#also i somehow gained 2 more betas

[redyarns]

HELL WEEK IS OVER HOLY SHIT HAHAHAHHAHAA I LIIIIIIVE

[scekrex]

Can I request some hurt/comfort for the overlord!reader series, that angst hit me hard, mostly cause I kinda come to see it as a comfort story, like Wow

Reader said his piece and Adam heard him but there is now a tension between them, Adam is avoiding reader again, like in the beginning but it feels like this won't be fix with just time. Reader throw himself into work, trying to ignore the empty couch that is just in his line of vision but when he went to the balcony in a force of habit, the lack of fluttering gold feathers finally push him to action

Confronting Adam, he gave him 2 options, reader can move to another place so Adam can have the place to himself or he'll escorts him safely to the hotel so he can contact Heaven and go home. They both have a blowout fight that finally clean out the wound so it could heal.

Optional dialogue, "just say you're tired of my ass and kick me out", "I sneer down at them like I'm any difference, that I'm not a sinner, I'm greedy, I want, I wanted the riches I could gain from you then I wanted your trust and your love, and now I want you to be happy and like a drug addict willing to do anything for their next fix, I will do anything so you could be happy again"

Okay first of all I'd like to say that I LOVE the optional dialogue. I adore it, I ate it and I used it bc it fit them sooo well. Also I hope ya like them solving their problems somehow - in their own kinda way I guess

Bird of Hell's Paradise

Tell me who you wanna be and I will set you free

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language

note: not beta read bc fuck you

The time Adam had asked you to give him was the hardest time in all of your afterlife - not only for you but also for him. It was doing a number on the both of you and that showed. There were no sleepy cuddles, no lazy morning kisses and no cocky comments anymore.

The mansion felt empty and loveless, like a pit of depression that swallowed you both whole. The air once full of love, desire and trust had turned freezing cold and the only way you were able to ignore the hole in your chest where your heart used to be and the lack of a certain golden winged angel was for you to overwork yourself. You avoided the couch Adam had carried into the small room one day, it held too many memories.

Memories of you two cuddled up, memories of him carrying you over there to put you to bed because your stubborn self had been too proud and too determined to stop working by yourself so your little bird had to force you to get some sleep more than once. But throwing it out was not an option, not when you hoped that time would close the wounds and bring back the old times. So you remained in your office for most of the time, only left it when your body screamed at you to eat or when you had to use the bathroom - those were the only exceptions though.

And because you stayed in your office so much you were not seeing Adam at all. Sometimes you heard the rustling of his wings outside your door and though that happened rarely, whenever it did happen you felt the urge to get up, pull him into a warm hug and speak to him. But you never actually got up to do so. The angel had requested time and though it was painful to stay away from him for that long, you hoped respecting his boundaries would fix it all like a miracle.

But it did not. Adam never came in, when he heard you walking through the endless hallways, he would take a different turn and avoid you - he seemed neither willing nor ready to face you and the consequences this might bring so he stayed away.

Your head fell onto the table and you sighed, this would not do. You hoped the fresh air of your garden would lift the fog that was covering your mind and therefore your thoughts so you pushed yourself up, headed over to open the balcony doors and watched the green that lay beneath you. The synthetic sun gave no reflection of golden feathers away. Golden feathers which would usually peek out from behind trees or bushes. Golden feathers which would lay on the grass with its owner attached to it if it would have been a normal day. But it wasn’t and Adam’s wings were not visible - a thing you had hoped to see.

Time would not bring your angel back, time would not fix this conflict - not when the conflict seemed to eat Adam alive. So you pushed your body away from the railing and crossed your office to go seek your precious bird. Maybe talking to him would bring closure. Just as you opened the door to your office to seek for your golden feathered bird, said bird popped up in your door frame. He had not expected you to open the door, his eyes gave the surprise he felt away the second he spotted you. His reaction time was quick though, within a blink he tried to get away, tried to rush to the other end of the hallway, but you were quicker. Your hand grabbed his wrist, silently holding him into place and this time he did not flinch at your attempt to touch him. Though he did try to wiggle his wrist out of your grip to get away eventually.

“Adam,” oh how badly you wanted to call him all the sickening sweet pet names, how your mind told you to call him ‘dear’ or ‘my love’, but none of those were appropriate, not when Adam was mad. Or well rather hurt than actually mad - either way the former exorcist was upset with you and while you still weren’t blaming him for his reaction, you desperately wanted to sort things out. You had been avoiding each other for too long and you felt your mental stability crumbling slowly. Decisions needed to be made and if that meant you and Adam would part ways, then so be it.

“We should have a conversation,” your voice was soft, held neither anger nor disapproval, it sounded rather desperate if you were honest with yourself - and you were. You were desperate for clarity, desperate for this fight to finally end. “About what?” the brunette spat, clearly not liking the idea of talking to you at all, let alone about the fight and a solution for the situation you both were stuck in. You let go of his wrist and despite his body language saying that he would rather avoid you than talk to you he stayed. He stayed and waited for you to answer his question.

You considered your response for a moment, then answered, “About us.” And given the shock reflecting in his gorgeous golden eyes, Adam seemed not too fond of that answer, in fact he seemed to fear it. Something inside of him seemed to click into place and his mood shifted, instead of hurt and betrayed, he seemed now actually angry with you. His voice raised as he yelled, “Just fucking say you’re tired of my ass and kick me out already.” His words caused confusion to bloom inside of you and you frowned at the other male. Why would you kick him out? What made him think you would throw him to the flames willingly, knowing that the people of hell would tear him to pieces the second he would leave your place without you?

“I won’t kick you out, my love,” the pet name slipped - it was a force of habit. That, or you just longed for a time that was already gone, a time you had ruined by your own greed. “But I don’t want to fight with you either,” and for a moment your words seemed to calm his energy, for a moment you were able to see his eyes clearing up from the hate and the disgust he must be feeling towards you. But then his voice sounded so heavy when he spoke, too heavy for you to swallow, “Oh I forgot, some bitch will probably fucking pick me up right after signing that fucked up contract, right?” No. No, there would be no one coming to pick him up, not as long as you remained and considering that the only way to change that was angelic steel, you were quite confident to roam Hell’s rings for a couple million years more.

“I want you to choose, to prove that though I was greedy for money at first, I refuse to give you up, so instead of t deciding myself, I want you to have the choice of where this will go and what the outcome will be,” and those words actually seemed to make the brunette realize that you were being serious, that you were interested in what the former exorcist had to say. So Adam nodded, giving you the non verbal okay to continue speaking. “You have two options, de- Adam,” the fact that you interrupted yourself to call him by his name instead of the pet name that had almost slipped from your lips a second time caused the first man’s expression to sour, though he did not comment on it.

“I offer you to stay at this place here by yourself, I will move out and seek something new,” you watched his reaction carefully as you spoke and the offer you made him seemed to sound even worse to his ears than the fact that you had called him Adam instead of dear. Yet he continued to remain silent, he seemed really willing to hear you out - a thing that, though you appreciated it, also made you feel uneasy. Adam was no one to remain silent for that long. “Either that, or I will escort you to the hotel safely so that Charlie can try and-” “Fuck you, I’m not staying at the fucking place I almost died at,” the brunette growled, interrupting you quickly. You nodded, a point that was very valid in your eyes and because the choice was all Adam’s, his decision would force you to leave this place. The only thing holding you had been the first man and now that he didn’t want you anymore, there was nothing left that prevented you from leaving.

“I’ll have my things packed as quickly as possible,” you were about to turn around to enter your office again and start packing, Adam grabbed your upper arm firmly before you had the slightest chance to get away from him. “I don’t want you to fucking leave, you stupid fuckhead,” he hissed. His usually bright eyes seemed so much darker though they were glossy. Tears were about to be shed - a thing you had tried so hard to avoid. “I- fuck I don’t even fucking know what I want, “ the brunette mumbled as his eyes darted to the floor, inspecting it like it was so much more interesting than you.

Gently you put your hand on top of the one from Adam that was holding your upper arm, you gave it a single pat but that earned you his attention. “I sneer down at them all like I’m any different, like I’m not just as bad as them, like I’m not a sinner,” you started to explain yourself - would it help? You were not able to tell, but you hoped it would. “I’m greedy, Adam, I want. I want many things,” you gently removed his hand from your arm and took it in both of yours, squeezing it gently. His eyes looked down at it, carefully watching you holding his hand, he seemed not against it so you did not remove your hands from his.

“I wanted the riches I could gain from you before we knew about each other, then I wanted your trust and your love and now, in the end, I simply want my beautiful songbird to be happy,” his eyes met yours at your words and something inside of him seemed to crumble - it was the wall he had built up again to shield himself from the pain you had inflicted on him by breaking his trust. “And like a drug addict willing to do anything for their next fix, I will do anything so you can be happy again, even if that means that you will be happy without me by your side.”

Adam reacted differently than you had thought he would, instead of yelling at you and shoving you away, he pulled you in. The first man pulled you into a tight hug and before you knew it, it was not only his arms that were wrapped around your body but also his soft, golden wings. “Shut the fuck up,” the former exorcist mumbled as he buried his face in your hair. You felt how his body relaxed, how the heavy stones this fight had forced him to carry fell from his shoulders. You heard him inhaling your scent deeply, as if it would get him high, as if it would be the solution to all his problems. “We both fucking know I’d die without you,” his voice was nothing more than a whisper, almost as if he was afraid it would change the meaning of his words if he dared to speak louder.

“Not because the fuck-ups of Hell would tear me the fuck apart over and over again, but because my soul would start to fucking rot without its motherfucking sunlight. And that’s you, bitch. You’re my soul’s sunlight.”

[paramouradrift]

#Avatar BioShock Crossover AU" 2023 please!!!

This one's a doozy.

I don't remember precisely what triggered this one, but there was a period of a couple weeks last year where I got really into the idea of an Avatar/BioShock crossover AU. This spawned several AUs, only one of which made it into my WIP folder, apparently, so the rest must be lurking on discord with my beta reader. This particular AU has a few scant character notes, some timelines, and a discussion of themes that paint what I would consider a compelling but overly-ambitious picture.

The themes in play: destiny, causality, consciousness, free will, and moral choice. We are pulling material from BioShock, BioShock 2, BioShock 2: Minerva's Den, BioShock Infinite, Avatar: the Last Airbender, and Legend of Korra. Rapture exists in its own right, whereas Columbia is replaced with Republic City. Tears, Spirit Portals, and Spirit Wilds are all the same thing, linking Rapture and Republic City across time and space. Bending and Splicing are the same, as well, with the "Avatar" being someone who has spliced up to an incredible degree and not died of every kind of cancer. The Avatar State is thus a kind of berserk mode that uses up all the EVE in the Avatar's body, leaving them powerless and vulnerable at the end. Past Avatars exist as coherent ADAM ghosts.

Aang, in this story, is a Jack/Eleanor Lamb character originally from Rapture who escaped into Republic City through a tear, and set about trying to find a way back to Rapture's past to undo all of the damage he ended up causing. He's a man haunted by guilt whose efforts are ultimately futile, because that's not how causality works.

Korra is our Elizabeth, whose ability to open and close tears makes her valuable to Aang in his quest for redemption, but also makes her a target for everyone on both sides of the veil who wants a slice of the Rapture/Republic City pie. But opening and closing tears destroys entire sections of probability space, creating fixed points in spacetime and releasing a ton of spiritual energy that gets eaten by the bioluminescent mass that sits beneath Rapture, spitting ADAM slugs back out into the world, accelerating the chaos and decline of both cities.

I have here that Aang somehow travels back to the past and becomes the founder of Rapture, which means he later creates and then kills himself while trying to do everything he can to avoid that outcome. It probably made more sense in my head the time. The other members of the Gaang are listed as Rapture's Best & Brightest: Zuko and Sokka are divorced and miserable, with Zuko trying to be a single dad and Sokka inventing the Thinker; Katara is the city's foremost doctor and philanthropist; Suki is a detective/private security chief; and Toph runs the banks because nobody else is capable. She also laid a lot of the city's foundation.

The Mechanist is here inventing things. Wu is a popular singer with his own radio program. Suyin is a prima donna ballerina. Asami is...presumably doing something amazing, but I didn't write that bit down.

The villain rogue's gallery is all here as well, moving back and forth across the tears and causing mischief and mayhem. Zaheer's radical spirituality causes Aang (Rapture Founder) to ban religion, and Unalaq tries to get control of the Avatar Program so that he can become an Avatar himself. Ozai and Zhao extend their feelers throughout both cities, seizing power and resources for themselves. Amon slots himself nicely into the Atlas role (plot twist and all), so nothing really more to say there. Kuvira is apparently a former police officer turned mob boss capitalizing on the chaos for her own gain. Long Feng is a cold technocrat who runs a private security firm and manages assets for city big wigs. My note on him is "a less affable Sinclair."

Pro-bending/ADAM boxing is a thing, so Mako and Bolin are here trying to make it big in the big bad city/ies, which probably means I planned some background Wuko.

I have no idea what my endgame was. I don't know what the actual plot was going to be. This project wasn't one I seriously considered planning out in detail because I was in the middle of H&V/J&R work, and that takes priority over anything else with this level of ambition. Having said that, it might be interesting to take another pass at the concept and see if I can turn all of that up there into something workable.

WIP Game master post.

[skaruresonic]

If I had a nickel for every time I've seen the fandom of a Konami franchise being filled with anti-woke dudebros poisoning the well of criticism against a product, giving the fans of said product an easy excuse to dismiss every criticism against it because "You're just X-phobic" I'd have 2 nickels

How quaint

(bonus: both games are 2001 sequels to seminal first entry titles and considered overhyped/series' golden cows by some :P)

Yeah, like. It's hard to wedge in a discussion on what the game is actually about when both sides are too busy accusing each other of being bigoted. Meanwhile you're just standing there like "can we talk about the themes and gameplay now." Lol.

The number of times I've heard a YouTuber sneer "woke," as if that even meant anything to the SH2 remake's standard of quality in general, and noped out of the rest of the video are... well... more than one, to say the least.

Like, I don't really care in the slightest about whether Bloober injected "DEI" into the game; I care about whether they made a faithful remake, and in my estimation they haven't.

I don't think they had an agenda other than to gratify their own egos by leeching onto the creative work of Team Silent, because they've pretty much said so in their own words. It's frankly kind of stupid to go the conspiratorial route with how Bloober are pushing some "woke" agenda when the Silent Hill series has always been, more or less, "woke." Maybe not along the axis of race - it'd be nice to have an indigenous protagonist - but certainly along that of gender.

Seriously, if 1-4 released as-is today, they'd be decried "woke."

Harry Mason, an adoptive dad proving to be a far superior parent to his child than Dahlia Gillespie, an abusive mom who subjects her child to years of torture for personal gain? Preposterous! What do you mean he's not a secret predator?

A game where a terminally-ill woman is not portrayed as a total martyr, and her husband isn't an alpha male? Insulting! Not to mention how they ~sexualize~ Angela's trauma: Team Silent must be pedos somehow!

Don't even get me started on 3 lmao. The fucking field day they'd have with 3. "This game is a load of garbage because it's pushing a trans agenda!" (game is one big metaphor for unwanted pregnancy but also covers topics like religious trauma, guilt, revenge, abuse, and sin) "Why do they expect me to empathize with a girl protagonist? Everybody knows girls don't suffer the way boys do! Do they want me to change my gender right this second????"

4... well, tbh, I think they'd be okay with 4 since Eileen and Cynthia receive sexy outfits. But idk, they'd probably find something to bitch about there too ig. Maybe something about how Henry isn't chad enough to defeat Walter, or how Walter is a beta cuck because mommy issues. (shrug)

[7grandmel]

Todays rip: 10/09/2023

Nut Ward

Season 7 Featured on: SiIvaGunner's Highest Quality Rips: Volume Ruby

Ripped by Nafun

Tentative rip name: Gentle Shack

I'll keep today's post short due to various circumstances, but I also didn't really have much to say on it beforehand. Long story short - I really like The Nutshack.

For those somehow unaware, The Nutshack theme is the intro used for an adult animated series of the same name, and it gained some steam as a meme during 2016/2017. It was, on SiIva, used very prominently in Season 2 in particular, and was even the meme used to announce the ending of Season 1 back in 2016. The theme had a golden time in the sun, and the face of the meme Tito Dick has enjoyed a place in the SiIva channel lighthouse for a long time now, but...the Nutshack posting does feel as if its fallen to the wayside a bit more recently.

Until, as recently as this year, it started to come back again. It never really *left* per se, but during Season 7 we've been getting a pretty damn regular stream of creative and inspired Nutshack rips, pushing the joke in all sorts of new directions. It once felt as if all Nutshack was good for was simple mashups and ironic shitposting, but rips like Nut Ward prove that notion entirely wrong. Its an arrangement of Gentle Breeze from Trauma Center: Under the Knife 2, a song most popular in YTP shitposting, with the instrumentation and vocals of The Nutshack theme - its not merely a mashup, but an entire arrangement all in the same style. I was already a huge fan of Gentle Breeze-posting since long beforehand, so seeing The Nutshack get the opportunity to get arranged into its sound during its "great revival", so to speak...it didn't make me emotional, per se, but it certainly brought a smile to my face.

I'm still not entirely sure what to make of Season 7 as a whole, or at least not comfortable with asserting a statement like that until its all over. But with the Nutshack's gradual return, the heightened emphasis on Grand Dad, and regular chaos like the Season's April Fools day event with INDUSTRY KNIGHT (Beta Mix) and all that surrounded the release of Skibidden Toiree, it kind of feels like a modern-day incarnation of Season 1. Or rather, Season 1 with an insane degree of quality attached to it.

[clegfly]

Oh god. I’ve been summoned. Gotta carry through now!!!!!

Okay so I’ve been wanting to talk about mr outback for AGES because woo boy do I have. Thoughts. And a really fucking insane theory that I’m not sure if I believe in or am just concocting for fun but I thought of it so HERE have my thoughts

First of them being: what exactly IS mr outback. I’ve had a slight theory for a while and I guess since we’re going batshit analysis crazy here I might unleash it to be devoured chomp chomp-

Note the wording here. Not you. We have a third eye. We have a sixth sense. He sounds almost like he’s talking from personal experience.

Now, he could be including himself and some of the other more aware, ancient beings in this universe in that ‘sixth sense’ but… if we wanna take it the most literal way, we can observe that mr outback is including HIMSELF when describing the dreamers, which… opens a WHOLE new can of worms, because if that’s the interpretation you’re meant to get here, then that implies a LOT of things, chiefly…

1. Dreamers remain in the plane of reality that headspace exists upon, wandering the spaces woven by other dreamers either long after the death or some other major event within the headspace.

33000 years is… an AGE. At first you chalk that up to him being some ancient dream being created millennia ago but if we are taking the interpretation of him BEING a dreamer of some sort this implies that they remain in the realm even after death, or again, maybe some other kind of event.

Hm… wonder where we’ve seen a dreamer succumb to their headspace and become trapped inside of it during their moments of death and despair before…

I digress…

That line of thinking also brings us back to a lot of characters that can and do exist inside of headspace, for a multitude of reasons so let’s break that down-

2. Are the three great creatures really just ancient beings native to this world/Sunny's dreams, or could they be something more?

You made a really good point about this implying that headspace natives can become more aware and powerful as time goes on, but I’m wondering now… considering mr outback is possibly a dreamer himself…

Could the three great creatures also have been at some point?

Thinking back to your analysis on omori and cosmic horror- the three great creatures and sunny all have things in common with that genre. Large, god-like creatures that manipulate the universe around them in their own ways. What if Abbi, Humphrey and BYC aren’t just imaginary friends but the exact opposite, dreamers who remained in sunny’s headspace and gained his favour somehow.

It reminds me specifically of the omori beta era, before it was planned to be a game and was intended to be a graphic novel series… and how Tako, who later became Abbi, was portrayed there.

Aubrey, kel, hero and basil (or Aubrey, hiki, k and flower if you want to be pedantic) were portrayed as imaginary friends, while others, including an early version of Abbi, were portrayed as an opposite to that concept. While the actual pages showcasing this are impossible to read, it’s been stated that these characters were once important, and oh look- they appear in a three as well! Not to mention the fact that they’re rendered in the same monochromatic artstyle as omori- while I don’t think all headspaces share the same aesthetic, as an early version of the concept having the “anti-imaginary friends” presented as a identical to omori himself paints a clear message on what they were supposed to be. And what characters they later became.

Again, this is horrible quality and I’m sure I can get better images somewhere, but it’s clear that it’s tako, uni and Meido- presented here like this immediately after (or immediately before? I am NOT fishing through my camera roll to find this image again) the headspace friends, who were clearly designated as imaginary at this point almost as a foil or contrast to them- I think THIS early concept may have been what inspired the three great creatures and their role in headspace- because if YOU were a dreamer that died and had to wander the spaces created by others like you for eternity, you’d probably check out the one made by the kid with the crazy powerful imagination.

Interestingly, depending on what headspace they’re in, their forms seem to conform to the aesthetic of the place. Outback deliberately notes sunny’s as more whimsical and cutesy than usual, and just look at the designs of the TGC- not to mention the clear inspiration from sunny's childhood woven into their designs. Humphrey being from the picture book, BYC being a mix of chimera keychain and that smug ass fucking calendar, and abbi being... pretty sure we came to a consensus as a fandom that she was based off of that one pet rock, ocotaco, and a few other things, but basically, all of their designs and the way they manifest to sunny change depending on his headspace which is really cool and interesting (same thing with outback)

Basically, I think it's very possible that the great creatures could be dreamers too, wandering alike to outback and being attracted to sunny's headspace due to the immense power of his imagination. They also likely befriended him which is part of why they stayed.

