talk to you, something about the woman you were fighting on the grounds?” 

You instantly get up, but then turn around when you see Jungkook still seated on the bed. You meet his eyes and he gently shakes his head, slowly rising with a hand pressed against his wounded side and sending a nod in Hoseok’s direction. 

“Take us to him.” 

***

Although you had just gone through a tsunami with discovering Jimin’s identity and the rise of Jungkook’s feelings, electricity buzzes you at the prospect of knowing more. It was as if it was a load sitting on your chest that you couldn’t quite shake off, a prick in the back of your brain that was constantly bothering you. 

Jungkook was injured. 

By no one else, but her. 

The door to the library is thrown wide open when you enter, Jungkook slowly trailing behind you and coming face to face with a Namjoon lost in thought. He jerks when his ears pick up on the sound of the door, turning to see you enter and a satisfied smile crosses on his lips. 

“Please,” He gestures to the couch, “Have a seat.” 

Nodding, you sit down and a deep breath escapes your lungs. You had been in that room many times to know that Namjoon wasn’t going to dangle around the topic, but rather he has a strict and direct motive. 

Information. 

You can feel a thousand nerves buzzing over you when Namjoon sits in front of you, his Alpha presence already being overwhelming. A hand softly touches yours and you turn to see Jungkook right beside you, sending you a reassuring smile that you are honestly grateful for in that split second. 

“Now that Jungkook is alright,” Namjoon begins, glancing over at his youngest member before bringing his attention over to you, “There are some questions I have, if you don’t mind.” 

You stiffly smile, knowing that Namjoon was going to extract answers out of you whether you liked it or not either way. “Jungkook tells me you had referred to the person that injured him…as your mother?”

You nod, catching a flash of confusion on Jungkook’s face from the new topic and knowing that although you needed to give Namjoon an explanation, Jungkook deserved one too regardless. 

“She isn’t my mother, well, biologically speaking. I refer to her as one because she’s like a mother to me.”

“The Elder.” Namjoon states, leaning back down in his seat as he crosses his legs and presses a thoughtful finger against his lips, “The leader of the Crimson Clan, correct?” 

You hum, “I was trained by her.” 

“I see…” Namjoon stares at you intently, but then his eyes swing over to Jungkook who is simply listening to you speak. “Do you know anything else about her? We weren’t expecting her to easily overpower us, let alone injure our youngest.” 

Nodding, you pursue your lips and wrack through your mind. Truthfully, you weren’t sure if they needed to know the exact information, but you do wonder what their reactions would be, especially the reaction of the person currently sitting right beside you. 

It’s not the type of details that you ever wanted to throw upon them, but Jungkook was injured and you believe you too need some answers now. 

“The Elder is the leader of the Crimson Clan and very powerful. She’s been extremely kind and caring towards me…especially when she needed to take me in.” 

Namjoon frowns at that and you attempt to steady your breathing, well aware that you were starting to walk into a place you had long forgotten. “The Elder took me in…after my parents were killed by werewolves.” 

The room drops into an eerie silence when Namjoon can only stare at you and Jungkook visibly reacts, brows furrowing at the mention. You look up to meet eyes with Namjoon and you notice, despite the calm composed manner he sits in, he too does seem taken aback with the new piece of information. 

He clears his throat, attempting to contain himself as he sits up in his seat, “Your parents were killed by werewolves…” He repeats it to make it sound like a confirmation, but you know he was just trying to allow the new fact to sit in better with him more. 

You’re expecting a lot from telling them this – remorse or even worse, pity. Pity that they had done this to you and pity that they had taken away something so dear and precious to your heart. 

However, when Namjoon finally speaks up again, it’s like someone struck an arrow through your heart instead.

“That’s not possible.” 

You stare at him with wide eyes, “W-what? What do you mean?” 

“Y/N…” Namjoon faintly smiles, seeming amused, “I’m not sure as to how much you were told, but werewolves would never go out of their way to attack a family like that.” His eyes turn serious, leaning forward as they bore into your own and throw a dash of the truth at you, “Slayers and werewolves have been enemies for centuries, but slayers were originally made to control werewolves after the population went rogue.” 

“Werewolves haven’t been rogue for years, the only way for them to exist is for the population to be recreated somehow.” 

“So what you’re saying is…my parents weren’t killed by werewolves?” 

“I’m afraid not.” Namjoon speaks, “That’s not something I would ever allow my pack do, or any other pack for that matter.” 

Namjoon leans back and you are frozen in your spot, breathing rapidly when it feels like a ton of bricks had just been dropped on you. You turn to face Jungkook with blown up eyes and he seems just as shocked as you are, mind spinning as he can’t believe what he was hearing either. 

Namjoon slowly rises, grabbing a book from his shelf before leaving the room and letting you have some privacy. 

You lean forward, planting your hands against your face and shaking your head, “This…this doesn’t make any sense Jungkook…” 

Jungkook leans over, attempting to see your face among all your fallen locks of hair, “Namjoon is right though Y/N. Me or any of the other members wouldn’t do something like that.” 

“B-But it happened Jungkook.” You stare at him with tear-filled eyes, “I saw it with my own two eyes.”

[ohvalleyofplentyyy]

Merlin’s Blood

A/N: sorry if you’re allergic to walnut bread, you can just pretend i wrote something else!

masterlist

chapter 1

Chapter 2: A Moment with a Miracle

“Motherfucker—“

Mother would be sooooo mad if she heard me speaking like this.

But you had landed pretty hard in your defense, you hadn’t teleported in forever because after you nearly crash-landed into the firing zone for archery practice, mother had put a stop to it.

You landed on the top of a rather large cliff that overlooked a small town below it. “I really really hope this is Brugee or else I’m fucked.” You got up and dusted the soil of your cloak, there was a small rip at the bottom but thankfully that was it.

You started walking down the hill, pausing every few minutes to listen to your surroundings and make sure you weren’t being followed.

I can’t believe I would have the fantastic fate to meet the man who’s supposed to kill me. Also, he’s a Witcher, which makes this even worse! And now he knows what I look like, ah fuck, fuck, fuck… What am I going to do—

“Geralt I still don’t understand why you have to kill her! She’s so sweet and it’s not like you’ll be able to find her since she poofed! Into thin air!”

Shit.

You crouched down immediately upon hearing the voice of Jaskier. About 20 yards away, Geralt was walking with the reins of Roach in his hand along with Jaskier rambling off beside him.

Oh my gods, I guess my fight or flight skills decided to go halfsies and not take me to Brugee, but just get me out of imminent danger…

“—Don’t you see how horrible your reasoning is? She saved me from getting shot with a crossbow at the tavern and then trusted me to help her, I think you need to question who gave you the order to—“ Geralt suddenly perked up and put his hand out to silence the bard. You took a small breath and held it, hoping his enhanced abilities weren’t as amazing as the legends.

In a quiet voice, the Witcher said, “I smell something, lavender…”

Oh sweet peaches and cream, my oils.

Your mother had let you choose an oil for your 11th birthday as a signature statement for a young princess. You used it as a perfume and as you got older you still used it instead of the fancy ones many suitors anonymously gifted you.

You enjoyed that the scent was your own, one you grew up always having. It kept you closer to nature since once the whispers of war started you were locked inside away from harm.

Alright, deep breath Y/N.

You closed your eyes and concentrated, it only took a moment before the wind shifted to be blowing the opposite direction, taking any trace of you with it. You watched from afar as Geralt tilted his face upwards to see if he could find the scent again, but alas nothing was there anymore.

“Come on, let’s go.”

The two men walked farther away from you and once you could no longer see their silhouettes, you let out a long sigh. You looked up to canopy above you and bit your lip to keep it from quivering.

I’m alone.

The thought of that made you more scared than when your killer had been in front of you merely minutes ago.

Tears welled up in your eyes and for the first time in a long while, you started to cry.

Oh, Mama, Papa, please find me, I’m scared…

You fell asleep curled up next to the giant log you had hidden behind, the thoughts and worries swimming in your head as you fell into a blank sleep.

                                                       …

Light shimmering between the leaves of the tall trees woke you. The forest was very peaceful in the bright morning and made you feel a bit better than the night before. The forest was alive with life and wonder in the early light.

You sat on the old log and watched as some small pixies danced along the adjacent stream that no bigger than a log, perfectly pixie sized. They were brightly colored, one purple, another pink, and the last a vivacious yellow. On the other side of the very tiny stream was a deer with two small wings and a long tail, like a lion.

Creatures that resembled monkeys swang through the trees. These creatures were various versions of green, each had two sets of eyes and two tails. Long floppy ears fell down around their faces as well.

It made you smile to know that the friends of the forest you once knew very well had managed to thrive while you were confined to the castle.

Spirits of the forest and other magical creatures knew not to be afraid of you. The magic in your blood from Merlin, one of your ancestors, lifted the veil of protection that others always see when walking through the woods.

Even the most powerful mage would not be privy to such a masterpiece of wonder. The Brotherhood used magic that was, well you could say, tainted. They drew power from other things but you had your own, it was apart of your very being.

Your mother used to tell you stories about how the blood that runs through your veins was some of the most powerful in the universe.

 You always believed it was made up as a child but as you grew older, some of your royal classes turned into magic lessons leading you to question if it was all just fairytales she told you or history.

A few pixies flew down to you and floating next to them was a slice of walnut bread. You took the bread from the air and smiled at them.

 “Have you been working on your magic baking?” They are nodded, you ate the pastry and instantly felt better. The magical bread seemed to lift your spirits and you decided it was time to get moving.

Alright, it’s time to keep going.

Away from the lovely killer I’ve got on my tail…

It took some time, but you finally found the trail leading to town. You took a guess and headed in the opposite direction, hoping the two others would be going to get food instead of hellbent on finding you.

If I can just find a good stream to drink from, maybe I’ll have enough energy to get out of here.

After walking through the dense forest, you stumbled upon a good size river. It was perfect for taking a quick sip but the problem was you’d need to cross it somehow. The current seemed to be fairly strong and you weren’t at the moment. You found a spot of land that was at level with the river and rolled up your sleeves.

The water was like nectar after all this time. It was cool and icy against your palms, you took the canister Branson had been carrying in the bag thank the gods and filled it to the brim.

Who knows when I’ll find a reliable source like this again.

Poor Branson, I know he wasn’t that fantastic of a bodyguard but he did want to keep me safe, and for two weeks he did. I hope he’s in a better place now, with lots of archery fields and sword fighting classes. He was always a fanatic for fighting.

“Alight, how on earth do I cross this now…” You mumbled to yourself. You kicked small pebbles into the river as you walked alongside it. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. There’s got to be some way I can just—cross it.”

Then an idea popped into your head. You turned to the tree next to you as if to speak to it, “If my bloodline is as powerful as people say, then I should be able to just,” you put a foot out, “walk across it.”

It was exhilarating.

You’d never heard of anyone walking on water but here you were, taking a few steps on top of the gushing river that flowed beneath your shoes. You laughed and twirled across the water, dancing with the fish that jumped up every so often as to say ‘hello!’ to you.

I wish I had known about this ability long ago, crossing the moat would have been such a breeze!

But then the water started to slowly lower as if someone was taking a sponge to a spill.

Huh?

You watched as birds flew from the left, away from something. Animals on the side of the creek ran fast as if they were being chased. “What in the world…” But the worlds died o your tongue as you watch a giant tidal wave come towards you.

“Oh my gods.”

Your instinct kicked in and you immediately moved your hands. One went in a full circle while the other drew symbols on the inside of it. Water swirled around you, creating a bubble as the tidal wave roared over you.

It was horrifyingly beautiful. You watched as flowers floated in the current, most likely ripped away from the sides of the land. Some deer, sadly drowned, ran with the steam as well. They must have been crossing farther up in a shallow area, taking a rest in the lovely stream when it washed them away.

 But what was the worst, was the little doll you saw right above your head, and someone’s tiny hand reaching for it.

You closed your eyes immediately, not wanting to see the body that might come into view.

The wave must have cut through a town, but how is this possible?! It’s a river, someone must have been the cause of this…

Maybe the ones trying to kill me.

You opened your eyes at the thought, now shaking a bit as you realized the situation at hand. “This enemy has strong powers, strong enough to easily kill me.”

The river leveled a bit as the wave raced down the path. You dispersed the bubble and looked at all the debris floating downstream. You ran as fast as you could across the water, you were almost at the edge when you heard something.

A voice.

Someone called out from help, farther down where the wave must have just hit. You turned, wondering whether you should keep going or help the poor soul.

“Help, I’m stuck!” You heard them shout.

Fuck okay.

You darted down the river, sliding down the water like you were surfing when it started to drop at an angle.

Maybe it’s a farm boy? A small child? Who would be in these woods right now, maybe a survivor from the town?

You weren’t expecting to find Jaskier clinging to a log in the middle of the water, his tunic caught by something beneath the rushing stream, and the Witcher who said he was to kill you, knocked out on the bank of the river on the side you had been crossing to.

So I guess they didn’t go to town for supplies after all.

Damn.

masterlist

tag yourself here!  (its a google form)

tags: @emmalbg @holyhumorliteraturelight​  @crazzyter @romyr4 @stretchkingblog97  @emilyhuynhhh @holychic @katiejmac​ @ayamenimthiriel​  @peeyewpeeyew @petalduck​

bolded tags didn’t work.

[sariahsue]

The Open Line, Chapter 21 - Sacrifice

Read Chapter 1 Read Chapter 20

Zipping through the air, Cat Noir and Ladybug raced toward the school. He had a strong suspicion she was lying to him about something. She had claimed she need to quiet time to "think up a super amazing plan." Really, he thought, she just wanted him to shut up for a few minutes.

The face she was making as they cut across roofs and up avenues was not her "savior of Paris always saves the day" face. Her chin jutted out when she made that face. And it wasn't her "coming up with a master plan" face either. Not enough nose scrunch.

Instead, emotions like bewilderment, happiness, and doubt flashed across her face, only to be wiped away repeatedly as she tried to focus on coming up with a plan. Well, if it was quiet the lady wanted, that was what he was going to give her.

For now.

"I'm going to wait as long as possible before calling you," Ladybug said a few minutes later.

Call him? What was she talking about? The school was in view, and they nimbly landed on the roof. "I've got a feeling that catching him is going to take a while. Can you buy me some time?"

A few dozen civilians ambled around the red and white police tape and the large holes in the building. Some were trying to clean up the debris, while others looked like students who had already been dropped off for school when the attack had started and nowhere else to go. Their parents' work was not called off for something as commonplace as an akuma anymore.

"So we're definitely not doing a distraction?" Cat Noir asked. "Wouldn't he just blast apart whatever you-"

"No, that's the beauty of my idea," she said, eyes shining. "We're going to need to get inside and get these people out of here. I need you to give me ten minutes, then lead Dodgeboy to the art room."

"You want us to split up?" he asked, alarm bells going off. Hadn't she wanted to stick together? Did she not want him around anymore? "What if you need backup and I'm not there?"

"If he comes too early, I'm not going to have time to set the trap." She waved at the street full of students. "And the kids need to be away from danger.

"But-"

"We don't have time to discuss this. I need you to give me time. There's no other way."

"All right. All right." He put up his hands to show a surrender that he didn't feel. "But I want it on my permanent record that I super hate this idea."

"Duly noted." She flicked his bell. "I want everyone within the block out of here, just in case. Stay out of sight until I give you the signal that I'm ready. He's less likely to attack innocents if he can't see you." She turned to point at east side of the building. "The art room is over there on the second floor-"

"Wooden door, blue window. I know."

They stared at each other for less than a second before Ladybug asked, "How-"

"Not important," he said, pushing away the same question. How did she know? "Let's go."

Ladybug slipped through a third-floor window, which was directly above the art room, he noticed. How did she know that window was almost always unlocked? She didn't want him to know any specifics about her life, so he turned away and pretended like that wasn't a huge clue.

Cat Noir bounded over the edge of the building, slid down the wall (ninja-style) and started herding students off the street, always waiting for the distant roar of the akuma.

He didn't need to wait long. A grumbling soon became a despairing wail about exclusion. And Cat Noir took that as his cue to s-cat.  Had he used that one on Ladybug yet? He'd have to remember to work that into their next conversation.

The shadows and alleys sheltered him as the pounding footsteps grew louder. He'd picked a hiding spot in a shadowed corner where he thought he'd be able to see Dodgeboy's approach. But something was wrong. The footsteps were spaced out and uneven. They changed location rapidly, varying in their force, as if Dodgeboy was bouncing from one building to the next, instead of running like he'd done for the entire fight. He couldn't jump that way, could he? And why were they so far apart? It sounded as if he were several places at once. Cat Noir's blood froze in his veins. Or as if Dodgeboy had made copies of himself.

Ladybug had told him to stay out of sight, but if they were dealing with a new power, he needed to know. Now. Looking both ways to make sure it was safe, Cat Noir slipped out of the cool safety of the shadows and vaulted down the street into the morning sunshine.

The noises were hard to pinpoint, which made them hard to follow. Crashes echoed through the streets and mixed with the sounds of the city, disorienting his enhanced hearing, until he had to stop on a high-rise roof to get a better look. Still nothing. He pushed on, getting farther and farther from the school as he followed the noises. The alarm bells in his head started to ring again, but he he told them he had to do this. Ladybug could take care of herself, he reasoned. This needed to be checked out now.

But two minutes and a dozen blocks later, Cat Noir still couldn't see anything and he began to worry. Images of many smaller Dodgeboys became images of many smaller invisible Dodgeboys, and Cat Noir wondered if he should abandon his search and run back to warn Ladybug, even though she hadn't called him. What if the invisible buggers followed him? He wouldn't be able to tell. They would ruin Ladybug's trap if he went back now, and the two of them would have to retreat and regroup.

A blur of movement in the corner of his vision caused Cat Noir to turn just in time to see a purple dodgeball arc through the air before disappearing behind and building to his right. The ball crashed and breaks squealed as a car swerved to avoid it. A second dodgeball sailed through the air to his left, landing on an adjacent street. Not many little Dodgeboys. A diversion. Cat Noir had been tricked.

"Those were coming from..."

The school. Dodgeboy was heading toward the school, was between Cat Noir and Ladybug, and had a huge head start. She needed him, and he wasn't there. He wasn't there!

Cat Noir flung himself through the air, knowing how dangerous it was to be out in the open and not caring if Dodgeboy saw him. He had to save Ladybug.

Ladybug. Ladybug.

Her name beat through his brain with every jump and swing. He had to fix his mistake. His Lady needed him.

He was leaving himself open to attack, traveling exposed like this. If he caught up with Dodgeboy, he'd be fighting a monster who could target him, and he'd be without backup. This was a dangerous thing he was doing.

But he would be willing to sacrifice his safety and more if it meant Ladybug would be okay. She was the important one. He was secondary.

When Dodgeboy stopped firing decoys, Cat Noir's heartbeat, already pounding from his race back to the school, spiked. No more decoys meant the akuma didn't need the distraction anymore. Just a few more seconds and Cat Noir would be there, but did he even have that?

The roof of the school appeared between the gaps in the buildings, and then the back of a large purple person on the next building, aiming his cannon directly through the art room window. A flash of red moved around inside the room. Red with black spots. Dodgeboy raised both arms to aim.

"Hey!" Cat Noir yelled, desperate to draw the akuma's attention. He leaped and reached. Dodgeboy's shots were knocked off course as the baton collided with his head, and the akuma himself toppled as Cat Noir bodyslammed him from behind. They pitched forward and crashed into the side of the building, taking out a chunk of wall, but missing the art room, and landing in a heap on the ground.

Before either of them could recover completely, Cat Noir swung again, knocking the akuma off his feet. Ladybug still needed time. Then again, forcing him to retreat up the street. The situation could still be saved. Again, tripping him as he ran away.

As Dodgeboy twisted and aimed at him, Cat Noir swung again, but the akuma was ready for him this time. The shots only missed their target by inches. A high-pitched whistle sang right next to his ear.

It was a difficult game Cat Noir played, keeping the akuma occupied. Ladybug hadn't called him, so they danced circles around the school, trying to keep each other right where they wanted them.

What on earth was she doing? Probably something brilliant. She was always brilliant, though. Extra brilliant? That sounded like a cheesy compliment.

He tried to stay focused on the fight, to keep Dodgeboy busy, but his thoughts anxiously spun to what was taking her so long, and settled on her. Whatever she was doing would work. It always did. And she was trying to make a trap without Lucky Charm too, which was bold and daring. Maybe he should tell her that when-

It happened in an instant. One moment, he was twisting safely out of danger, then next, he was staring down the barrel of a cannon, knowing that he couldn't flip out of his arc fast enough. Smoky discharge billowed from Dodgeboy's elbow, recoil pushed his shoulder back. In slow motion, a purple dodgeball emerged from the shadow of the barrel, spinning toward him.

He tried to move, tried to curve into a new trajectory, but the dodgeball hit him in the chest, pushing him back, crushing him into the school wall.

It didn't hurt at first, just squeezed the air out of his lungs, and for a merciful second he thought his suit had saved him.

The force of the shot pinned him in place against the side of the building for only a moment. Then gravity started to drag him down, scraping him against the bricks, and he felt it. His skin, his lungs, no his bones hurt. There was no feeling anywhere else in his body as he fell, collapsing to the ground, just his burning chest. He landed on his side, gasping, though every breath felt like a knife ripping him open.