Another ANOTHER interesting point we discover here- sunny in the end has total power, regardless of the other dreamers within the headspace. I mean... Abbi can be banished, Humphrey and BYC's wills can be twisted to guard the truth from Sunny... he is in control despite the fact that the great creatures are clearly powerful themselves. Which begs the question and ties back to another point you made-

Is sunny in control because this is his headspace, or does Sunny's power and authority among the three rely on the strength of his imagination?

Is that what's being implied- that the stronger or more powerful a dreamer's imagination is, the more powerful they are amongst the others?

Because GOD that is INTERESTING.

This could also translate directly to size in a manner- outback is small, regular ol' npc sized, so from that maybe we can infer that he wasn't the most imaginative of dreamers, despite his clear coherency and wisdom.

BYC, Abbi and Humphrey are all quite large, hence their names- I think in order of size it goes from Abbi or BYC to Humphrey. which can maybe be a little mini theory on its own- maybe the reason BYC is the favourite is because they're the biggest (hence big yellow cat) and therefore have a stronger imagination and sunny can relate to them more deeply? (Also mari association because of the calendar) ALSO wondering!!!!!!!!

3. Do Mari and Basil also possess this sixth sense in a way?

Do I want this part of the theory to be even at least semi true because it would be such a cool thing to tie these three together? Yes, so I'm going to try VERY HARD to prove it sjdhshdf

You speculated that Dreamers likely have some sort of connection with the dead and the afterlife, hence... mari, and the crossroads, but what if mari and basil were connected to the plane headspace exists upon in at least some way too?

Heres a thing- stranger is ODD. Like, very ODD if you chalk him up to being a being native to headspace (or i suppose black space) because he knows SO MANY THINGS about the real world that he should not be able to know if he resides solely on another plane of existence.

E.g. basil's hospital room at the end of the good ending- HOW DID HE KNOW?

Not to mention the knowledge he possesses on basil and his situation in reality that he still spouts in the omori route segments where sunny would have no way of knowing them. Clearly, there is something up with stranger- he cannot be solely bound to the plane. What if he is, at least partially, the conscience of the actual, real live basil?

And it's the same with Mari too- a hyper awareness of the plane and world she's in, the ability to reach sunny directly...

and how her and stranger/basil are linked as anomalies in the world constantly... both being linked to the truth and having heightened awareness of headspace.

It sounds similar to the three greats.

Not to mention the imagery and constant attention drawn to Mari and Sunny's sleeping patterns... and of course-

The white egret orchid. Both at Basil's house and Mari's grave.

"My thoughts will follow you into your dreams".

Spelling it out for us that both basil and mari are following sunny into his dreams- via the weird sixth sense they have. me when there's astral projection at the function (sunny's daily 17 hour nap)!!!

Basil and Mari don't seem to have their own headspaces though. The idea of basil maybe having a white space in canon was touched upon, but not much else.

A small theory one could make is that Basil and Mari have a very weak sense which is boosted by the orchids, which i think is also silly. The orchids being little power increasers... god even if none of this is canon at all (which it could very well not be) this lore speculation is so fun.

Anyway, there is a LOT more i want to touch on, but its almost been HOURS so. I'm going to leave it here and let you add on if you like danny sjdsfhbh

TL;DR- outback himself could possibly be a dreamer, which leads into a rabbit hole of many other characters being dreamers that is VERY interesting and reveals a lot of cool quirks and theories about this world and what happens within it.

God, I love this. I just. Want to keep exploring this idea so bad.

ALSO if you do wanna see a tad more content on this i recommend gray-spark (i think thats their name) on here... they do a lot of headspace (especially three greats) analysis which is all really cool and thought-provoking and inspired a good chunk of this.

OUGH I NEED TO SEE THIS MORE TALKED ABOUT!!!!!!!!!!!

So are we ever going to talk about the “headspace is real and a type of astral projection” thing or.

[goodgirlofglory]

That which lingered on his mind / Chapter 1

Prologue - Chapter 2

Pairing: Dark!Steve Rogers x reader

Word count: 4,7k

Warnings: 18+, Non-con, dub-con, Explicit sexual content, Explicit language, smut, Graphic descriptions of violence, bondage (bound wrists), oral (f receiving), asphyxiation (choking), Cumplay, Some graphic descriptions of blood.

Chapter summary: Steve Rogers, Captain America and your former neighbor, used to harbour some secret feelings for you before he was turned into a Hydra asset. Now he’s come back to claim what he cannot rid himself of: his desire for you.

Author’s note: This one came to me a dark January night and hasn’t let me go since. This series will be about 7-8 chapters, so stay tuned! Not beta-read, so all mistakes are mine. My work is not to be distributed anywhere but my blog. Reblogs are welcome, though. And I so appreciate reading your replies and tags<3 hope you enjoy ;)

It started out as any other night. You had a cup of tea and scrolled through your phone for a while before a violent yawn told you it was time for bed. 

It was a normal night.

Until you stood face to face with Captain America. Or at least, who you thought was Captain America. America’s hero and your former neighbor. 

You had never really paid any attention to news about the Avengers or Mr. Rogers, and had never been one to socialize with neighbors. He lived across the hall from you and was quiet and polite, never drawing more attention to himself other than a smile and a curt greeting now and then.

That was until he disappeared off the grid about four months ago. It was all the news could talk about for a good three weeks. Gossip in the building also started flourishing. Where had he gone? What happened? Was he dead?

Apparently not, for there he stood, silent as the grave, inside your apartment, half shrouded in darkness, blocking your way to the bedroom. 

 You didn’t really know what his uniform used to look like either, but from what you could remember he used to have a star on his chest, and not the squid looking emblem he now bore. His face was also an unusual sight, jaw covered in a gruff beard, hair long and pushed back. But worse were the eyes; steely, cold and intent on you.

 Had it only been good ol’ Captain America standing uninvited in your home you would have been scared. But this. This chilled you to the bone.

 What the fuck was going on?

 Your body froze as you stared at the man, who made no effort to speak nor move. Finally you found your voice. 

“Excuse me, but what the hell are you doing in my apartment? Please leave before I call the police.”

You tried to sound tough, but your voice shook slightly at the last word. He must have picked up on that, for his otherwise dead eyes gained a slight glimmer. 

 “Please do. Their deaths will be on your shoulders.”

A small gasp caught in your throat. You were starting to become terrified. This was absolutely not the Captain America you had seen on the news nor the Steve Rogers you had greeted in the hallway. 

“Actually, don’t bother, you’ll never reach your phone,” he continued, sounding far too nonchalant for the ominous aura he was putting off.

Your eyes widened when you remembered leaving your phone on the living room table, all the way across the room behind you. 

What should you do? Run for it anyways? Scream for help? You opted for a seemingly less provoking approach.

“What do you want?” you asked, tears starting to involuntarily form at the corners of your eyes.

His eyes seemed to darken somehow, setting themselves on you with deadly weight, piercing your soul.

“You.”

Your fight reflex kicked in before you could think, and you lunged for the front door across the living room behind you.

But you barely got a few steps in before a thick arm snaked around your waist and janked you back to hit painfully against a hard, unrelenting body. You managed to shriek in fear before a second hand, big enough to cover both your mouth and nose slammed down on your face and muffled your cries, knocking your lips against your teeth. You tasted blood.

You kicked, hit and scratched at your assailant's body, but gained only a mocking snicker in response. His mouth came down to whisper in your ear, sending ice cold shivers down your spine.

“Please, keep fighting, it only makes this more enjoyable.”

You sobbed into his coarse hand, tears springing free from your eyes, wetting the skin of his fingers. 

 He tsked

 “Cuing the waterworks. He wouldn’t like that,” he breathed into your ears and tightened his grip on your face, effectively cutting off your air supply. You squirmed against his arms in panic, new tears falling, not managing to move him even an inch. His grip remained as tight as iron. 

 As your vision blurred and you slipped into dark unconsciousness, you kept wondering what he meant by “he”.

 §

 You awoke groggily, feeling the muscles in your arms ache as they lay over your head. You usually woke up with your arms thrown over your head, so it took a few seconds to remember what had happened.

When you did, your body surged upwards, but was promptly janked back against the bed. Looking up, you registered for the first time that both of your wrists were bound to the bedpost above your head, using the bondage ropes you had gotten as a joke a few years back. Looking down you saw that you were still fully clothed, with your oversized UNI t-shirt and cotton shorts.

 The knot looked intricate and a few janks told you it was secure as well. 

 Your breathing started to race as you understood you were stuck, and a cry ripped itself from your lungs at the realization. 

 “Ah-ah-ah, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a calm voice came from across the room.

“HELP,” you screamed at the top of your lungs, ignoring the man who sat in the chair in the corner. It felt good to defy him, if only for a split second. 

 He made no indication that your behaviour bothered him, his stare as even as ever. 

“I will kill anyone who enters this apartment,” he said calmly. “You don’t want to endanger any of your good neighbors' lives. That’s not who he perceived you to be. I, on the other hand, have no problem killing everyone in this building if it helps you understand what is happening here.”

 “And what the fuck is happening here exactly?” you snarled, still janking at the knot around your wrists, bound just a little too tightly.

He smirked at that.

“Feisty, just like I hoped. It’s more...fun if I can break you first,” he mused.

He got up from the chair and moved over to the bed. When he got close enough you kicked out at him, and you would have hit him right in the gut if he hadn’t caught your foot. Not that it would affect him, you bitterly thought after.

He looked almost amused before twisting your foot around until you shrieked in pain.

“Oh,” he cooed, “remember to be quiet. We wouldn’t want anyone to come checking in on you, would we?”

He let go of your foot, and you recoiled in the pain that shot up through your body. A sob escaped your gritted teeth.

He snickered.

“Pathetic. But I do see the appeal.”

He leaned forward and grabbed your jaw in a harsh grip, making you look him in the eyes as he leaned in so close his breath brushed across your face. There was a slight hint of mint to it.

“What's happening here, sweetheart, is that I’m gonna get some things out of my system.”

His hand let go of your jaw and moved down to slightly encircle your throat, lingering like a taunting threat. Your throat constricted instinctively at the presence of his calloused hand. A smirk played at his lips as you squirmed under his light touch. 

“I’m going to fuck you, Y/N”.

 You thrashed at that, nausea setting in your stomach, your skin prickling as the words landed.  

 “No, no, no, please,” you started to mumble in your panicked state, janking  more desperately on the knot around your bound wrists.

 “Oh yes, and the more you fight, the worse it’ll be for you,” Steve smirked as he moved around the back of the bed and started to climb onto it, grabbing your kicking feet with ease, straddling your thighs.

Helpless to stop it, you watched as he took a fistful of your shirt in both his hands and ripped the fabric open, split down the middle, exposing your stomach and chest underneath. In the chilly night air your nipples hardened and goosebumps spread across your skin.

You saw the feral expression that grew behind his eyes. 

He only hummed in response to your desperate whine, before letting a hand flitter up your hip.

His fingers stroked lightly up your torso, following every dent and bump, and you shivered at how soft it was in contrast to his earlier brutality.

Your breath hitched in your throat and his gaze snapped up to meet yours.

“Does that feel good?” he asked in a low murmur, smugness shining in his eyes, mockery dripping from his voice.. 

You shut your mouth and bit the inside of your cheek, tears welling in your eyes, trying to quell the impulse to scream. 

You had no doubt in your mind that no one in your building could overpower the super soldier, and you were terrified he would keep his word. 

You couldn’t let anyone else die. 

 A painful tweak of a hardened nipple brought you back to the room, and you cried out.

“Don’t disappear now, I need you present for this,” he instructed in a patient voice, almost like you were a disobedient child. 

 He bent down then, and took a pebbled nipple into his mouth while his hands landed on either side of your head, caging you in.

The sensation of his hot and wet mouth in contrast to the cold air of the room sent sparks flying through your body and, more horrifyingly, down between your legs. You bit your tongue out of shame, and tried to squirm away from his wanton mouth. It took only a single hand of his on your chest to effectively pin you down as he continued his ministrations on your nipple, sucking, licking and teasing with his teeth.

He radiated warmth hovering over you like that, his hand a searing presence on your skin, no doubt feeling how hard your heart was beating against your ribcage.

His smell filled your nose, musky, with hints of smoked wood and cedar, and something familiar and sweet - your own perfume. Did he go into your bathroom? Did he use your perfume on himself?

His mouth moved up your chest and to your neck, and he was so close, so overwhelming.

You squirmed slightly at his approach, but noticed that in this position, pinned under his thighs like you were, the fabric of your panties caught on your core, dragging along the awakened skin, and to your horror you could feel the slick starting to gather there. You stifled a whimper, face burning with dread and newly bloomed shame. 

His beard scratched your throat as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling sharply.

“There’s that smell,” he murmured with a throaty sigh, “that smell he couldn’t get out of his head”.

What was he on about? Who was “he”? 

Your mind raced with questions as his tongue started to lap at your throat, leaving open mouthed and sloppy kisses to your sensitive skin.

You closed your eyes and tried to resist, tried to fight your body’s reaction to his stimulation, but as his teeth nipped at a particularly sweet spot, your whole body shuddered involuntarily and a small gasp escaped your mouth. 

 His face snapped up from your neck, piercing blue eyes finding yours teary and terrified - and no doubt dilated.

He straightened after a second, and shimmied off from where he was still stradling your thighs. As soon as your legs were free, you started kicking out at him, rage and defiance surging, trying and failing to hit him in the chest as he effortlessly caught both your ankles and gathered them in one hand. 

He leaned forward, face smooth and emotionless, and landed an open handed slap across your face a second later.

Your head whipped to the side, and your breath left your body for a second as your head swam, a high pitched ringing filling your ears.

You gasped in shock, your whole body going stiff as pain spread from your cheek.

You had never been hit before, and especially not that hard. Tears sprang forth from your eyes as it dawned on you how utterly fucked you were. 

“Let that be a warning,” he said in a calm voice, seemingly not affected in the slightest by the violence he was so willingly dishing out.

The fight was out of you for now, and you could only breathe through the sharp pain that lingered on your face as he moved in between your thighs.

Sitting back on his haunches he started to remove the tactical suit on his torso, impatiently ripping at the fastenings as his eyes never left your face, red, swollen and wet from your tears. 

You averted your gaze, disgusted by him, disgusted by yourself, desperately trying not to reveal your body’s reaction to his.

When he was completely naked from the waist up, his hands turned to your sleeping shorts, removing them with deft haste and surprising softness before leaning back again, his touch leaving your body. 

Several seconds went by without any action, and your curiosity gained the better of you. Turning your eyes to him, you found him studying your body. His face was as blank as ever, but his eyes betrayed some sort of sentiment you hadn’t seen before.

“He used to dream about you,” he said after a while, seemingly more to himself. 

He bent forward once he realized you were watching him, caging you in again as he hovered over you, moving closer and closer.

Face still stinging from his slap, you didn’t dare move even a muscle as his lips found yours. It started slow, but soon he grew impatient, and his tongue invaded your mouth, hot, wet and dominating, moving languidly against your own. 

Breathless and reeling, a small whimper left your mouth, and the responding groan that emitted from his throat rumbled through you.

While still moving his tongue into your mouth, one of his hands reached down and you felt the distinct calloused warmth of his touch to the inside of your thigh. 

A small, panicked “no” croaked out of you, but he only swallowed it eagerly, not letting up his touch as it zeroed in on your core. 

You could feel his fingers touching the cotton covering you, and by the breathy laughter he huffed against your mouth, he no doubt felt how wet it was.

“Oh, doll, I don’t think you’ve been completely honest,” he mocked as he leaned back again and looked down at your ruined panties. 

You tried to hide your burning face in the nook of your elbow as he ripped your panties off before bunching them up in his hand and bringing them to his face. But his eyes caught yours in a steel grip as he inhaled sharply, eyes fluttering for a second before a pleased sigh left his lips.

You watched as his tongue swiped at the wet patch of the fabric before he put the panties in his pocket.

You thrashed at his obscene actions, nausea burning hot in the pit of your stomach, mixing with your undeniable arousal. 

What the fuck was wrong with you? 

As your mind raced against the reality of the situation, Steve laid down on the bed between your legs. His mouth attacked your pussy. 

A squeak escaped your mouth, hands janking at the knot around your wrists as he started devouring you, mouth moving between your clit and weeping wound with urgency, almost desperation. 

A full on groan left his mouth as he lapped at the juices that were steadily leaking from you. 

His hands found your breasts and started teasing your nipples, and you tried to squirm away.

You needed him to stop, you needed this assault on your senses to cease, because you could feel your resolve burning away as sweet, untainted pleasure started spreading through your body. 

Steve’s tongue swept up and swirled around your clit, and you tried inching away. One of his hands gave your breast a sharp slap before tweaking your nipple painfully again. Another warning. You headed it. 

“Does that feel good?” he asked, but in contrast to the last time it almost sounded like he cared.

You shook your head weakly. 

He chuckled against your mound and gave your breast another slap, sending jolts of pain through your chest. 

“Don’t lie,” he warned, but there was surprisingly little malice in his voice. “But nevermind. This pretty, swollen, soaked cunt tells me all I need to know,” he said almost fondly before giving your clit a few licks. 

“Give in, Y/N, I can feel how much you want to,” he taunted in between licks and all you could do was lay still and take it, new tears streaking from your eyes and wetting the hair at your temples as you squeezed them shut. 

He was right. You couldn’t deny the pleasure he was wringing from your body.

“I’m going to stay still now, and you move however you want,” he said then, before doing just that. 

Somehow, having him stop was more torture than what he had been doing, and your stubborn pride, your better judgement and the stinging feeling of violation that burned in your chest fought against your body’s sudden need for stimulation - for his stimulation. 

Something in you snapped, and you tentatively moved your hips so your clit could find his tongue, stretched out waiting for you. 

You shivered. 

It felt good. 

You rolled your hips again, more firmly this time, and the resulting swipe of his tongue against your sensitive bud of nerves had your breath leaving your body in a shaky exhale. 

His hands gave your breasts an encouraging squeeze, before resuming their attention on your nipples, and you moved your hips with more fervor. 

Before long you were grinding yourself on his mouth, breaths coming out in puffs as your eyes stayed shut, losing yourself in the hot feel of his tongue. 

Desperation grew as you could feel that distinct coil tighten in your abdomen, and every draw of breath fueled the build up. 

Not thinking anymore, you bucked your hips on him in repeated motion, lingering on the edge of the abyss, searching for that which would make the coil snap.

A desperate whimper left your mouth and as a response, a rumbling groan from his throat vibrated right through you and you fell head first into your orgasm, entire body shuddering violently as your mouth opened in a silent scream. 

He was on you as you came down, lapping up your release and groaning as you trembled at the overstimulation. He was frantically groping at your waist and hips, strong arms and hands grounding you as you floated on the aftershocks of your high.

The moment the orgasm faded from your foggy mind, it fell in on itself.

How could you let yourself give in like that? 

You squeezed your eyes shut, your mind trying to escape the whole thing, if only for a moment, go far far away, go numb, go blank. 

You weren’t allowed more than a few seconds reprieve, however, as you faintly heard him rustling around before you felt pressure at your entrance.

Before you had time to protest, Steve pushed his cock into you, giving a pleased huff as your body squeezed instinctively, drawing him in even more. 

Your eyes shot open and met his - wild and pleased.

“There she is,” he said with dark glee as he breathed hard. 

You fought to draw breath as your body seared with pain of the intrusion. His girth was more than you could take. It was all you could do to handle the stretch of his cock bottoming out, pushed inside you to the hilt.

“Feel that? Feel how your willing cunt is swallowing me like that, inviting me in?” 

He started to move a second later, not giving you any time to adjust, setting a punishing pace that sent sparks of pain up through your body.

You cried out at the agony, nails digging into your own palms. 

Above you, Steve growled as he bared his teeth at you, slamming his hips against yours. 

His cock was rock hard as it speared you, and he only seemed to grow harder at your pained cries. 

Through the pain and your strained whimpering sounds, you faintly heard him mumble.

“- all those incessant thoughts about you….never like this….if he only fucking knew...ripe for the taking, and the bastard didn’t as much as ask you out...”

His hand seized your throat as he stuffed his face into the crook of your neck again, inhaling fervently. Hitched breaths was the only thing that escaped you at this point, as he kept up his torturing pace, abusing your pussy without halt. 

“- That fucking smell in the hallway...never escaping it...fuck…gonna fuck those thoughts right out...”

 Was “he” Steve? Was he rambling about himself? Or at least, who he used to be?

The pain had slowly subsided as you’d listened to the man’s crazed rambling, and a deep onslaught of pleasure was starting to make itself known with each punch of Steve’s cock. Soon your body started to tremble, and you fought against the coil starting to build again. 

Steve shifted his hips to run his hands down your sides, and the new angle hit the spot deep within you that made your breathless.

Your mouth opened in a complete and utter moan, and Steve’s head snapped up from your neck, something akin to surprise in his eyes as he took in your face. 

“That’s the spot, isn’t it?” he asked, and his voice was thick with pleasure. 

You tried to avert your eyes, but his hand shot up and gripped your jaw, pulling your face so close that your breaths mingled. His stare locked yours in an iron grip. 

His thrusts slowed, and he rolled his hips, reaching deep, so deep inside you, and a pleasured sigh left your lips to fan across his lips as he found that spot again.  

“Look at you. Steve would never think of you like this - he respected you. Little did he know you were a cock hungry little masochist,” he husked, pupils deep pools of dark desire. Your cheeks burned as you clenched around him at his words.

He grunted, letting his eyes fall close for only a second, and you noticed how his long and beautiful eyelashes fanned across his cheek. 

“Let’s see how much you can enjoy this, huh?” he asked in an almost mocking tone as one of his hands reached down to where his body was rutting into yours, and his thumb found your clit. 

You cried out as he started an unrelenting circling of the sensitive bud, and he mouthed at your jaw as he hummed in response. 

In the back of your mind a small voice was telling you to fight, to gnaw and hit and thrash until he understood that you didn’t want this. Another voice was arguing that you would only be hurt further if you fought more. There was no getting away from his intent and no overpowering him.

A louder voice was whispering that it was okay to give in. Give in to the way he felt on your skin, the way he moved in you, the way he looked at you. Give in to the pleasure.

 Your orgasm washed over you like a warm wave, spasming through every muscle as they sung with exhilaration. A shuddering groan left your lips and your pussy pulsed around Steve’s cock. He growled as he crushed his lips to yours, and you opened yours willingly, moving your tongue against his in a wet and sloppy kiss. 

“Good,” he praised in a groan after breaking the kiss, and to your surprise, something akin to pride bloomed deep in your chest at his praise. 

You were completely lost in the pleasure now, in the drag of his cock against your trembling walls, his musky og smoky scent and those blue, lust-blown eyes piercing you. 

His pace quickened again, and you could tell by the way his muscles tensed that he was closing in on his own release.

“I can feel you fluttering, doll. Listen to the sounds this pretty pussy makes. Maybe I should keep you?” he mused darkly, a small wicked grin on his lips. 

For a moment terror flashed across your eyes. Keep you? In the back of your mind the pain of your still bound wrists alerted you of the implications of that notion. Your cheek was still burning hot from his earlier “warning”.

As if he read your mind, he sneered.

“Take what he never had. Continue to take what he never had. Make you mine, let you have my cock every time I want, keep this tight pussy on a leash”.

You heaved for breath as his thrusts grew frantic, and he raised himself to his haunches, hands a bruising grip on your hips as he looked down at you. 

Under the dim moonlight his muscles rippled, shining in a layer of sweat, his hair disheveled and falling into his face, and those eyes, forever shaking the bones in your body. 

Your name ghosted on his lips as his brows furrowed and your back arched as your third orgasm seized you by every muscle in your body, your head thrown back in a desperate, strangled whine.

 “Fucking shit,” he exclaimed through gritted teeth, and as your cunt pulsed around him, you drew his orgasm right out of his body. 

He gave a few stuttering thrusts before stilling, thrust to the hilt inside you. Through the blood coursing in your ears you heard his snarl as he emptied himself in you.

For a moment his face completely stilled, eyebrows raised, eyes fluttered shut, mouth slightly open. In that moment, you swore you recognised your former neighbor, Steve Rogers, Captain America in those features. 

But in a moment he was gone, and this Steve, whoever he was, was leaning forward to crush his mouth on yours. 

Still coming down from your high, you eagerly opened your mouth for him in a rather intimate kiss, one of his hands coming up to cup the side of your face. 

You almost sighed at the softness of it all when his teeth caught your bottom lip and bit hard enough to draw blood. You yelped in pain as the iron taste filled your mouth and he let you wrench your way out of the kiss, snickering as he leaned back up and licked some of your blood off his lips. His eyes were wicked  as he pulled himself out of you.

The emptiness he left behind was both a relief and a disappointment, even as your lip stung. You licked at the cut, wondering just what brand of danger had forced himself into your bed. 

“God, what a sight,” he murmured above you, fingers dipping down to spread your nether lips apart as his cum dribbled out of you. 

Embarrassment burned your face as he looked on, perverted astonishment painting his features. 

Two fingers swiped your slit, gathering both of your releases on them before bringing them up to your mouth.

When you did nothing but stare at him, he simply whispered “open”.

You obeyed, holding his gaze, and he pushed his fingers slowly into your mouth. The mix of the iron of your blood, the salt of his cum and the tangy taste of yourself made your face scrunch up, and he hummed low in his chest.

“Does that feel good?” he asked, face emotionless but for the shining sin of his eyes.

You couldn’t help yourself, you nodded.

The corners of his mouth twitched up at that, approval coating his features.

“Oh, I’m gonna keep you, alright,” he murmured, dragging his wet fingers down your torso.

As his fingers slowly caressed you, exhaustion drizzled over you, your vision blurred, and you fell into unconsciousness.

 §

 When you awoke, bright daylight was shining in through your window.

The soreness piercing your muscles was like nothing you had ever felt before, but the sleep had been even deeper, sitting like a pleasurable hum in your bones. 

You remembered immediately what had happened in the night and was relieved to find that your wrists were no longer bound. The bruises, purple and pink, would probably last for weeks. 

The ache deep in your core made your gut wrench in remembered dread, but somehow there was a feeling of anticipation there as well.

A quiet voice inside you whispered that you hoped he would stay true to his word, and come back. 

Author’s note: Christ. Sometimes I wonder if there’s a blood kink brewing inside me. 

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@thedaughterofwandavision​ , @hellotvshowtrash​

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[jinpanman]

It's You

pairing: hoseok x fem. reader (+ lowkey yoonjimin)

word count: 14k

genre: pg15, fluff, friends to lovers au, teacher au, coworkers au

warnings: a lot of awkwardness, excessive blushing, drinking, some non-explicit nsfw (dirty thoughts, brief mention of boners, hoseok blurts out wanting to put babies in you😌)

synopsis: An accidental confession throws your years-long friendship with Hoseok into disarray.

a/n: my first finished fic in 2 years!!!!! WOW. from what started out as a literal dream months ago to a 3k monster of illegible scribbles to a 9k mess to this. thank you to the BSH members for being amazing and helpful and oh so wonderful. thank you to Connee @writerly-love​ for being so lovely and encouraging uwu she writes so check her out y’all 💖 and the biggest BIGGEST thank you to my beta reader Melissa @hauntedlilies​ for doing me the biggest solid and helping me with 31982 things in this fic. you have been the best help and your advice and commentary is invaluable to me. thank you for encouraging me and thank you for loving my idiot characters! she draws and writes btw. check her out!!💖 i hope you enjoy this story, dearest reader 🥺🌱 (edited 05/2021)

yoonjimin drabble: It’s You 2.0

Is it normal to be so endeared watching your students jumping with excitement around your colleague?

You love your students, you do. Why else would you have become an after school teacher?  Sometimes, though, there are days when you’re scrambling to come up with an activity hours before the kids flock in from their day class. It’s tiring to always have to be on your toes in order to meet the needs of your students—which change at the switch of a light every day!—but it’s a welcome weight in your life. 

You’re thankful that you don’t have to do it all on your own. Every other week you collaborate with other teachers at the school to foster friendship and camaraderie outside of your student’s usual age range. Today your class is combined with Hoseok’s, and they are all too excited to see their favorite Mr. Hobi. Not that you blame them.

Hoseok claps his hands, drawing the attention of your students whose loud chatter lowers to a hum, albeit still excited. The students flock to him like little ducklings to their mama and you absolutely cannot help but giggle at the sight. He has such a natural chemistry with children and choosing a life as an educator fits him so well. 

Your eyes wander to where your colleague is situated in front of the class. He instructs the students to raise their hands along with him and together they stretch for a good minute. His face is scrunched in a goofy smile as his head tilts, causing his glasses to slip down his nose. Would he mind if you walked over to fix his glasses?

The herbal tea he brought you before class warms your hands as you stand in the back to observe. The steam from the cup brings out a lovely smell of peppermint which you inhale happily. Despite being a strong advocate for coffee and knowing next to nothing about tea, he somehow knew the exact type of tea you liked to drink. You take a long sip and listen to him entice the children with one last hour of fun before they have to go home.

“Okay kids! Today we’re gonna make the ground really pretty for everyone to see tomorrow morning! What do you say?”

They all cheer and he directs them to stand in two orderly lines in front of either of you by the front door while he hands you a bag filled with chalk sticks of varying colors. You raise your brows in curiosity.

“Last minute decision?”

He scoffs and hands a chalk piece to the next student in line.

“No!” You raise a brow at him and he sighs in resignation. “Fine, yes. But no one needs to know that, okay?”

You both laugh in complete understanding of the teacher struggles. Oh, the simple life of a child; so easily amused by a little piece of chalk.

“Teacher, teacher! Come look!”

One student pulls you away from your bad attempt at a portrait of Grumpy Cat, the greatest cat to have walked the earth. You walk over her and she points out something she drew on the cement.

“Look! It’s you and Mr. Hobi!” she exclaims in excitement while jumping up and down.

Sure enough there are two clumsily drawn stick figures. You assume the one with glasses is Hoseok since he’s donned a pair of round glasses today, paired nicely with his red flannel. You applaud her artwork, thanking her for drawing you so nicely, when another student comes up from behind you and squints at their peer’s drawing.

“That looks like Mr. Hobi and his girlfriend!” they say.

“No! That’s not his girlfriend. That’s Ms. Y/N!” she stomps in defiance.

The two students argue until they both yell for Hoseok to come over. Their loud commotion gains many of the other student’s attention and they all seem to watch on with curiosity. He casts a puzzled look at your direction to which you shrug, not entirely sure what your students are trying to prove. When he’s standing beside you they both shoot rapid fire questions.

“Mr. Hobi, who does this look like?”

“No, no! Mr. Hobi, who do you think these are?”

“Do they look like you and Ms. Y/N?”

“No, do they look like you and your girlfriend?”

“Do you even have a girlfriend?”

The other students have somehow flocked around you during this squabble. They giggle and you hear a unison of audible gasps in approval and join in on the questioning.

“Yeah! Do you? Do you?”

Hoseok stands there like a deer caught in headlights, not knowing what to do. His eyes flicker over to you, silently begging for help. Both your students are normally well behaved and usually do well not to ask personal questions about information you don’t voluntarily share. You can’t fault them for forgetting to be polite in the heat of the moment. They are children, after all, so you do your best to redirect them.

“Hey hey, why don’t we let Mr. Hobi speak before you ask any more questions, okay? Remember what Mr. Slug says?” 

They slouch over and robotically recite Mr. Slug’s motto about letting other people take a turn to talk but their eyes still glimmer with hope. It’s clear Hoseok doesn’t know what to say. As much as you want to laugh at his skittish stance, you know it won’t do to leave your fellow teacher hanging. The laughs can come later when the kids are gone.

“Alright, kids why don’t we—” You start to change the subject to shift their attention elsewhere when a student behind you speaks up.

“Ms. Y/N you have to help us!”

The other students join in and echo the plea to find out who Mr. Hobi’s secret girlfriend is. You cup your hands around your face so no one can see you mouthing to Hoseok—earning several groans from your students—and exchange silent communication with him. The easy smile on his face tells you that it’s okay to humor your students today, so you begin to laugh with your students and egg him on.

“Mr. Hobi, please, please, will you tell us?” you ask, putting on a half hearted puppy face and clasp your hands together to appease your students.

You swallow back a snicker at how his face morphs into embarrassment. So maybe this isn’t what he thought you’d pull, but his reaction was worth it. You tease him and poke at his reddening cheeks.

“Ahh, you don’t need to do that,” he mumbles from his pouty lips.

You pull away before he can snatch your hands. Your students laugh at your antics and chant “Mr. Hobi has a cruuush!” You chant along with them in good fun, giggling at your friend’s increasingly flushed face. He seems to finally find his senses and holds his hands up in defeat.

“Alright, alright! Calm down and I’ll tell you who she is.”

The students jump in place, cheering for their victory. His gaze lingers on you, but you think nothing of it, instead donning a shit eating grin. The children waddle in even closer, eager to hear what he has to say.

“Okay, well she’s this really, really pretty lady who likes cats a lot.”

“Ooh, like Ms. Y/N’s cat she drew?” one student interrupts and points to the striped cat you have yet to finish.

“Mhm! Just like her cat.”

“What else? What else?”

“She also doesn’t like coffee at all and makes fun of me for drinking it.” You raise your eyebrows and nod your head in approval. Whoever this lady is, you like her already.

“What does coffee taste like?”

It’s clear he didn’t expect that question and fumbles with trying to explain what coffee is to five and six year olds. You rub at your cheeks, aching from having been smiling for so long. It’s impossible not to smile when you’re around Hoseok. Simply being near him has always been enough to get you to smile.

“Tell us more about your girlfriend please!”

You hadn’t expected them to still be after that and you laugh at their boldness.

“Yeah, c’mon. Who’s this secret lady who hates coffee as much as I do?” you ask cheekily.

“Ah,” he looks away and scratches at his nose. “Well she’s—” 

Just as he’s about to reveal more about this mystery woman, the dismissal bell rings. He clicks his tongue and cackles at the disappointed faces all around him.

“Oh well! Guess you’ll have to wait ‘til next time, kids. Let’s get back to class.”

The students moan and groan but they comply and head back to the classroom to be picked up and go home.

It’s become routine to walk out to your cars together any time your classes are paired. Today is no different. Hoseok waits for you by the door, hair tousled from running after students and long sleeves rolled up his arm, revealing a black watch wrapped around his delicate wrist. As he fiddles with his phone, the rings on his fingers glint under the afternoon rays that sneak through the classroom door sidelight.

“You took your glasses off,” you nod your head at the glasses now tucked inside his shirt pocket. “They looked good on you.”

“Ha. Nice as they are, wearing glasses for too long hurts my ears.”

“Aw, poor baby,” you coo and reach forward to rub his ears. 

He grumbles and swats your hand away. He pushes open the door and motions for you to go first. You think back to the earlier fiasco with the children and wonder how is he still single? Having known him for many years prior to working together, you remember many interested suitors, both men and women alike, trying their hand at wooing him. You can’t think of a single person who doesn’t like him, or at least have a begrudging respect for him.

Outside of your job, you also know he’s the life of the party when you meet up with your friends. Your mind briefly wanders to what it would look like if you were coupled with him. Maybe you’d drive home together and wind down after a long day at work. Then you’d change out of your work clothes, cook a meal together and dance while you’re waiting, maybe even cuddle in bed together until you fall asleep. You’re thinking dangerous thoughts and you take a mental note to chastise your inner conscience when you’re alone.

“So,” you clear your throat and pretend like you hadn’t just imagined a particular fantasy about the man walking beside you, “since the kids brought it up, now I’m actually really curious.”

“Oh man, not you too,” he groans and rubs a hand over his face.

“Hoseok, come on! We’ve been friends for years now and you know what, I don’t remember you ever dating? At least not seriously. Is there anyone you’re interested in these days?” You see the hesitance on his face but you press on. “You know me, Hobi. You know I won’t tell anyone. Not even Yoonji.”

Yoonji, half of the reason why you and he are friends in the first place. The other half being her twin brother, Yoongi. You met Yoonji in your first year of university, and through her you met the crazy bunch you now call your friends. Hoseok and Yoongi had been friends long before college. Once you and Hoseok became acquainted through the twins, you’d bonded over the mutual suffering dealt by them. It had been easy to get along with him, and it didn’t take long at all to move up from acquaintances to friends. You were more than happy when you found out you both had been hired and placed at the same school after university.

He shakes his head at your request. “Nah, you wouldn’t know her anyway.”

“Okay, see! So there’s no problem in me knowing! ‘Cause I don’t know her.” You bump shoulders with him and tug at his arm. “Look, if you really don’t want to tell me, I’ll drop it. I promise. But I really am curious about the person who’s stolen Mr. Hobi’s heart.”

You’ve stopped in front of his car and now there’s nothing to distract him from your pleading face. You do your best not to look like a wide-eyed crazed cat lady and more like the pleading Puss in Boots. You hope it’s working.

“You really wanna know?”

“I do! But only if you’re comfortable telling me.”

“Promise you won’t run away when you find out?”

You’re puzzled by the shift in his demeanor, in the way his voice has dropped to nearly a whisper, but you nod anyway and extend your pinky finger out to him. He brings up his hand to wrap his pinky around yours. You’re taken aback by how seriously he’s taking this, but you wouldn’t do anything to betray his trust. He waits for a few seconds, then nods, seemingly satisfied and stuffs his hands inside his jean pockets.

His eyes are downcast and with a heavy exhale he says quietly, “It’s you.”

You blink. Then you laugh. And you can’t stop laughing. The nervous energy rolls off of you in peals of inappropriate laughter. It isn’t until you see he’s frowning—an expression that doesn’t cross his face often—that you try to reign in your nerves and calm down. 

“You got jokes Hoseok!” you say, trying to lighten the sudden sour mood.

“I’m not trying to be funny. I—I like you.”

Your residual giggling immediately subsides when you realize he really is serious. A wave of confusing emotions wash over you. You’re shocked, you’re confused, and you’re in denial. This can’t be happening. Your mouth opens and closes repeatedly as your brain flips through your dictionary of words to try to understand what you’ve just heard.

Frustration spills out of his lips when you remain mute. “It’s you! I want you! It’s been you for years. Is that not what you wanted to hear? Are you satisfied now that you know?”

Wait. What? 

Your mind still hasn’t caught up and all you can do is stare at him. You catch a quiet "fuck” escaping his lips as he roughly rakes his fingers through his already messed hair. He gives you one last glance before he dashes into his car. Seeing him leave finally gets your tongue working.

“Wait.” You try to grab his arm but he’s already shut the car door. “Wait Hobi, I—I’m sorry. No, no wait please!”

He drives off without a single glance back.

You have never felt like the shittiest person to exist on this planet until now. You survey the lot to make sure no one witnessed this scene and are relieved to find no one. You scurry into your car, forcing back the hot tears that want to come out. 

You don’t deserve to cry after being so cruel. Even if it was unintentional. You scramble for your phone as soon as you’re strapped in. The screen immediately unlocks once your face is in view and you swipe on your best friend’s number starred at the top of your contacts list.

Yoonji picks up after the third ring and her voice drawls out through the speaker, “Did Hobi finally spill the beans, ‘cause thank fucking god.“

You briefly register that you can hear Yoongi in the background talking to another man whose distressed voice sounds vaguely familiar. Blinking your tears away, it takes a second for Yoonji’s words to sink in and you are, for the second time today, at a loss for words. You’re out of the parking lot when your voice finds itself but your brain has yet to catch up, still stuck on those three words that came out of Hoseok’s mouth.

"Wait, wait, wait. Yoonji. You knew? About him? But—wait. How did you—why didn’t you know—er, tell me?” Your free hand flies wildly in the air as you drive.

“He’s not exactly subtle about his feelings for you, you know. Do you not remember last month when you complained about wanting milk tea and he immediately dropped everything to personally drive to a shop 10 minutes away to get you one—a large one, might I add!—with ‘for miss beautiful’ written on the side of the cup?” 

“He does that for everyone,” you mumble into your phone.

“No he does not. You’re just a dumb squirrel and apparently he’s attracted to dumb squirrels.” You don’t need to see her to know she’s pacing mid rant and examining her freshly manicured nails like the princess she is. You wish you knew how she had the funds and time to repaint her nails every other week.

“How come I never noticed?” you ask, pointedly ignoring the squirrel jab.

“Again, you’re a dumb squirrel—”

“What am I gonna do? I didn’t mean to make him feel bad about confessing to me. I feel like such an ass,” you whine into your phone, once again ignoring her insult. You roll your eyes at the fake sounds of her humming in thought. She enjoys making you antsy beyond belief way too much.

“Yoonji! Stop teasing me please!” Your face contorts into the best puppy face you could muster, and you’re sure the driver next to you is giving you a weird look.

“Ew, gross. I can feel your puppy eyes on me 70 miles away. Stop it.”

Worth it.

“Well first of all,” she begins, “you were an ass. How would you feel if you confessed to someone and the first thing they do is laugh? That was shitty of you, babe!”

If you weren’t driving, you would have hung your head in shame. “Yeah, I know…”

“Mhm. At least you know.” As much as she loves you, Hoseok’s her friend too. You don’t blame her for not comforting you. “Anyway, you could go about this several ways. One, let him down easy. Or two, open your eyes and realize you feel the same way. Or three, avoid him for the rest of your life and run away to a convent to make certain you’ll never see him again.”

You whine again, just as pathetically as the first time. “You’re not helping! Those are all impossible!”

“Fine, fine.” She sighs into the phone. “So answer this for me then. Do you like him?”

And that there is the million dollar question. Do you like him? You’ve never given yourself the luxury of seeing him in that way. He was obviously a very attractive man with an equally captivating personality. Yes, he may have made your heart flutter at least a dozen times in the time you’ve known him. Okay, so maybe more than a dozen… 

And yes, you may have indulged in one or two fantasies about what it would be like to date him but you never allowed your mind to wander farther than a few innocent thoughts. You valued your friendship with him far too much to divulge in selfish daydreams. You reveal as much to your friend.