His head thrashed in an attempt to separate himself from the pain. Distantly, he realized that he couldn't see the akuma anymore, and that was probably bad.

Ladybug. He could go after Ladybug. Thoughts of her cleared his mind. He had to help his Lady, and so he forced himself to think. To breathe.

It should have been worse, he knew. There wasn't a hole punched straight through him. He was still breathing. His limbs still worked. The pain was lessening already. He might even be able to move.

Eventually.

His baton buzzed next to his foot with an incoming call. He hadn't even realized it had clattered next to him.

Groaning, he kicked at it until it rolled within reach. The camera pointed at the sky, and away from him.

"Hey," he said, trying to hide his gasp. His voice sounded too strained already, and he'd only said one word.

"I'm rea- Are you okay?"

"Oh, I-" He coughed, then rubbed his eyes to try to clear his head of pain. "I'm okay. Resting." He needed a break. He needed to get up. They needed to regroup. But she was counting on him. She needed him. "I got the akuma right where I want him," he said, voice measured. He needed her to know she could count on him, or she wouldn't trust him to do his job. She wouldn't trust him. "Aren't I the best partner?"

"Are you hurt?!"

He wouldn't be a burden to her. Not a disappointment. He would fight anything for her. He could fight this. Just another sacrifice he was willing to make to keep her love.

"I'm fine! Really, I just tripped." He fought a wave of pain, sharp and burning but less severe than the others that had come before. A good sign. "I'll bring him over."

"But-"

He cut off the call by kicking at the baton. It skidded until it hit the base of the wall. Cat Noir counted slowly, letting himself succumb to the searing agony in his chest. When he reached ten, he put a shaky palm on the pavement, then the other, and gingerly pushed himself up. If he kept his back straight, it didn't hurt too much. The strength and stamina the suit gave him would have to be enough to finish the job. He could last until Ladybug used her cure.

He could keep going.

For her.

Read Chapter 22 Here

***

Author's note: To all those who waited so long for this chapter: WHY? Why did you want me to hurt our boy this way?!

P.S. I take no responsibility for my narrative choices. It's not my fault! I'm just following the prompts! 😭

P.P.S. Hi. It's been ages. How have you been?

P.P.P.S. There'll be at least two chapters posted next week as an apology for me being distracted and lazy, and because I apparently need external deadlines in order to function, and also because the next bunch of chapters are very short.

@littlehazzascurls1864 @digitalmagpie @angelofthequeers @writingish1210 @gentlemanoftimetravel @kayla0binow @keeper-of-words @snow-swordswoman @zoerayne2426 

[starker-stories]

The Cold, Chapter 6 - The Messages Series

This chapter on AO3

By @thestarkerisobvious​ and @starker-stories​​

New chapters in the series post every Thursday.

All links are to AO3. You don’t need to be a creator to have an AO3 account. You can have one solely as a reader. But to read anything at all in this series, you can just be an anonymous reader and/or commenter.

The best way to keep up with The Cold is to subscribe to the story on AO3. And the best way to keep up with the Messages Series is also to subscribe to it as well as the individual stories. That way you’ll know when the next book is added.

Tags: Tony Stark Feels, Peter Parker Feels, College Student Peter Parker, Established Relationship, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Tony Stark Still Has Arc Reactor, Arc Reactor Kink, Peter Parker is a Mess, Spider-Man powers, Communication, They Finally Communicate!, And Fuck Of Course Look at Who It’s Written By Of Course They Fuck, Avengers Compound

The entire Messages Series.  All links are to AO3.

Messages Unsent  (complete & posted)

Nothing More Than A Machine  (complete & posted)

Tomorrow  (complete & posted)

My Virgin (Revisited)  (completely & posted)

The Cold  (completely written) posts every Thursday  

The Opposite of Cold  ( in progress )

Untitled Book 7  ( in progress )

Chapter 6: Batman and Robin

In the shower afterwards they held each other, whispering endearments and words of affection, laying out their plans for the next day. Peter had been exhausted a half-hour before, but became more animated as he listed the equipment he wanted to utilize and why, talking about it even after they had snuggled into bed for the night.

“I need to know how much I can bench press, and I want to clock my speed on the track. I honestly have no idea how fast I run because it’s faster traveling in New York by web. And what was that laser-grid room that Nat and Clint trained in? I always heard stories about it but never saw it. And the training room course? With those weird short hurdles where all those turrets are trying to kill you? When Fury had me train there I got across in 3.57 minutes — and I’ve got to admit, I was fencing left-handed that day. Everyone was looking at me weird and it made me nervous. I know I could break records in there. Oh! Oh! And the Evaluation Room?! The one Cap called ‘The Grinder?’ I have got to have another go at that one. The first day they put me in there I tripped over my own two feet because Nat told me you were on the observation deck. Added a whole forty seconds to my time. You don’t make me nervous anymore.”

“Those things are all still here. There’s data for what others scored on them to provide a baseline for you. And then, Dr. Cho has instruments that can objectively test your physical abilities.” Tony settled Peter in close, the way they usually slept, big spoon little spoon. He kissed the soft curls at the back of Peter’s neck. “You’ll get your answers, Pete.”

They were both pretending to fall asleep. Eventually it would come, but they were both restless and worried. Peter about the increase of his abilities, Tony about keeping that increase secret. Other than Peter, he trusted no one. And while he did trust Peter, he also recognized the kid was still incredibly naive.

He was getting less so, but he was no match for the duplicitousness that lived within the Avengers and SHIELD and those adjacent. Protecting Peter was Tony’s first, and only, priority. And he was already planning the steps he would need to take to do that. In the morning, while Peter was in the shower, getting ready for the day’s trials, he would set his own surveillance and blocks to anyone else’s. Scrub the servers of anything they collected since the helicopter landed… Tony was still running possibilities when sleep finally came.

The next day Peter was up and dressed before Tony. He was too nervous for breakfast. While they waited for Dr. Cho to become available, Tony took him for a tour of the prismatic accelerator that he used to create his new element. Alone in the vast, long room Peter raced up and down the length of the accelerator on his hands.

Tony saw Peter nearly vibrating with nervous excitement. “Why don’t you take a run through the tunnel? It goes underneath the buildings, underneath the fields. Big circular thing. Like running a really long lap. I should time you.”

Peter insisted on running it once at an easy pace (he called it the I’m-late-for-the-bus speed) and then again while ‘pushing it’. The lap around the entirety of the accelerator was seventeen miles. After his second run, he was keen to know if he had matched the running speed of Captain America. And frustrated to know that Tony didn’t have the information.

“But… wasn’t he Stark Tech? Don’t you have ALL that information? Nevermind, I can google it on my phone. There’s sixteen Old-Cap wikis at least.”

“That was Howard’s work, not mine. And Cap was never allowed down here.” It came out with more heat than he’d intended. “No one was, except Bruce. He helped with the calibration.

“You need to stop comparing yourself to Rogers,” he said, annoyed. “Arm wrestling with him, running his laps… Barnes’ metal arm is stronger than Cap ever was, and you’ve already stopped his punch. Running? It’s not good to compare yourself, an enhanced person, with someone created out of a test tube.”

“My spider was created out of a test tube. It’s not fair anyway, I know Cap trained in running. He was famous for it. And I use my leg muscles like, never. I’m a webswinger.

“And Tony?

“Can we run Nat’s laser-course thingy without staff?

“Yeah, that’s doable. Clint’s kept it active. He’s been training someone,” Tony said with a shrug, not impressed with Legolas’ attempt to replace himself now that he’d retired.

Tony went with Peter as he worked through the training exercises that were still active. Monitors were shut off, no one else allowed into the rooms, much less the entire levels they were using. He didn’t want anyone to have records of the things Peter was tested. But he kept them. Noting times and success/error ratios on his secured-by-FRIDAY phone.

Just by the numbers, the kid was scarily agile. Easily put Clint’s and even Nat’s scores to shame. Fast, he was faster than the current (non-enhanced) hundred meter record holder, but Tony expected that. He was surprised that he didn’t hit the mark for Cap’s hundred meter time. But then Cap was always good at running away.

They spent the most time inside “Nat’s laser-course thingy” where Peter insisted on running the same course repeatedly.His time was good, but kept insisting on a chance to do it better. “Just one more time,” he asked after each completion. They kept ‘one more timing’ it until well past lunch. Peter only took a break because Dr. Cho had finally texted Tony that she was free from her lab. His endless suggestions dried up as he nervously followed Tony toward her office. She met them in the courtyard, accompanied by an assistant.

“Helen, this is Peter Parker,” Tony said once they’d arrived in Helen’s office. He put his arm around Peter’s shoulders. “Peter is also the Amazing Spider-Man,” he said, teasing Peter with the name the tabloids gave him. “We have some questions. Medical. Enhanced Individual medical.”

“Wait… the Spider-Man?” she said, her face lighting up. “Oh I’ve read so much about you. Oh, I have a million questions… but…” she said, changing course suddenly when Tony raised an eyebrow. “Peter, allow me to introduce my associate Mr. Nguyen. He just completed his Masters in Biomedical Science at Columbia. You probably have a lot in common…”

Peter took the hint and shook hands with the good looking Vietnamese man. Shooting a nervous look at Tony, he followed the man back to the courtyard, leaving Tony and Dr. Cho in her office to talk.

“Spider-Man?” she whispered the moment Peter left. “You didn’t warn me that this was about Spider-Man, Tony,” she hissed. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have been free hours sooner.”

“Telling you would’ve been a risk. The reason we’re here, as opposed to elsewhere, is because Peter’s not the first enhanced individual you’ve worked with.

“Only I’m going to need assurance that what gets discussed goes no farther than you. No records can be kept. Otherwise this can’t happen. And Pete needs for this to happen. There’s a sizable grant in it for you if you can keep an even more stringent standard than your basic doctor/patient confidentiality.”

Helen’s smile disappeared. “There isn’t a ‘more stringent’ standard than the basic doctor/patient confidentiality, Tony. And SHIELD is already paying me handsomely to be the team doctor. You don’t have to bribe me to do my job.”

“SHIELD paying your salary is exactly what I am worried about. There can be no divided loyalties. This isn’t for SHIELD. It isn’t for the Avengers. This is for me. And for Peter. No one else.” Tony paused. “Not even you.”

He paced nervously. It was one thing to trust Helen with his life, which he had done absolutely after his ‘death’, but it was another entirely to trust her with Peter’s life.

“Lately, Peter’s abilities have been changing. That has him worried. What he brought me here for, what I suppose he’s looking for, is a metric for his abilities. He has other questions as well. That might require DNA samples, blood work, things like that. He’s mentioned having an objective analysis of what his enhancement is doing to him.

“Whatever samples or blood work you take to determine that, there can be no holding anything back for your own experimentation. Privacy. Absolute. Without that, I’ll figure out another way to get Peter the data he needs. But honestly, I’d rather trust you with this. If I can trust you.”

“Excuse me? Tony? I’m a doctor. The moment I take on Mr. Parker as my patient everything we talk about falls under doctor/patient privilege. Even if it wasn’t a legal issue, it’s my job. No one will have access to what Mr. Parker and I talk about,” she said firmly.

She turned away, looking into the courtyard through her office’s large window where Peter was talking to her assistant. “Including you.”

“Look, I know Fury doesn’t give a damn about what standards the world outside his own little kingdom has. Not telling me? I…”

He was taken aback. He hadn’t considered that he wouldn’t be informed about everything to do with Peter. He was used to having total access to Peter’s life. Okay, it was mostly non-consensual total access, but not knowing something so important about the most important person in his life?

“I’m sorry, was he made your legal ward, Batman?” she asked. Then she shrugged. “Even in that case, it doesn’t matter. Robin is an adult now. What you want to know you’ll have to ask him. As he’s your partner, I’ll certainly I’m prepared to discuss with both of you whatever he wants me to share. But understand, I’m going to be his doctor…”

Tony smiled at the ‘ward’ comment, but he was impressed. If she was willing to exclude him, she’d be willing to exclude any of the people he was worried about. “I can live with that,” he finally said.

“You’ll be pressured to break those standards. I don’t know who will apply the pressure, but it will come.” Tony knew he was sounding paranoid. But he also knew his paranoia had a firm basis in history. “Keeping these secrets? That’s not covered by any professional standards. That’s covered by your word.”

“Tony,” Helen said quietly, taking a step closer to him until they were face to face. “Your murder-bot tried to kill me, and memebers of my staff. That scared me. Fury? Fury doesn’t scare me.”

“Still haven’t heard your word.”

“Do billionaires carry folding money in their wallets?” she asked casually, moving toward the door. Peter and her assistant were chatting amiably, but Peter had begun heading toward her office again.

Tony laughed. “Not really. Billionaires use electronic transfers.”

She opened the door to her office. “Peter?” she called out cheerfully. He entered and gladly pulled out his wallet when she asked him if he had any cash. Reaching into the billfold she pulled out a five and pocketed it.

“Congratulations, as of this moment I am your personal doctor,” she said cheerfully, shaking his hand. “Because of my profession I am under oath…” She turned and looked at Tony pointedly, “to prioritize your needs, and privacy, over any and all outside parties. As long as you don’t directly describe any crimes to me that you plan on committing in the future, neither wild horses nor the Supreme Court could get a word out of me. Are you familiar with HIPAA?”

[snappedsky]

Borderlands: Skies the Bodyguard 3

Skies and the crew discover some interesting things on the island.

*Links to previous and next chapters in reblog*

--

Chapter 19

           Athena, Vaughn, Sasha, and Loader Bot race around the Atlas facility, avoiding the attacks of Guardians. Loader Bot and Athena manage to keep them at bay with their rifles and Athena’s shield, while Vaughn and Sasha cower in between them.

           “I saw these creepy things when Fi and I were in the Traveler,” Sasha says, “what are they?”

           “Guardians,” Athena replies, “they guard the Vaults.”

           “There’s so many of them,” Vaughn remarks.

           “Yeah, they’re a pain in the ass.”

           “We need time to regroup,” Loader Bot says.

           They continue moving for a few moments when Vaughn spots a light from a door’s power console.

           “Look!” he exclaims, pointing at a nearby building. “That building still has power!”

           “Open it,” Athena orders as she whips her shield and smashes three Guardians.

           Vaughn quickly hits the button and the four of them leap inside. He presses it again and the door closes behind them, sealing them in a dimly lit room.

           “What is this place?” Sasha asks. It takes a second for their eyes to adjust as they look around.

           From the outside, they couldn’t tell how big the building was because of the overgrown trees. Now they see that it’s massively tall; so tall, that they can’t see the ceiling. A stairwell runs along the wall seemingly all the way to the top. And standing in the middle, taking up almost all of the building, is an enormous robot.

          It’s hard to make out the top half in the low light, but its legs are almost wider than a vehicle. It’s all a dull grey with the separation between the metal plating showing. It almost looks like it was never finished.

           “That’s a big bot,” Vaughn comments as the group stares up at it.

           “I wonder why it’s here,” Sasha muses.

           “It…looks like Gortys,” Loader Bot comments.

           “Huh?” the others question, looking at him.

           A bright light suddenly appears overhead, nearly blinding everyone as they look up at it. It takes a second for them to realize it’s the eyes of the robot, looking down at them.

           “Uh oh,” Vaughn squeaks.

           “Intruders,” the robot booms, its voice sounding like a stereotypical robot. Metal creaks and scrapes together as it opens its massive hand and starts to reach for them.

           “Everyone, out!” Athena barks.

           Vaughn hits the button and everyone dives outside. They look back, expecting the robot to be chasing them. But it doesn’t. The door just shuts again.

           “Okay. That was weird,” Sasha comments as they stand up.

           “What was that thing?” Vaughn asks.

           “Atlas Go-something Research Facility,” Loader Bot muses.

           “What?” Sasha questions.

           “That is what the entrance sign says,” he clarifies, “I believe the ‘Go’ is supposed to say ‘Gortys’. I think that robot is an old prototype of Gortys.”

           “What?” Vaughn exclaims, “but we found her miles from here.”

           “It’s possible multiple Atlas facilities could have been developing her,” Athena points out, “but it hardly matters now. The robot seems trapped in there and, more importantly, we seem to have lost the Guardians for now. We should catch up with the others.”

           The others nod agreeably and Athena grabs her ECHO communicator. “Skies, you there?”

           “Ugh, just a second,” she replies.

           Across the island, in a pitch dark space underground, Skies groans painfully as she rolls over onto what feels like dirt. Beside her in a pile, August and Timothy do much the same as they crawl off of where they all fell onto Claptrap.

           “We probably shouldn’t have jumped down at the same time,” Timothy remarks.

           “Better than getting caught by Brick,” Skies says, “now, where are we?”

           “I don’t know,” August grunts, “I can’t see in the dark either.”

           “Skies, what’s going on?” Athena asks from Skies’ ECHO communicator. “Are you all alright?”

           “Yeah, I think so,” she replies, “just a sec.”

           Skies digs around in her coat for a second before finding a flashlight and turning it on. Immediately, the light reflects off something, nearly blinding everyone.

           “Jeez!” August snaps, “what is…that…”

           As everyone’s eyes adjust, they can’t help but stare in awe at what’s around them.

           They’re in some kind of tunnel that goes off into the distance. The remains of wires and cords run along the walls and ceiling, some going up to the hole they dropped down from. But what’s so amazing is all the Eridium bursting out of the walls, floor, and ceiling. Bright purple gems of different sizes sparkle in the glow from Skies flashlight, creating a breathtaking view for multiple reasons.

           “It’s so pretty,” Gortys squeals.

           “We’re rich!” Claptrap exclaims.

           “I’ve never seen so much Eridium in one place,” August breathes in awe.

           “How is there so much?” Timothy asks.

           “It must’ve burst out of the planet after the opening of the first Vault,” Skies muses, “man, if Hyperion knew about this place…”

           “Skies. Skies, what is going on?” Athena asks impatiently.            

           “Athena, we’re okay,” Skies replies into her ECHO communicator. “And you guys have got to see this. There are underground tunnels; find your way into one.”            “Fine,” she grunts.

           “Oh, and watch out for the Crimson Raiders,” Skies warns.

           “The Crimson Raiders?” Athena questions, “why are they here?”

           “Because they wanna kill me. I thought we all understood this.”

           “Oh. Well, they just stopped wanting to kill me so I’d prefer if they didn’t know I was with you.”

           “Cool. See you soon.”

           “How are we supposed to get underground?” Sasha asks as Athena attaches her ECHO device back to her belt.

           “They found a way,” Vaughn points out, “there must be entrances around the island.”

           “We don’t have the time to look for one,” Athena retorts, “plus there’s enemies crawling all over the place. We need to move fast.”

           “I agree,” Loader Bot says and reaches into his cloak. He removes a landmine which he plants onto the ground and activates. It blows up after a couple seconds, creating a small hole that leads into a deep, dark space.

           “Okay, that was fast,” Sasha admits, “but not very subtle.”

           “Let’s just go before any enemies show up,” Athena demands and jumps into the hole. The others follow one by one.          

           The explosion does echo across the island, but fortunately the Crimson Raiders are too preoccupied by the Guardians to notice it. Skies and the others hear it though and start making their way through the tunnels in its direction.

           “Watch your step,” Skies warns as she steps over a large Eridium crystal.

           They move quickly but cautiously, Skies illuminating the way with her flashlight and carefully checking each turn. They pass by computer screens that must’ve been attached to the walls but have since been knocked down and shattered by the permeating Eridium.

           After a few minutes, the group turn a corner into another beam of light, briefly startling everyone.

           “Oh, hey, guys,” Skies says as she lowers her flashlight out of the eyes of the second team.

           “Hm,” Athena grunts in response.

           “Can you believe this?” Vaughn exclaims, gesturing to the surrounding crystals.

           “I know, it’s pretty cool,” August nods.

         “The Eridium is awesome,” Sasha agrees, “but we’re still no closer to finding Fiona and Rhys.”

           “We just gotta keep looking,” Skies points out, “and watch out for the Guardians and the Crimson Raiders. Oof, this mission keeps getting harder.”

           “So where do we go?” Timothy asks.

           “Well, there’s nothing back where we came from,” Athena says.

           “Same for us,” Skies adds.

           “Hey, look,” Gortys exclaims, pointing down an adjacent turn. “A light.”

           There is a dim light shimmering farther down the tunnel. Everyone shares a look before shrugging and heading towards it.

           The source is a large computer screen hanging off the wall with only a few intact wires attached. The screen is white and blank, seemingly on standby.

           “It’s weird that only a few things on the island have power, right?” Skies questions.

           “The eruption of the Eridium must’ve caused a lot of damage to the facility, which might explain why it’s abandoned,” Athena muses, “some of the technology must’ve survived and still has power running through it.”

           “Whatever,” Sasha grunts impatiently, “let’s just keep looking.”

           They start to walk away when they notice movement on the screen. Everyone looks at it as two words appear. Just two little words that make a chill run down the spines- literal and figurative- of Athena, Timothy, Skies, and Claptrap.

           ‘Heya, kiddos.’

           “It-it’s not,” Timothy stammers, backing up into the wall. “It couldn’t be…”

           “It’s not possible!” Claptrap cries.

           Athena just snarls, gripping her gun, and Skies scowls, the bad feeling she’s been having finally making sense.

           “Jack.”