“Babe, all I can tell you is that knowing Hoseok, he’s probably at home wallowing in despair and embarrassment and will probably hate himself for making you uncomfortable. Aaand drinking himself silly because he’s stupid.” 

You hear Yoongi snort in the background.

“B-but I’m not—”

“So go tell him yourself then!”

“Ah Yoonjiii..” you whine... again.

“Figure it out, bitch! I gotta finish painting my nails now. Love youuu!” She hangs up before you can wail her name once more and you’re left to stew in your feelings for the rest of the evening.

The following day, Hoseok doesn’t show up for work. Or the next. By the third day, you’re tempted to ask your supervisor if he still even works here. Okay, so maybe you’re overreacting a little bit. Maybe Yoongi would know if he was still alive, but then he’d pry into why you’re asking in the first place and you’re not ready to answer any questions. 

You’ve just gotten home and your shoulders droop heavily. You have yet to receive any news or texts from Hoseok since he left you in the parking lot that day. It didn’t help that the kids were exceptionally testy today.

Your mind is riddled with worry, but rather than for yourself, you worry about him. Actually if you’re being honest, you’ve been thinking about him endlessly since then. You hope he’s taking care of himself. You want to apologize. You need to apologize. This realization is what helps you to make your decision. 

With a sudden blaze of courage, you grab your purse off the couch and head out to the bus stop just a street down your place. It takes about thirty minutes with one bus transfer that leads you directly to his apartment complex. You’ve been there many times and while you know the route by heart, this visit feels like a whole new experience.

Your feet know exactly where to go and how many steps to take, leading you out the bus, into the apartment complex, and up the elevator until you’re standing in front of his door. You stare at his door and a brief flash of doubt rings alarms in your head. You ring the bell before you can overthink your actions. A few seconds later his voice chimes out from the speaker box.

“Who is it?” 

His voice sounds very tired. Has he not been sleeping well?

“Hello?” He tries again.

You lightly slap your cheeks, bringing yourself back. You weren’t even aware you had frozen up.

“Hey, it’s me. Um, Y/N.”

No answer.

"Can we—can we talk?”

Again, you are met with silence.

Your fingers twiddle with the hem of your shirt, unsure of your next move. You came all the way here on complete impulse. You don’t do well when you don’t have a plan. And right now, you have no plan, which is ironic, considering you’re a teacher for young children who require a level of spontaneity every day. 

You’re itching to escape but your feet remain wooden against the pavement. You bend your head down and glare at your legs, willing them to move goddammit. You nearly find the will to finally bolt when you hear the door creak open. Your head whips up and you immediately seek out his face. You come eye to eye with a disheveled looking Hoseok hiding behind his door. His bleary, sunken eyes follow you warily as you take a step forward and blurt out his name, but before you can get another word in he addresses you.

“Look, I don’t need a pity party okay?” He pauses to slink further away from the already small opening through the door. “Especially from you. It was a mistake and I’m sorry that happened. I shouldn’t have told you like that and I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. That was a bad move.” 

You open your mouth and breathe in, ready to counter his allegation but he puts a hand up, an unspoken request to continue talking uninterrupted. “I just need a few more days to clear my mind. I can’t promise I’ll be okay soon but—”

You interrupt him anyway.

“I’m not saying no Hobi,” your voice is meek but you mentally pat yourself on the back for finally finding your voice.

“Wha—what? What did you… er, what do you mean?”

“I,” you pause to collect your thoughts but alas, when you have no plan your brain goes haywire and your mouth rambles away without your permission. “Well, first I want to apologize for forcing you to talk and for not taking you seriously. I really didn’t mean to disregard your feelings or make fun of you. You didn’t make me uncomfortable at all actually! It’s just that… no one’s ever—I mean, I didn’t think you saw me in that way and, well, I mean I always thought you were cute. You’re so handsome and dreamy and you’re funny and when you smile your eyes crinkle into little moons and your hearts a smile. I mean! Your smile, it makes a heart and I love it so much and I, um, but I didn't—I mean I don’t know why you even like me in the first place.” You laugh nervously, anxiety rising up inside you like bile at not being able to get the words out right.

A warm hand wraps around yours and you’re bewildered. He’s opened the door just big enough to let his hand out to hold yours. He’s the one hurting and yet he reaches out to comfort you when you showed the slightest unease. If anything, he should be lashing out at you right now. The warmth in his eyes tells you he has no intention of doing that. His thoughtfulness and care towards you, even after you hurt him, causes your heart to stutter and you fight on despite your nerves.

“I don’t know what I’m doing and I’m still not sure about my feelings but I’m willing to try? If you are too? I don’t really know how to do this, but—but I’m willing to explore whatever this could be with you. And I’m not saying you have to consider my feelings because that isn’t fair to you. You can absolutely tell me to fuck off and I won’t bother you again. Um, yeah I think—I think that’s it.”

God, you can’t wait to get home so you can punch your pillows for rambling so much! You stand there, staring at the side of the door so it looks like you’re looking at him but you’re really not. Your halfhearted smile slowly dwindles into a tight lipped smile the longer he stays silent and you’re wondering if now’s a good time to skedaddle.

“Okay, got it. I’m sorry Hoseok—” You turn your back to him, completely prepared to walk away with your tail tucked.

“Can I hug you?”

You whirl around and blink owlishly at him and stutter embarrassingly so. “What?”

“Can I hug you?”

“I mean, y-yeah? I guess?”

You’re dying internally over how your voice squeaks and inflects into a higher, unsure tone. He pushes the door open and pulls you by your hands into his arms, effectively drawing you away from your internal conflict. The feeling of his warmth around you sends your heart into an unfamiliar tangle of emotions. 

Hoseok has always been the best bear hugger. He believed hugs revealed what a person was like, and his preference for full hugs definitely conveyed his desire for physical contact with the people he loved. This hug, though, was different in the way that he held you so close to him, with his face nuzzled in your hair. You breathe in his scent that’s brought you comfort throughout the years and wrap your arms around his waist. You feel his arms tighten and pull you closer into him. You pray the stuttering heartbeat felt between the two of you isn’t only yours. 

After a long minute of silence—which somehow felt like one hour and one second all at once—he murmurs close to your ear, “If this is you giving me the okay, then I’m not gonna hold back anymore and I’m going to pursue you honestly. And… hopefully show you that my feelings for you are sincere.”

You let out an involuntary squeak much to your horror and hide your face into his chest, not trusting yourself to speak. You feel the shake of his shoulders as he laughs, the puff of breath tickling the back of your neck, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. He eventually pulls away from your hug but instead of letting go, his hands reach down to hold your own and he looks down at you with shining eyes. His face paints a tender gaze and the combination of how he smiles at you has you bashful so instead, you focus on the way his thumb rubs against yours. It only sends your heart into further overdrive.

“It’s late.” His voice is soft as he speaks to you. "Did you drive here?”

You shake your head no. Then you gasp and tilt your head in mild bewilderment.

Okay but why didn’t you drive? Are you dumb or are you dumb? You try to convince yourself you took the bus to save Mother Earth. Not because you were in such a hurry to see him that you forgot you have a car.

“Let me drive you home then,” he says and squeezes your hands.

“No, no it’s okay. I can get a taxi!”

He shakes his head in disapproval. “I can’t let you do that. It’s dark out now and I’d feel much better if I take you myself.”

“Hobi, I’ll be fine. I promise!” His brows furrow and you bring your arm up to flex your bicep. “See, look! I’m a strong girl.”

He’s entirely unimpressed and rolls his eyes. “Look, either you let me take you home or you’ll have to sleep over tonight. I don’t want you going home by yourself.”

“Eh?” Well, you certainly weren’t expecting that. You’re a deer in headlights thinking about a night alone with him. Nope. No way. Nu-uh. Vetoed. You won’t survive. Especially not after your almost-kind-of-but-not-really confession. 

You sigh in defeat and bow your head.

“Fiiine. You can take me home, I guess.”

He grins and while you’re pouting that he won this trivial argument, your heart is whistling a happy tune at seeing a smile grace his face once again. You wait outside while he grabs his wallet and keys. When he reemerges from inside his house, he gestures to his left.

“Ready to go?”

“Mhm!” You motion for him to lead the way and you follow after him.

The car ride back to your place is quiet, save for the low ambiance of his music playing on the stereo, but it’s a comfortable silence. You have more questions you want to ask. There’s still a lot you want to know, but you figure you’ve both had enough of a surprise tonight. You trust that there will be many opportunities in the near future to ask.

Once he’s parked his car outside your apartment, you turn to thank him and bid him goodnight only to be met with an empty seat. He’s already outside, waiting for you.

“Hobi you didn’t have to come out!” you protest as you exit the vehicle. “It’s cold!”

He only hums in response and walks with you to the front entrance. You’re half expecting a goodbye hug, considering he’s out here with you, and you’re surprised to feel your chest swirl in disappointment that he does neither of those. Instead, he takes a step away from you and the words that leave his mouth bring you a comfort you didn’t know you needed.

“We’ll take this slow, yeah? I don’t expect you to know how you feel by tomorrow or even next month. I’ve waited this long. I can wait a little longer.”

He strokes your cheek, lingering in front of you for a few more seconds. He leaves you with his touch etched onto your cheek. You fall asleep with the sole thought that you wouldn’t mind falling for Jung Hoseok.

The following morning feels like a daze and you’re on autopilot for the rest of the week. Before you know it, it’s your biweekly get-together with your gang. You’d gained a chaotic but solid group of friends in your college days. While the group has slowly decreased over the past two years after graduating, your bond is still as strong, even if you don’t meet as often as you used to.

It’s Hoseok’s turn to host this time and you’re freaking out. You recount every conversation you’ve had with him this past week at school. The both of you made a point to only talk about school related topics, very obviously ignoring the elephant in the room. The only thing that’s changed is the rate of daily text messages between the two of you. You now awaken to “good morning texts.” Throughout the day, you send each other “this reminded me of you” texts and end each night with “how was your day?” texts. Your heart is slowly becoming conditioned to jump any time his name appears on your phone screen. Today is no different. Your heart is racing at the thought of finally seeing Hoseok outside of work.

[Y&Y’s Minions Group Chat]

Taetae: aye bro heads up im bringing some juice w me

Taetae: yknow. for us nonalcoholics.

Hobibi: 👍

Yoonji(min’s Wife): weak ass bitch 🙄

Taetae: Shut up or im not bringing jimin with me 🥱

Min Suga: she just punched me cause i laughed man wtf

Taetae: 🤣🤣🤣🤣

You: LOOOLLL it’s what you deserve

You: also tq for bringing juice taetae 🤧 idk if i can handle another of jimins mystery concoctions 😩

Taetae: that’s what you got hobi for right?

Hobibi: Exactly ;)

Min Suga: right. like he can hold his alcohol????

Hobibi: also can yall actually come on time so we can start our movie early?

Hobibi: dude i’ve gotten better at drinking tghank you very much

Yoonji(min’s Wife): sorry what im jared 19

Min Suga: she lies. shes putting makeup on for Park

[IMG_2831 delivered]

You: lmaaaoooo you got called out babe!!!

Yoonji(min’s Wife): fuck you min yoongi. find ur own ride there bitch <3

You snort reading through the messages. One day someone’s gonna fight and you have no doubt Yoonji will be one of the contenders. You’ve already resigned yourself to the role of her babysitter, knowing full well you’ll be tending to her every whim and command the day it happens as well as the following day of her recovery. Your phone pings again. 

It’s a separate text message from Hoseok.

Hobibi: i can’t wait to see you beautiful :)

You gasp audibly and your face heats up instantly. You’re grateful there’s no one around to hear you. What should you text back? You’re still unfamiliar with the Hobi who flirts. He is flirting, right? You fumble with your phone, heart racing a mile a minute, texting a (hopefully) flirty reply back when Yoonji’s winking selca takes over your screen. You drag your finger across the Accept button and her voice drawls out from your speaker.

“I’m heeerre!! Come outside so we can get wasted tonight!”

You snort and hang up without replying back to her. As soon as you plop into the passenger seat she thrusts a bottle of alcohol into your hands.

“Drink.”

Apparently, her idea of calming you down is with some pregame booze. 

It doesn’t help.

When you arrive at his apartment, you attach yourself to Yoonji’s back, but she was having none of that. Her shared telepathic powers with her equally chaotic twin brother draw them together as soon as they’re in the same room. You squeak at having been left behind and follow her, intent on hiding behind her the whole night. 

In hindsight, maybe you shouldn’t have blindly followed after your friend because the person accompanying Yoongi was none other than his best friend who also happened to be the man you were trying to avoid… which wouldn’t have worked anyway considering this was his home. Yoonji drags you out from behind her and you’re given no chance to pretend like you weren’t hiding. 

You shoot daggers into her boobs, praying that her boobs will swell and explode right in front of Jimin for outing you like this. You clear your throat and straighten out your shirt, then exchange greetings with the two men, feigning nonchalance. You don’t mean to but your eyes flicker down Hoseok’s figure. His hair looks freshly dried and curls around his face in the most beautiful way. A thin blue crew neck sweater hangs off his shoulders and hugs his torso just right, but when do his clothes not fit him well? It’s cut low enough to just tease the outline of his collarbones and it doesn’t help you with your already heightened nerves. You gulp and lower your gaze. For some godforsaken reason, he decided it was a good idea to roll the sleeves up and expose his forearms. You’re on your way past his hips when—

“You look beautiful tonight.”

Oh dear, did he catch you staring? 

His voice draws your gaze back to him and you find him looking right at you with a shy smile that flutters your heart. A compliment from him would usually have elicited a laugh and a “thank you Hobi.” Now, it evokes a stutter and a burning face. It’s a change the twins catch onto quickly. They exchange knowing glances which neither you nor Hoseok see, too busy staring at each other.

And then you’re colliding into each other.

“Oops!” Yoonji cackles and raises her glass to her brother.

"My bad. My hand slipped.” Yoongi raises his own and clinks his drink with hers. They take a sip and completely ignore the two frozen statues beside them.

“Hey, what do you say we go say hi to the soulmates?”

“Right on my sweetums. Let’s go find your loverboy.”

“You’re disgusting and also you’re wrong.”

Yoongi forcefully links arms with his sister and they shuffle away still bickering, meanwhile you and Hoseok are a blushing mess, locked in each other’s arms. His hands burn pressed against your lower back and you pull yourself away from him. You ignore the way your body screams at you for leaving his warmth. Your eyes flit around, looking at everything except for him. And then it lands on a sliver of skin peeking out behind his sweater that had risen up in this blunder.

Wait. This is bad. Don’t focus on that. 

Focus on your annoying best friend. Yeah… this is all her fault.

“Sorry Yoonji’s such a pain in the ass.”

“Understatement of the year.” He snorts and readjusts his sweater back down. You bite back a pitiful whine and suddenly you have no idea who you’ve become.

“They’re both menaces. Remind me never to have them in the same room again.“

You laugh at the truth in his words and then it’s back to a dead silence. One you’re not used to, especially not with him. He rubs the side of his arm and clears his throat.

"Um, well, you know, if being here makes you uncomfortable it’s okay to leave. My feelings won’t be hurt. Or I can just, I don’t know, not talk to you tonight? If that’s what you want?”

You wince at his offer.

“No!” you say immediately, wanting to remedy his misinterpretation of the nervous waves radiating off you. “I wanted to come! I… well, as nervous as I am, I wanted to see you?”

He lets out a dry laugh. “Oh, right. I could definitely tell from the way you hid behind Yoonji as soon as you got here.”

You force out a weak laugh at having been caught. Should you apologize or yeet yourself out of this situation? Thankfully, he makes the decision for you.

“Why don’t we go say hi to Tae and Jimin? Since you just got here.”

You swallow the apology that hangs on your tongue and nod slowly. You walk in silence to where the rest of the gang is gathered. Yoongi and Jimin are engrossed in a conversation about the latest EP released by their favorite duo RM and JK. Meanwhile Yoonji is making very no-so-subtle heart eyes at Jimin while Taehyung is chatting away about something she obviously has no interest in.

You’ve known Jimin for a few years and he’s only just started coming along this past year to your meetups with Taehyung, his childhood friend. He integrated so well into your little group and you all were quick to adopt him and dub him as the Resident Giggly for how beautiful his laughs were. His bubbling personality also somehow snatched the Resident Shady’s heart, despite her always denying it. You decide to do your friend a solid and save her from Taehyung’s ramblings. It’s definitely not to distract yourself from the Resident Smiles beside you.

“Hey Taetae!” you call out to the broad shouldered man who turns around, bright eyed and smiley. You notice a cup in his hand that you hope is just juice. He doesn’t drink often but when he does… Well, you certainly won’t want to be present.

“Y/N you’re here! Finally someone who will listen to me!” He pulls you into a side hug.

You laugh. “That’s ‘cause she’s too busy making goo goo eyes at—oof!”

Yoonji shoves Taehyung who still has his arms draped around your shoulder. He trips and sends you nearly toppling over as well. An arm wraps around your waist to steady you. Hoseok pulls you to his side, a safe distance away from the two rowdy ones.

“If you both know what’s good for you, you will shut up or else!” she hisses between her teeth. The blush growing on her cheeks tells you otherwise, though.

“I love you too, Yoonji poo!” Taehyung teases and pinches her cheeks.

She slaps his hands away, scowling. Then her attention redirects to you and you don’t like the way her eyes have turned alight. She nudges Taeyung and nods her head at you and Hoseok. He looks at the pair of you and his lips turn up into a sinister smirk.

“Well, well, well. Wouldya look at that?” You don’t like that both his and Yoonji’s smug faces are now focused on you. “So anyone wanna tell me when you two became a thing?”

You and Hoseok share a confused albeit nervous look. It’s then you realize how close you are to each other and you don’t hate the close proximity.

“You do realize you have your arm around her, right hyung?”

It’s not until he points it out that Hoseok realizes he never let go of you. The arm that rested around your hips tears away from your body and falls back limply to his side. Yoonji snorts at how fast he let you go and you try your best to hide your disappointment, calling upon all the times you’ve had to school your face of irritation at work.  You note that he doesn’t move away though, and his hand ghosts yours with every breath he takes.

“Don’t be mean Tae,” you scold him and push him away.

“It’s not like that. We’re not a couple.” Hoseok’s strong protest wavers at the last word and the way his ears redden don’t do well to support his claim. Your face flushes at his word choice.

“Who’s not a couple?” Jimin pops in, hands propped around Taehyung’s shoulder.

Taehyung eyes Yoonji and says with a smirk, “You and Yoo—mmph!”

Yoonji pounces on Taehyung and slaps a hand over his mouth. In typical Jimin fashion, he falls to his knees, laughing at their bizarre antics. As much as those two clashed, you knew they loved each other a ridiculous amount. You tug at Hoseok’s shirt sleeve and ask if he wants to get a drink.

He nods in agreement. “Yeah, let’s go before they strike again.”

The two of you share a laugh and head into the kitchen where two glass bowls are filled to the brim with dark liquids. The smell of alcohol reeks from the one nearest you and you nearly gag.

“Did Jimin make this?” you scowl and point accusingly at the punch bowl with a dark red liquid sparkling dangerously. You hope alcohol doesn’t spread through air particles because if it does, the other punch bowl is surely spiked by now.

“What did you expect?” He chuckles and hands you a glass cup.

You grab the ladle laying beside what you hope is the nonalcoholic drink and pour into your cup.

“Hey, so um… about earlier,” he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck, “er, sorry about that. I didn’t even know I was still... touching you.”

“Ah, no it’s okay. I didn’t know either actually.” You take in a breath and brace yourself for what you’re about to admit out loud, “To be honest, I kind of liked it.”

You hear him take in a sharp inhale after your confession and you wonder who’s blushing harder. Probably you. You hand the ladle to him and hold your breath when his fingers graze yours.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time.” He recovers quickly and winks at you. Your recovery rate is much slower and his wink only sets you back further. “So, um, I’ll let you catch up with everyone. I gotta go set up for the movie anyway. I’ll see you later, okay?”

He briefly reaches his hand to brush against your cheek, then leaves you alone, starstruck in the kitchen, to be the good host that he is. The rest of the night goes off without any other hitches. Plenty of laughter is shared between the lot of you. Jimin may have tried to spike the literal juice bowl a few times, but both Taehyung and Yoongi dragged him away each time. 

Throughout the night, you find yourself unconsciously scanning the room for Hoseok only to be met with a pair of brown eyes already looking at you. Each time you make eye contact, you both blush and look away at having been caught staring. Each time it happens, your friends turn around to stick their fingers in their open mouths and fake a gag.

You’re on popcorn duty as the evening begins to settle down for the “movie” part of movie night to finally start. You emerge from the kitchen with three large bowls with freshly popped and buttered popcorn. You sigh with resignation when you see only two available empty seats. One next to Hoseok on the love seat and one in between Yoonji and Jimin. You absolutely are not ready to be in such close proximity with Hoseok for the next two hours, but you also don’t want to cock block Yoonji. 

Although she’d never admit it to anyone, you knew she harbored a secret crush on Jimin. Anyone else outside your group and they wouldn’t know any better, but every one of you except the object of her affections knew those faux mean jabs and rosy cheeks were reserved for Jimin and Jimin only. You have a suspicion that he felt the same way about her with the way he always seemed to apparate in whatever room she’s in just to giggle at whatever she says or does. You can’t wait for the day they both stop toeing the line and confess to each other.