[oghoneytryst]

wild card.

request: best friend!harry and y/n are drunk one night and stuff gets spilled where they’re both in love with each other

or

where an innocent game of UNO with tequila and a twist makes harry and y/n’s night go wrong

a/n: hi. this is my baby. i love her a lot. pls treat her well.

this is also quite long, so I guess save this for later and read during that sweet spot in your life where you have all the time in the world. thank u enjoy.

----------

Insensible to how the night will progress, y/n admits that the aftereffects quickly following a tequila shot’s persuasive innocence rather impresses her. 

“That,” she blurts out, “looks downright disgusting.”

Y/n breathes in the retched smell, leaning on the cheap granite with her weight pressing down on her forearms. Her eyes wander over the islands of accidental spills scattering across her kitchen counter – alcoholic puddles have gone to waste. Harry, positioned over his mess of a workspace, stands confidently tall on the opposite side.

“Oh, shut up!” he retaliates, throwing half of a lime at her ebullient figure.

The citrus bounces against y/n’s skin, right beneath her collarbone. She emits a gasp of shock from the cool sensation, but still manages to trap the small fruit to chuck it back at her best friend.

“Asshole!” she laughs. Never should she have teased Harry over his ability to recreate the infamous drinks he has downed in foreign countries. Peering down at the failed concoction before her, y/n bites down on her tongue and prevents any smartass remarks from sliding right off.

Well, alright, one more can’t hurt.

“I don’t think you’re making this right,” she says, ignoring whatever metaphorical daggers might possibly impale her best friend’s fragile ego.

Harry, in turn, sticks out his tongue. “You don’t even know what I’m making,” he remarks, picking up the blender to examine the poison inside.

“Sure, I do. It’s some drink you had in . . . Belgium.”

“Brazil,” he corrects, “but close. Your geography skills are truly remarkable, d’ya know that?”

 “Well, I’m sorry, Mr. I-Have-A-Net-Worth-of-70-Million, but we don’t all have the privilege of expanding our education through continent-hopping on our private jets.”

Harry lowers the blender. His brow furrows, staring quizzically at his friend, then asks, “70 million? Really? Is it really that low?”

The two share an instant look of amusement; sparkling eyes and wide-open mouths. The kitchen walls echo with their wasted laughter. A drawn-out “Wowww” vibrates from y/n as she soaks in the Cheshire man’s conceited joke. Harry has to assure her over and over that “I’m joking, I’m joking!”

A couple minutes pass by. “You’re making a right mess of my kitchen,” y/n points out. “Are you planning on cleaning all of this up?”

“Of course,” he promises, then mirrors her position: leaning on the cheap granite, weight pressing down on his forearms. With a wide countertop anchoring right between them, Harry inches closer, cautious with his effect. “You don’t peg me as some sort of animal, do you?”

His beautiful features are even more inviting up close. Despite the friendship that blossoms through every year, y/n finds that Harry evolves with intimidation. Perhaps it is that charming charisma of his that grows with his every new love affair; either way, the stench of his alcoholic breath and the dirty stubble of his chiseled face – it has her drooling at every reunion.

“Of course not,” she breathes out, instantly catching onto her mistake when Harry’s face scrunches from the smell. “Ah . . . shit, sorry.” She laughs. Yet another invisible cloud of stench attacks her best friend, and all that she can do is cower behind the shelter of her hand in embarrassment.

Harry chuckles. “It’s alright. My breath is just as retched.”

Her hand pulls away from her toxic mouth with his assistance. His thumb finds leisure and softly caresses her knuckles. Y/n is almost dumbfounding in her lost stare, but her brain throbs from the bewildering thoughts nesting inside.

For one, she admires the way her hand disappears in his own; the inked cross sways back and forth to a calming rhythm on his soft skin.

Furthermore, there is a glimmer always present in his green eyes; kindness and serenity and comfort interconnects to craft the universe within.

Finally, his trademark that mesmerizes this lifetime and the next to come. She falls in love with his silent smirk, drowns in his prominent dimples that she imagines has captivated the world.

It is this and a plethora of other wonders that has her lost amongst a sea of hopefuls. There are a countless number of hearts that beat for him: a simple, extraordinary man. Unlike them, she will never be brave enough to tell him so.

It can’t be more of a clichéd nightmare to live in: reserving her most passionate desires and suffering in the presence of her unattainable best friend. A tragic fate, she admits, that graces her in the most torturous way.

“Um...” y/n blinks, settling back into the reality of the night. “So, are you going to finish whatever it is you’re making, or what?”

Harry chuckles, releases her hand and straightens up. “It’s already done. Besides, I thought you said it looked downright disgusting.” He puts his long legs to use and takes a single step toward the kitchen sink. From a rack adjacent to it, he pulls two wet glasses left to dry and returns to set them down on the counter.

“Oh, well I did, but that just makes it all the more interesting! Plus, you’ve wasted about half of my liquor cabinet, so I’m hoping that this will at least make for a memorable experience.”

“Well, in that case,” Harry, proud and tall, pours even portions of his concoction into their respective glasses, “bottoms up!”

Y/n smiles and accepts the glass from her cheerful friend who radiates with self-fulfillment. She normally doesn’t take risks with strange potions, knowing that the contents can very well end up surging back up her stomach and on her living room floor. Be that as it may, she knows that harry is prideful. She will do anything to see that charming smile of his, even if the painful realization hits her: a smile is all that she can wheedle out of him, despite wanting so much more.

With a delicate shake of her head, she raises the glass in sync with her eyebrows as to say cheers! The drink burns in her throat, but she downs it in a rush, hoping that it will loosen her up for the long night to come.

“No, you fucking didn’t!” Harry exclaims, 67 minutes having happily ticked away. Joyous tears pool in his eyes, fits of giggles bouncing off the living room walls.

“I swear, I’m not kidding,” y/n chimes in, downing another swig of her beer.

Needless to say, Harry’s magic potion did not sit well with her. As deliciously relieving as it had been, y/n had been wary of its powerful effects. Like creator, like creation, she had recited in her hidden thoughts prior to Harry suggesting the two relocate to the couch in the living room.

Since then, there have been silly story exchanges, and one of y/n’s has brought Harry to the brink of amusing insanity.

Y/n leans an elbow against the back of the couch and elaborates. “In my defense, I had a lot to drink that night. We had planned to go out and celebrate, but most of us ended up getting plastered at the pre-drink, so we just stayed at Sophia’s place. I think she was a little pissed at us, though. She really wanted to shag someone that night.”

“Not like you would’ve let that happen anyway,” Harry accuses, grinning at his friend’s shock and confusion. He licks the taste of retched beer from his lips and explains. “C’mon, we both know you’re incredibly clingy when you’re wasted. One second apart from Sophia and you would’ve cried more than when you’d thrown your phone out the window.”

“Hey!”

“I mean, seriously, y/n? Airplane mode? How do you manage to come up with that logic?”

Y/n simpers and sinks deeper into the cushions. “I was drunk!”

“All I’m saying is,” Harry laughs, blanketing a single hand over his squinty jaded eyes, “I’ve had my fair share of drunken mishaps, and never once did I think to throw my phone out the window with the intent of having it turn into an airplane.”

“Hmm. Then I suppose you’re not as imaginative as moi,” y/n teases, raising her shoulder to meet with her chin.

“I’m sure that’s the word you’re looking for.”

“It is. And also!” Y/n pauses, forcing her mouth to keep closed as a hiccup ripples through her body. “I’m not clingy! I may be affectionate sometimes, but as far as I’m concerned, I am currently riding on Shit-Face Avenue and have not clung to you once. Have I?” She shakes her head. “No, I haven’t.”

“You haven’t.” Harry shrugs, leaning against the back of the couch. “You could though, if you wanted to.”

Y/n stiffens. She blinks away the images that rise to the surface of her lingering eyes. As intoxicated as she currently is, the suggestive remark does not go unnoticed. In fact, if she doesn’t know any better, she can be right to assume that her best friend is implying a dangerous journey into uncharted territories.

Yet, having been friends with him for so long, she has caught onto his antics, especially those deriving from alcohol consumption. He claims her to be the clingy one, but there is no denying the overly affectionate, touchy man that overpowers him in such powerless situations. She has experienced it before, although it has never gone farther than his arms around her, and a sloppy peck on her face.

She’s never allowed it to go further.

“Anyway,” she trails off, breaking through the creeping silence that she isn’t aware had sneaked its way in. “I didn’t realize my mistake until the next morning, when my phone was already shattered and the damage had been done. So, it goes without saying that I’ve learned my lesson. Don’t get super wasted and expect your equally intoxicated friends to stop you from throwing your phone out the window.”

Harry laughs. “Y’know, if you didn’t want your drunk alter ego to post anything embarrassing on your social media, you could’ve just deleted the apps altogether,” he suggests. “Join me on my cleanse.”

“Oh, please.” y/n scoffs. “You’re acting all high and mighty as if you’ve deleted Twitter off of your phone.”

“Alright.” Harry raises his hands in surrender. “Sometimes I’m curious as to what’s going on in the world. Sue me.”

“For all of your 70 million? Don’t have to tell me twice.”

“Oi!” Harry giggles. He takes out the pillow supporting his back and chucks it at his best friend. “Alright now.”

“Seriously though.” Y/n shoves the pillow back into his grinning face. “That would’ve been good money to have when trying to get my phone fixed. Damned thing was so expensive in repairs that I couldn’t even afford it.”

“Then how’d you get it fixed?”

“I didn’t. It cost less to just replace it. Or rather, pretend that it had been stolen so that my phone company could replace it for a lower price.”

For such a casual conversation, Harry’s sudden intrigue grows with this new information. He sits upright, tucks the decorative plush pillow behind his back, but never leans against it. Instead, he faces y/n with a single beer bottle in his hand and an expression that depicts the rusting gears turning in his brain.

“Wait, so...” Harry pauses. He points at the slim device laying face-down on the coffee table. “That’s an entirely different phone?”

“Yeah?”

“But it’s the same number.”

“Right.”

“But then...” Another insightful pause. Harry licks his lips and continues, “Your messages and stuff. From your other phone. Did they transfer or are they—”

“Gone,” y/n finishes for him, perplexed at his perplexity. He is behaving rather strangely, almost as if he has hesitance – as though he will say too much. She’s not too sure what exactly it is about her phone that stirs so many questions out of him.

“Pictures, messages, even my contacts. My phone company deactivated the other phone, but everything on it is inaccessible anyway. They said that it’s possible to just take out the SIM card and put it in a new phone, but since I already went along with my stolen-phone plan, that solution is out of the picture. So, I’m just taking the blow, but it all works out. I had gotten rid of contacts that I don’t talk to anymore, and I got my old contacts from other people – I got yours from Sophia – and I felt very refreshed overall. There’s a lot of losses though. Lots of memes that I have to scour the internet to find again.”

“But . . . but like, you’re still receiving messages and stuff, right? After switching phones?”

“Well, yeah, I hope so. That’s the whole point. Why?”

 Harry shakes his head dismissively. “Jus’ wondering.”

It is a very casual way for him to disregard the curiosity brewing in the air. It has potential for success, if not for y/n’s investment in his every thought, especially with those that concern her.

“Harry,” she warns. In a split second, she imagines herself handling the glass bottle by its neck, sticking the other end in his face as a threat. She fortunately resists to do so when picturing the toxic-liquid spilling out and infesting her couch cushions.

Y/n squints her eyes. “Why are you so interested in the pivotal and precise details of my phone?” She leans closer to him, fighting the grin that tickles her lips. She tilts her head and executes a strange yet inquisitive expression. “What are you hiding?”

Harry can’t withstand the giggles from bubbling out his throat. He brings his hand up to y/n’s nose, and pinches it between his index finger and thumb.

“Squish.” He chuckles, which causes y/n to let out a symphony of snickers, and soon he finds his own face heating up with vivacious amusement.

“No, but really,” says y/n after composing herself. “What’s up?”

Harry prims his smiley lips and blinks up at the pasty ceiling. “The sky.”

“Harry!” y/n laughs. It swells her heart to hear him so happy and entertained; his glee multiplies alongside his hyena laughter. Yet, she’s impatiently itching under her skin, desperate to know whatever secret it is that he is hiding.

It takes a few ticklish kicks of her sock-clad feet rumbling against the side of his legs for him to raise his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright!” he gives in, and traps her impatient ankles with his large hands. Her limp legs settle over his thighs, one of his arms drapes over her shins. “I was jus’ wondering cos’ I might have gotten drunk one night and I might have called some people on my contacts list.”

Y/n raises her eyebrows. “Did you call me?”

Her best friend thinks on it for a short moment. He chews at the inside of his cheek, tips his head from side-to-side, internally at war with himself. “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t remember. Did you get a call from me?”

“I don’t know. It depends. When did you get drunk?”

“Erm . . . that night it had been August. Nick’s birthday party. What ‘bout you?”

Y/n allows a few seconds to pass for the information to absorb. She then sinks further into the cushions and slaps a hand over her eyes in realization. “August. Sophia’s actual birthday.”

“Oh. How unfortunate,” Harry monotonously replies, but the infliction of his tone near the end of his sentence gives him away. There is a laughter that he is trying to suppress.

“No, you’ve got to be joking!” y/n groans, unveiling her face. “You’re telling me that you drunk called people and I missed it?”

“No. I mean, I might not have even called you that night. As far as I’m concerned, Mitch might have been the only one who received a voicemail.”

“There were voicemails?”

“Not really. Mitchell’s the only one who didn’t pick up.”

“This sucks.” Y/n pouts, chugging down the small amount of beer left in her bottle, and discards the glass vessel on the coffee table.

“Aw, lovie, it wasn’t anything. Just a drunken mistake. It’s just me slurrin’ on some words that don’t make sense.”

Y/n smiles. She rubs at her left eye as her right hand sluggishly points in his general direction. “Not your lovie,” she mumbles, and reaches out her arms to him. He doesn’t react to her response, but complies with her affection and scoots closer. Her legs bunch up to her chest, his left arm encircling halfway across her waist. She wraps her flimsy arms around his broad shoulders, and loudly whispers into his ear, “And any entertainment is funny entertainment,” then snuggles her head into his left shoulder.

Harry laughs at the sudden shift in ambience. He’s not sure if her statement has made sense, but he’s not sober enough to puzzle over it. “Remember when you said you weren’t clingy?” he whispers, presses his cheek on the top of her head, with little fuzzes of her hair sticking to his skin.

“Shut up,” she grumbles, scratching at his belly. His stomach instinctively shrivels up from the tickling sensation, but following his short fit of giggles, he settles back into the moment. Limbs entangle, hearts softly beat next to each other, and a million unspoken words paint the entire room.

She wants to stay here forever. She knows very well that once the moment is over, he will be off to another place, somewhere lightyears away. It’s like a nervous tick of his: never being able to stay still. Touring nonstop for five years most likely encourages this behavior, and he’s lucky enough to have the money to escape whenever he wants.

And though it is a blessing – to have so much control over his life – she can’t help but feel sad for him. She doesn’t know if he ever thinks years ahead into his future, but in case he doesn’t, she does it for him. She imagines him falling in love with his one; the person that he will share his private stories with and create a new life with. Whoever it is that earns his devotion is who y/n empathizes for, because certainty is not always in Harry’s vocabulary.

Commitment and settling down is not something of ease for him when considering all that he has been through. The heartache. The pressure of a million watching eyes. The loneliness. He’s not the same boy he used to be – he even said so himself. Though he is who he is for the better, y/n still mourns for that lost part of him. She wonders if he will ever settle down, or if he will continue to move at a pace that is impossible for anyone to keep up with.

Any moment longer and y/n will begin to tear up from her own overthinking. She’s grateful for the scare that Harry gives her when he spots a small red packaging on the coffee table.

“Ah, sick!” he exclaims. He snakes his arm from around her waist, discards his beer bottle on the coffee table, and reaches for the card game. “You had Uno this entire time and didn’t think to tell me?”

Y/n loosens her own grip as he takes the cards out of their packaging. Her arms slip from shoulders and rest on her lap. “I didn’t peg you as an Uno enthusiast.”

“Of course. Bet I’d kick your arse,” he says, winking at her deviously.

“Oh, I bet you could.”

Harry whines while shuffling the cards in his hands. “C’mon, y/n! Just a couple games.” 

“It just seems incredibly underwhelming right now.” She shrugs.

Harry doesn’t response right away. Instead, he sifts through the deck, and mischievously smiles. Suddenly, y/n is worried. 

“Let’s make it more interesting then,” he suggests.

“...Interesting how?” 

“We play as normal,” he explains slowly; his thumb slides the cards into his opposite hand one-by-one. “Except when one of us puts down a wild card,” Harry slaps the distinctive black card face-up on the table, “the other person has to answer a question.”

“A question?”

“Yeah, and not some bullshit question like what’d you have for breakfast? No, it’s got to be a question asked with the intention of spilling a secret.”

Y/n’s eyes pry open a little more at this. She sits up straighter, tucks her legs under her weight, and shifts uncomfortably. As close as she is with Harry, there are still many things that he does not know about her. It all ranges from simple adolescent mistakes, quarter-life crisis thoughts, and of course, the big lottery secret. 

“I’m definitely not drunk enough for that.”

“Then we’ll spice it up some more,” Harry offers with persistence and determination. “Every time you have to pick up from the deck, you have to drink. It’ll loosen you up. Sound good?”

No. It doesn’t sound good to her. It sounds like an extremely messy route to a destination undiscovered, one that y/n fears will have the potential to damage their friendship. It isn’t so much for the mere possibility that she will slip up and admit her admirable feelings for him. Rather, it is for the truly riveting secrets that he threatens to get her to confess. Everything and anything that he feels curious enough to ask about will be available to him with just the slap of a single playing card.

As incriminatingly frightening as this is, y/n can’t help but wonder about his own little devious secrets. There is no dismissal of the mysterious aura that crowns over his cryptic mind. Harry is the single most unreadable person that she has ever met. As much as she knows him, she doesn’t. He keeps as much of his life as private as can be, and for good reason. He’s a clever man, one that can be described as a great, undefined question mark.

It is all so tempting. How is she to possibly say no to a peak into his baffling mind?

Once she mumbles out a quick “Sure” in confirmation to his twist, the two set out an agreement of rules: only pick up once from the deck to save a few brain cells, dropping a plus two on top of another plus two creates a plus four and so forth, a reverse is basically like a skip, and please, no fucking train.

“And whoever gets Uno, the other person finishes their drink,” y/n announces. She grows giddier over the game by the second.

Harry smugly grins at her. He shuffles the deck to make sure the colors rightfully scramble from the last game that y/n and her guests have played. “For someone who wasn’t too sure about the game,” he deals out two hands of seven cards respectively, “you sure are getting a little cheeky.”

Y/n innocently shrugs. She scoops up her cards and faces away from Harry to keep him from cheating. She deflates at the sight of her hand – a few green, a couple blue, some action cards here and there – nothing entirely exciting. In other words, no wild card. She masks her disappointment with her most impressive poke face, and challenges Harry by raising her chin up confidently. “What can I say? I might get a little competitive when I’ve had a few drinks in me.”

By the time that Harry gathers up his own cards, he reaches and flips over the card at the top of the deck. A yellow 0. “Is that right?” he wonders aloud. He has already caught a glimpse of his hand and has the seven cards neatly compiled into a small deck in his hands.

“Most certainly.”

“Well then, Ms. Competitive, would you fancy starting us off?” 

Y/n narrows her eyes. “Does that mean that you don’t have anything to play?” she asks, placing down a yellow 2. 

“It means that I’m trying to be a gentleman and let you start the game.” Harry puts down his own card – a red 2. He smiles cheekily. “But I guess you’ll never know now, huh lovie?”

Y/n searches her hand and grumbles. “Damn it,” she whispers under her breath. She grabs ahold of her choice of drink while hugging her cards protectively to her chest. She takes a good and lasting sip. It burns terribly, almost hard to swallow, which makes her wonder if perhaps this game isn’t going to be as enjoyable as she once believed. She can, however, feel a stiffness in her shoulders relieve itself. She trudges on, one arm stretches out to grab from the deck. When she peers at her new addition, she involuntarily lets out a cheer. “Aha!” her hand slams down a vindictive red +2. 

Harry locks his jaw, his tongue swipes amongst the inside of his bottom lip. He nods understandingly, a crooked smile stretching unevenly on his face. “So that’s how it’s gonna be, eh?” he asks rhetorically, all set to pick his poison from the table.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” y/n replies, watching him suffer as he downs his drink, a few seconds longer than hers in celebration of the double pick-up. “I’m only playing the game.” 

“Yeah, right. ‘f course.” Harry sets his glass down and picks up two cards. Y/n is about to make another smart remark, but she misses the twinkle in his green eyes prior to him smacking down his choice of card.

The first wild card of the night.

Y/n freezes. Her jaw slowly unhinges; she blinks at the black card practically sparkling in the dim lighting. She must be color blind. It must be another red card, or maybe it is a misplaced blue, but the oval shape divided into quadrants is a little harder to ignore.

“What the fuck?” she exclaims, glares at Harry, who sits with his shoulders raised to his ears, a shit-eating smirk plasters his not-so-innocent face. “No way,” y/n shakes her head, “you cheated.”

Harry’s shoulders drop. His mouth squishes a U-shape. “Wh – how would I cheat? I’m only playing the game.”

Y/n rolls her eyes when he throws her own words back at her. “Yeah, well, your strategy is shit.”

It’s true to her, at least. As the owner of the card game, she has played a handful of times. She has figured out her own strategy to success. To her, playing the wild card is the last move a player should do to ensure victory. However, in this moment, this ideal might not entirely work out in her favor. There is nothing more that can confirm that than when she finds herself in defeat, awaiting Harry’s torture.

Harry takes a moment to ponder, strokes his chin in an evil manner before coming to a halt. From the low chuckle that escapes him, y/n knows that it cannot be good for her.

“Y/n,” Harry declares, savoring the syllables on his tongue. “Which one of my exes did you like the least?��

It takes a second for the question to seep through to her brain. Her thoughts already cloud, so she’s uncertain if the inquiry is entirely terrible. “Are you serious?” she retaliates, corking up a single eyebrow at him. “Out of all the questions that you’re dying to ask me, that’s your most pressing one?”

Harry chuckles with mock amusement. “We’re starting off easy, baby. I hope you know that this isn’t the last confession I’m getting out of you tonight.”

Y/n shakes away the flutter in her heart from his endearing pet name. It is quite easy to pretend that he says it with significance – that it is real. “If it’s so easy, then don’t you think you could have asked me this whenever? Not through a conniving card game?” 

Harry scoffs. “Sure, like you would’ve told me the truth. You’re always on about Harry, as long as you’re happy, I’m happy. Bullshit. It’s just the two of us singles now, spill the tea, sista!”

More giggles erupt from y/n. It’s hard to concentrate and Harry’s subtle slang doesn’t make it easier to focus. Before she knows it, the name, “Kendall” is running off her tongue.

“Kendall?” Harry repeats, sinking the information into his brain. “Why?”

“Nuh-uh.” 

“Oh, c’mon, y/n! You have to elaborate on it! You didn’t think much about it. Why her, eh?”

“I don’t know,” she answers. “She’s just the first one who came to me.”

“This game isn’t fun if you lie, y/n.”

“But I’m not—” Y/n pauses. She catches the knowing and burning look on his face. Her act isn’t fooling him, so she sighs, and proceeds to create a quick web of reasons as to why this ex disinterests her from the rest.

In her brain, it is simple, but when she tries to string it into comprehensible sentences, she finds it a little more complex. 

Maybe it is because Kendall makes her feel inferior with her high-class model status. Of course, that doesn’t entirely separate her from his other model exes. It has to be because of something in association with that: her undeniable beauty and impossibly unmatchable body type. The way her waist pinches effortlessly, her long legs that can stretch for miles. Y/n has seen the orange boots of hers that fit right over her entire leg, the same ones that she imagines herself uncomfortably drowning in.

Maybe it is the on-and-off relationship that she’s had with Harry. It is an unexpected romance that begins in 2013 and randomly pops up every other year. She remembers his trip to St. Barts, as well as the pictures from the yacht that had been leaked. They cling onto each other, groping, touching, kissing – an intimacy that strains her. He’s introduced her to his mother, perhaps as his girlfriend, when he’s only ever introduced y/n as a friend. Despite their relationship not working out, the two still get along. Their friendship remains.

And maybe, just maybe, it is because she can’t seem to find any sensible reason to dislike her at all. There must be a reason Harry remains her close friend. It may be that one has to know Kendall to understand Kendall, and though y/n hasn’t dug into the depths of her mind, she has met her once or twice. And once or twice, she had been kind, she had been cool, and she had been distastefully perfect. 

“I don’t know. I guess it’s because you two seem kind of different.” Y/n shrugs. She nests the sharp branches of her thoughts back into the shadows of her mind. “Just a weird pair, is all. Satisfied?”

“Sure.” Harry nods. He has the faintest ghost of a smile. “Blue,” he says, continuing on with the game as though the tension in the air is unnoticeable. 

A couple more rounds pass them by. Though y/n manages to win both games, she declares it a loss seeing as though she hasn’t been able to cop the holy grail wild card. Harry, on the other hand, has tested their friendship with a lucky +4.

It is clear that Harry is using this game for his own personal and informative gain. He pries for answers that always linger in his head, ones that he assures y/n are normal for best friends to share, but never once has she given him the satisfaction. 

That is, until now.

“What’s your biggest kink?”

It throws y/n off for a second, especially when the tequila shot is slicing down her sensitive throat. It is an invasive question that not many expect from him, but it’s obvious that alcohol clouds his better judgement. “Excuse me?” she remarks, blinking profusely. “So much for being a gentleman.” 

He can’t seem to keep a straight face. His cocky energy radiates at her fluster, so what can she do but get it over with and answer his question?

She begins rather shyly, knowing right away which specific sexual pleasure it is that drives her over the edge. She then learns to embrace her driven taste that, to her dismay, has not yet occurred. In her head, she can’t control the images from sneaking up on her, pushing her straight off the cliff. She can’t tell if the incredulous smirk that Harry has on is due to his shock and satisfaction from her confession, or because he can also imagine himself in such a fantasy with his own partner of choice. 

Despite how in-depth and personal y/n goes on about the fiery flare that burns in her stomach, she will never tell him that it is him and his body that she imagines discovering hers, and that it has never been easier to fantasize than with her personal choice physically in front of her.

Even now, as they start a new game, the obvious shift of tension does not dissipate. A hotness still lingers in the air, but the two friends pretend to be fools for the sake of their friendship. Whether the cracks are crumbling or the cement is stiffening, neither are too sure of.

Y/n picks up her cards, prepares herself for disappointment despite her latest victory. What calls attention to her dull eyes ignites a sudden spark that has been missing. The wild card stuffs between her red 7 and red skip, and it parallels the most beautiful sight that she can ever recall envisioning in her short and simple life. 

She can’t let the opportunity slip away. It no longer matters to her whether she is the one who calls the infamous Uno phrase at the end of this round to claim another reign. Harry cannot slither his charismatic magic to the deck any longer, as she assumes he’s been doing considering his unfathomable luck with wild cards. 

She is the one with the power of the first turn. She is the one who isn’t thinking clearly, slaps down the familiar black card in all of its glory, and cheers to herself with a silent seizure of celebration. 

And Harry is the one who stares in shock, baffled by the turn of events.

“Hmph.” His lips purse to the side in an awkward manner. He wonders how he can swivel his way around this predicament. “Right, and I’m the one with the shit strategy?” 

His comment on her impulsive play does not rain on her gloating parade. Instead, she bounces her leg up and down, scouring for a question that will leave him with nothing but his vulnerability. Harry has accepted his fate; he leans back on the couch in anticipation. He eyes the vodka bottle on the table and wonders if it will do him any favors.

Y/n takes some time to scheme. With her prior hand of colorful cards, she had a million questions storming in her brain at lightning speed. Now, she draws a complete blank, with the towering beanstalks and sunflowers mowing down to an empty, dying field.

In such a desperate time of need, a single question rises. She hesitates and wonders if she really wants to know the answer. She wonders if her goal is to inflict pain upon herself – is it a pleasure that she cannot control? It is the only solution in the midst of seconds ticking away, Harry’s impatience growing.

Harry. He sits and basks in the glory of her uncertainty. Chances are that he anticipates a seductive retaliation to his over-the-line inquiries. This possibility might be more fun since that is what he is trying to get out of this game: fun; enjoyment; entertainment. A good story to reminisce, but nothing more.

“Are you in love with someone?”

If there has ever been a person capable of flustering Harry up to the point of complete bewilderment, y/n effortlessly earns that title. No promotional interview has ever stumped him as much as this single moment does now. Though he usually stutters and responds to questions vaguely without even really answering them at all, he knows the solution to all of the media’s curiosity. He is careful to not reveal too much, as some things are meant solely for his knowledge. He holds no obligations to share his secrets, and he holds no true obligations to spare y/n an answer. It is easy for him to simply walk out of the game as a sore loser; a coward of a man whose word holds empty.

The reality of it is that he does have an answer. He’s sure that he does, but there is a hesitance that lingers when he considers if he is truly being honest with himself. For once, he does not know himself as well as he thinks he does.

“Don’t answer rhetorically,” y/n adds, pressing on amid the silence she causes. “Don’t say your mother. Or Mitch or Stevie Nicks or something like that. Just . . . do you love someone?” 

Harry’s smile diminishes. In its place: a hauntingly emotionless appearance. He is far gone in his own thoughts, and y/n worries that she has broken him. “What’s the question then?” he asks, allowing y/n to breathe and choke all at once. “Do I love someone, or I am I in love with someone?”

His allusion to the contrast quite honestly fazes her. She doesn’t bother to notice the divided significance that the two phrases have. Pining the two under the perfect spotlight unveils a stark perspective that makes her question her own emotions. Does she love? Or does she fall in love, down a smothering abyss that reaches no definite end? Is she sunbathing on the moon, or is she hurtling through the infinite depths of space?

It is a simple request for clarification, but she wonders if Harry tortures himself enough with notions of love to make such a separation between two very similar things. 

“Um,” y/n pauses – this is a second chance. She can retract her statement and avoid the heartbreak that may follow one of his answers. “In love,” she answers instead. “Are you in love with someone?” 

She expects him to think on it. She expects the pressure to deflate from his lungs in a shaky breath. She does not expect him to be so certain over something so confusing and undefinable.

“Yeah,” he answers, tops his sentence off with a nonchalant, cherry-sparkling shrug. 

“Who is it?” she presses on, already accepting the discomforting ache.

“I’m not telling,” he says. There is no offense to his tone, but she knows that there is a secret he is protecting. She does not know why he is protecting it from her.

“Well, you have to give some kind of an elaboration,” she persists, and subtly clears her throat. It burns with the sensation of emotions closing it up. “Is it . . . are they like,” y/n exasperatingly exhales. She slumps her shoulders in defeat. “This person . . . are you sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

“But not entirely?”

“It’d be pretty embarrassing to be entirely in love with someone who I’m not even sure is in love with me back.” 

Y/n grimaces. How can they not? 

“Okay, so, you’re in love with this person, but do you think . . . y’think you would ever stop everything for them?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean like . . . slow down. You’re young, H, and you’re just starting to reach the peak of the mountain. And once you’re at the peak, there goes the stars. Who knows what else after that? You can’t see it yet because maybe you don’t want to, maybe you like not knowing what’s next. But that person that you love, or are in love with, or whatever it is, do you love them enough that you’ll settle for just the clouds? And not the high ones, I’m talking about the really low ones that few people get to touch and maybe even die trying to—”

“Y/n,” Harry whispers. He leans closer to her trembling, broken down frame. “Why are you crying?” 

His firm hands grip onto her shoulders. He tries to comfort her, concern sketches into every precise detail on his face. He has momentarily forgotten about the game; his cards are discarded, facing up on the coffee table for any prying eyes to see. He’s not sure where everything went wrong, but the puzzle is the least of his worries if he cannot get this single piece to fit.

Y/n sniffles, absolutely humiliated by her own pity party. Once so optimistic, she blames the alcohol that drowns her in unexplainable sorrow. “You can’t ask me that,” she replies and wipes away at her eyes. “I’m the one with the wild card.”

“Y/n—”

“Just answer the question so we can finish this stupid game, Harry.”

Harry frowns. This poor construction of a façade that y/n hides behind is so heartbreaking. She forces a brave face, but he knows now more than ever that she wants to fall apart. Maybe if he weren’t here, she actually would – but in his presence, she keeps her chin up, lips pursing, and awaits an answer to spite the wetness on her cheeks.

“It’s hard to answer,” he says quietly, never once breaking the contact with her glass eyes. “I don’t think I can know until it happens. You know that looking too into the future is hard for me.” Y/n nods and absorbs every single word. “I don’t think you’re supposed to know when you’re in love. But this is my life, y/n. I can’t slow down. I can’t run away. It’s different for me.”

“So, you wouldn’t try?” she asks, which coaxes a shrug out of him. “Not even for the person that you’re in love with?”

There’s no response from him, but that alone is enough of an answer.

“Okay,” y/n croaks out, settling back into her gaming stance. “Green.”

To their sharing dismay, the game continues. Harry drops a green 4, y/n combines a green skip with a red skip and a red 0. While her sniffles resemble torpedoes to his ears, he feels powerless to do anything about it. He feels worthless, and sort of dirty, sitting on her couch, pretending as though she isn’t having the absolute worst time of her life, all because of him.

It’s uncomforting. It’s wrong. She has this pain and it is strong, so strong that it impacts him severely. He senses a burn in his nose. He tries to focus on the numbers and figures on his cards, but his vision blurs. He dabs at his jaded eyes, clears his throat, shakes his head, but all of his thoughts revolve around her distress.

“Uno,” she calls in a rush, impatient for the game to end. She imagines the following events to transpire: she excuses herself and goes to bed; Harry lets himself out, locks the door with the key hidden not-so-cleverly under her doormat; he climbs onto a plane and leaves for somewhere far, far away, in another part of the world where the beauty of torturous pain cannot follow him; they remain friends, but there is something different between them, something unspoken, something that just cannot be fixed. They are friends, but they are not the same friends as before.

She can’t possibly imagine the +4 that he smacks down over her discarded yellow 6 after downing the rest of his drink. It’s impossible – how does he win so much in life and in a silly game?

“Fucking plus four,” y/n whispers under her breath. She sets her cards down with her bottom lip quivering as she reaches for another choice of poison. What stops her hand right over the glass bottle is Harry’s own devouring hers. He puts her actions to rest as the world, for one miniscule moment, stops entirely. 

“What do you,” Harry pauses, searches for her eyes. He’s begging for some compliance; his universe collides with hers. “Do you have feelings for me?”

Y/n closes her eyes. She shuts them tight, pulls her hand away from his protection, and wishes that he wouldn’t touch her again. “You can’t ask me that.” Her lip curls as she refuses to answer.

“Wh – what do you mean I can’t? It’s my turn—”

“No,” she argues. She blinks her eyes open and roughly brushes the tears away with the back of her hand. “You can’t ask me that, please, don’t ask me that.”

Harry wants to retaliate. He almost demands an answer from her, but one sight at her in ruins, and he has no choice but to back off. “Fine,” he says, “but I still get to ask a question.”

Y/n sits up straighter. The frown on her face transforms into a cold, hard stare. “Fine.”

“Would you kiss me right now if you had the chance?”

Y/n seems to have a lack of concern for his question, but her interior screams in agony. Oh, how the night has progressed, but one ounce of courage intertwines her vision with his, and her answer is very clear. 

“No,” she answers honestly. It isn’t the response that he expects. 

Still, he keeps his ground. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to be another drunken mistake that you regret in the morning.”

Before he has the chance to react, y/n is already reaching for her drink, and sips it straight from the bottle. 

“You wouldn’t be,” he musters out after she licks the remnants of alcohol from her lips. “I’d still remember it in the morning, and I wouldn’t regret it. And I wouldn’t regret anything that happened after that, too.” 

She doesn’t know what he wants from her. She’s damaged beyond repair, and quite frankly, she’ll never look at her beloved Uno the same way again. This isn’t how she once pictured her night to turn out, and now she wants nothing but for it to end. 

Y/n swallows. She picks up her cards, then counts four from the deck to add to her hand. “What color?” she asks, and leans down on her nervous knees that bounce up and down. 

“Y/n, can you stop this for a second? Can we just talk? Please?”

Y/n doesn’t want to talk. In fact, the plea makes her brain pound again the confinements of her skull. “You know,” she rubs her eyes, and throws her card across the table, “I quit. I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

She stands up from the couch and faces away from Harry so that his eyes can burn into her back. She increases the distance between them, preparing herself to fall apart once she makes it to her bedroom.

“Wait,” Harry says, standing up with her discarded pile. “But you picked up a wild card.”

“Harry, I’m done playing.” She waves her hand, not bothering to spare him a glance.

“Alright, then just ask me!”

“What—”

Y/n emits a gasp when her whole body forcefully turns around, pressing gently against the wall. She feels his hot and toxic breath hugging her skin, two hands firm on her shoulders.

“What the hell?” she asks, struggling to push him away.

“You don’t need a stupid card game to ask me what the voicemail said, so just ask me.”

Y/n stops her movements. Her puffy eyes stare up at desperation in its purest form. “Voicemail? But you . . . you remember calling me?” she asks, thinking back to their earlier conversation about his drunk antic. “You left me a voicemail?”

“Ask me what the voicemail said, y/n. And I’ll tell you.”

She’s at a loss for words. Her mind feels as though it cannot comprehend a single thing that swims through her eyes and ears. His face, so marvelously structured, the most beautiful face she’s seen. He’s so pretty and he’s so vulnerable to her, but she’s not sure if she wants him to be.

“What did the voicemail say, Harry?”

Her best friend huffs. This is the point of no return. “From what I can remember, it erm, it went something like, hey y/n...” 

“Hope you’re having a good time, wherever you are, not too sure, doesn’t really matter. I’m on a . . . I don’t know, a roof, sort of? A balcony, sorry, I’m safe, don’t worry. Um, I’m pretty drunk right now. Nick doesn’t know when to stop with the tequila shots. Anyways, yeah, I’m plastered. And on a balcony. And I’m looking at the stars, and the moon, wow, it’s like so bright. And I’m looking and I’m thinking where is y/n? Why isn’t she looking at the moon? Then I say to myself, oh, right, she’s not here. And I dunno, that sucks. It sucks when I realize that and it sucks that you didn’t pick up your phone.

I don’t know. This is just . . . ergh. I don’t know even know what ‘m saying anymore. I can’t think right now, all of this is coming off as word vomit, but I can’t think, but I’m still thinking. And I’m wondering why do I feel so sad that she’s not here? Then I tell myself, you stupid bloke, it’s cos’ you love her. And then I remember. Right, that’s right, I love her. I love you. In love with you, I mean, cos’ I’ve always loved you, even when you’re being annoying and even when you don’t pick up your phone.

...Ah, shit. I just . . . I just realized what I’ve done. Shit. That’s not good. If you can just . . . ignore that last part, please, I’d really owe you one. But um . . . I know I’m drunk, but the tequila is dissolving the gate in my brain and it’s letting all of this stuff out. So, the stuff’s been there, it’s just . . . yeah, it’s not cos’ I’m drunk. I’ve always wanted to kiss you and stuff. But, if you uh, if you listen to this, maybe we can talk about it. If you want. But if you don’t, then just, I don’t know. Ignore me, I guess. Pretend it never happened? Sounds good. Alright. Shit. Goodnight, lovie.”

Harry paraphrases his drunk rant as much as he can. He leaves out the pauses of hiccups and laughter, the um’s and erm’s, the spontaneous profanity. He recites to her the most important parts, she ones that she needs to hear. Or rather, the ones he needs her to hear. By the time that his revelation comes up, y/n already has hot tears streaming down her sensitive cheeks.

“So . . . it was you,” he says, bold enough to reach up and wipe away the tear that drips under her eye. His hand hovers over the side of her face, cupping her there soft and tender. “That was your question. I remembered everything I had done in the morning. I didn’t regret it, cos’ at least then I knew whether or not I was embarrassing enough to be in love with someone that didn’t see me the same way.” 

Harry bites his lip. For the longest time, he had reason to believe that she had rejected him. She had ignored something that she hadn’t even known she had been ignoring. Time is now incomprehensible. It feels to him like a Mardi Gras parade of flinging daggers, striking him from every different direction.

“I’m tired,” y/n says. In the most delicate way, she reaches into the space between them and pushes his arm away. The bubble that encloses their innocence for each other now shatters, shards of memories and confessions prickling the very air they breathe, suffocating their lungs until there is nothing more to suffer over.

He stands frozen. He watches her trudge away, inching farther and farther, and he knows that it will be over. Because of him, there is a possibility that even something as simple as friends is off the table.

“Stop walking away from me,” he demands. She hears the strain in his voice, the perfect crack that, if pushed any further, can temporarily damage his vocal cords. He’s tired. He needs rest; she doesn’t know what she needs, but of course, she puts him first. She puts his health over her own, his wellness over anyone else’s. He doesn’t want to leave, but he has to. He has reached the end of the sentence – the very period that no comma, no semicolon, no pause or break or continuation can ever overpower. 

“Goodnight, Harry,” she says, not bothering to wipe away the sorrow fallen on her cheeks. She can’t hear him – almost as if he doesn’t exist and never has. It is so easy to pretend, so that’s what she does. It makes the rest of her journey to her bedroom that much simpler; it also makes it that much harder to ignore the sound of her front door opening and closing, fumbling and locking, until a sonder silence snuggles next to her for the hours to come.

part two

[modestlyabsurd]

Nightmare (Loki x Reader)

"Foolish woman." The air remains silent, a terrible friend but the only listener. It's moments like these that no one witnesses. Moments he prefers make as few and short as possible so that he can convince himself they never happen at all. 

Pity. How he hated it. 

How dare he allow a mortal envoke such things! A mere speck of dust in the wind. Nothing. No one. Holding enough power to make him feel sorry for himself? Hah! 

Just one bit of weakness - one bit of softness, an act of kindness or two, and then here it is. Loki, left alone with the evanescent echo of the door slamming. Questioning what he could've done differently to lessen the impact. Stained by the betrayal twisting her face, and absolutely loathing how it twisted his heart into knots. 

Everything was fine without you.

His afflictions only burdened himself - albeit after 2012. Loki'd finally came to a place inside where he was comfortable; where no one else was haunted by the influence he had succumbed to and knew he'd be doomed by. Comfort enveloped him in a warm embrace for the first time in a very, very long time.