You pass out two of the three bowls of popcorn and peek over at Yoonji and Jimin. Jimin’s leaning over the empty seat, phone outstretched to show something to Yoonji. Their voices are hushed but you can see her lips curled into a dopey smile. Right, no cock blocking. Your gaze flickers to where Hoseok is seated. Okay girl, you got this. No time to be a chicken or Taehyung and Yoonji will never let you live it down.

Your leg collides with his when you sit down and your poor heart is once again fluttering. Should you let it stay there or should you move your leg? Why are you suddenly so self conscious about every move you make around him? The answer was obvious but let a girl stay in denial, please.

Unbeknownst to you, the man sitting next to you was going through his own inner turmoil. Should he act like his usual self? Should he be chill? Should he try to flirt? He wants to put his arm around you, but what if he came on too strong and scared you off? Before the both of you noticed, the film was already ten minutes in, popcorn in your hands untouched.

“Hey, Hobi! Y/N! If you two aren’t gonna eat your popcorn, pass it on!” Taehyung shouts over the movie with a mouth full of popcorn.

He pulls you out of your thoughts and you grimace at the way the light from the television makes the butter grease around his mouth shimmer in the dark room.

“You’re disgusting. Swallow your food before you speak, you heathen. And for the record, we aren’t sharing.”

Hoseok grabs the bowl from you, smushes it into his chest, and grabs a large handful shoving it into his mouth as if to prove a point. Several pieces of popcorn fall out of his hand back into the bowl. In his haste, he gets grease all over his outer mouth. Your mind dares to flash a dirty thought about the lubricant on his lips and you cup a hand over your mouth. 

Oh god. 

Your brain really just went there. 

You make a point to ignore the way your body heats up and instead reach over to wipe the oil off his mouth with a swipe of your thumb. He looks at you quizzically and when you lock eyes you both freeze. His eyes grow comically wide, his jaw locked mid chew.

Hold on. Did you just touch Hoseok’s mouth? With your thumb?

“Gross.” Taehyung grumbles at the sight of you and turns away to focus back on the movie.

You pull away quickly and shift in your seat. “S-sorry your mouth was dirty and, um, well, sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. Um… thank you.” He wipes off the remainder of what you miss with the back of his hand and offers you a sheepish smile. And with that, you fall into another silence, popcorn once again forgotten. 

Great. Back to square one.

By the time the end credits roll out, everyone is dead asleep save for you who remained wide awake thanks to your very imaginative and hyperactive brain. You decide to disregard the awkward cloud that hung over you and Hoseok tonight to figure out all your sleeping arrangements. It isn’t unusual for everyone to crash at the host’s place, drunk or sober, so it shouldn’t be too much trouble. You arch your back off the couch and stretch your tense body, letting out a soft moan as your muscles loosen up.

“Hey, Hobi?”

When you don’t get a response you look over to find him leaned against the couch with his eyes closed and lips scrunched in a small pout. His chest raises rhythmically and you feel bad for having to wake him. You’re nearly tempted to push back his hair to get a better look at his sleeping face. You scoot closer to him and shake him by the shoulder while softly calling his name. He jolts slightly and his eyes flutter open, scanning the room until they fall on you. Your breath hitches in your throat seeing his eyes slowly light up with recognition.

“Hobi,” you try again, voice quiet so as not to disturb him, still in a state of slumber. Your hand rests on his arm and you can’t find it in you to remove it.

He calls out your name, tenderly, carefully. You bite your lip to hide the way it wants to curl into a smile at the way he whispers your name. You don’t realize how close you’d gotten to him until his hand moves a mere inch to rest atop yours. You twist your hand up until your palms are touching. Your fingers instinctively curl around the slots between his own. You feel his fingers twitch but neither of you makes a move to actually embrace, instead reveling in the way both of you vibrate with warmth.

“Sorry I woke you. I just figured you wouldn’t appreciate having everyone drooling all over your couch and carpet tonight.”

He shifts in his seat so that he’s sitting upright and squints at the fallen figures scattered around the room. Then he shrugs.

“Who gives a fuck. Let them sleep there.”

You giggle at his remark and nod in understanding. It would only be too much work to try to move them and you definitely did not want to deal with a drunk and sleepy Yoongi.

“Why don’t you go sleep in your room then, and I’ll see you in the morning?” You take the popcorn bowl laying haphazardly on his lap and set it on the coffee table in front of you. 

“No, no. You go sleep there. I’ll sleep here tonight.”

You scoff. “You don’t need to be a gentleman, my dude. This is your house, it’s late, and we both need to sleep.”

“You’re exactly right, it's my house. My house, my rules. And I say that you’re sleeping on my bed tonight. I won’t let you take the couch.”

“Hoseok!”

“Do you want to share it with me then?”

Your words die in your mouth and you gape at him. He nods and says, “That’s what I thought.”

“Oh my god, you are insufferable. Fine, take me to your room. Wait.” Your ear begins to burn as soon as you blurt out that sentence, the insinuation not lost on you. Oh god, why did you have to say it like that? “I mean, uh, er, I’ll just go by myself.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. C’mon, I’ll take you.”

If he’s flustered by your request, he doesn’t show it. Instead he helps you up from the love seat and leads the way to his room. Despite having been to his house many times, you’d never actually seen his bedroom. There was never a need to go in there and now the first time you’re going in is after you find out he likes you. It’s a lot to process.

His room is a lot cleaner than you thought it’d be. The first thing to catch your eye is a shelf filled with a mixture of figurines and music albums. You appreciate that he hasn’t abandoned his likes and hobbies for the sake of appearing more mature. Beside it is a desk littered with books and paper scrap, presumably for work. In the left corner of his room rests his bed; a thin wool blanket lies unmade at one side.

“Sorry my room is so messy. I didn’t think anyone would be sleeping in here tonight,” he says as he rummages through his drawers.

“If you call this messy, you don’t wanna see my room,” you mutter.

He says nothing back until he finds what he’s looking for. He calls your name and tosses a large shirt and gym short your way.

“You can change into those. I think they’ll be comfier than what you have on right now.” He turns away and scratches the back of his neck. “Um, I’ll, uh, let you do your thing and, um, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Thanks, Hobi.” You reach out for his hand and squeeze it. He’s blushing again. You like it when he blushes. Maybe you’ll have to initiate this more often. Holding his hand, that is.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, beautiful.” The giggle that escapes from your lips causes his heart to soar. He looks at you standing in the middle of his room and smiles. It’s something he’s only dreamt of and he knows it’ll be a portrait etched into his memory for a long while.

You wait until he’s closed the door behind him to soak in the feel of his room. This is the room where he sleeps in, where he changes in, where he… Nope. Not gonna go there. You strip off your clothes and discard them in a pile by the bed. The shirt he gave you is thankfully oversized and you decide to forgo the shorts. No one’s going to come in tonight and you loathe wearing pants to bed. After climbing into Hoseok’s bed, you’re hit all at once with his scent. Fuckfuckfuck. He smells good. Your brain seems to manage only that one thought. Again, it’s a lot to process.

Does he have a side of the bed he prefers to sleep on? Does he have a preference at all? Does he sleep fully clothed or… You gasp at yourself and shake your head. Bad thoughts. Unnecessary thoughts. But not unwelcome thoughts. You spend the next while thinking back on the unexpected turn of events that transpired the past two weeks.

Hoseok has been a continuous and pleasant presence by your side. What was once only brief greetings in passing easily evolved into a comfortable friendship. As easy as it was to befriend him, your relationship never became stagnant. There was always something new to learn about each other and it didn’t bore you to talk about topics you’d already previously discussed. It definitely helped that he was just as eager to talk with you. Now you know part of the reason why he seemed to like being around you so often. Not that you’re opposed to it.

Your mind wanders back to earlier this evening when his hand rested on your hip. It was such a foreign feeling but you liked it a lot more than you anticipated. If you think really hard you can still feel his touch. You lied when you told him you didn’t know. You felt everything the moment he put his hands on you, from the way his bicep flexed against your back to the way his fingers absently circled your clothed waist. Almost like it was meant to happen. You can’t stop the smile and warmth that spreads on your face and you roll around the bed, squealing into your hands.

“Bye teachers!” Your last student waves goodbye as they leave with their older sibling.

You both wave back and resume cleaning up the classroom after your last activity. There’s not much left to do thanks to the children helping to clean up before it was time for them to leave. You grab a disinfectant and wipe down the snack table while Hoseok neatens up the rows of desks and chairs.

You may be a bit distracted at the bright blue striped collar shirt that pulls taut at his chest whenever he pulls his arms back. He has at least three buttons undone, not that you’re counting. You’re wiping until the table suddenly disappears beneath your hand and you nearly fall on your face. You catch yourself just in time and move onto the next table, pretending as though nothing happened. He clearly saw you though, if his snickering in the corner is anything to go by.

“I’m about done, Hobi. How ‘bout you?” you ask him as you shove the last of your paperwork into your work bag.

“Yep! I’m good to go.”

He’s fidgeting by the door when you finally grab your bag and walk towards him. His eyes are downcast and worries at his lower lip, but you don’t press him about it. Instead, you nudge his shoulder and motion for him to leave with you.

When you exit the building, he asks, “Are you doing anything this weekend?”

A smile creeps up on your face. “No plans. What’s up?”

You already know the answer and your heart rate is picking up the pace from the anticipation. He curls his pinky finger around yours, eliciting a contented sigh from both of you. He hums thoughtfully and swings your hands around as the both of you walk to the parking lot at a leisurely pace. Neither of you seem to be wanting to leave this moment just yet.

“If you’re not busy, I’d like to take you on a date tomorrow.” His voice is firm and unwavering.

Your smile only broadens. “I think I’d like that a lot.” 

He nods shyly and his face beams at your reply.

“So I was thinking—and if you think it’s a lame idea please tell me!—but I was thinking, since you’ve recently started a rock collection, maybe we could… go to the river and find you some rocks? Maybe you can help me find some rocks too?”

You didn’t think your smile could grow any bigger. It’s been a few weeks since his accidental confession and you were truly moving at a snail’s pace. Not that you weren’t grateful for it. It’s really allowed for you to take the time to evaluate your friendship and your newfound feelings for the man walking beside you. You’re stealing glances at him more often these days, thoughts straying to how he’s doing. Your phone’s found a new activity, consistently vibrating with text notifications from him. He makes you happy.

You’d been waiting for him to ask you on a date. Yes, it’s the 21st century and no, you don’t need no man to make the first move, but you still wanted to wait until he initiated it. You’re almost surprised by his date suggestion, but you know Hoseok. The wonderful man has always been thoughtful and considerate of his friend’s passions and hobbies. You just didn’t expect him to be so in tune to your interests. Knowing he was aware about your current rock obsession causes an eruption of butterflies and giddiness to flutter in your chest.

“Oh, wow! You’re full of surprises, Hobi. Of course I’d love that! Maybe we can even have a little picnic afterwards.”

“I think I’d like that a lot,” he echoes your previous words. “So, it’s a date then?”

“It’s a date.”

He still hasn’t let go of your pinky finger by the time you reach your car which automatically unlocks from your near proximity. The day still has so many hours until sundown and already you’re buzzing with excitement for tomorrow. Neither of you have stopped smiling since you left the classroom and you decide to give him a surprise of your own.

“Close your eyes for me?”

He raises a brow at your request but complies and shuts his eyes. You wave your hands around his face to confirm they really are closed. Once you’re certain, you grab onto his shoulders for leverage and tiptoe upward to plant a kiss on his cheek. With a teasing smile, you rush into your car. He jolts, eyes shooting back open at the sound of your car door closing. Giggles escape your lips, watching him standing in a daze. You wonder if he’s as out of breath as you are, despite not having done anything cardio related.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Hobibi,” you say as you reach across the opening to poke his nose.

His lips curve into a lopsided grin and he moves to brush his lips against your finger. You shiver at the sensation. He starts walking backwards to his car and brings 2 fingers up to his forehead to salute you.

“See ya, beautiful. I’ll call you tonight?”

Your heart leaps at how hopeful he sounds. “I’ll be waiting, handsome!” 

You wait until he’s inside his car, wave goodbye one last time, and then drive off.

By the time he walks you to your apartment after your date, the moon has risen high in the sky and encompasses the both of you in a faint glimmer.

Today had been the perfect day to go to the river and you both spent hours crouching in the river bed, your faces nearly touching the water in order to see the rocks clearly. It had truly been a wonderful date and you came home with a good handful of small river rocks to add to your collection. 

You love that this wasn’t a conventional first date. It did, however, bring a different type of first date anxiety because of the fact that you were already friends. Sweet Hoseok didn’t let the nerves take control though. He’d pulled you into the cold water with him as soon as you got there, effectively washing away all worries. You shared plenty of laughs and water fights today. You’re still damp from spending so much time in the river and while the evening breeze should have sent goosebumps all throughout your exposed skin, you’re instead filled with a cozy warmth merely being in the warm and calming presence of Hoseok. 

“I had a great time today, Hobi. Thanks for taking me out to find cute rocks.”

“And thanks for making me wet,” you add for good measure. You snicker under your breath when he chokes on air.

“Oh my god. Um, you-you’re welcome. Your rocks are just as cute as you! Um, and thanks for packing us delicious food.”

It’s entirely too amusing seeing him flounder at your brazen declarations. You liked this shy Hobi. Actually, you’ve come to find you like a lot of different Hobis. The one who brings you tea every other morning at work, the one who walks you to your car even when you’re not teaching a class together, the one who has recently started calling you every night just to say goodnight, the one who blushes any time you compliment him, and most definitely your favorite: the one who has given you a beautiful friendship as the foundation of this newfound relationship with one another.

You have always loved how his smile seemed to shape into a heart. A beautiful physical display of the love he so eagerly and openly shares with the world. Here in this moment though, you know this smile was only for you and you are suddenly so eager to kiss those heart shaped lips. You sigh happily and reach up to smooth down Hoseok’s wind blown hair. You clasp your arms around his neck and bask in the stillness, soaking in the memory of his glowing face under the moonlight.

“Don’t forget to take care of your rocks, okay?”

“Yes, Ms. Y/N.”

“Gross. Don’t call me that,” you scrunch your nose in distaste and push him away. “You can go home.”

He laughs again and grabs your face to plant a kiss on your forehead. “I’m glad you had fun. Go rest up, okay?”

Okay, so maybe you were kidding when you pushed him away. He moves to let go but you grab onto his shirt and lick your lips in anticipation. Maybe you weren’t taking conventional steps and yes, there is that unspoken social rule not to kiss on the first date but you don’t care. 

Some time halfway into the day, you were swept in a sudden wave of acceptance—of your feelings for this man, of toeing the line between friends and potential lovers. For the remainder of the day you were plagued with thoughts about how kissable his lips are. Splashing him with water until he was soaking wet did not help your dilemma. You zone in on his lips and surely he picks up on your cues because he removes your hands from his shirt within seconds and keeps them clasped in his hold. Your eyes quickly shoot up to glower at him. He chuckles and swipes a thumb across your lips, his expression mirthful.

“Let’s take it slow, yeah?” An echo of what he had said that fateful night in front of his apartment.

You quietly grumble in understanding, knowing he was right not to rush into this, earning you a beautiful laugh to slip from his annoyingly beautiful mouth.

“I won’t say no to another kiss on the cheek though,” he teases.

You scoff at the audacity. “You’ve lost that right. Goodbye!”

He laughs at your outburst and learns forward for another kiss on the forehead. With a final wave goodbye and a heart ready to burst, you head inside. In hindsight, you should’ve known Hoseok’s a glutton for “taking it slow.”

Tonight you’re at his apartment to Netflix and chill. Literally.

It’s been several official dates—and many more unofficial ones in between—throughout the three months since your first date. Many cuddles, many accidental boners pressed against your thigh during said cuddles (leading to some awkward repositioning and pretending it never happened), and many kisses shared all around your faces save for your lips. You’re cuddled up against him tonight watching a rerun of Running Man when you’re hit with a pang of need that you’ve become intimately familiar with these days. 

You want to kiss him. Every time you get too close, though, he’d move away. You try not to let it get to you. You really do. But it’s hard not to feel the sting every time you’re rejected. You know he likes you and he knows you like him too. Amidst these thoughts, your mind drifts back to the day you finally confessed that you liked him too. You suppress a laugh thinking about how much of a blubbering mess he’d been. You just wish you knew why he didn’t seem to want to kiss you.

Thinking about all the times he’s rejected your advances completely kills your mood. You unconsciously pull away from him and scoot closer to the other side of the loveseat. Tears are pooling under your eyes and you’re blinking furiously, willing them to disappear. You don’t mean to suddenly feel this way and you certainly don’t want to ruin the good atmosphere tonight. 

Hoseok laughs and comments on something in the show but you can’t bring yourself to muster up fake enthusiasm. You feel something rub against you and you flinch until you realize it’s Hoseok pulling you back to his side. His face is masked with worry and he rubs your arms in a comforting motion.

“Hey there,” he murmurs. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head and adjust your posture on the couch. His eyes furrow at your lack of response and he pauses the show. He shifts to face you and holds your hands.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You bite down on your lip, willing yourself not to cry. You’re usually not embarrassed to cry. In fact you’ve cried many times in front of Hoseok, but those were different times. You don’t want to scare him away. Of course, your body never does like to listen to you. Your chin quivers without your permission and it was like the dam broke. Hoseok’s frown only deepens and he immediately scoots closer, cupping your face in his hands. Your eyes flutter close, completely embarrassed that you’re crying in front of him.

“Oh god, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cry.” You try to move away but his hands hold your face firmly in place, wiping at your tears with his thumbs.

“Baby, don’t apologize. If you really don’t wanna talk about it I’ll drop it. I will. But you know that I’ll make time to listen to you whenever you’re ready, right?”

You take in a deep, shaky breath. The pet name doesn’t help with your already frazzled emotions and you whisper, “No, it’s…we—I can talk.”

He doesn’t speak, instead waiting for you. You’re tempted to ask him to forget it and pretend you’re okay but you know if you never address this, you’ll continue to be stuck in this limbo and you don’t know how much longer you’d be able to handle it. Might as well be direct about it. Beating around the bush never did anyone any favors.

“Why don’t you want to kiss me?” Your voice cracks and comes out weaker than you meant it to. The following seconds are completely silent. You can’t even hear Hoseok breathe. His lack of reaction causes fresh tears to fall down your face.

“I’m sorry,” you both say.

“I-I thought we’re good now, you know? And, I don’t know, I figured that since we—”

“Wait. Wait, baby let me speak first. Please?”

You hiccup and nod your consent. His thumbs stroke both sides of your face, continuing to catch your tears. His brows are still wrinkled and you want nothing more than to smooth them out.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I didn’t realize it was hurting you this much and I’m sorry I didn’t notice… I know it’s selfish of me and it’s not a good enough excuse but to be honest I don’t think I’d be able to deal with it. And I’m gonna sound really corny but I just know if I kiss you once, I’m scared I may never want to stop and if… or when you decide you don’t want me anymore, um,” he pauses to lick his lips and laughs nervously. 

You flinch at his words. Was he still holding onto that? Your heart now aches for an entirely different reason. It hurts that he still thinks you’re unsure about your feelings for him. Has he been stressed about that all this time?

Before he can go on, you push him until he’s resting against the couch cushion. You swallow down your insecurities. It’s something you can come back to later. Feeling bad about him not wanting to kiss you holds little value when he’s been worried about this for god knows how long. His hands fall from your face and you maneuver yourself until you’re straddling him, giving him no chance to look away from you. It’s true that he liked you first and that he had longer to realize his feelings for you but you knew what you felt for him was genuine. You were in this for the long run and tonight you want to make it very clear to him.

“Hobi.” 

It’s your turn to hold his face in your hands. His eyes glisten with unshed tears and your heart lurches. “Do you still think that I don’t like you? That I don’t want you? I’m sorry I must not have been a very good girlf—” You stop yourself barely in time. You didn’t mean to let that slip. You’ve yet to establish your relationship with Hoseok, and you didn’t think it was a good time right now. Your blunder didn’t seem to be lost on him though, as you feel his heartbeat race against your chest and his grip that found purchase on your hips tightens.

“I may have been unsure in the beginning, and it may have been new to me at first but my feelings for you now… I love being your friend but you know what? I also love getting to know this other side of you. This side of you that only I get to see. I like when we pretend that we accidentally color code our clothes at work. I like it when our students and our stupid friends tease us. I like that you send me ugly cat memes and that I can send you stupid tweet screenshots. I like it when you come home with me to cook dinner for us. I like all of it.”

You pause to give him some time to let it sink in. He’s staring at you with so much longing and hope that it almost scares you, but you know you yearn for him just as much. If this goes well, maybe you can be scared together.

“I don’t want to go back to being just friends, Hobi. I want to keep exploring life with you.”

His palms are hot against your hips and his breathing becomes erratic. You lean into him until you’re certain he can feel your heart beating at the same frantic rate as his.

“Do you feel that?” He nods. “You do this to me. And... as for my daily problem down there,” you flush, looking down at where you’re connected below the waist. You look up to see him just as flustered, “is because of you too.”

“Loving you... falling in love with you is so easy.”

You feel his breath hitch at your implied declaration. And you realize your mistake too late. Was it too early to say it? Is it too late to take it back? He makes no move to say anything so you attempt to do damage control. In the form of distraction.