The people or Asgard were happy. Warriors were able to return home to their families after Loki, in disguise as Odin, made the executive decision as King to establish treaties with countries in which the ongoing wars were fruitless. Stemming from old scuffles that Odin, centuries before, picked irrational battles with. Nothing was to be gained now. The Asgardians were secure, satisfied, and open-minded to his refreshing ordinances. The poor were given employment and food. Economic balance was restored. And then, of course.

Thor comes in and throws Mjolnir through everything. One thing leads to another - Odin dies, a new hidden sibling is revealed, a mortal somehow passes through the Sorcerer's mystic portal and ends up in Sakaar with Loki.

His mind pulls to how you've kept him company during this bizarre situation. He nearly misses it; nearly.

In truth, if Loki were in less of a pit of shame, he would admit that you'd been more tolerable than he expected. Maybe even a bit humorous. But now as he stares from wall to wall, pacing, raking clenched fingers through his hair repeatedly, he's consumed by the thought of your fear.

Landing on a "foreign garbage planet", to quote your terminology, with little to no signs of returning home anytime soon took its effects on you. The constant look in your eyes; out of place, unknowing, on the brink of tears. How you jumped at anyone's touch. Your unsteady movements. Yet somehow you attempted to conceal this - for Loki's sake.

He noticed.

He noticed your fear, he even considered for a moment using it against you. To see what made you tick, to pick your brain. But he chose to ignore that mischievous instinct and instead he let you make your jokes, tell your stories, speak your mind. He let you feel important, by assuring you that he'd get you back home to earth, since that was the source of your fear all along.

Until the night before.

Resting seperately in the two rooms provided by the Grandmaster per Loki's kind request, he lay awake, not unlike any given night. The sounds of tipsy socializing muffled outside the door made it easy. He assumed you'd be asleep in the adjacent room connecting to his through a doorway, as mortals require so much rest so often.

He counts the imperfections on the ceiling above him, lit by a soft green glow emanating from his palm. He's growing dull.

And then, he hears the gasping.

The screams through gritted teeth. The rustling of blankets. The words. Muffled by the door in the corner of his room.

But he can hear exactly what you're saying. It's his own name. You're crying it, as well as the word "no", over and over.

His fists tighten upon hearing. Of all the time you've been on this planet and all the nights he's listened to your gentle snoring and padding around, this was the first time he's heard anything like this. He hadn't imagined what you sound like writhing in despair; nor had he anticipated how such a sound would unnerve him so.

He can hear you thrashing against the bed and sheets while straining your voice severely. It pains him as he relates to it. His own horrible terrors had only recently given him a break. Stiff as a stick, he lays in his bed, conflicted, wanting to help. Not knowing how to.

Painful, guttural roars. Whimpers. Asking why. Begging for it to stop. His name, repeated like a mantra.

Then it stops.

And the quiet is just as sharp as the crying terror.

Loki's heart dives into his abdomen somewhere. His eyes widen to the ceiling, now desperately wanting to hear something. All he can hear is his heart thumping against his sternum. No rustling of sheets, no snoring or even breathing.

The worst comes to mind; has your dream somehow taken you? Paralyzed with dread, Loki considers how he may have to muster up the nerve to enter your room to find you, gone. Impossible, unthinkable, unbearable -

... tap ... tap tap ... tap ...

He huffs out tension from his shoulders. Lips hanging open, inhaling relief. Thank the Nine, he thinks.

The door in the corner of the room clicks, then slowly, creaking softly, opens. A hand holds the knob tightly, as if it holds life itself. When Loki sees your head beginning to scan the room, he slams his eyes shut.

Your scattered, gentle footfalls hesitate. He hears your clothes rustling as the footfalls get closer and closer. Heavy, but gentle. He remains disguised as asleep.

When you near the bedside, Loki can sense your erratic breathing. A rustle next to his ear. He can almost see your hand reaching out to rouse him.

"There's this courteous thing called knocking."

You hiccup, jumping what felt like three feet off the floor. Your outstretched fingers curl into themselves, your hand still hovering above Loki's shoulder.

He could chuckle at your reaction. If only the circumstance weren't so dreadful.

"I -- I'm so sorry, I -- I didn't mean to wake you up -- I'm so, so sorry," you babble. As if your hands weren't already shaking; now your whole body is.

"I never said you woke me."

"Oh. Well, I just -- ah, right, sorry."

"There's no need to apologize. But there is a need, however," Loki grunts and sits up on his elbows, "to explain why you're in my chambers at such an hour."

You swallow. The pressure of tears goes down hard. You hadn't expected to feel so vulnerable, fidgeting with your hands for comfort. Although it is softly illuminated by flashing neon party lights through a window, you can't bring yourself to look him in the face. Of course, the obvious fact that his unclothed chest is only covered halfway by the blue sheets isn't helping matters either.

"I ah," an itch on your neck distracts you, "I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

Loki smiles one of those charming, know-it-all smiles. "The thought is appreciated. Other than the bit of stiffness in my neck, I'm quite well," he rolls his head. "Though, it isn't strong enough to bring my shoulders to my ears."

Huh. You hadn't felt that.

You sink even farther into your turtle shell underneath his observing eyes. The tension in your upper body was painful, but you were stuck its tight submission. You stare at your hands, still trembling from head to toe.

He notices.

"What truly brings you here?"

"Now that I've had a few minutes it seems really stupid," lights dot your vision as you press the heels of your hands into your eyes. "But I still don't wanna go back."

"Go back to where?"

"To bed."

He mulls over this. You're being irritatingly vague, but you're obviously scared of whatever you dreamt. How was he supposed to help in that case? Let you sleep in his bed with him?

...

Hm.

That actually doesn't sound too terrible.

Loki's pride kicks him for thinking that. He doesn't let anyone in his bed - not for this reason, at least.

He sighs dramatically, feigning discontent. "I sense a deeper reasoning behind this. If you won't tell me what that is, with all due respect, you're wasting my time."

Speaking is becoming more and more difficult, with your eyes stinging and your throat constricting under pressure. You shouldn't have bothered him. Of course he's okay; you're still on Sakaar, still alive, it was all just a dream.

A nightmare, really. The worst nightmare you've had in your entire life.

"I'm --" terrified of going back to sleep? Feeling things about you that I've never felt for anyone? Afraid for your life? " -- sorry for wasting your time. ... G'night, Loki."

You awkwardly turn away, hating the feeling of not knowing what to do with yourself. Loneliness washes over you; you'd figured maybe Loki would be of some help. Now you're not sure what you expected.

One step toward the door, two steps, and then a startled yelp.

A cold hand latched onto your wrist. Tight, almost tight enough to hurt.

"Tell me."

Those stone cold serious words were enough to break the dam.

Suddenly breath was unattainable. Tears flowed freely but silently. Loki watches your trembling lips. He loosens his grip and slides his hand from above your wrist to under your fingers, cradling them. From an angry man's grasp to a loving mother's hold.

He gently tugs your arm closer, swinging his legs off the bedside and urging you to sit.

"Tell me," he murmurs, squeezing your hand.

"I had a nightmare. A horrible, horrible nightmare. I don't even know if I should speak what happened ..." you shake your head quickly, but soon begin revelling in the comfort of Loki's thumb brushing your knuckles.

"If you don't, it could consume you."

"I know," you sigh. "A giant, purple Hulk-sized person was taking over the world," a dry laugh escapes you as you hear how ridiculous it sounds when put into words. "So scary, right? Well, him and his crew of gross, disfigured people came - I'm not sure where it was, but people's bodies we're everywhere. It was like a massacre, and I was restricted or something because I couldn't do anything to help -- and then, and then -- " you breathe. It hurts to.

Loki is on edge. His hold on your hand is getting tighter. He'd squeeze anything right now he was so nervous. He knows, he knows exactly what is happening. 

"And then ... he murdered you. Right in front of me." your voice is scratched from tears. "He suffocated you and ... then he snapped your -- "

"Enough!" He snatches himself away from you.

Your crying immediately pauses. It's replaced with shock.

"I -- I'm sorry, I shouldn't have -- "

"Stop!"

He's now all the way across the unlit room. As far away from you as possible. His face had gone mad, his bare muscles rippling under his skin. His eyes are wild, horrifying -- horrified. Because your dream wasn't just any dream.

It was a prophecy.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?!" 

"I didn't mean to upset you, Loki -- "

"You know, I knew this was a mistake. Protecting you. Leading you here to safety. Speaking for you to these people?!"

Caring about you.

"I should've left you in the waste pile."

No matter how much anger or anxiety he was feeling, he was filled with regret as soon as he made that statement. He didn't mean it. But that's how he's always dealt with problems that affect the ones he cares about. It's been so long since such things have confronted him that now, he knew not how to handle it.

So what does the God of Mischief and Lies do? He lies.

Only he's used to his lashings being taken by the thickened skins of his people. Those who have always dealt with his temperament and know the source of his actions. He hadn't considered how the cruel defense mechanism he uses would hurt you.

Half-heartedly, Loki expected you to feel for him. As others have done.

But you didn't.

Every ounce of fear, every trace of being threatened, every bit of weakness was gone. No, you weren't crying like a child now. Now, they were tears of red, bitter betrayal.

You feel like you're floating. Your face became hot. Filled with angry blood pressure. It clouded your mind -- you find it hard to compile words, to choose whether to stay quiet and leave, or give him all you've got and knock his goose loose.

"I didn't make any of this happen, none of this is my fault! I didn't ask to be stuck here with you! What have I done? I've been nothing but good to you! So you can go fuck yourself -- while you still have time, by the looks of it."

"Leave," he says, gathering up his emotions to try and sound cold, but it comes out in pathetically broken.

He feels the chill of air on his chest as you wisk by him to the door. Bitter. Uncomfortable.

"That's fine," you face the door, not willing him a last look. "You've got some shit coming. I saw it. If you can drop something that quick, so can I. I never want to see you again."

Slam.

That's what he's left with. Along with the knowledge of what is to come from the mad titan. He knows what he's done. It was deliberate. He'd already let you in too far, so much that your life could be in danger.

Severing all feelings to save you. That was his only hope and there was a problem with that.

He still cares.

~

tag list: @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @afinedilemma @fire-in-her-veinz

[benjaminwilliamsonphoto]

Best Places to Photograph in Maine - Coast

How to Use this Guide:

The goal of this post is to get you started on your journey of discovery on the coast of Maine. I’ve done my best to lay out some of the most inspiring and beautiful places to make photographs. These are proven winners, so to speak. If you haven’t seen them before, you will revel in visual impact of these locations. That said, I hope that you go beyond this list and find your own favorite places and create new and exciting images that haven’t been done before. Thankfully in outdoor scenic photography, changing weather conditions provide changing opportunities to capture familiar places in a new light. And, before you copy that composition that you saw someone else do, take a look around and consider how you might see things differently. Go beyond the obvious. Remember, there is much more than just checking off icons. Explore, drive aimlessly, look around on Google Maps, surf the web for interesting places and find out where they are. That’s where the real fun for me is, the feeling of discovery and the creation of something that hasn’t been done before. So, show us what you are interested in and how you see the world.

     1. Nubble - 

The Cape Neddick Light, also known as Nubble, is a can’t miss location for several reasons. The lighthouse sits at the peak of a rocky island just a few yards offshore. The tower is connected by a covered walkway to a beautiful gingerbread-style keeper’s house, with several outbuildings neatly arranged around it. These just happen to be painted a photographer’s favorite colors, red and white. The very exposed location means it is subject to the extremes of light and weather. Most photographers like to visit at sunrise, because facing east, the sky is likely to be more interesting. That said, I’ve seen many compelling images of Nubble taken at sunset, as direct light falls on the lighthouse and island. The accessibility of this location makes it very popular, but also a great opportunity for folks with limited mobility and for photographers who don’t want to have to hike for miles. The view from the parking lot is great! If you are a bit more adventurous, I suggest you photograph this lighthouse from the rocks below the parking lot and include some wave action in your foreground. Just be careful because the ocean isn’t something you should mess around with. Always be aware of the water and remember no photo is worth hurting yourself, or even worse, your gear!

Photo Tips: I recommend using a wide-angle lens here, something in the 24mm range on a full frame camera. That way you can craft a classic landscape composition with interesting rocks and crashing waves in your foreground, the island and lighthouse in the mid-ground, and hopefully a beautiful sky in the background. At super wide angles the lighthouse appears too small in the frame, so I usually stay away from anything smaller than 16mm. For this same reason, I find the mid-ranges of 35-70mm to be useful, as you can set up further away and pull in the lighthouse a bit for more “normal” perspective. Those interested in just showing the arrangement of buildings should use a telephoto lens.  

Best Times of Day: Sunrise, Pre-Sunset, Blue Hours

Best Times of Year: Year-Round

Tides: Mid to High

Access: Easy

Other Notes: Nubble has become a go-to destination to capture a dramatic moonrise. This is done with a long telephoto lens, usually 400mm or more, from Long Sands Beach, between November and February, as the angle of moonrise is farther to the north. Also, round the Christmas season, and also during a “Christmas in July” celebration, the structures are decorated with lights, making a beautiful photo op at twilight or after dark.

     2. Marginal Way Ogunquit - 

Marginal Way in Ogunquit is one of the most popular places in Maine to take a walk along the ocean. The trails are well maintained and the grade is gentle, providing an easy way to enjoy the jagged rocks of the Maine coast. More adventurous landscape photographers tend to shrug their shoulders at the idea of making images here, but it should not be ignored. If you like to create seascapes, I think Marginal Way is possibly the best location in Southern Maine to practice this. Sure, there are great rocks down the road at Bald Head Cliff in York, Ocean Ave. in Kennebunkport, and at the tip of Biddeford Pool, but Marginal Way has the best combination of rock formations, sandy and rocky beaches, angles of light, and accessibility. I really like the beaches to the left of Israel’s Head. There are many rocks embedded in the sand here that create great foreground interest as the waves lap over them. To the right of Israel’s Head are a more uniform expanse of jagged rocks. Of special interest is a large chasm that marks the edge of the head to the southeast. There is a bit of elevation at points along the walking path, but if you stand too far back from the water, the foreground can be far too busy, without discernible lines and shapes, to be of much use. I recommend getting close to the water’s edge where you can get a simpler, more dynamic image. 

Photo Tips: A wide-angle lens is my go-to for capturing waves crashing over rocks in my foreground along with a great sky. Try varying your shutter speed from anywhere from 1/15 second to 5 seconds to show the motion of water in your image. A ND filter can help you achieve these results as the light gets brighter. 

Best Times of Day: Sunrise

Best Times of Year: Summer

Tides: Mid to High

Access: Easy at sunrise, restricted by a large number of tourists creating very limited parking in season during the day and evening

Other Notes: Like most of our coastal locations, this spot can be much more interesting in high surf. As for parking, I like to park on Israel Head Road by the small concrete “lighthouse”. This probably isn’t an option any time after 9 AM, especially in the summer, but again, my preferred time to be here is at sunrise, not when everyone else is here! 

     3. Cape Porpoise - 

Seemingly just in the last year or so, Cape Porpoise has been discovered by photographers. What is everyone coming for? An authentic working harbor almost smack-dab in the middle of the crazy tourist nonsense that is the south coast of Maine. Standing on the pier at sunrise or sunset, I rarely come across anyone other than fishermen. From there you can see Goat Island Lighthouse, lobster boats and dinghies, and often, piles of lobster traps stacked around you. The big photographic attraction these days, though, is across the harbor at the brand-new, made to look historic, fishing shed on stilts near Langsford Road Lobster & Fish. There has been a steady stream of New England photographers all getting their take on this subject, and it’s easy to see why. The best time to capture this is at high tide in the winter, when the sun rises behind it, hopefully with still water so you can get a great reflection. Parking might be a challenge here, and there might be a time when locals tell us to buzz off, but in the meantime, I think this area has a lot to offer the photographer looking for great scenery in Southern Maine. 

Photo Tips: I use the full range of lenses in Cape Porpoise, a wide-angle to capture the sunrise behind the shack, a medium lens to juxtapose boats in the harbor with distinctive buildings, and a long lens to pull in Goat Island Lighthouse. If you are looking for inspiration here, Bob Dennis is a great local photographer who has many beautiful images from this neighborhood. Find him at www.kportimages.com. 

Best Times of Day: Sunrise

Best Times of Year: Fall and Winter

Tides: High

Access: Somewhat Restricted

Other Notes: Please be mindful of both private property and folks trying to live and work. Don’t be a jerk and make the rest of us look bad and lose access to this wonderful place. 

     4. Old Orchard Beach Pier -

Old Orchard Beach is a tourist trap during the day, but during the golden hours and bad weather, it’s one of the best photo opportunities in Maine. The long pier loaded with tacky businesses jutting out into the ocean is an easy-to-capture subject in an extremely easy-to-reach location. Sometimes I think the easiness can be misleading, and we relax our creative muscles when approaching it. I like to see photographs that capture something different, and this can certainly be a challenge. Sunrise at high tide can seem like the most flattering time to capture the pier, but actually, low-tide sunsets have provided the best images I’ve seen. That’s because the muddy sand takes on a glossy sheen at low tide that reflects the pier and ferris wheel at the adjacent Palace Playland amusement park. The angle is not looking out to sea, but instead, looking back at the land from out beyond the pier. There are also opportunities to capture large waves, sea smoke, and other visual delights on this stretch of sandy beach. Be creative! 

Photo Tips: Try going from a wide-angle to a telephoto lens, slap on a ND filter on for long exposures, walk up and down the beach, get low and get high. One popular way to capture the pier is to shoot the sun through the pilings at sunrise in the winter. You can also find patterns in the sand at times, and the shadows from the pilings at sunrise make a great foreground. 

Best Times of Day: Sunrise year-round and Sunset in the off-season

Best Times of Year: Year-Round

Tides: Low to High

Access: Easy at sunrise, restricted by a large number of tourists creating very limited parking in season during the day and evening

Other Notes: Hot summer day? Stay Away!

     5. Portland Head Light - 

This place deserves every superlative and more. I simply cannot think of a better location to make a landscape photo in Maine if I could only pick one. The generally east-facing shoreline makes this a sunrise location. I’m not a fan of sunsets from this location, as it falls into shadow long before, but you could prove me wrong and capture a great sunset here. Just be aware that they start asking folks to leave the park then, and sometimes you might be kicked out just as things are getting good! My favorite time to capture PHL is when the sun’s first rays are hitting the landscape. There is an obvious photo op from behind the fence to the right of the lighthouse looking out to sea. With a strong c-curve and a well balanced composition with the lighthouse placed at the intersection at the left and upper third, this is a no-brainer great shot, but I advise you to do more. They’ve been kind enough to install a gate to allow people who like to climb around on the rocks to go explore. That’s where I like to be these days, looking for leading lines in the rocks above and getting down close to the waves, as well. On the other side of the light, to the north, you can walk out on a high cliff and capture a beautifully backlit scene during winter sunrises, or get directional light from the northeast on the cliffs and buildings in summer. You can also walk further up the path and down onto beautifully rounded cobbles that make a fantastic foreground for those willing to risk falling on the extremely slippery stones. I visit at all times of year, but I must admit that winter is my favorite for the drama, and the fact that I can usually have it all to myself.

Photo Tips: I use all of my lenses here, but most often a wide-angle. In the spring there are beach roses that make a great foreground subject, and at all times of the year you have great rocks and hopefully some wave action to create interest in your images. Don’t forget to look out to sea and see Ram Island Ledge Light, which makes an especially great subject to capture with a full moon and also large waves during an ocean storm! 

Best Times of Day: Sunrise

Best Times of Year: Year-Round 

Tides: Low to High

Access: Easy, although be aware that the gate can be locked before 5 AM and you will be ushered out of the park at sunset. 

Other Notes: A lot of folks worry about getting into the park early. In my experience, the Cape Elizabeth police usually open the gates around 5AM, which is fine every month of the year except June and July, when the sunrise time is extremely early and the gate can sometimes be closed.

     6. Portland Waterfront - 

Portland’s waterfront can be an absolute playground for photographers. You just can’t think of it as a pure landscape photo-op. This is gritty, working waterfront, with dirty boats, dilapidated sheds, concrete piers and wooden pilings, and these days, fancy yachts, restaurants, offices, condominiums, and a gleaming cruise ship terminal. These contrasts are what makes it interesting. Portland has become a hotspot for travelers and especially foodies, but it remains only lightly touched by photographers. That means you can and should explore the wharves and search for your own unique compositions, unaware of any preconceived notions. My favorite areas to look are behind Harbor Fish Market, Widgery Wharf, and at the end of the Portland Fish Pier. The waterfront really extends all the way around Portland Harbor to South Portland, and there are great views looking back at the city from that side. While you’re at it, you might as well head down to Bug Light, an awesome sunset and sunrise location. If you make it there, you might as well continue on to Spring Point Ledge Light, one of the most impressive sea smoke photo opportunities in the world with that great leading line of the breakwater. Is that still the Portland waterfront? I think so. 

Photo Tips: There are a lot of opportunities for detail shots here, so photographers who aren’t just into grand landscapes will go nuts. Bring a mid-range lens and a telephoto to take advantage of these smaller scenes, and think about what kind of stories you want to tell. This place really shines in the fog, and overcast days are just fine, too. I like to shoot across the harbor looking back at the city during the blue hour, and also look for the full moon lined up with one of the spires with a telephoto lens. 

Best Times of Day: Any

Best Times of Year: Year-Round

Access: Mostly Easy, some of the wharves are restricted, and parking can be a challenge in during the day and evenings in season

Tides: Low to High

Other Notes: I love stopping at Becky’s Diner after a sunrise shoot for breakfast. 

     7. Lookout Point -

A hidden gem for the most part, Lookout Point in Harpswell offers two great delights for photographers, a working lobster pier and two picturesque islands sitting just offshore. This allows you to capture either a pure landscape, or, as I like to do, show something of the culture that makes this part of the world unique. Along with Marshall Point and Bass Harbor Head Light, this is one of the finest sunset locations in the state. The shoreline faces generally west, with a big open bay and more islands offshore. There is a great opportunity to see the progression of the sunset from northwest in the summer to the southwest in the winter. It really is eye-opening to how photo opportunities change with the seasons. I love watching storms roll in here, and I’ve caught some awesome lightning bolts from the safety of my hatchback. Don’t be afraid to walk out on the pier, the owner Albert is a nice guy and loves sharing the beauty he enjoys on a regular basis. 

Photo Tips: I usually shoot into the light at sunset here, focusing on silhouettes of the islands, hopefully with great reflections at high tides. Another way to approach this scene is to shoot side-light on the lobster fleet parked to the south. This is also a great location to shoot in the fog. I find the wide-angle range to be very effective looking at the islands to the northwest from the pier, but I like to zoom in a little tighter when I’m shooting from the parking lot or the pier looking southwest. 

Best Times of Day: Sunset

Best Times of Year: Year-Round

Access: Easy

Tides: Mid to High

Other Notes: On the other side of the parking lot, you can sometimes find a dory filled with fishing nets that makes a wonderful photo opportunity. I hope it is still there when you read this.

     8. Five Islands - 

Maine has many wonderful fishing harbors. It’s hard to single out just a few, because they are all special. What sets Five Islands a notch above are the namesake islands sitting just offshore. These provide a dramatic setting for a working harbor filled lobster boats, the town wharf, and a popular local seafood shack. I rarely visit in the summer when this place can be very busy, but even when I have, I usually have it to myself at sunrise. In the summer you’ll see a few sailboats and pleasure craft among the work boats, but they don’t really detract from the sense of place. A red cottage sits at the end of Malden Island, and this has been incorporated into many of my favorite compositions from here. There is also a yellow cottage sitting on a cliff to the right when you come down the hill, another great subject. 

Photo Tips: Putting together a strong image can be a challenge here. Most of the time, boats are my main subject, and I build the image around them. A wide-angle lens is a good place to start, but a mid-range lens will be effective just as often. Walk around to get a feel for the place, and notice any dinghies or skiffs that are pulled up to the wharf that might make a good foreground. The buildings are quite unique here, and I love incorporating them in my images, or making them the focus entirely. 

Best Times of Day: Sunrise

Best Times of Year: Year-Round

Tides: Low to High

Access: Easy

Other Notes: The seafood shack is a great place to grab lunch if you find yourself there on a sunny summer day. 

      9. Pemaquid Point Light - 

A true gem of Maine, Pemaquid Point has some of the most interesting coastline in the state, and a picturesque lighthouse with sweeping ocean views from the northeast to the southwest. Down East Magazine calls it the #1 lighthouse in the state. It was also chosen to represent Maine on our state quarter. Surely that’s enough to recommend this awesome location. I like coming at sunrise, but I’ve seen good images made at all times of the day and night. Of course, during the day in the summer, you will have to clone out hundreds of people from your images, so it’s best to come either very early, very late, or in the off-season. The best angles are from the rocks and rosa rugosa bushes down to the left when you walk from the parking lot, and of course from the incredible striated rocks to the right. The famous puddle reflection will beckon you, and you should listen and go ahead and take it. It’s cliched for a reason, the composition is really cool. But please, look around and make your own images, there’s still a lot to work with!

Photo Tips: A 24mm lens on a full frame camera or 18mm on a crop sensor will gather the majority of your major scenics here, but there is so much more than just the big views. I love making graphic compositions with the bell tower, the chimneys, the fence and lighthouse tower, the windows, etc. Try to include the ocean in your photo, which can be a real challenge here. Photograph the rocks by themselves and look for interesting abstracts. 

Best Times of Day: Sunrise, Any Time

Best Times of Year: Year-Round

Tides: Low to High

Access: Easy (fee during the day)

Other Notes: Pemaquid is extremely dangerous when the surf is high. The rocks are terribly slippery, and there is really no way to get back to shore without getting pummelled against them. 

     10. Monhegan Island - 

While well-known among painters for centuries, Monhegan has been generally overlooked by serious photographers. Maybe that’s because it requires a little effort to get out here. You need to take a ferry to this small island that’s ten miles from the mainland. The island itself if barely a square mile, and when you walk around you feel like you are going back in time. There are less than 70 year-round residents, and no cars. You definitely want to stay overnight if you can to take advantage of the golden hours here, and the relaxed pace, perfect for art-making. Over half of the island is a nature preserve, and if quaint New England fishing villages aren’t your scene, there are 150-foot cliffs on the back side of the island. These are the tallest cliffs on the eastern seaboard of the U.S.! The wooded paths are beautiful, and perfect for photographing on foggy or overcast days. The village itself is a dream for photographers like me who revel in culture as well as natural beauty, with spots such as Fish Beach and the Landing holding all kinds of potential. There is also a shipwreck on the south side of the island, a large rusted hulk of metal splayed out on the rocks. The best location on the island has to be lighthouse hill. The view from the top is stunning. You are looking down on the entire village and also Manana Island, and behind you is a beautiful 19th-century lighthouse with the classic New England architecture of a main house with sheds and covered walkways added on throughout the years, creating a beautiful jumble of boxed shapes and lines. 

Photo Tips: The backside cliffs can be challenging to capture, and I think midday light is sometimes better than the deep shadows of the sunrise, especially in the summer. There are many, many opportunities for detail shots here. I particularly like the hand-painted signs you see everywhere. At sunset, the best places to be are at the lighthouse, fish beach, and the landing. Be sure to turn around and notice what the light is doing around you. Many times that will be more interesting than the sunset itself.

Best Times of Day: All Day

Best Times of Year: Spring and Fall

Tides: Low to High

Access: Difficult 

Other Notes: Ferries leave from Port Clyde, New Harbor, and Boothbay Harbor. There are 3 Inns on the Island, and I like them all. Monhegan Brewing Company is a must-visit, even if you don’t like beer. I’ve seen two people who have never liked beer sit and enjoy one here, and it’s a great opportunity to meet other folks who live on or visit the island. It really is an amazing place.

     11. Marshall Point Light - 

Sunset locations in Maine can be hard to come by. Most of our shoreline faces east, in the direction of the rising sun. There are a few exceptions to this, however, and Marshall Point in Port Clyde is one of the most notable. The walkway is the defining feature of this lighthouse, and the keepers house is also particularly beautiful. In the summer it can be crowded at sunset, and more than once I’ve seen wedding parties here, crowding the walkway for the majority of the time. I like to visit in the fall and winter, as the walkway points more to the southwest, so you get a better angle on any potential sunsets anyways. In addition to the obvious down-the-walkway image, there are opportunities to photograph through the pillars on the porch, behind wildflowers on the shore, and the rocks all around the lighthouse. I’ve seen one or two stunning puddle reflection shots here, too. 

Photo Tips: A medium range lens is your friend at Marshall Point. I find that a wide-angle lens makes the lighthouse appear too small in my images. Try stitching a panorama of the view from the rocks far over to the left. More adventurous souls can walk out onto the rocks and get dramatic impressions looking at the tower from underneath. 

Best Times of Day: Sunset

Best Times of Year: Fall and Winter

Tides: Mid to High

Access: Easy, closed after sunset

Other Notes: This used to be a wonderful place to capture the milky way at night, but since they replaced the lantern with an led light, it just doesn’t look as good. They are also shoo-ing photographers out after sunset, from what I hear.

     12. Boulder Beach - 

There are a few of what I would classically beautiful, pure landscape photo opportunities in Maine. This is one of them. The wonderfully rounded boulders that give this location its name make a perfect foreground for a sweeping c-curve that brings you to a focal point of the wonderful Otter Cliffs and then into what is hopefully a beautiful sky. The angle of light is from the side year-round, but in the winter you are much more likely to get colorful clouds in the field of view. The trick here is to carefully compose around the most picturesque boulders. Most of these are found above the high tide line, but there are a few at and below this line that can be captured with waves crashing against them. I think both of these options work. 

Photo Tips: A wide-angle lens can seem like the obvious option here, but again, the background just looks too far away at 14-18mm. I like to stay in the 24-50mm range, and keep Otter Cliffs looking impressive. 

Best Times of Day: Sunrise

Best Times of Year: Fall and Winter

Tides: High

Access: Somewhat challenging due to very slippery stones and a steep climb down an embankment. 

Other Notes: This is a great location to capture the milky way. The best time of year to do this is in March and April, when it rises right in the most optimal position above the beach. It will likely be bitterly cold, and maybe even snowy, but you will love the results. 

     13. Jordan Pond - 

Wait, you say, this isn’t a coastal location! While not on the ocean, I’m considering Jordan Pond a coastal location based on the fact that it sits a little more than a mile from the sea in the middle of what is considered the finest coastal national park in the United States. Acadia has many popular spots that are totally overrun with tourists and selfie-takers, this being one of them. While this is true during the day, don’t let that deter you from visiting at sunrise or sunset. Even at the height of the summer season, you can find a spot to set up on the shoreline and have some peace and quiet, along with about 1,000 mosquitoes and a couple of other photographers. The form of the two hills rising behind the pond is very attractive. Why it is so attractive, I can’t be sure. I think it has something to do with them resembling certain parts of the human anatomy. Anyways, I digress. 

Photo Tips: You can go for the obvious composition by placing rocks in your foreground, the pond in the mid-ground, and hills in the background, but you can also incorporate attractive trees, some mysterious underwater pilings, and water streaming through the rocks to take your composition to the next level. A wide-angle lens works here, but also try exploring opportunities in the mid-range, as well. 

Best Times of Day: Sunset

Best Times of Year: Year-Round, more backlit in summer

Tides: N/A

Access: Easy

Other Notes: If you happen to be in Maine when there is the opportunity to see the northern lights, or aurora borealis, this is the place to be. The north view across the pond with the two hills makes the perfect photo opportunity. 

     14. Bass Harbor Head Light - 

I almost left this location off the list. Why? Because it is insanely frustrating to shoot here most of the time. There is really only room for a few people to set up tripods in the most optimal spots, and even then you aren’t guaranteed that someone won’t simply walk in front of you when the light is going off. Parking can be a nightmare. The only option in the summer is to arrive hours before sunset and claim your spot, and then wait. A much better plan is to come back in the off-season, when the light is actually better, anyways. That’s because the shoreline here faces south, and in the summer the sun sets behind the lighthouse and land to the north. A much more flattering set up happens in the fall and winter when the sun sets to the south out over the water, and can cast wonderful golden light on the landscape. Did I mention that there are too many people here in the summer?

Photo Tips: A wide-angle lens makes the most sense here because you are literally feet away from the lighthouse. Although the optimal position is right below the light, on the shoreline with waves crashing at your feet, you can get good images a little further up on the rocks, too. I’ve seen lobster traps washed up here that make a great foreground, and sometimes you can get a nice shot looking at the lighthouse framed by trees, as well. 

Best Times of Day: Sunset

Best Times of Year: Fall and Winter

Tides: High

Access: Challenging due to crowds and treacherous footing on slippery granite. 

Other Notes: This might be a good time to brush up on photographer etiquette. At no time is it OK to set up in front of someone who is already there and set up for their shot. 

      15. Raven’s Nest - 

Another pure landscape location, with no sign of the hand of man, Raven’s Nest is a dramatic perch on tall cliffs looking west on the Schoodic Peninsula. This used to be a very hard-to-find spot, although now it has been marked on Google Maps. There is only room for a few cars to park here, so arrive early and claim your spot. The cliffs are very dramatic, and you’ll see great views to the south and west here. There is a spot you can wedge yourself underneath the trees and point through a chasm that nicely frames the cliffs to the south. If you find that too treacherous, the views to the right looking back at MDI and Cadillac Mountain are great, too. 

Photo Tips: One of the better night locations in New England, Raven’s Nest is a great place to practice Milky Way photography. I’ve been lucky enough to capture bioluminescence in the water here, one of the coolest experiences I’ve ever had. Use a wide-angle lens to accentuate the drama, and time your visit with high surf if you can. The basic setting to capture the night sky are as follows: Use your fastest wide angle lens, hopefully f/2.8 or better. Open it up to the widest aperture. Focus manually on the brightest star or distant point of light you can find. Set your shutter speed from 10-30 seconds. Set your ISO from 3200-6400. Check your histogram to insure that you are getting the proper exposure, remembering that the lcd can be deceptively bright at night. 

Best Times of Day: Sunset and Night

Best Times of Year: Summer

Tides: High

Access: Challenging due to limited parking and unstable footing at the edge of very high cliffs. 

Other Notes: My friend Adam Woodworth is a world-renowned expert on landscape astrophotography. Download his free e-book to learn more about the subject by clicking on this link: Adam’s E-Book 

     16. West Quoddy Head Light - 

It is fitting that the last item on this list happens to be the easternmost point in Maine, and also the country. West Quoddy Head is a spectacular location. The light tower has very distinctive red and white stripes, and there are expansive views of the ocean, a prominent rock just offshore called sail rock, and the impressive cliffs of Grand Manan Island, which is part of Canada. I like to walk all around here, and not just around the lighthouse. 

Photo Tips: A wide-angle lens usually makes the most sense when you are underneath and very close to the lighthouse. The most obvious composition utilizes some wooden fence posts to the left of the lighthouse, which require you to walk through a field full of, no joke, porcupines. You can also get nice views from right around the light at sunrise. 

Best Times of Day: Sunrise or Sunset

Best Times of Year: Year-Round

Tides: Low to High

Access: Easy, but it takes a long drive for most of us to get here

Other Notes: There’s more to explore here. A fantastic walking path to the right of the lighthouse goes along the shore with views of and from very impressive cliffs. The forest here looks positively primeval and can be a great subject as well. 

Runners-Up (to be featured in another blog post): Bald Head Cliff, Biddeford Pool, Pine Point, Willard Beach, Spring Point Ledge Light, Giant Stairs, Popham Beach, Reid State Park, Southport, New Harbor, South Bristol, Friendship, Port Clyde, Camden Harbor, Vinalhaven, Stonington, Thunder Hole, Sand Beach, Cutler Coast, Lubec

I hope you’ve found this list useful. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to reach out. I offer tours and workshops to many of these locations, and I also have galleries with more images to inspire your visit. Please visit www.benjaminwilliamsonphotography.com to find out more. 

[fenrys-moonbae]

Lily of the Night--Chapter 2: What Has Become

Dim evening sunlight peered through the glassless windows and scattered across the floor of the gray wooden shack in lazy rays. The golden light glazed over the old splintered wooden benches and rusted metal tools, carelessly strewn about, coating the entire room in a muted golden sheen. A young woman sat just beyond the rays in the shadow, her hands working quickly with pieces of twine before her.

A grunt echoed from a large man sitting against the wall adjacent to her.

“That’s not how ye throw a net you goon,” a reel of rope came flying at the young woman’s head, which she artfully dodged her eyes fixed on the net she had spent an hour straightening and carefully knotting, “Yer never gonna learn girl.” The smile was easily heard in the man’s voice, his yellowed teeth peaking from behind a broad mustache and unkept beard. The young woman clicked her tongue in response, her nimble fingers pulling and weaving the rope of the net with expertise, she had to get this finished as quickly as possible. “Is there anything else you’d like to add before you leave Adder?” She called from her kneeled position, her silken hair tied in a tight braid that she absentmindedly adjusted and tossed over a shoulder.

A snort. “That’ll be it for the day.” The large man lifted himself from his seated position, the wet squelch of his boots echoing in the room as he stood, “though I’d suggest yer workin too hard and should git home to check on that sister of yers, but yer foolish head’ll never listen to a wise old man.” This time a snort from the woman.

“Duly noted.” A dismissal.  Adder shook his head, rolling his large shoulders beneath his faded grey parka.

“Ye know the ole boss isn’t gonna care if ya leave before the sun goes down,” the man stated, his burly arms crossing over his chest, “I’ve been here nearly thirty years and he hasn’t fired me.”

“Miraculously,” The girl replied nonchalantly, her fingers tying up the last of the knots in the net, keep it even, keep it tight--“and unfortunately some of us can’t afford to lose the job. There.” Tying the final knot the young woman held up the net to Adder, showing off her handy work.

“Well?” She questioned, her large violet eyes raising and glancing towards the tall old man almost expectantly. Adder had been the one to teach her how to tie a net, he had also been the person to tell her when she was screwing up one.

“Perfect as always Miss Celeste,” Adder replied with a chuckle, his broad mouth breaking out into a smile, “though if ya don’t mind me saying you’d be better suited for a bride with that pretty face of yers.”

Celeste scowled and rolled her eyes before narrowing them towards the man, “Does your idiocy know no bounds?”

A chuckle.

“Guess not,” Adder watched as Celeste rolled up the net with expert hands and stuffed it into a burlap satchel filled with countless other nets, “just figured a pretty young woman such as yerself might want to eventually leave this hell hole of a fisherman’s life.”

“Are you offering me a proposition?” Celeste quipped a small smile tugging at the edge of her lips, her equally soaked boots squishing as she strode across the shed burlap sack in hand, the smell of fish and the sea an onslaught against her nose. The golden rays of the sun had dissipated from the room leaving the old shack feeling hollow.

“Mother above no,” Adder said with a breathy laugh, “Ye know how mad Martha’d be? I’d be dead before the idea even left my head.” Celeste chuckled in response as she shoved the satchel of nets onto the top shelf of an old rickety cabinet. Running the sleeve of her shirt across her forehead she wiped away the damp condensation from the humid room. Hopping down from her perch she used to reach the high shelf she began rummaging through another bin, one filled with tackle and line. She only had one more net she had to finish before she could be on her way for the evening. “Your wife is a fool for not disposing of you,” Celeste replied as she dug around in the bin, her voice slightly muffled from inside the container, “She could find herself a nice young merchant man. Easier on the eyes and exponentially easier on the nose.”

A cackle escaped Adder’s lips as he shook head in agreement. “You’re mighty correct about that one.”

“Of course I’m right.” Straightening from the bin Celeste pulled out several long pieces of twine, she inspected their length and strength, “Speaking of your lovely wife,” Celeste drew, making her way back to her position in the corner of the shack twine in hand, “shouldn’t you be headed home? You’ve been stalling leaving for the last hour and a half.”

Adder looked sheepish at that and turned to face the window, the wood around it swollen and warped from years of exposure to the humidity. “Well I was hopin ye’d get out of here at a decent hour there isn’t much sunlight left to work by….” Adder’s voice trailed off his crinkled eyes focused on the distance.  Turning he faced Celeste once more, “How’s that momma of yer’s doing?” Celeste’s hands paused briefly at the question catching her off guard. Swallowing hard she slowly she went back to work. “She’s…..still here.” Her voice was strained as she answered, her posture going ridged. Why would Adder want to talk about this of all things?

“Martha said she saw ye and Miss Anelisse headed to the apothecary few nights ago,” Adder ran an idle hand through his grey beard, “lady drives a mighty hard bargain since she’s the closest thing we’ve got to a healer for a hundred miles.”

“She needed the medicine,” Celeste murmured, her voice having gone soft, “what choice do we have but to the pay the price.”

“You’ve got none,” Adder replied, watching the girl work with soft eyes, her hands moving slower this time, “that lady doesn’t deserve either of ye girls.”

“Mind your business,” Celeste replied sharply as she quickly readjusted her braid again her eyes shooting daggers at the old man, “we do what we have to do.” His hands rose in surrender.

Walking towards Celeste Adder looked down at the young woman as she worked, her thin bony frame evident beneath the tattered white shirt and black pants she wore, her spine peeking through. How long had it been since she’d eaten adequately? Everyone at the fisherman’s reef took home fish in the evening, enough to feed two people if you stretched it but not three and Adder knew full well who got most of that food.

“Yer gonna turn into dust one of these days if ye don’t put some meat on those bones,” rummaging in his pocket Adder pulled out a small leather satchel, “here ya goon, a present from me’n Martha.”

Celeste looked up confusion on her face as she took in the kind old man she worked with dangling a leather satchel above her head.

“What’s that?” Celeste asked suspiciously as the old man shoved the satchel into her hands and folded them around it. “A gift.” Uncertainty filled Celeste as she carefully opened up the pouch and felt her jaw slacken, “Adder,” she said almost breathlessly, “I will not—“

“Yes, ye will,” Adder said, shoving the satchel back at the young woman, “You and yer kind are barely hanging on and yer the only one floating yer bunch. Take it and don’t argue girl, you wouldn’t wanna piss off Martha.”

Resilience flashed across Celeste’s eyes, she knew how desperately they needed the money but to take it from Adder-“But your trip to the main land-“

“Can wait,” Adder replied, “It won’t take long to rebuild it up again, Martha will get to see her fields of flowers.” It was decided. Celeste felt her shoulders slacken, even for all of her hard work it never seemed to be enough. She hated handouts and favors.