You lean even closer into him, pressed flush against his chest until your lips brush against his earlobe, knowing full well this was his weak spot, and say softly, “So there’s this guy I’m into. He’s really tall and handsome. He likes to drug himself up with caffeine every morning and will one hundred percent drop 200 bucks for limited edition shoes without a single thought. Can you guess who it is?” You don’t give him a chance to reply. “It’s you, Hobi. It’s you and only you and I really, really like you.”

Your confession is honest and true. What happens next is entirely unexpected and you would have fallen off his lap if not for his firm grip on you. He practically lunges at you and before you can process it his lips are moving roughly against yours. You had always thought your first kiss with Hoseok would be soft and slow, much like how he’s moved throughout your budding relationship, but no. He kisses you with a hunger you didn’t know he was capable of. He nips at your bottom lip, earning him a soft groan from you.

“What are you doing to me?” he murmurs into your lips.

You don’t respond. You can’t. Your brain is still trying to catch up and process what just happened.

You pull away from him and you blurt out dumbly, “Oh my god you’re kissing me.”

He laughs contentedly and nestles his face in the crook of your neck. He plants a faint kiss, causing you to shiver against him.

"You drove a hard bargain. I couldn’t not kiss you after that.” A quick peck on the lips. “And for the record, I really, really like you too.”

“Kiss me again, Hoseok.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Epilogue

The wind tries to steal your hat away but you hold onto it before it has a chance to fly off. It’s a breezy day today and your boyfriend had the absolutely brilliant idea to teach you how to longboard.

This brilliant idea ends up being him skating down steep hills at the park while you walk in the grass behind him. You had shouted at him several times to slow down or he’d end up hurting himself but of course in typical male fashion, he ignored you every time.

You’re in the middle of firing a comeback at Yoonji’s most recent text about how gross you and Hoseok have become now that you’re a couple when you hear a cry from your boyfriend several feet away. He’s going down a rather steep hill when the wind picks up sudden speed. Loose gravel breaks his smooth run and you watch in horror as he loses balance and tumbles onto the pavement. He hisses as his skin skids against the rocks.

“Hoseok!”

You stash your phone into your purse and run to him. As you get closer he schools his pained expression, in an attempt to hide any pain he may be feeling.

“I’m fine.” He attempts to reassure you before you can start fretting over him.

You immediately kneel down in front of him, ignoring him and grab his hands to assess the damage.

"You shouldn’t have gone so fast,” you scold as you rip out a few alcohol wipes from your bag. You’ve heard one too many horror stories about people injuring themselves falling off skateboards, so you’ve learned to keep several wipes and bandages handy when you found out Hoseok owned a few of his own. You carefully wipe down his scuffed palms and arms. You worry about his knees too but that’s something you’ll have to take care of at home.

He silently drinks in the image of you kneeling between his splayed legs, tending to his barely-there wounds. His heart may very well burst right there. You blow on his hands and flick your eyes up briefly to find his face mere inches from yours, looking at you with such a fond look.

“Ah, babe you’re too close to me,” you mumble shyly and lightly push him a few more inches away.

This only prompts him to lean in even closer until your foreheads knock together and his nose bumps with yours. It’s been several months since you had the “kiss talk” and made your relationship official. It’s been several months and yet your heart is still sent into a panic when you catch him staring. It’s barely your fault that you react physically when he makes you so nervous. You squeak and push his face away from you, causing him to fall over. His chuckles morph into a gruff wheeze as he falls. Embarrassment momentarily gone, you fuss over him again.

“Hobi! Oh no, I’m sorry!”

He lunges for you and pulls you down on top of him. Unfortunately for him, you didn’t expect him to grab at you and you brace your legs for your eventual fall.

“Oof! Oh god!” He exclaims in pain.

He recoils from you and grabs his crotch, rolling away into a fetus position. “Oh god, baby please be more gentle with me! I won’t be able to put my babies in you if you break me!”

You both freeze from his declaration. You, more so in shock, and he, in mortification. You’ve certainly had your fair share of heavy petting and make out sessions since that night at his place… Okay, fine so you can’t keep your hands off each other for even one day and you kiss every chance you get, but you have yet to go any farther than that with one another. Your sanity has been slowly dwindling the longer you go without knowing how he looks and feels. Hearing him basically say he wants to cum inside you in the near future has you perking up instantly. You watch as his eyes grow comically wide and he immediately sits up, pain forgotten.

“Oh shit shit shit. I said that out loud didn’t I? Oh god. I’m sorry I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—I mean it’s—I know we only just started dating and we haven’t even talked about sex yet and—I’m sorry. Oh my god.” He buries his head in his face, ready for the earth to swallow him whole.

You tug at his shirt and focus intensely on where your fingers are fumbling with his shirt and mumble barely loud enough, “I wouldn’t be opposed to it, you know?”

He swears he feels his dick twitch. Great. It’s not broken. Awesome.

When he doesn’t respond you continue on, “W—well not right now!" 

He snorts. "Obviously not. We’re in public, silly… Unless you’re into that? I mean it’s not my thing but I’m willing to try it if you want us to—” Your eyes widen at his bold declaration and slap a hand over his mouth to prevent him from finishing that sentence. You can’t lie though, the idea has you quivering on your knees.

“Hobi!” You hiss. “I meant not for a few months!”

His eyebrows raise and you’re quick to fix it. “I-I mean next year?”

You feel his lips curl into that awful smirk he fancies anytime he turns you into a blubbering mess. Then you feel something thick and wet against your palm.

“Ew! Hobi!” You pull your hand away from him. He leans into you, tongue still out, and licks your lips before you can shrink even further away. You don’t have the energy to protest again, too engrossed on how good his tongue feels.

“Don’t tempt me with the patience game because we both know I’d win.” He grins when you pout at him because you know he’s right. “I can’t wait to explore this new territory with you, baby.” 

You flush at his remark and stand up to create some distance to prevent yourself from doing something stupid.

“I need to find your skateboard,” you breathe out and run away from your cheeky boyfriend. 

“Longboard!” He corrects you and watches your figure trail away from him.

Hoseok muses how he got so lucky that you, the one he’d been pining after for years, actually reciprocates his feelings. He picks himself off the pavement to help you find his longboard. He thinks he’ll hang it up somewhere in his apartment later today as a commemoration of this lovely date. And he definitely can’t wait to get home and find out how long it’ll take for you to break underneath him.

a/n 2.0: HI ISN’T HOBI HOBI JUST A DREAM???? i hope you liked this fic 🥺 pls share your thoughts with me💗 my asks and dms are always open 💕 like.....always.... <<3333

(gif credit: @jengkook)

[secretsandwriting]

o this hasn’t been beta read because I started at 1:30 and I really wanted to post tonight because I haven’t in a while so please forgive any mistakes!

Also, based on this

Trying not to trip and fall down the staircase while trying to keep up with Snape was a disaster. However it did make you grateful for the charm that shrunk your luggage so it fit in your pocket.

Three years ago, Dumbledore started an exchange program where 4 students would switch dorms for a month to learn about their fellow students. This year, you were the Hufflepuff chosen and headed for Slytherin.

Once reaching the bottom of the stairs, Snape informed you of the password, rules of the dorm, and all that you would be required to do during your months stay. Including the essay about your experience. Lovely.

Pansy was your “host” of sorts. Basically, you would be spending quite a bit of this month with her. Which was going to be interesting. At this point you were expecting the worst, but that doesn’t mean you weren’t going to try and have a good time.

Settling in was easy enough, due to the fact you had come until late due to Snape being busy. It was time for bed. Therefore meaning, Day 1 over. 29 more to go.

It wasn’t until the next morning when you were getting ready did you realize what Pansy being your host also included. Draco, Theo, and Blaise. This could go really bad, fast. Pansy had finished before you, but she waited semi patiently for you. Either she was nicer then she let on, or she was threatened.

The boys were already waiting in the common room, they also ignored you. So you just silently followed the group to breakfast.

It wasn’t until day 3 that they spoke to you about something other than the necessary school topics. Due to a group of muggleborns putting their heads together and figuring out a bunch of charms to make electronics work at Hogwarts, you could have your phone and use it. So you were, in the middle of the common room. In a dorm full of purebloods, most with questionable family. Probably not your smartest idea but you were bored.

They were talking and ignoring you, your homework was finished and none of the books you had with you seemed interesting, and frankly you were in a bad mood, so you pulled out your phone to catch up on a show or movie. Theo noticed first.

“What’s that?” His tone portrayed he was at the very least going to insult you based solely on your blood status. He drew in the others attention and you knew Draco would and Pansy agreed with Draco on almost everything. Blaise might stay quiet but his pretty face did all the talking.

“It’s a muggle thing, so considering you know nothing accurate about muggles and technology you wouldn’t understand. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to finish this.” Putting both earbuds in, you started the show and focused on it. Not noticing the slight bit of a smirk on Blaise’s face.

Days 4 and 5 passed by, but it wasn’t until day 6 that you earned any respect. It was lunch, it had been a long day and you had a headache. Overall it had been a really bad day and it wasn’t even half over. A few seats down from you was one of the first years, he had been minding his own business when a Gryffindor started picking on him. For some reason that was the last straw.

You got up and walked over to the Gryffindor and without warning, decked him in the jaw. Silence overtook the great hall.

“Leave him alone or next time I’ll make it so you can’t have any kids.” Then, without skipping a beat, you went to the infirmary and stayed until late in the night. When you went back, the common room was empty and everyone in your room was asleep.

Day 7 was weird. While getting ready, Pansy asked you how you slept. Then you had at least 2 first years around you at every meal. Different ones each time. There weren’t half as many mudblood comments and you had gotten at least 3 smiles from different people.

That night you couldn’t sleep, the day had been too weird and you couldn’t quite wrap your head around it. So, you decided to go look out into The Black Lake. Blaise was already there but you decided to go anyways.

Sitting on the opposite end of the couch you looked out into the inky wanted of the lake. Silence hung over the two of you but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was actually quite nice.

“Why’d you punch him? The Gryffindor? I thought Hufflepuff’s weren’t capable of violence.”

“We’re fully capable of violence but it’s not something we normally want to do. However there is a line and if it’s passed we’re not against extreme violence. I pinched him because he was at least 15 and the bot was only 11 at most. Picking on a kid like that no matter why, is just pathetic. Also, I was having a bad day but still. He deserved that.” Blaise nodded, and silence took over again.

As the days went by, you grew closer to Blaise with your nightly lake watching. It wasn’t until your last week you realized how much you were going to miss it. But when you thought about it, you realized it was Blaise you were going to miss.

Somehow, in nights of noting but silence. You had gained a crush on the boy. You didn’t know anything about him, nothing. But you liked him.

You decided to just enjoy the last week and then move on. After all, you hadn’t even had an entire conversation with him before.

You couldn’t even do that.

Blaise was gone. He had been transferred to the magic school in Italy. You wouldn’t see him again.

[giuliafc]

Betrayal Chapter 6: Chat Blanc

<< 1 -- 2 -- 3 -- 4 -- 5 -- 6: Ao3 || FFN -- 7 >>

Written by: JuliaFC

Beta: Coffeebanana

Summary: Alya and Nino go back to school and Marinette and Adrien have a good talk.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by (c) Thomas Astruc, TS1 Bouygues, Disney Channel, Zagtoon, Toei Animation. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Written for the "Snippet July" challenge of the Miraculous Fanworks Discord server @miraculousfanworks AND for LadyNoir July @ladynoirjuly Day 17 — Mistake/secrets. Let me know what you think!

oOoOoOoOoOo

Alya looked at her watch. "It's time to head back to school, guys," she exclaimed. "We have literally the time to walk across the road." Alya and Nino stood up, and Adrien released his transformation and made to stand up too, but Marinette, after releasing her own transformation, grabbed his leg and signaled him to sit down.

"We'll be late back to school, M'lady."

"I know… can you cover us, Alya? I have something to tell Adrien and it can't wait for patrol." She waited for Alya to give her a thumbs up and drag Nino down the trap door. When they were alone, Adrien sat down next to her, looking confused.

"What did you want to talk about?"

Marinette took a big breath. "We promised last night to tell each other everything." She looked down and took firm hold of the material of her jeans. "I had no idea how hurt you were because I kept secrets from you, Minou. The pain I saw in your eyes last night when you found out that I told my identity to Rena before you was an eye opener."

"Well, yes. I didn't like that. Especially finding it out when we landed on her balcony and asked for her help."

Marinette's eyes filled with tears. "I'm really sorry, that was a huge mistake on my part. I…was breaking down badly and needed a friend."

"But I'm your friend too," muttered Adrien. "You always said that Chat Noir was your partner and your best friend. I tried to help, to initiate the talk, but you pushed me away. But... it's okay, I understand. Kinda."

More tears fell out of Marinette's eyes. "I'm sorry Adrien. I…"

He cut her off. "We've fixed the issue now, Marinette, it's fine." He grabbed hold of one of her hands and she squeezed it firmly.

"It's not. I can tell that you're still hurt. I told Master Fu so many times that I didn't want you kept out of the loop. Yet, as soon as I take over his role, I make the same mistake." She dropped his hand and cupped both hers on her face, starting to sob. "I was so scared! I tried to protect you, but instead I just made things worse and I was nearly going to cause the very thing I was trying to protect you from!"

"What do you mean?" He put a hand on her shoulder and used the other one to gently take her hands off her face and tilt her chin to look him in the eye. "You're scaring me now. What were you protecting me from?"

"Chat Blanc," said Marinette listlessly. Then she noticed his confused frown and sighed. "Do you remember St. Athanase's day?" Adrien nodded. "That day I made a silly mistake and used my Miraculous for personal gain to deliver a present to your room, right to your bed."

"Yes, something from a fan in Brazil, you said? I tried to find out who gave you that parcel, to thank them, but I was never able to."

"Of course you weren't. It was a lie." She blushed to the roots of her hair when he pouted and folded his arms to his chest. "Th-the present was from m-me."

"I had seen your signature on it, but I thought somebody had commissioned the beret from you. I didn't think it was a personal gift for me, Marinette. Had I known, I would have worn it every day. It was exquisitely made."

A shadow of a smile popped on her lips. "Thank you. Initially I had signed the card that I left with the present, but when I came out of your room, not noticing that you had come in right behind me, Bunnyx appeared and brought me to this horrifying future where you had been Akumatised." She paused at his gasp.

"W-why…?" he muttered, but she cut him off.

"I don't know. Bunnyx was adamant that I shouldn't know more about it, but somehow by seeing me getting out of your room as Ladybug and finding a present from Marinet—"

"—with hearts embroidered on it!" he thought aloud.

"Uh, yeah, that…" She blushed darker. "Of course now it makes sense that you had worked out my identity, since it was, well, you. But until yesterday I had no idea and when you called me Marinette and you attacked m—"

"I attacked you?" he shouted. "I'd never make myself hurt you or fight you, M'lady!"

"You were an Akuma, Adrien." She cupped her hand to his cheek and gave him a peck on the lips when she saw the panic in his eyes. "You'd destroyed the world. Nothing was left. I was turned into an ash statue, and Papillon had followed the same fate. I think you may have been the only living being left. You'd even destroyed the moon."

Adrien considerably paled.

"You attacked me because you wanted my Miraculous to make the Wish and bring things back to what they were…before."

"Before what?"

Marinette looked down. "That's the bit I don't know. You said that 'our love had done this to the world'."

Adrien gasped and his complexion became even paler. "I-I was an Akuma though, right? You can't really trust what an Akuma says?"

"That was my mistake." She met his panicky gaze with her sad one. "I pushed you away to protect you. I…tried to shelter my heart from you the best I could so I wouldn’t fall in love with you. But…I failed miserably at that too. And felt terrible about it. So I pushed you away even more, and nearly caused the very Chat Blanc I didn't want to cause. I'm so sorry."

Adrien blinked as his heart sped up. "Wait a second, did you imply what I think you were implying?"

Marinette smiled shyly as her gaze dropped. "Yes, Minou. I also fell for you twice."

To be continued… day 18

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

Author's Note

There you go. Chat Blanc is out of the way. This prompt was so good for it, I couldn't ignore it. I know it has been done and redone but… it fit perfectly!

I hope you liked it and will leave me a comment. You know that comments are my bread and butter!

Until (hopefully) tomorrow, bug out!

[uratowel]

loading chpt. 2 of Symphony of life... getting there sloooowly ... have a sneak peak while waiting...

This is still very beta and therefore may be full of typos and bad grammar (Sorry). But still I hope you will give it a read (can you say 'give something a read'? Hmm ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I don't know)... Anyway, here u go...

...

"Ryder?"

Again, no reaction.

Now that Jaal was closer to her, he could see tiny white plugs stuck left and right in her head which he hadn't noticed earlier. He couldn't remember what these gristly shell-shaped human skin-colored things on their heads, where the plugs stuck in were called but he knew they had something to to with their ability to hear - like the jollon of the angara.

So, if the humans need these shells to hear and they were somehow blocked by these plugs than it was presumable that Ryder couldn't hear him. And because of the way she behaved (humming, rocking her head, drumming her fingers on the table in a strange fashion) she must be listening to some kind of melody - replayed by these small plugs which must then be tiny speakers. Now that Jaal identified why Ryder wasn't aware of his presence he wondered why SAM hadn't called her attention to him. Maybe the AI had but Ryder choose not to aknowledge him? Perhaps she didn't want to talk to him and is ignoring him on purpose? Or she instructed SAM to not disturb her outside of extreme emergency or something like that. If that would be the case, then he should leave, right?

But instead of leaving quietly he stood there - transfixed and eyes glued to her, observing her. To Jaal humans still were very alien in many respects. Their bodies, especially those of the females, seemed fragile compared to the other races (except the salarians maybe) but still they are able to endure a lot more than one might think. Humans are smaller, less musceled than the average angara and they have these shorter, strangly straight legs which make them slower and weaker in running or climbing. But the shape of their legs allows them to be far more flexible than anything Jaal has ever seen before and bent in ways that seemed impossible for every other species he knows. He once observed Cora and Ryder at their training warmup out of curiosity and the impressions he gained still lingered in his mind. It was one kind of a lession in how the human body workes. Jaal had been utterly shocked and concerned but also baffled that humans are able to force their bodies in such impossible positions and then called it 'just stretching'. Ryder spread her legs in seperate directions and slid down in a way that made her legs form a straight line - a split she called it and it looked very hurtful but the two women assured him that it is not if you are trained enough (still Jaal wasn't completely convinced that it was safe to twist a body like this).

The legs were not the only things on humans that leave him in wonder and in fact evoke an interest in biology he never thought he would have. There's this fur on top of the humans heads that he hadn't seen on other species before - weather on the other Masaaf Shell aliens nor the Jave Jarevoan. When Jaal asked Kosta about this 'hair' the answer he gave him hadn't been very revealing. He said something like 'cuz it looks good, keeps us warm in winter? Jaal could've asked Cora but the woman seemed to be annoyed everytime he wanted to know something so he skipped that option. Ryder on the other hand was always eager to satisfy this curiosity. It was easy talking to her and Jaal enjoyed their conversations very much. He found it wasn't solely the talks he enjoyed but also simply spending time in her presence. She was warm and welcoming, always friendly and honest. But when matters come to personal or emotional things she became close-lipped and evasive. Jaal quickly learned that the Masaaf Shell people are not as open with their feelings as angara but with Ryder it was like running head-first into a massiv wall. Back then he thought it was because he was a foreigner (which made sense at the beginning) but now that they went through the events on Havarl and the horrors an Voeld... They had become comrads and as far as he was concerned she had become a trusted friend, someone Jaal wanted to share his thoughts and emotions with and he wanted to know hers. He was curious about her, wanted to know her better, wanted to know more about her history, things she liked and things she didn't like. He wanted her to see him as a friend as well.

Jaal was so deeply sunken in his own curiousity about the woman infront of him that he startled when he heard her alarmed voice.

"What the...?" She suddenly looked up from the workbench and her impossible blue eyes snapped to his form, her brows knitted together in concerned frown. She looked somewhat buffled at him and when her eyes met his her features softened immediatly with a genuine smile. She pushed herself fully up from her hunched pose over her dismantled gun, straightened her back and rubbed her exposed forearms absentmindly.

"Oh, hey Jaal. I, uhm... Actually, there's something..." She frowned again and he could see her cheeks turn a shade more pink before she held one hand up, her second finger pointing up in the air to signal him to hold on. She popped up the surface of her omnitool and tapped on it with nimble fingers, then reached up to unplug her hearing shells. When she spoke up earlier her voice was raised so that she was practically yelling at him. That she must have realised herself and Jaal must admit that he found her reaction to this situation endearing and also quite funny. She nervouosly scratched the back of her head and gave him an apologetic look and he couldn't contain the chuckle that rose in his chest any longer.

"Hey, stop laughing at me" she fake-pouted at him before the corners of her mouth went up with an amused smile.

"Sorry, Ryder. I dind't intend disturbing you. You seem to have work to attend to so I will come back again later." Jaal gave her a small nod, turned around and was about to make his exit when Ryder made him halt.

"No Jaal, stay! I mean you dont't have to leave if you don't want to. Not because of me. I dont't mind. And you don't disturb anything - sometimes I'm so far gone I fear I would accidently die from thirst or strave... as you might have noticed I'm embarrissingly good in fading out and covering my surroundings in white noise. I mean, not that I want to bar you or something. It's just... It's good for focusing on stuff and... helps putting other concerns into background..." seeing his baffled look she caught herself and took a deep breath. "Uhm, forget I said that. Anyway, what I wanted to say is: sorry I hadn't noticed you earlier. And by that, how long have you been standing there?"

"Hmm? Let's see... I left the Moshae in the medbay about ten minutes ago. On my way back here I had a short chat with Drack at the research room before I came here. So I would say it has been maybe two to three minutes from the moment I entered the room until you actually aknowledgeing my presense."

For a second her face was a mixture of distress and worry before her cheeks turned even more pinker than before and she slowly slided one hand over her face. Jaal wasn't quite sure why she reacted that way for there was no reason for her to be embarrassed. After all, it was him staring at her without her knowing and therefore he should be the one embarrassed. As Jaal learned very early in his time on board, observing someone intansly without that persons assent or knowledge was considered very rude and awkward amongst the Masaaf Shell people. Well, it is very uncivil clandestinely oberserving another person amongst angara, too. But intense eye contact (which could be consodered staring) and only 'talking' with your current ist therefore very mundane and happens naturaly for all angara. So it was normal to Jaal to communicate with the other crewmembers using the tsidvfirra until he recognised that it wasn't working (which didn't take long). First he thought that the others only might be unable to decipher the meaning behind the ebbs and flows of his current but he quickly realised, that they aren't even capable to register his energy and therefore wouldn't be able to feel the intentions he would be transmitting with it. Tough sometimes it seemes that Ryder could feel him somehow. Sometimes when he unintentionally touches her with his current she startled or her gaze wanders to find some sort of source of something until meeting his eyes with a confused look. Or maybe his mind is just making things up here in a fruitless hope to communicate with someone else the way it should be.

It sometimes was complicated for Jaal to decipher the feelings of the other species only by reading there expressions. It would be much easier to know their emotions if they had something like the tsidvfirra (the turians use something similar to communicate with each other; subharmonics to pass feelings and meanings. Sadly subharmonics and bioelectricity weren't compatible in kinds of communication as far as Jaal could tell) and if the others would be more open in sharing what they were feeling. It sometimes really frustrated him. Jaal was not sure why but Ryder was the most frustrating of his new friends. Maybe because she fascinated him so much? The emotion she unintentionally shows on her face or in her bodylanguage were always obvious, easy to read. But if he (or someone else for that matter) would try to talk about her feelings let alone coax out the reasons behind them she would bottle up completely and change the topic immediately, hiding behind her solid wall of denial, concealment and sarkasm. Maybe a lot of her reactions or the lack of it results from a cultural or social ingrained reservation toward open communication in general? All of the Masaaf Shell aliens had their barriers - some of them higher than others but none of them distressed him so much like Ryders.

Even if deep inside Jaal wanted to, he was not sure if it was on him to crumble down her iron walls. She would need to do it herself, she needs to want to appear from behind these walls. Why the other species thought hiding their true feelings from other in the first place would make them appear stronger was a concept Jaal absolutely couldn't comprehend. It was a method that could only make you suffer. Why would someone put himself into such pain? To truly feel every emotion was what makes you stronger, proves that you are alive. That's the faith he grew up to and believed in wholeheartedly. It was so frustrating. All he could do to help her was to be her friend and show her that he trusted her and that she could trust him as well. And Jaal would not be Jaal if he not at least tried. Fehal paava set vaa shaija. ... to be continued

If u want to read the story plz look here: Symphony of life on AO3

If u are interested in more of my writing go check this out: Chullia on AO3

For some of the shelesh I used in my fanfic plz see and follow the amazing side of angaranexpansionproject on tumblr. They’re really doing a great work there and have a lot of amazing ideas. I also took the liberty to create my own words in shelesh (I hope u guys are ok with this).

And for anything else: Thank you for all your support, interest, feedback, comments, critisism and so on. I really mean it!!!

Stay safe and healthy (Eat your vegetables!)

Your Chullia aka UrAtowel<3

[lixis-sin-cauldron]

The Princess and The Hawk [Hawks | Keigo Takami] Pt. 1

Part Two: Available Here Rating: Explicit  18+ content MINORS DNI. Pairing:  Keigo Takami (Hawks) X fem!reader Word Count: 6.9k Kinks and Warnings: Animal Violence, Blood

Summary: A dull routine, every day like the last. You're comfortable, if a little lonely. Who knew a simple walk home could change so much? Can also be read on Ao3 here: The Princess and The Hawk Big thank you to my lovely beta reader @lilleeboi 

Passing through the park to get home after work was your main way to de-stress after dealing with customers all day, the time of day left the area fairly empty and the fall air carried the wonderful scents of the season that wafted through the trees and flowers. Normally, it was the most calming part of your day. Normally.

Today, you were startled out of your calm daze by the screeching and hissing of two animals going at each other. Your eyes snapped toward the source of the noise, a twisting ball of fur a few meters ahead, beside the park walkway. Correction: a twisting ball of fur and feathers.

A large grey tabby had somehow been able to snag a very large brown bird that was currently doing its best to fend the feline off as it tried going for the bird’s throat, its talons pushing against the cat’s stomach, a smear of red in the fur where it pressed.

Nature is intense, you thought.

You knew better than to interrupt, they were both wild animals, predators that killed to feed and survive, you had no right to push your human views onto the fight. Wanting to return to your calm mindset, you hurried by the unsettling sight, willing your shaky legs forward. You didn't want to think of the fate that awaited the loser.

As the scuffle disappeared out of sight behind you, you heard a hoarse squawk that felt as if it was directed at you. Involuntarily, you turned to see the cat had gained the upper hand. It had pinned the bird on its stomach and was about to clamp down its jaw on the nape of its neck in a killing blow.

Your eyes met the bird’s, a striking golden-brown, and it seemed to be crying for help with its stare.

Forgoing your previous judgment – unable to ignore the desperate plea – you rushed towards the pair, slipped your purse off, and swung it with full force. It connected cleanly against the tabby just before it was able to land its killing blow. It tumbled backward, and after rolling for a moment, righted itself and turned towards you and its stolen prey. It stared you down, hissing deeply, then wincing. It let loose another deep hiss before retreating.

Heart pounding, you took a deep breath and looked at the bird that you had saved, almost positive it wouldn’t be there – having flown off when it was freed. However, there it remained, resting in the grass, its chest heaving just like yours.

“Oh geez,” Taking to your knees you hovered hands over the wounded avian, unsure of what to do. “Please don’t die.”

The bird shifted, trying to stand and move its wings, as if in response to your plea to prove it was fine. However, as it stretched its left-wing it flinched, wobbled for a moment, and collapsed back to the dirt.

You whimpered, unsure of what to do. It was clearly hurt, if you left it alone there was a good chance it would be attacked again or just die of its wounds anyway.

Ugh, why did I do that? There was no point in intervening, it’s going to die either way.

The bird still heaved, giving you a sideways stare. It seemed to study you with its gaze and tried moving again, letting out a cry as it did. Your heart gave a pang at the sight; it clearly wanted to live. How could you just leave it after stepping in?

“Do-don’t move,” you stuttered, reaching forward, “I’ll bring you to a vet, they’ll help you.”

Surprisingly, the bird gave no resistance to your touch. When you found trouble grasping it, especially while trying not to hurt it in the process, you peeled off your light jacket and gently wrapped the fowl in that. Once sure you had a hold that didn’t cause further damage, you raced off in the direction of the nearest animal clinic you could find.

“He’s pretty beat up, but nothing life-threatening,” The Veterinary nurse explained, softly running a thumb over the bird’s crown, its plumage fluttering at the touch. “We cleaned the cuts and the left-wing has a small hairline fracture. It’s been properly set but will need at least 2 to 3 weeks to fully heal, so we wrapped the wing so it can’t move. You’ll need to-”

“Wait, me? Why do I have to?” you were glad to hear the animal would be okay, but you were alarmed to hear they expect you to take care of it.

They looked at you in surprise, “Isn’t he yours?”

“No!” You waved your hands frantically, “I found it being attacked and just… stepped in. I don’t even know what breed it- err, he is. Let alone how to care for him.”

“That’s surprising, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of an exotic bird just randomly being found like that.”

“Exotic?”

“Yes, this handsome man is a Red-Tailed Hawk. They’re a North American bird. For it to be in Japan that means it was brought here and must have an owner, so I just assumed that was you.”

“O-oh.” You can’t say you were that surprised at the revelation, you had never seen a bird that looked like the hawk. A closer examination showed that it wasn’t just brown, but a beautiful mix of dark brown, white, and tan. Along with strikingly red tail feathers that you had been sure at the time was blood.

“This one seems very special too, normally the tail feathers are more of a cinnamon-red.” The nurse provided, seeming to have followed your thought process, “He’s very well cared for and in amazing shape, aside from the scuffle. If he hadn’t been grounded due to the wing, I doubt that cat would have ever touched him or stood a chance if it had been able to.”

“The cat didn’t do that?”

“The fracture is very clean; an animal’s bite would have crushed the bone.”

“Oh, that’s good… I guess?” you studied the hawk, resting in a box filled with a plush towel that the clinic had provided, he was perfectly calm under the expert’s touch. You were sure the calm state was in part of the fact he was full of painkillers at the moment, but you had an urge to follow the example and pet the resting creature yourself. You held back though, instead returning to your original topic, “Uh, as I said, he’s not mine so are… you guys able to take him since he’s a lost pet?”

Their strokes of the feather head ceased, instead rising up to scratch their forehead, “Sometimes we do that, sure, but right now we’re a little full plus it normally best for a bird sanctuary to take them but in this case….”

 “In this case…?”

“They’re trained and equipped to handle local wildlife and such. With this being an exotic breed, they wouldn’t take it in due to the trouble it could cause.”

“So… what does that mean for him? You said it would take a few weeks for the wing to heal, so he can’t fly and as a pet, he may not survive even if he could fly.” You had an idea of where the conversation was heading but you really hoped you were wrong.

“There are a few places I could check to see if they could take him in while they searched for the owner, but with how late it is I’d have to wait until tomorrow to contact them and they may not be able to take him right away even if they could…”

You sighed, “Would it be… hard to take care of him for a few days?”

The nurse beamed, happy to hear you volunteering, “Given his condition, no, not really,” They picked up a bag that had been sitting on the table beside the bird’s box and pulled out the contents. “The pain medication would keep him mellow for the most part, so even if he wasn’t such a gentleman,” They preened at the bird, commenting on how composed he had been during the whole ordeal. “You wouldn’t have much trouble handling him. You just need to apply this one orally every twice a day and this one on the cuts—”

You struggled into your apartment, the box in your arms, and your keys fighting for dominance as you unlocked the door. The keys lost and fumbled to the ground as the door teetered open.

“Fuckbucket," you cursed.

Leaving them on the ground, you carried the precious cargo past your couch and to the dining room table at the far edge of the small apartment and set it down as carefully as possible. The hawk had fallen asleep during your travel home and you were very keen to keep it that way.

After ensuring he wasn’t going to wake, you returned to the entrance and retrieved your keys as well as the shopping bag that rested next to the doorway.

While the clinic had been happy to give advice on how to care for the bird, and even charging just the cost of the visit and nothing else – you’d still had to call a ride-share to take the bird home and even stop at a pet store to purchase things to help care for him. Since it wasn’t like you actually owned anything to use while he lived with you.

A big piece of advice to make a safe space for the hawk to rest since you wouldn’t have a cage to place it in, free-roaming was the preferred option if it felt well enough to move around. They also provided a contact line to call if he suddenly became violent. While the wounded wing was wrapped, he couldn’t fly but the talons and beak could still cause damage if you weren’t careful. They would contact you as well once they had a place for him to go while the owner was being looked for.

Stretching with an exhausted sigh, your gaze returned to the box and found the hawk now awake and his head now resting on the edge watching you with glazed eyes.

“Uh, hi,” You blinked, wondering why you had just greeted an animal. Though he definitely didn’t feel like an animal when you locked eyes with him. You had a disconcerting feeling when he looked at you like he was analyzing you.

He let out a weak squawk in reply to the greeting.

“Right…” you decided to just go with it, picking up the purchased items you approached the table cautiously and started setting up an area next to the box with feed and water, “So, you’ll be staying with me for a bit, just while you heal and we find your home.”

He ruffled his feathers as the word ‘home’. You weren’t sure how to take that if it even meant anything to start with.

“So, if you can… I don’t know, not cause too much trouble, that would be great. Think you can do that for me, buddy?” You asked, holding out a hesitant hand to him, curled so the back of your fingers were present.

He stared at the extended appendage and you were sure he was going to bite you, but he leaned forward and rubbed his cheek against your knuckles.

Your heart fluttered, a smile blossoming across your face at the sight. He suddenly seemed a lot less frightening to you; realizing that he was tired and sore, and maybe even thankful to have a safe place after what he had experienced.

He withdrew his touch and curled in the box, head under his free wing and only a moment later, gentle snoring could be heard."

Wish I could fall asleep that fast. You snorted, laughing at the idea of envying a drugged-up fowl.

The concept of sleep did appeal very strongly after the evening you’d had; so, you ate a quick dinner, showered, and slipped into your bed, leaving the door ajar in case you needed to access the living/dining space quickly.

Your oversized t-shirt hung off your shoulder loosely, your underwear peeking out from underneath as your arms stretched above your head while walking into your tiny kitchen. After withdrawing a bottle of water from the fridge, you lazily looked around your home as you sipped it. You sputtered as your eyes fell upon the box resting on the table, coughing harshly as you forced the water from your lungs, having forgotten the previous day’s events in your sleepy state.

The box was tipped over sideways, the towel in a bundle on the table.

“No, no, no,” you chanted, rushing over and looking around for the wounded animal, “Where-” the words caught as the towel squirmed, the dark brown hawk head popping out from beneath it. “Oh, thank god.”

You were wide awake now.

“You scared the living hell out of me, buddy,” you reached forward and ran a knuckle across his crown, enjoying the softness. You leaned over, reaching eye level with him, “You have a nightmare or something?” You cooed.

You noticed his eyes drift, losing connection with yours, and move downwards, his head giving a tilt as they settled. You followed his gaze and realized you were giving the bird a clear view right down your shirt, where you were currently braless. You reacted instantly, straightening yourself and holding the shirt close to your bosom with a flushed face.

It’s a bird! you reminded yourself, He was probably just reacting to the fabric moving. He’s probably hungry. I need to give him his medicine, too.

Calming your nerves, you retrieved the small bag with medication. “Hey, buddy, you probably don’t feel great right? This will help numb that pain. You mind letting me put this in your mouth?” You held a syringe up, filled with a paste, and capped with a rubber tip that you could slide into his beak.

He seemed to glower at the suggestion, and you were starting to dread having to force his beak open when he shoved the towel off his back and stood up wobbling.

“Wow, you’re very clever, aren’t you? ” you exclaimed.

He huffed at the praise, parting his beak marginally to allow the tip to slide in. Not wanting to waste the opportunity, you carefully slid the syringe tip into his mouth and pushed the plunger just enough to provide the proper dose as you had been instructed.

The hawk reacted negatively, chomping his beak and twisting his head, evidently not enjoying the taste of the medicine. He strode over the water bowl resting on the tabletop and dunked his beak into the water, small bubbles rolling the surface as he guzzled down the liquid.

The sight was so shocking, you couldn’t help but start laughing, your chest heaved as you gasped for air between your cackles.

The hawk, having finished his drink, seemed unimpressed with your reaction.

“Oh, come on,” you chided after regaining your composure. “That was hilarious. Geez, I can’t remember the last time I laughed that hard. Thanks for that, buddy.”

He shook, his feathers fluffing, then turned and pushed himself back under the towel, clearly unamused.

“Aw, baby’s embarrassed.” You cooed with another chuckle before returning to the kitchen and fixing yourself some breakfast. Once you’d eaten you returned to him to refill the water bowl he had downed and finally noticed that the bowl with the bird feed had been overturned at some point, most likely when he had flipped the box during the night.

“Can you not make a mess of the apartment?” You nagged, cleaning the mess, and refilling the bowl. He gave no reaction, his bright red tail the only visible part sticking out from under the towel. You gently poked the protruding feathers, feeling him lurch in surprise at the touch, “Hey, make sure you eat, you’ll feel horrible with no food in your stomach.”

The hawk rolled under the towel, sticking his head out to glower at the bowl and then you.

“Someone’s in a foul mood,” You blinked, then grinned. “Pun not intended.”

You could swear he rolled his eyes.

Just as you were about to comment on the action, your phone alarm went off. You groaned, “Time for work,” You studied the bird and the sideways box. “They said free roaming would be best since I don’t have a pen or cage big enough for you…” You shifted a dining room chair so it was angled against the table. “If, uh, you want to get down just use this instead of trying to fly… okay?”

His reply was crawling back under the towel, making sure to be completely hidden this time.

Still talking to a bird.

You grumbled something nonsensical, then returned to your room to change your clothes. Once ready to go, you padded towards your door, pulling your hair into a ponytail and glanced at the lump under the towel, and wondered if you should try and call off instead. You decided against it, knowing there was little you could change by staying home.

“I’ll… be back before you need more meds,” you called out. No reaction. You sighed, wondering why you felt like there would be, and exited your home.

You were more than relieved when you returned home and found it in the same condition you had left it that morning. In fact, you realized as you checked for damages, it seemed as if the bird hadn’t moved the entire time you’d been at work. You trailed over to the table and saw that he was where you had left him, snoozing away under the towel, his beak barely protruding.

“I’m home,” you said softly, running a fingertip over the exposed beak.

He let out a soft cooing sound at the touch, wiggling enough to expose his head and look at you with his intense golden eyes.

“Hey, buddy.”

Another coo with a head tilt so he rested on his cheek as he stared, seeming somewhat dazed.

“You okay?” you asked worriedly, he had been more responsive until now. You were about to call the clinic when you saw that the feed bowl had not been touched at all, no dip in the seed to indicate that he had moved anything within. “You haven’t eaten at all?” you declared, picking up the bowl. “I told you-” you paused and sighed, wondering once again why you spoke to an animal like he understood you.

“Do you not like this brand or blend or something?” you muttered. You pulled out your phone to see what type of bird feed was best for him. You realized something unfortunate. Voles, rats, rabbits… “I bought the wrong type of food.” You groaned. You had been in such a rush to get back to the rideshare you had just grabbed the recommended bag of bird feed, not even thinking to make sure that your new roommate could actually eat it.

You didn’t really have any prey type meat just lying around your kitchen. He needed to eat something.

 “Ugh, maybe I can mix some… gravy or something into the seed. Maybe that will work for him until I can get something better.” You left the avian to stride over to the kitchen, opening the fridge in search of an additive to spur the bird’s appetite since, according to Google, he could eat the seed if he had to, but was just choosing not to.

Before you had really started your search the hawk let out a low screech, pulling your attention back to him. Your head snapped over in reaction, surprised to see him standing on the table and eyeballing you, giving a strong feeling of a hunter studying its prey.

“Uh, what’s up, buddy?” you asked nervously.

He shifted his weight between his feet for a few moments before dipping his head down and hooking his beak around the brim of the metal feed bowl. Once gripped, he raised his head, bringing the bowl with and held it in the air for a second while he fought to keep balance at the sudden weight. You were about to call out for him to stop, in case he got hurt, when he thrust his head downwards and released the bowl.

The bowl bounced off the tabletop and tumbled to the floor, spinning. Feed flew all around him, covering the table and floor.

Stunned, you didn’t move, the apartment filled with the sounds of the bowl spinning in place before settling with a dull clunk. The hawk arched his back and let out a defiant squawk at you, finalizing the production you’d just witnessed.

You blinked, processing what had just occurred before standing up, furious, “Are you serious?” you snapped at the proud bird. “You – that – I said don’t make – I don’t even- Okay!” You shouted, unable to process your thoughts, “I get it, you don’t want the damn seed but what the fuck. I have to clean all this up! That- you-”

I’m shouting a bird.

You sighed, cupping your face in your hands and letting out a long groan. What the hell was wrong with this bird, you had never met an animal that was so damn- you didn’t even know how to describe it.

“Let me see what I have,” you hissed at the fowl, wondering if hawk tasted like chicken.

Hm, chicken...

You returned to your excavation of the fridge and found the pack of chicken breasts you had intended to cook the night before when you had been planning to be home earlier and not as tired as you ended up being.

Guess I can make this tonight and share some with him. Not that you found him worthy of this type of treat at the moment.

“Wait… Can hawks eat chicken? Isn’t that like-” your sentence was interrupted by the bird giving a squawk, he was shifting his weight between his feet again but more in an excited dance than a show as before. “What? You like chicken?”

Another squawk.

“Fine.” Ripping the package open, pulling one breast out, and to your cutting board. A few minutes later you set down a bowl of the raw meat in front of him, cut into bite-sized cubes for easier consumption.

He stared at the bowl, suddenly seeming reluctant.

“Oh, what now?” You groaned, pitching your brow.

Fluffing his feathers and looking at you, his gaze shifted to behind you back towards the kitchen.

“What, you want more?”

He huffed and bowed his head, though that lasted only a moment before he held it high again and had a confident look as if having set his mind to something. Wobbling, he padded to the edge of the table and hooked his beak into the dining chair you had set up that morning for him and started climbing down it.