“Don’t go lookin so sad ye goon,” Adder said, his hand patting the young woman on the head, “The ole boss man doesn’t pay ye near what he pays the rest of us. Ye work harder than the lot of us combined. So take that there and go get yerself some food and new boots,” A glance towards the old worn leather boots, too small and fraying at the edges, “and for the life of ye don’t tell that momma of yers.”

“Thank you, Adder,” Celeste bowed her head in thanks before pocketing the money, with that she’d be able to get Anelisse a new pair of boots as well, “Someday I will pay you back every copper you and Martha have given us.”

“I know girl,” Adder smiled at the girl before stretching his arms above his head, “but until then take care of yerself,” Adder finally turned to exit the old shack, his accented voice calling back to her “You want me to walk you home?”

“No,” Celeste replied, her hands having dropped the twine, she could finish the net in the morning, “I can manage myself. Thank you.”

Another snort. “Stubborn girl,” Adder pulled at the old wooden door, its hinges creaking and groaning, as he tugged it free from its swollen frame, “make sure ye stop by some time and see Martha, she’s been askin about you--also girl, yer ears are showin.”  With that Adder stepped out onto the pier that the shack sat on and disappeared into the noisy array of gulls.

Celeste lifted a finger to find that her delicately pointed ears were indeed poking out of her carefully braided hair. Cursing she readjusted her braid once more, mindfully concealing the heritage she fought daily to conceal from the wary fisherman.

It had been that way for the last thirteen years carefully hiding what she so clearly was.

Not that it did her much good.

Straightening her frame she rubbed at her sore spine, she’d been kneeling nearly all day working on the nets. The waters had been too rough that morning to go out and catch so they’d been holed up in the wretched shack waiting on the cursed storm to stop raging. They’d been having to go out farther and farther to be able to find fish, so on stormy days like this it wasn’t feasible to leave the dock lest risking the entire crew.

Hanging up her hooking tools Celeste scooped up her old worn pack and grabbed the two meager pieces of bread and small chunk of cheese one of the other fishermen had left from his lunch saying it was nothing but gull food. Celeste felt that familiar cramping hollowness in her stomach; for her, it was to be dinner.

Shoving open the old wooden door Adder had disappeared through Celeste was met with the salty scent of the ocean, the powerful stormy breeze dancing across its surface billowing her hair. Turning she pulled the old warped door shut.

Some good this lock does, Celeste mused as she clamped the old rusted thing shut, it’s pin barely holding it together. She turned and faced the ocean, the grey sky painted in storm clouds and the sound of thunder clashing in the distance, strange for the season.

Making her way up the pier she began the long trek back to the other shack she had come to know as home. The home that had become her own when she’d washed up on the shores of this desolate coastal town, Vanica, all those years ago lost, injured and confused. Everyone had adamantly avoided her, her fae heritage evident with her ears, an ominous sign in a village full of isolated humans.

She’d be fortunate that Anidre, a former Child of the Blessed, had found her and taken her in, agreed to raise her alongside her own child, otherwise she knew she’d have been left for dead.

Walking down the old cobblestone road, Celeste kept her eyes forward watching the local children scuttle home for the evening, their voices echoing with laughter in the streets. A pang strummed through her chest that she ignored as a bright-eyed girl ran up to her and waved her greeting. Marrien, Celeste remembered as the girl quickly shot past her giggling and a young boy, James, came chasing after her laughing. Siblings.

Celeste smiled and waved slightly at the two, knowing full well their mother would be angry if they dallied and stopped to talk to the local fae resident. It’d happened before, and Celeste had no desire to see the children punished like that again.

The main street of the town was lined with old wooden buildings whose once vibrant paint was chipping and faded from the relentless sun and the strong winds of the ocean beating against it. She watched as the shop keepers closed for the evening, some sending her small smiles but most just glaring, making small signals with their hands to ward against her.

She bowed her head respectively towards those acknowledging and mindfully ignored the rest.

It was well known that many humans still weren’t fond of the fae, especially in small secluded towns were few ever came and even fewer left.

Making her way past the main street she hiked mindlessly into the rural area of the island, the buildings fading into foliage, and thought of the things she would finally be able to buy with the money Adder had given her. Anelisse needed a new dress and boots, wearing ones that were clearly too small for her adult frame.

She also thought of the small paint set sitting in the window of the quaint art shop, something that Anelisse had been eyeballing for the better part of the last few months. Paints were something that Anelisse hadn’t had the luxury of having in years, ever since the money had ran out and they’d been left in total poverty.

To say they were poor was an understatement. Anidre’s husband had died a few years before Celeste had shown up on the island and had left Anidre, a dreamer with a vague mind, to raise a little girl on her own and with no means to provide for her other than the small savings that had been left for her in her husband’s passing.

When she had taken Celeste in there had barely been enough food to go around and the savings was dwindling. When the money and food finally ran out Celeste decided to take it upon herself to help, so she learned to fish. At first her catches were few and far between but then Adder saw her one day trying to cast a line and decided to help her, coming out in the evenings to show her the tricks of the trade.

Before long she had found herself working at the fisherman’s quarters gutting fish for coppers a day thanks to a certain old man’s insistence. When she’d gotten older and they realized how strong she was, and how fast she could move and tie knots she was finally permitted to join the rest of the men on the ocean front fishing, for the same pay she’d always had.

A few measly coppers a day.

It was better than nothing and beat out scraping the guts out of fish before they were sent to the market.

Surmounting the hill, she soon found herself in front of her home, smoke billowingly lazily from the chimney and the soft feminine humming echoing from inside. Anelisse. Celeste reach forward and opened the door with intentional loudness alerting her younger sister inside. Her preternatural silence had always been unnerving to Anelisse so she had learned to make a point of letting her sister know where she was.

Stepping inside she was met with sight of the said beautiful blonde sitting in front of the fire, her hands working quickly as she repaired one of the old shredded curtains, her long fingers moving swiftly and smoothly.

“Welcome home,” Anelisse called sweetly, her beautiful heart shaped face lifting to face Celeste, silvery eyes glinting in the fire and thin pink lips spreading into a relieved smile, “I’m glad to see you’re okay, I was worried about you on the ocean with this weather.” “We didn’t go out,” Celeste replied, her voice a softer alto compared to Anelisse’s sweet soprano, “the water was too treacherous with storm raging on the coast, I made nets all day.”  

Anelisse stood, setting her sewing aside and straightened her old ragged dress as she rose from the old rocking chair.

“Come sit, I will get you some water,” Anelisse quickly scuttled for the makeshift kitchen, ignoring Celeste’s pleas to sit down. Celeste watched as her sister fetched one of the broken porcelain cups from the kitchen, humming all the while, her lithe feet seemingly dancing across the dirt floors.

Celeste shook her head and kneeled next to the fire, shoving her cold hands near the flames absorbing the heat that she could from it.

“Here,” Anelisse offered the cup to her sister upon her return, “You should drink.” Anelisse plopped down next to Celeste and propped her head in her hands watching her sister.

Celeste drank the cool water quickly, not realizing her thirst until the water hit her parched throat. Setting the old porcelain cup aside she pulled her pack from her back and began rummaging around for the bread and cheese. Pulling the bread out she watched her sister’s eyes light up as she handed the larger chunk over to her.

“Thank you,” Anelisse said as she took the bread, carefully concealing her obvious hunger, “No fish for today I assume?” “No,” Celeste said looking towards the side, guilt wrenching her gut, the fish had moved away from the coast in recent years and it was no longer possible to go out and just cast a line any longer, “we should have some tomorrow.”

“It’s okay,” Anelisse reassured as she bit into the bread, eating slowly, “how was your day?” This was the routine, Celeste would return from the fisherman’s wharf to be greeted by her sister and asked about how her day was, prodding for any details she could get and trying to make light of even the most mundane tasks.

On good nights Anidre would join them sitting in the old rocking chair listening as her children prattled on.

“Droll,” Celeste replied, valiantly ignoring the piece of bread and cheese still sitting in her pack as her stomach turned over on itself, “How is she?” Anelisse stopped her chewing briefly before swallowing, “She hasn’t woken much today, it’s only been murmuring. I was able to give her some fish broth left from yesterday but otherwise nothing.” Anelisse looked sadly towards the dirt floor, “I do not know what to do.”

Celeste offered a hand out towards her sister, a sign of comfort and understanding. Anelisse took the outstretched hand and held it tightly, her other hand shoving bread into her mouth.

“You should eat,” Anelisse said from behind a mouthful of bread, “Momma won’t be eating that tonight and you need it more.” She looked guilty at the remaining bread in her hand, Celeste squeezed her hand diverting her attention. “Don’t you start feeling guilty,” Celeste said nodding her head towards the bread, “eat.” Anelisse slowly nodded.

Anelisse had always come first, that was the unspoken rule Celeste had set for herself, Anelisse then Anidre and if any remained she would take it. Rummaging in the pack Celeste handed the cheese to Anelisse before rising from her seated position.

“Where are you going?” Anelisse asked watching Celeste move towards the small separate room at the back with sad eyes, the answer self-evident.

“To check on Anidre.”

Opening the door on silent hinges Celeste walked into the dusty room, the same old wooden decorations nailed carefully into the wall, a room that had once been the sanctuary of a very happy family. A small broken bed sat in the center of the room, it’s brass frame curved in the shape of vines and rusted. It was occupied by a small unmoving lump.

Walking towards the center of the room Celeste lowered herself gently onto the small mattress, the old soil colored quilt wrapped tightly around the small lump of a woman. With gentle hands Celeste pushed the peppered hair away from the woman’s sweat drenched, fever clearly racking her body. “Semour?” The woman called hoarsely, her glazed eyes darting back and forth, searching, “Love is that you?” Celeste took Anidre’s hand and squeezed gently, her heart aching as she watched the woman who had shown her kindness call out for her lost love.

“No Anidre,” Celeste replied, rubbing soothing circles on her hand, something that had been done for her once long ago when she was unwell, “it’s just me. It’s just Celeste.” The woman’s clouded amber eyes cleared momentarily as she took in the young woman sitting with her.

“Celeste.” Anidre said with a smile, her wrinkled hand coming up to cup Celeste’s face, the warm hand pressing against her cold cheek, the same hand that had held her fevered face that night all those years ago when she’d been brought back to this house soaking wet and barely alive.

The same night she had thrown away all ties to the fae realm and swore she would never return, no matter the cost.

“My beautiful fae child, my gift from the Mother for my diligence to the fae lords,” Celeste felt herself cringe internally as she watched Anidre’s mind real back to her once ridiculous worship of the high fae, high monsters is more like it she thought ruefully to herself, “do you hear the music? The immortal fae ringing,” A soft, breathless giggle from the woman “how blessed I was to have gotten you my child.”

“Yes Anidre I’m here,” She rested her hand over Anidre’s, “Are you thirsty? Hungry?” She felt her stomach tie in a knot but forced it down willing it to cease its complaining, “what can I do?”

The woman paused staring blankly off into the distance before she leaned her head back against the pillow, her eyes suddenly glazing again, “Semour? Love?”

“No Anidre,” Celeste whispered, “it is still just me.” The woman’s hand slackened. Celeste gently pulled Anidre’s hand from her face and laid it across the woman’s stomach who had abruptly fallen back into a deep sleep.

This illness, seemingly unknown to anyone, had taken Anidre in its clutches nearly a year ago and her condition had only declined, worsening with each passing day and no tonic or herb had seemed able to break the clutches of the strange sickness.

Tucking the covers around Anidre once more Celeste stood from the bed and crept silently back into the main room, the sun now having fully set and the fire the only light in the room.

“Well?” Anelisse questioned, her eyes watching the fire, “anything?” “She spoke of your father,” Celeste replied, noting that her sister had eaten only half of the chunk of cheese she had given her, “then fell back to sleep.” Anelisse nodded her head gravely, tucking her knees up under her chest and staring blankly into the fire.

Lowering herself back onto the floor Celeste pulled the bread from her bag and began eating it, the cramping in her stomach easing. Anelisse quietly handed the other half of the cheese to Celeste before curling herself next to her adopted sister.

“You’re going with me to the market tomorrow,” Celeste said as she stared into the fire eating her bread slowly, the wind tearing at the broken shutters, “we’re going to buy you some new boots and that set of paints you’ve been eyeballing.” She felt Anelisse shift, her silver eyes focusing on her, “what do you mean?” Her brow furrowed in confusion. “Adder and Martha gave me money,” Celeste said quietly, her eyes trailing towards the satchel of silver and copper hidden carefully in her bag, “He refused to take it back so we best make use of it while we have it.”

“Truly?” Anelisse said, her eyes unexpectedly sparkling for once, “you mean there’s enough to get paint?” Celeste nodded her head, she knew the money should be saved but for Anelisse she’d be willing to risk spending the few extra coppers, she needed the happiness, now more than ever. Celeste could hear the smile in Anelisse’s voice as she spoke to herself, “I’m going to get to paint tomorrow,” Nuzzling down Anelisse once against propped herself against her sisters side, “You’ve always taken such good care of Momma and I, I do not know what we would have done without you Celeste.”

Celeste felt a pang rattle through her chest at those words. She opened her mouth to refute the claim of her sister but noticed Anelisse had already slipped into a deep slumber, her long fingers curled into Celeste’s shirt. That night Celeste dreamed of beautiful paintings and of a beautiful woman with golden hair.

[goodeveningtowrite]

Still Life

Following a prompt from one of my long lost (to me!) favorite prompt blogs on tumblr @otpprompts. The original prompt can be found here -- take a peek to be filled in, or read on! Semi-dedicated to a friend who made a joke that was on my mind when I was wondering whether I should branch out and use a name in this one (although I hate naming characters so early). Happy reading! x

What had started as an exercise in self-confidence had resulted in dismal discomfort. As if it weren’t difficult enough to drop my robe in front of a group of people who were all waiting, pencils ready — literally — to draw my every flaw to their interpretation, he had to be there, too.

I should’ve known Adam was an artist. All too often when we passed each other in and out of our adjacent apartments, his Doc Martens would have splotches of paint on them that looked like some unsuccessful attempt had been made to clean them. He had glasses on top of his head that I never saw him wear and assumed were for aesthetic until I’d walked in and found them resting on the end of his nose, just under his furrowed brow as his eyes ping-ponged between me and the pad in front of him. Even his worn-in plaid shirt somehow had that look about it like he should be an artist. Overall, he wasn’t unattractive, he just always seemed a little serious and surly.

What I could not have known, however, was that he’d be in the very class I was modeling for today.

When I’d first seen him in the group, I hadn’t been sure whether his somewhat familiar presence would make this easier or more difficult, but his blinking glower had determined where that particular chip had fallen. The disdain rolling off him made me feel hot, but I sat tall on the stool, offering the best curve of my back and, undoubtedly, view of my breasts, and kept my eyes straight ahead (save for the few moments they strayed to him), doing my best to have a pleasantly neutral expression.

I wasn’t sure why he felt such animosity towards me — for all I knew, we’d never had more interactions than a, “Your package was delivered to mine,” and, “Sure, I’ll get your mail for you while you’re away,” with the occasional, “Could you please turn your music down?” He didn’t give off a threatening vibe, thank God, but it was intense — he was intense, even now as I watched him shake his head, lips tight, and pluck his eraser up before raking it over the unseen page with so much vigor the sheet nearly ripped clean away from the rest of the pad.

He turned it over quickly to start anew, and the furrow in his brow grew deeper as his hand raced across the paper to catch up with his peers. As the time dragged by and my poses shifted accordingly, he repeated this pattern, more or less, several times over, sometimes turning pages or tearing them away without even trying to salvage whatever error he’d made. Maybe it was a bit, I mused — tortured artist and all that. Maybe he had to be moody and broody to find his truth or whatever excuse there was to be an unwelcoming dick. Or maybe he just didn’t like his neighbors stripping in front of him.

Guess there would be no jokes about drawing me like one of his French girls I thought wryly from my most recent position of reclining on my side, one hand propping me up and the other draped over my stomach because I didn’t know where else to put it. My lips twitched, but I refrained from smiling to myself and forced my mind to wander so I wouldn’t be so stuck on it. It wasn’t even that funny, but with no distraction—

Dark eyes met mine and I was more frozen than before if possible, a deer in his headlights, and I sucked in a short, sharp gasp from the shock of being caught staring (and no amount of my denial could deny that’s what I’d been doing now). Oh, fuck.

Rather than grow surlier, though, or looking even an iota pleased with himself — I’ve seen that a time or two or twenty before when eyes happened to catch at the precisely wrong moment — his jaw dropped and his eyebrows rose, forehead smoothing out for the first time as if he was startled. Neither one of us turned away, and I watched a faint flush rise in his cheeks and he closed his mouth, throat bobbing with an inaudible gulp.

It felt like we stared at each other forever (and to my horror, I realized I couldn’t be the one to move), but it was still a shock when others started to stand in singles and threes. Belatedly, I unfolded stiff muscles and locked joints to sit upright and grab the robe I’d dropped and pulled it over my shoulders with awkward jerks and drew it hastily closed around me. Chatter rose and fell, and I stayed seated as the crowd thinned. It was my preference to be the last one out, but though the others had largely left, Adam remained, glasses back on top of his head and long fingers and the sides of his hands smeared with charcoal and lead, gathering sheets of paper and cleaning up the tornado’s destruction he’d made around him.

“Be out of here in a minute,” he said, and I nearly jumped clean out of his skin. I hadn’t thought he’d noticed I was watching him, but that would make the second time today.

“Don’t worry,” I said, pinching my robe just over my chest as I stood. “I’m in no rush. I’m sorry, by the way.”

He was in the middle of replacing his charcoals inside his kit when I said this, and he looked up.

“Sorry?” he repeated dumbly.

“If this was awkward,” I said, feeling more awkward now that I’d brought it up than if I hadn’t said anything at all.

He shook his head and pushed his glasses farther up into the mop, their black frames nearly blending in.

“We’re professionals about it,” he said. “Probably seen about as many as a bodies as a med student.” He snuffed a laugh, the corner of his mouth lifting up, and for the first time since I’d known him he looked… nice.

One of his sheets fluttered to the ground and he bent to pick it up. “May I see?” I asked.

His eyes snapped to mine, and I again saw the soft pink rise in the apples of his cheeks.

“Can’t really say they’re private,” I said. “They’re of me.”

Still Adam stared, and I cleared my throat. “You don’t have to,” I said. “Just thought I’d like to see them is all.”

Maybe he didn’t want me to, and maybe there was a reason for that, and maybe I should be grateful that he wanted to spare me.

Paper crinkled as he shuffled towards me on his feet while his hands shuffled papers clumsily before he pulled one out from the short stack and held it out to me.

“This one’s best,” he said, though he sounded unsure as I took it from him. “I couldn’t… you wouldn’t quite….”

He struggled to describe his issue with it and I peered down at the charcoal version of me. It was the last one judging by the pose, and I could see spots where he seemed to have gotten most frustrated with himself.

“What’s wrong with it?”

My question was whispered, but it echoed in the newly emptied room, and when he reached across the sheet to point, I was acutely away of how much taller than me he was.

“Your hand,” he said, indicating several sketched fingers. “You put it there, and I felt like I couldn’t….”

He gestured vaguely over the apex of my thighs where the lines faded up into my stomach. I looked… soft. Soft, but firm, not every other ugly adjective I’d often used to describe myself. I looked like the plus-sized brand magazines trotted out in the name of inclusivity that still left me with a raging inferiority complex, but I could tell that it wasn’t a corrected impression of me. It was his impression of me, and it made me feel hot all over.

“And in these,” he said, thrusting another few sheets in front of me. “Every one of them, there’s something you’re hiding,” he said. “It’s like you don’t….”

I bit my lip, his unfinished sentence speaking the unspoken truth.

“You shouldn’t do that next time,” he said, his smooth voice husky from how quiet it was. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Professional opinion?” I asked, and when I looked at him he nodded his head from side to side, lips again quirked at the corners.

“Something like that,” he admitted, and I swallowed hard.

“Is that why you looked so pissed off?” I asked dryly.

“Did I?” he asked and I nodded.

“A bit, yeah,” I said.

“Maybe,” he said with a laugh, that pink shade in his cheeks growing deeper. He needlessly pushed his glasses back on his head again before clapping his hand over them when they nearly fell off entirely. “Sorry about that,” he said. “I didn’t mean to — it wasn’t you, if that’s what you were thinking,” he said quickly.

“No,” I said. “Honest, that was the last thing on my mind,” I assured him, silently declaring myself to be the liar that I was. “Here,” I said, handing the sheets back to him. “Thank you,” I added. “I was curious.”

“Sure,” he, tucking them back in with the rest. “Do you think you’ll be back?”

“To model?” I asked and he nodded. “I’m not sure,” I said.

“Well,” he said. “If you do, let me know. And try not to—“ He waved his hands over his body and I smiled slightly.

“Sure,” I echoed him.

“Are you…?” He nearly dropped his papers again, and I swear I’ve never seen moody, broody, neighbor Adam with his paint-splattered Docs and fraying plaid shirt look so uncool and flustered. “Are you headed back home, or…?”

“Space needs to be cleared,” I said. “So, probably, yeah.” I sounded strangely breathless even to my ears and he licked his lips.

“I can wait for you, if that’s—“ He exhaled and the corners of the papers fluttered angrily. “It’s not because I saw you naked,” he said clearly. “That’s professional. I just thought since we’re both going that way and we’ve never really had a chance to chat to get to know each other—“

“If I can get my clothes on first,” I said and he grinned almost bashfully.

“Suppose that’s fair,” he agreed. “And maybe a coffee?”

The shock I was feeling must’ve been evident on my face, because he quickly added, “If you want. I’ll let you take another look at these, too,” he said, holding his drawings up.

“Sure,” I said before he could stutter and stumble his way through more. “That’d be nice.”

His shoulders slumped some and his brow smoothed out. “Cool… alright, yeah, I’ll meet you out—“ He jerked his head and I nodded, rubbing the knot at my waist. Out of all the ways I would’ve expected this day to end, this was definitely not at the top of the list or even on it. Still, though, my stomach fluttered with butterflies, and I was cautiously curious about expanding my daily repertoire with him. At the very least, by the end of this all I’ll have said more than, “Hi,” and, “Bye,” to him.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, SIDNEY! You’ve been accepted for the role of IMOGEN. Admin Rosey: First and foremost let me just say that Imogen has been one of my favorite characters in any play ever. She is the epitome of virtue and whenever I think of Lady Justice, I think of Imogen. I truly didn’t think that others would be as taken with them as I was, but Sidney, I’m so, so very happy that you’ve become as infatuated with them as I have. What got me was the tally that you kept running between their head and their heart. It’s something that encapsulates their struggle in both Shakespeare’s plays and in Isabella as well. You know how to ruin us, so ruin us well with Imogen why don’t you?  Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

Out of Character

Alias | Sidney Age | 21 Preferred Pronouns | She/her Activity Level | I’m fairly active! I’m usually here when I’m not working or sleeping, and most likely mobile and available to plot. I get to replies within 1-3 days depending on muse and time management! On a numerical scale, I’d say I’m a 6-7/10. Timezone | EST Current/Past RP Accounts | My current DV account is here.

In Character

Character | Imogen / Isabella Gagliano (this would be my second character!)

Isabella ‘Izzy’ Beatriz Gagliano

ISABELLA - devoted to God; quite literal but not chosen for its meaning but because it was their grandmother’s name, something their father was adamant about his child bearing. To this day, they hate it on pure principle and prefer Izzy above all else. Bella, but only if you’re lucky.

BEATRIZ - happiness, bringer of joy; chosen by their mother especially for her baby girl, for her daughter’s face always brought out a smile in whoever held them. This is often the name they give out as their last and it is the name attached to all articles they’ve written for public consumption. They have identification to match as well; very few know their true surname and that’s the way they prefers it.

GAGLIANO - joyous, hard, brave; wholly not of their choosing and one they hated much throughout their youth as it followed them wherever they went, tragedy in tow. They shed it the moment they left Spain and never looked back. It belongs to their father and for all they care, he can fucking keep it.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character?

ONE: COMEUPPANCE

Undeniably, Izzy has a lot of rage. Granted, it lies in wait deep beneath the surface, often clouded by their ever changing emotions and the vast spectrum of creativity that encompasses their mind on any given day, but it’s there if you know where to look. If you cut deep enough, there’s no telling what they’ll do to retaliate. What I’d love to explore is their hunger for justice. How far are they willing to go to expose the truth? They want nothing more than to lay Verona’s sins before the people’s feet, for all the world to see. And while they think they’re doing all these things for the greater good, I’d love to push them into a much more morally grey territory. They’ve already dabbled in anarchy when they watched as Nikolai set the Northern Grove aflame. But do they know Puck seriously injured someone? And are they okay with that as long as it means justice will be served? I’m a sucker for negative development and I think Izzy is the perfect person to nudge closer and closer to the edge of their own haphazardly constructed set of rules in hopes they breaks them. They’re bound and determined to punish someone, but I don’t think they realize you cannot pick and choose the lives lost in times of war. And their reckless wrath is guaranteed to take down an innocent person or two much sooner rather than later.

TWO: INTELLECT

They’re so smart, well read, and kept up-to-date on all current events as they make it their business to be, but their heart — Izzy’s fickle, fickle heart — and the madness it contains is almost too strong for the sharpest of minds to compete with. It’s taken them a long while to learn how to balance that fire that resides deep within their chest, the flames licking along the edges of their heart against the natural intellect and heaps of knowledge embedded inside their mind. It’s a constant battle, from one moment to the next a fight between head and heart, and sometimes — a lot of the time, if they’re being truthful — their heart wins. They can’t help it; they feel so deeply. This was always something their mother encouraged, though. To not feel is to not live, she’d say but as Izzy aged, the more they were penalized for daring to do such a thing. The more tears they shed, the dirtier the looks were from their peers and the less they were listened to. But the farther Izzy is pushed, the more these horrible people get away with ruining an entire city, the more likely Izzy is to crumble and crack under pressure. The results of which could be catastrophic for not only her but everyone else. This is a daily struggle for Izzy, balancing decision making between what they feel is right and what they know is probable. As of late that intellect they’re so proud of has taken a bit of a back seat in favor of such strong emotions. I think it’s entirely possible that Izzy will make a very poor decision based on what their heart wants versus what they know is the right choice. And furthermore I want them to make that decision! Whether its furthering their trust in Nikolai even though they know they shouldn’t. There’s no going back once the deed is done; you can’t take back decisions of a vengeful heart, you can only move forward once they’re made. That’s the funny thing about love, especially when Izzy since loves so intensely. And they’re the type of person who will do anything their heart tells them to. Anything.

THREE: HUBRIS

Working with the likes of Puck and Nikolai, Izzy has gained a certain confidence. Everything has been going their way and they’ve gotten exactly what they wanted. But does Izzy truly even know what that is? I think whether the Montagues and Capulets live or die has become a second burner problem for them right now. The light of the sun is far too bright for them to make out anything other than the vengeance that has been so prevalent in their vision for so long. And the successful ruination at the Northern Grove has only made them more confident that what they’re doing, this mission they’re on, is exactly the right answer. I want to develop this further as Izzy will surely begin to dance with many a devil in the streets of Verona. The only way to win a war is to secure allied forces and then strike. But will they be foolish enough to trust the devil himself? I don’t know that Izzy will be able to see past a fatal deceit as they cascade closer and closer to the sun. If only they could just reach it. Touch it. It’d make everything better, wouldn’t it? If they can just get it, that holy grail, that one vital piece of information that could make the whole house of cards come crashing down, it’d all be worth it. Every sacrifice, every life lost. At least that’s what they tell themselves. But what of the hero who thinks themselves a god? It’s one thing to save people for the sake of saving them but it is an entirely different kind of monster to demand they revere you for your work. I’d love to put Izzy in a situation in which there’s the chance to put their name on one of the many good deeds they do! They’ve lived a life of modesty for so long, even going so far as to conceal their true surname, but how will they fair if they start to garner recognition? I can’t wait to find out.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes.

In Depth

In-Character Interview:

What is your favorite place in Verona?

She first thinks of To Tame A Soup and all the people it helps, all the mouths it feeds and the beds it offers to those in need of a warm night’s sleep. It brings a smile to her face, eyes lulling shut as she leans back in the couch. The question, on the lips of someone she doesn’t trust but is indebted to for exactly this purpose, begs to be answered. Truthfully. Thankfully the first lesson she’d learned when she’d arrived in Verona was how to lie, something every citizen needs to become proficient in if they intend to survive.

“The Library,” she lied with a smile and a slight cant of her head. “All those books,” she leans in close, eyes widening at the mention of literature, which wasn’t a falsehood by the slightest. It’s always better to tell an adjacent truth. The advice sings in her head like a sweet melody she’ll never forget. “I could spend hours in there,” she smiles, thinking back to the past five Sundays she has spent there. At least a dozen books all spread out across the table before her, laptop open as she typed furiously, looking from one text to the other every so often.

From a distance, she looked as inconspicuous as anyone. A student studying for an exam, that was her cover, and naturally, it worked. Her notes, however, would beg to differ, covering nothing from the books before her but instead noting every Montague who came and went.

“But I’m sure I’m not the only one who loves it there.”

What does your typical day look like?

“It depends if I’m on a deadline,” she clears her throat and adjusts in her seat, letting the deception fall off her shoulders as she rests back again. “If I am, I wake early and head out to find a quiet place to write,” her eyes wander over to her desk in the corner, papers littered about. “It’s hard for me to write here most times. There’s too much to distract me,” she lets out a small laugh, self-deprecating in its tone. “I have horrible impulse control.”

“I volunteer as much as I can throughout the week when I’m not working as well, but other than that…” arms now crossed, one hand drifts up and she begins to tap an index finger against her chin as she thinks back over the past week, “I like the theater…” she’s grasping at straws now, quite nervous to tell them she rather enjoys just sitting at home most nights.

“I’m relatively boring, I suppose.”

What has been your biggest mistake thus far?

Falling in love.

Izzy doesn’t even have to think before the answer comes to her in a rushing tidal wave of bittersweet happiness, the image of Celeste peeking into her closed eyes. Now that is the truest answer of them all and it’s something she’d never want Celeste to know. Regret is never something Izzy wants to carry around, but at this point, the guise of calm, cool, and collected is bound to shatter. The thought breaks her heart in this moment, sitting before a stranger asking shallow questions one moment and asking Izzy to bear her soul the next. Tears sting in her eyes the moment she opens them, the dam that rests between her head and her heart threatening to break at any moment.

“I’m not sure…” she stutters, unable to form the right words — unable to come up with a suitable lie on the spot. She repeats the same gesture as before, one arm raising to rest beneath her chin as an index finger taps furiously against her chin. This time it rises and runs along her bottom lip. The truth is Izzy has never had to look this deep inside. She’s never been asked to critique her own character, nor should she. She is always justified in any of her actions and has to answer to no one.

“Next question,” she says firmly, digit rising a couple more inches to wipe away the one tear that broke through. It’s damp against the pad of her finger but she doesn’t linger and wipes it away on her knee.

Head: 1 Heart: 0

What has been the most difficult task asked of you?

In an instant, she’s agitated. Frustrated beyond belief at the audacity of this person that she barely knows asking all these questions of which they have no right to the answer.She was doing them the favor after all, so how dare they?

“This,” she blurted, eyes rolling too fast for her to stop herself.

Head: 1 Heart: 1

Fuck.

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

The mere mention of them is enough to cause her to clench her fists where she sits. She clenches so tight a knuckle cracks and she plays it off by cracking a few more and forcing a complacent smile onto her features.

“Truthfully?” she asks as calmly as she can, but she can’t resist the offer to say her piece. If they really wanted to know, Izzy would tell them exactly what she thinks. “I think they’re going to rip this city a part.” Her statement is matter of fact, concluded with a nod and a stern look of intent at the asker. It’s a truth she believes deep in her bones, all the way into her core. “They will take what they want,” her teeth grind against the t, “kill who they want.” There’s a flash in her mind of her mother, knife slipping between her ribs as she cries out in pain. Izzy clenches her fists once more, pushing them to either side of her thighs against the couch. “They corrupt whoever they like and care not for who they hurt.”

And I’ll take down every last one of them.

She’s seething now, nails digging into her own palms to keep her from smashing them against something, like the face of the person before her.

“Is that enough?” she asks, again through gritted teeth, but she doesn’t wait for an answer and instead rises from her seat. “Great.” She snaps,  walking across the living room and opening the front door to her apartment.

“Leave.”

Head: 1 Heart: 2

Extras:

Pinterest Mockblog

HEADCANONS:

— ASTROLOGY: Born March 24th, Izzy is an Aries.       +Element: fire - quite emotional and compassionate to a fault, always giving far more than they receive if for no other reason than to remain loyal to those emotions.       + Ruler: mars - an animalistic nature, it calls to their impetuous tendencies, inciting rage and destruction at the drop of a hat.       + Color(s): red - vibrant and attention-seeking, it’s rare that they don it but are instead often drawn to its excitement and promise of adventure.

— STRENGTHS: audacious, determined, self-assured, ardent, creative, insightful, altruistic, honest.

— WEAKNESSES: impatient, sensitive, moody, short-tempered, perfectionistic, impulsive, contentious.

— MBTI: INFJ, the advocate - takes great happiness from helping people, spends the time to get to the root of issues and work through them, sees a world full of inequity but knows it doesn’t have to be that way, and truly believes a little help can go a long way, but sometimes they forget to care for themselves and overcorrect for certain causes which puts them in jeopardy, though they write it off as having been worth it all in the end if progress was made.

— ALIGNMENT: Lawful Neutral, the judge - their mother, the basis of their entire moral compass, taught them right from wrong and shaped their entire view of the world with just a few kind acts. Feeding the homeless was something they did every Sunday afternoon together, mother and daughter each with smiles upon their face, filled with joy at the simple act of helping. But it wasn’t until they watched the very woman who gave them life fight tooth and nail, time and time again for those less fortunate than them. Their mother would have offered a stranger on the street the clothes off her back and the shoes on her feet if she felt it would improve their life. She was generous and kind and expected nothing in return for all her good deeds. It taught Izzy how to love, this ever apparent generosity present throughout their youth, and as they aged, they did so with their whole heart. They dove head first into philanthropy the moment they left Spain, using their knack for words to shine a light on the injustices of the world in hopes of making a real change. And they have no intent on stopping within Verona. They’ll burn the whole city down if it means it’ll return, but this time just and pure of heart.

— GENDER/SEXUALITY: Izzy, while not a fan of labels at all and if forced, identifies as a demigirl and prefers she/her and they/them pronouns. Femininity has never been something they’ve felt terribly attached to, nor do they shy away from what society would deem as ‘for women’, but there’s always been a bit of a disconnect from it. It’s a sore subject if pressed, causing Izzy immense stress when brought up. Memories of their stepmother spewing hate for every little thing about them flood their mind and tears swell in their eyes from the echo of rejection for simply being themself. / They’d call themselves a lover of everyone, if they’re being honest. At least ten times a day they turn smitten in an instant! With just one glance from a handsome stockbroker who held the door for them at a cafe. A coy smile from a waitress at Hotel Emelia can send them into a giggling fit, cheeks flushing a rosy red. They’re a biromantic, through and through, enjoying — indulging in whoever’s holding their heart in their palm for the moment, regardless of their gender. But for them to give themselves to you, it needs to mean something. It has to matter. Izzy is smart; they know their heart is fickle, and while most days it rules their choices, those welcome in their bed must earn it first. Some would call them a slut, if they were lacking character and down to their two brain cells. Most call them a tease, leaving a trail of kisses in their indecisive wake. But Izzy knows themself to be demisexual, and in need of a strong emotional bond before spreading their legs.

— CELESTE: It defies logic, how much Izzy loves her. All normal, rational thought evades her whenever the girl is near. The fact that she remains, to this day, a part of one of the very organizations Izzy is bound and determined to take down seemingly makes no difference. Not when her heart practically sings in the face of Celeste Duval. It’s assuredly unnatural, of which the two have discussed at length. She’s married, after all and that fact seems to evade her lover’s mind as well. Perhaps that’s what makes it exciting, but it’s also what makes it that much more stressful. Izzy is in constant battle with herself when it comes to Celeste. It’s as if each time they’re apart, she formulates a plan to sever the bond for the good of the both of them, but the moment she lays eyes on Celeste, she can’t think. She can only feel. And what she feels is so much stronger than any argument her brain could muster. But is Izzy willing to sacrifice everything for her? Deep down she knows the answer and deep down she hates herself for it.

— NIKOLAI: He’s so handsome, of this she’s positive simply because of the way his smile causes her heart to race. To say she fell in love with him the first moment they met would be entirely accurate, for he knew exactly what to say to tug at her weaknesses. By far one of her worst qualities, she wears her heart on her sleeve, like an open wound laid bare for anyone to rub salt in. Though deep down, she always hopes it’ll be sugar. She always wants to believe the best in people, and certainly the same goes for Nik. He was so earnest during their first talks, so generous with his information and sympathetic to her cause, to her fight for justice within the bloodied streets of Verona. She barely had time to check on him, to look him up and sink her teeth into his past like any good journalist would. If she isn’t careful, he could expose her entire plot, but damn if he doesn’t have the deepest of sea blue eyes. And each time he’s near, all careful planning and hard earned wisdom Izzy has gathered fades away in favor of going for a swim.

— DELILAH: It breaks her heart to see a good woman silenced, especially when she’s been falsely promised so much. The Capulets appease her doubts over and over, each time she dares to break her silence if but just for a moment; but Izzy can see the storm behind her eyes, if only Delilah would let the floodgates flow open. With the whisper of a few secrets and a pen put to paper, the entire underbelly of Verona could rest in the palm of their hands. All she needs is a little push. And Izzy has every intention of doing so, no matter what.

[kaylaevs5162]

Drabble Prompt #16

So you know: Another drabble I wrote a little while ago, editing it took waaaayyy longer than I initially planned. Claudia and Beatrice are cousins, from a family that has a long history of encountering thin/paranormal situations. Beatrice’s house is currently being haunted by an elusive ghost. Content warnings: yelling, anxiety (possible panic attack). I typed this one as a Word document, then pasted it here as a text post, so sorry in advance if there are some formatting issues.

“Ew, Dia…” Beatrice leapt from the bed and disappeared into the hallway. Claudia rolled her eyes, munching her chicken tender sub a bit faster. When Bea emerged from the dark hallway a moment later, she had a hand-held vacuum in her grip. “You’re getting crumbs all over my bed!”

“Most of them fell on the book, anyway,” Claudia sighed, wiping her fingers on a nearby wash-cloth before turning another page in the bestiary.

Beatrice’s glare needed no words.

“I’m kidding,” Dia said, holding out a hand. “Give me the vacuum.” She swept off her lap (on the bed, Beatrice observed with a grimace) and vacuumed up the crumbs and bits of breading. “Ok. Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” Bea mumbled, eyeing the page her cousin had paused on, as she sat on the bed beside her.

“When’s the last time you ate?” Claudia asked. Beatrice scratched her nose and glanced away.

“I mostly get take-out now. Had some left-overs for lunch. I’m sort of…scared of being downstairs.”

“That explains the left-overs you keep off-loading on me and Grandma,” Dia said dryly. “And the lack of energy….” She crumpled up her sandwich bag and tossed it into the waste bin. “You’re telling me you haven’t cooked in two weeks?” she said softly. Bea avoided her gaze. “You haven’t gone in your laundry room for two weeks? Bea…it’s gonna be so gross in there,” she whined. “And if you keep all your sage downstairs—“

“What if it shows up again?” Beatrice asked. “I saw it when I was on the phone with you. No warning itjustappeared. I thought I was going to have a heart-attack—“ Beatrice was chewing her lip—really chewing, Dia noted, to the point of ripping off layers of skin. “It’s a ghost of course but what kind is it why is it her—“

Beatrice tried to take in more air. It was strange… Each breath in was so shallow, starved for air as if she were breathing through mesh stuck deep within her throat. But each exhalation felt as deep as a normal breath. No matter how deep she attempted to inhale, it wasn’t enough air.

“I’ll bring you a damp washcloth,” Dia said, trying to hide her concern. “I’m going to the…the bathroom, okay?” Bea nodded, still not completely looking at her. Claudia got to her feet and felt a small tug of Intuition that she had to ignore…just for a second. Only a second, because Beatrice needed her.

She let a trickle of water fall onto the wash cloth (a fresh one, not the one she’d used for a make-shift napkin) and looked at herself in the mirror.

“I found it,” Bea called from the adjacent room. “An entry that might help.”

“Awesome,” Claudia said, making herself widen the weak grin on her face. She shook herself, turned off the faucet, and stepped back into the bedroom.

“Here you go,” Dia said with a grin, in an effort to sound calm and upbeat. “I’ll be in the room next door. It’s a…lounge, right?”

“Yep,” Bea said. “Good memory.”

“Yeah, I’m not the best about visiting,” Claudia murmured stepping out into the hallway. “Call if you need anything,” she said, and closed the door a bit. She slipped a hand into her pocket and found her phone.

“Grandma?” she said softly, wandering down the hallway. “She’s gonna have to stay with one of us, until we can sort this out. Intuition’s been clawing at me the whole time I’ve been here...but we’re dealing with a ghost.”

“Ok. She can stay with me,” Trish said. “Tell her to pack a couple days’ worth of clothes, important documents… you know. Lock the house when you both leave.”

There was a pause, during which Claudia rubbed her cheek with her free hand.

“Honest to goddess, can our family not have some normalcy?” Claudia hissed, moving farther down the hallway. “This is more than just random thin situations, okay? It’s like we’re falling down the damn up escalator and every damn step is a thin situation. I can’t! Bea doesn’t deserve this.”

“I’m worried too,” Trish said softly. Now Dia was the one struggling for air.

“And she’s so scared…”

She was so tired…And once again, she found herself desperately wishing she could speak with her ancestors about their own encounters with thin situations…

“Claudia,” Trish said, again softly.

“Yes, Grandma,” Dia said, pushing the words through the snags in her voice.

“Everything is going to work out,” Trish said, in a tone that left no quarter for doubt. “We’ll figure this out. Both of you come back to my place now. We need to talk.”

“Mh-hm,” was all Claudia could manage. She hung up and composed herself again, then headed back to the bedroom.