You found the process fascinating, surprised by his sudden burst of energy. Stepping out of the way, you watched as he landed on the tiled floor, starting his way to the kitchen by hopping and tapping along while doing his best to keep balance. He reached the middle of the area and stood in front of the oven. He was panting, having worn himself out with the exercise. However, he wasn’t done, clearly wanting to strike home just what he was thinking, as he bent his head forward and tapped his forehead against the metal appliance, repeating the gesture softly a few times before stopping and resting it there, turning to look at you to ensure you were watching and understood.

“I’m guessing that means you want it cooked.”

The confirmation seemed to be correct, as he gave a weak note in reply and slid to the floor, exhausted by his show; he landed softly on his back, feet in air.

You stepped up to him and bent down, gently brushing the plumage of his stomach, “You are the most spoiled pet I have ever seen. Fine, I’ll cook the damn chicken. Don’t expect anything fancy, though.”

He only let out a long exhale in reply.

You returned the tired bird to the table, grabbed the bowl of chicken cubes, and began once again to prepare the request. A quick check on the phone and you decided to just boil the meat, not adding any spices or extras since that could hurt his stomach. You also did a double-check and removed any excess fat, noting that also wasn’t great for him

While the cubes boiled, you made yourself your own meal, a mouthwatering bowl of katsu over rice.

You set the boiled meat down in front of the starving avian. “Happy?” You sighed, hoping he would finally eat something.

He huffed at the bowl, as if contemplating how to also toss it in a showy fashion, then bent his head and took a cube. He chomped down on it and shivered. Pausing for a moment, he tilted his head in contemplation then bent again to grab another.

“Glad to see it’s good enough for your refined palate.”

Grabbing your own meal, you plopped down at the table opposite the bird and started eating while browsing your phone. You were only a few bites in when you noticed the hawk leaning over you, staring at the bowl.

“Noooo. No!” you pulled the bowl close to your chest, “You have your chicken, this is mine! And fried foods are bad for birds.”

He fluffed, giving you what you could only describe as puppy dog eyes.

How???

You grumbled, “One bite, one!”  You pinched a piece of katsu with your chopsticks, making a small bird-sized piece, and lifted the morsel for the bird to take. He did so eagerly, snatching the piece and sliding it down his throat.

He let out a contented coo.

“Glad you like it- No,” you snapped as he started giving the same look once again. “I said one, and I meant it! I’m in charge here, mister!”

He seemed to relent, his shoulders slumping then he tilted his head again, a contemplative look in his eyes.

“Wha- Uh.” Your voice caught as he slipped off the table into your lap and pressed himself into your chest, nuzzling you. You held back a squeal of delight at the surprising cuteness of the hawk while holding your food in the air with one hand. “That’s a dirty move and I refuse-”

He cooed, looking up at you with big eyes.

“One more.”

He gave a rumbling sound of happiness as he downed the next piece, continuing to snuggle you.

You set the bowl down and gave your full attention to the large bird, amazed at how affectionate he was. You ran your fingers through his feathers, finding soft down. You lost yourself to the petting; he seemingly enjoyed the pampering. You were unsure how, but you were now at the injured fowl’s mercy.

Both of you jumped as your phone went off in your pocket, interrupting the cuddle session. Holding him still, you retrieved it and answered quickly.

“Hello?”

“Hi, there! This is y/n?”

“Uh, yeah… this is?”

“I’m calling from the animal clinic! You brought the lovely red-tail hawk in yesterday?”

“Oh! Yeah, sorry I didn’t expect you to call so soon!”

“No worries! Hope I’m not bothering. Are you okay to talk?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Great! I wanted to let you know that one of the rescue centers we work with is able to take the darling in. They can have someone swing by ASAP if you like.”

“Oh, already?” you eyed the animal resting in your arm.

“Is that a problem?”

“No, I just- I thought it would take a few days.”

“…would you prefer to have their number? That way when you’re… ready, you can call them, and they can come by?”

You pursed your lips, suddenly unsure of yourself. You were in no position to have a pet, especially a predator… yet you found yourself reluctant to let him go. In the short time he had been there, you had laughed and smiled more than you had for a while. It was a welcome disruption to your dull life.

“Yeah… I’d like that.”

They let out a small chuckle, “Sure thing. I’ll let them know. They’ve also posted a bulletin about him, to help track down the owner.”

“Oh, that’s great. I hope they get found, he’s very… special. I’m sure he’s missed.”

“I’m glad to hear he’s doing well! Please feel free to reach out to us or the center if you have any questions or trouble.”

“Will do… thanks.”

Great. Just great. You sighed as you hung up and studied the bird nestled against your breast.

“Welp, I’m crazy. You’re stuck with me for a bit longer, hope you’re okay with that, buddy.”

He nuzzled further into you as if saying thanks for letting him stay.

“Guess if… you’re staying I should give you a name?”

He straightened at that and locked eyes, staring you down fiercely. Clearly, he found the matter very important.

You gave a nervous chuckle, “Don’t have high hopes there, I’m far from great at naming things, bud.” you paused, considering your statement. “Actually, I think I’ve already named you. How does ‘Buddy’ sound?”

He made a disgruntled noise but proceeded to bury himself back into your chest, nuzzling the fabric of your shirt, springing faintly against the fat of your breasts.

“Welp, best you get… Speaking of you getting things, you’re due for your next batch of meds.”

He was less than pleased with the reminder of the foul-tasting substance.

The following morning you woke not to your alarm, but with a start to the sound of someone talking in your living room, the sound seeping in through the ajar door. Your heart raced with panic as you attempted to make sense of the sound. Slipping from the bed and grabbing the wooden bat you kept at your bedside for such events, you approached the door, glancing around the frame to see who dared to enter your abode. Mind whirling, you expected to see masked figures looting your home or-

Buddy! The bird had been asleep on the table when you had gone to bed. What if they hurt him during their looting!

Forgoing your own safety, you rushed out into the open area, only lit by the dim morning sun through the shaded balcony glass door. You reached the couch, brandishing the bat, ready to swing in a moment’s notice. Surveying the room, you found the source of the talking – the television.

Buddy was perched on the couch, the remote next to him, staring at the television. It was on a news channel, going over the latest hero and villain activities.

“What the hell!” you screeched, lowering the bat.

The bird’s head snapped towards you, having not heard your approach. He reacted at your appearance, flapping his free wing and giving a surprised cry.

“You scared the living hell out of me - again! Stop doing that, my heart can only take so much!” You reached for the remote. “How the hell did you even turn that on? I was sure I left it on the ta-” you cut off, reeling your hand back as Buddy jumped atop the device, blocking you from it.

You blinked, confused, “Are… you watching that?”

He squawked in confirmation.

“You are not a normal bird.”

He seemed happy at your realization, fluffing his feathers and stepping off the remote, laying down next to it, and returning his gaze to the screen.

“Whatever, I’m up now. Guess I’ll make breakfast.”

He gave an excited chirp at the suggestion.

“Yeah, yeah. Yours too.”

You joined the fowl on the couch while you ate, giving him another bowl of boiled meat – which he ate disgruntledly.

“I’ll have to swing by the store after work, see how much discount meat I can get you… wonder if the pet store will take back a barely used bag of feed…”

You were already getting used to speaking to the bird, speaking aloud your random thoughts as you went about your morning routine. Cleaning up, giving him his meds, prepping his food and water for while you were gone. You were enjoying the addition he was adding to your day and being able to talk to someone as well – especially since he did provide a type of reply. You enjoyed it so much so that you were reluctant when your alarm for work went off.

“Back to the grind,” you sighed, trudging to your bedroom closet to change out of your nightshirt. “ Was a bit chilly yesterday, should get my spare jacket.” You hadn’t gotten a chance to wash the one from the night you saved Buddy, and you weren’t eager to use a bloody jacket. You spotted the spare folded on the closet shelf, resting under a box.

You pulled the clothing free while doing your best to keep the box in place – your best wasn’t good enough, since just as you were sure it was free, it snagged, and the box joined in the escapade. You tumbled to the ground as the object hit you, its contents partially falling out onto you and the floor.

“Owww,” you whined, rubbing your butt. After regaining yourself, you examined the mess you had created and instantly regretted trying to retrieve the spare jacket, your eyes tearing up at the box’s contents.

It was just a random assortment of objects, all-male ordinated – a razor, a pair of jeans and two t-shirts, a hairbrush, some socks, and other miscellaneous items.

“Dammit…” you mumbled, trying to hold back sobs. With everything that had happened the past two days you had actually forgotten the damn thing was in your closet for the first time in months.

Your self-pity was interrupted as you felt something soft press against your arm. You looked over and saw Buddy standing beside you looking concerned, the sound from the tumble must have drawn him into your room to check on you.

“I’m okay… I’m not crying ‘cause I’m hurt. Promise,” you inhaled deeply, trying to steady your nerves, and started collecting the fallen items back into the box. “It’s a bit silly to cry over.”

He tilted his head in question.

“It’s just some stuff my ex left behind. I should just burn it…” Maybe because you were so used to just saying whatever you wanted to the hawk, you kept following the train wreck of your thoughts, “He cheated on me but somehow worked it to him being the one to break up when I confronted him. I should be glad he’s gone but… here I am, pining over some asshole and his discarded laundry.” Despite your best effort, you started sobbing, “How pathetic am I-”

Buddy pressed into your arm once again, cutting the tirade, and gave a small coo.

You pulled the bird into your arms, holding him close and pressing your face into him, your tears rolling over the water-proof feathers. You stayed like that for a time, buddy not even trying to pull from your embrace. You let him slip from you, your sobs dying away. You felt tired and wanted to crawl back in bed, but work was waiting.

“Thanks.” You mumbled, rubbing Buddy’s cheek. You finished gathering the items, stood, and stared at the box.

Just throw it away.

Your grip trembled as you held it.

Get rid of it.

You slid the box back onto the shelf.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you murmured, glancing away from the concerned hawk.

Time slipped by after that, a new routine being built around your new roommate. You had moments of conflict due to his strange personality, but overall, you enjoyed having him in your home. Even with the dip into your finances that he caused, between meat and clinic visits. Another interesting addition to your day was how your mornings always had a little surprise from him. Mainly him doing something to jolt you awake since he seemed to be a very early riser.

This morning, however, had one of your preferred surprises, your eyelids felt heavy as your brain booted up and registered the light snoring that was taking place next to you. You blinked, looking around for the source, and found the fowl resting next to you, on his back feet in the air and head lolling, on an open pillow.

Giving a sheepish grin, you watched him for a bit, seeing him twitch in his sleep. You had come to terms with his abnormal behavior, your research into the breed showing he did not act like other red-tails or even just other birds in general.

“Buddy,” you purred, reaching over and shaking a talon lightly.

His eyes popped open and then blinked slowly, fighting away his own sleepiness. He turned over and quivered, his feathers fluffing and head jerking.

“Morning.” You giggled, enjoying the show, before turning in the bed and burying your face into the pillow, reluctant to get up. Looking back at him, you saw him observing you intently. Just another thing you’d gotten used to, the way he seemed to examine you up and down with a focused gaze randomly.

You gave a smirk, peering back through your messy hair before pushing yourself up to sit on your knees and stretching your arms up above your head, your joints popping satisfactorily. As always with your nightshirt, it raised with the motion, exposing your thighs to view.

Buddy rolled as you stretched, your movement causing him to be displaced from his resting place, his head landing softly against those thighs as they cushioned the tumble.

“That wasn’t convincing at all,” you laughed, tugging the shirt to the side to lock eyes with the endearing avian. He was very affectionate, finding any way he found to cuddle with you when possible. With a yawn, you checked your phone for the time and saw a reminder on the lock screen. “Oh right! We better get ready; we have the vet appointment today. Your wing should be all healed up!”

As always, the hawk gave a human-like reaction, quickly straightening himself and giving an excited shriek at the announcement.

Buddy wouldn’t stop extending his freed wing as he rested on the perch at the front desk while you signed the paperwork for the visit.

“Calm down, you,” you laughed, glad to see him so happy.

“So, you really plan to keep him?” The nurse asked, grinning at the sight of the overjoyed bird as well.

“I mean… his owner hasn’t been found and he’s not a wild bird. I’ve gotten used to him, so it just seemed best?”

“I think it’s great. He’s lucky you found him. Uh, do you have a leash?”

Buddy flapped and shrieked in disapproval at the remark.

“I saw bird leashes were a thing, but he’s so well behaved I wasn’t sure I should get one?”

“I get your reasoning, but he could fly off, he’s already gotten lost and in trouble once.”

“That’s true…” you looked Buddy over, seeing his hunched shoulders, “Do I need to leash you, bud?”

With a quick flap, he glided off the perch and onto your shoulder, being careful not to cut you with his talons as he steadied himself.

“Wow, you have him wrapped around your finger.”

“I think we’ll be okay.” You decided, scratching Buddy’s chin.

Finishing off the paperwork you exited the clinic, the hawk still perched on your shoulder, sure you were an interesting sight for those you passed. You walked with an eye on your phone, swiping through various avian products.

“We should get you proper stuff, perches, and such, for the apartment. We’ve been making do with the makeshift setup, but now that you’re staying we should-”

He shifted harshly, drawing your attention to him. He was staring intensely down the street, where a store had various televisions on display in a window, an assortment of shows airing with captions turning on. You sighed and approached the display, knowing the bird’s inclination for news. Sure enough, his preferred channel was airing on one of the displays.

“Just for a minute, okay?” you stated, returning to your shopping as he stared at the moving pictures. You kept your word and started to move shortly after, but Buddy gave a loud shriek in protest when you did so, his eyes still focused on the display. “Hey, what’s gotten into you?” You looked at the screen, finally paying attention to the content.

“-the villain has been in a coma since the intense battle with Hawks, so he has yet to be able to answer any questioning as to the whereabouts of the missing number two hero and the other heroes that disappeared-”

You let out a surprised hiss as you felt Buddy’s talons dig into your shoulder, it didn’t hurt thanks to the padding of your coat, but it caught you off guard after how careful he always was. However, before you could reprimand the action, he launched himself and flapped his wings quickly, taking off into the air.

You stared at the hawk as he soared, at first impressed by the way he moved so easily after just getting the wrapping removed, then distraught as you saw him continue to fly away.

“…Buddy?”

——Tag List ——

(Please check this post if you would like to be included!)

@thisisthehardestthing​ @cheeriecherry​ @mindninjax​

[gaytransgirl]

A Thorough Dissection of Snapcube’s “Sonic The Hedgehog (2006)” Dub and its Recurring Themes and Plots

I have organized this into two main plot threads, one recurring theme that aids both plots, and a series of noteworthy jokes and/or bits that add story cohesion to the dub as a whole. Luckily for me, Shadow T. Hedgehog himself brought about a generic theme message of the dub inside the dub itself, so that was part of my work alleviated from me. For the sake of the post being long as hell, all the information will be placed under a readmore.

STORY THREAD: THE FORTNITE GAMING SAGA

8:00 - The first mention of Fortnite. 8:13 - The introduction of alternate Battle Royales and their existence in the dub. This does not necessarily include real Battle Royales such as PUBG, instead branching off into fictional works, such as Doki Doki Literature Club Battle Royale. 8:55 is where we get the first mention of Tilted Towers. Eggman is revealed to also like Fortnite, and Rouge's username is leaked. 13:43 - It is revealed that Memphis Tennessee is also an avid Fortnite gamer, and we see his gamer pad. 14:49 - "That just makes you a beta cuck." Not FULLY related to the plot, but worth mentioning because it is gold. 16:38 - Sonic defends the integrity of the real best Battle Royale, Tetris 99. 17:28 - The future of Fortnite is revealed. 17:56 - Rouge starts her plan to create her own Battle Royale. 22:52 - The world on fire, seen in Elise’s That’s So Raven moments, is revealed to be caused by Sonic's Battle Royale soundtrack. 25:55 - Eggman sends Sonic and co. into “Fortnite Minecraft” for the PS4. This is never elaborated upon. 26:58 - Alfred somehow predicts Fallout 76 Battle Royale before it was revealed. Because he is Alfred, and that is the magic of the dubs. 27:11 - Elise's key role in the perfect Battle Royale is revealed, establishing a more solid character motive for Eggman. 29:29 - Tails discovers Rouge's Battle Royale, and Sonic inserts himself as the main character. 38:19 - Memphis shows off his new Fortnite map. 41:19 - Omega shows a distaste for Fortnite, the first character thus far to do so, and plans to stop it from being the top game of 2018. 42:02 - Shadow asks Todd Howard to publish his game, and it is revealed that Shadow was made by Todd Howard as part of a Battle Royale. 48:49 - It's revealed that the purple and yellow energies are being used to power Fortnite. 51:55 - The Duke attempts to revive Elise using the gamer gems, but the gamer piss kills her. However, she is revived shortly after. 1:00:22 - Eggman's Fortnite account is hacked, and he has a birth of cactuses out of his asshole. 1:01:33 - Memphis realizes he has more gamer potential than anticipated, and moves far beyond Fortnite, disregarding the new map he made. 1:04:53 - Fortnite is destroyed by anonymous hackers, and Eggman's social security becomes someone else's. 1:21:25 - Elise takes Sonic to see the Flame of Gamers, and they extinguish it together. 1:23:06 - Game over.

Overall conclusion of this thread: No matter how well-intentioned a conflict may be (Fortnite vs PUBG vs Tetris 99), all that a conflict can breed is hate. Casualties may arise (Elise, Eggman’s social security), and outside groups (the hackers) are bound to take advantage of conflicting parties for their own gain.

STORY THREAD: SHADOW'S MARITAL AFFAIRS

30:33 - It is revealed that Shadow and Rouge had a wedding once. 32:16 - Shadow describes this arc before it truly begins. 35:27 - The power of Za Warudo unites Shadow and Sonic in marriage, though chaos ensues at the question of who is the bride. 35:59 - Shadow reveals his love for Memphis Tennessee, and they kiss off screen. 38:24 - Shadow asks Memphis on a date. 39:21 - We see the first sign of strain in Memphis and Shadow's relationship. 40:45 - Omega confesses his feelings for Shadow. 44:42 - Shadow and Silver do A Gay Thing together. 51:12 - Shadow obtains a portable Memphis. And what do you know? The perfect shape. 56:38 - Omega gets his revenge for Memphis for stealing Shadow. 58:29 - Rouge and Omega bond over the friend zone. 1:03:40 - Memphis voices his regret over dating Shadow, and chooses to instead fuck his clones. 1:06:14 - Sonic first recognizes Silver's status as a twink. This comes into play later, when Sonic is revived. 1:13:29 - Memphis unleashes his ultimate gay power, technically making Shadow his boyfriend again. 1:18:28 - The gay gems revive Sonic, and he forms a polyamorous marriage with Silver and Shadow.

Overall conclusion: Being gay is good. Try it some time.

RECURRING THEME: WEED AND VAPING

28:32 - This is the first mention of Knuckles' desire for weed, a joke returning from the first dub. Sonic establishes himself as a weed smoker. 29:39 - Rouge reveals her weed stash to Shadow, firmly cementing that she is not a dealer. If she was, she would’ve given it to Knuckles (for a price). 31:57 - "YOU HAD THE WEED THE WHOLE TIME?!" 36:50 - A robot asks for weed. Yeah. I did notice this. 37:21 - Rouge offers Omega some weed, and once weed.exe downloads, he short circuits in a beautiful display of Alfred’s note-holding capabilities. 40:29 - Omega is revealed to have the ability to inebriate others through his presence, as shown by Memphis’s red eyes. 41:46 - Omega asks for more weed. He does not get it. 43:53 - Shadow uses weed to slow time. This is the first display of weed having supernatural abilities. 54:22 - Shadow encourages young Elise to vape, and ties the themes together into an essential message about freedom... or whatever. 57:32 - Omega once again reveals his incredible dependency on Rouge's weed. He should get his own supplier instead of leeching off Rouge. 1:10:44 - Memphis obtains the Corrupted Weed Gem and uses it to McMurder Sonic. He does it entirely by accident, though.

Thematic message: “All living things deserve freedom... Freedom to weed, to vape, to Fortnite... That’s what we’re all tying into, I think. That’s the central message.”

Other Recurring Jokes of Note: Instant Ramen: 9:35 - 9:58 - 10:12 - 36:46 - 46:15 Finding The Computer Room: 7:55 - 17:49 - 41:59 - 1:00:10 The Ice Cream Air Ship: 7:24 - 55:08 - 1:05:17 My Bed Is Made Of Scorpions: 0:31 - 1:13:50 "One": 2:57 - 7:13 - 22:44 Tell It In Excruciating Detail: 17:00 - 21:45 Amy Making Murder Threats: 24:00 - 34:12 - 1:16:16 Characters Surprised By Their Own Abilities: 5:51 - 7:21 - 1:11:27 - 1:15:40 Pumpkin Hill: 18:11 - 24:39 - 1:14:52 Omega's Counting Habits: 1:00:53 - 1:01:49 - 1:04:26

Overall, Snapcube’s dub of “Sonic the Hedgehog (2006)” delivers a message of self discovery and personal freedoms. We all have issues that might bog us down, and we may suffer from insomnia. But one thing that unites us all (other than Pumpkin Hill) is the idea of personal growth. Whether that comes through game development, an exploration of sexuality, learning that you have hands, or letting a child vape, there’s something for all of us in the Computer Room of Discovery. And once we find the computer room, we can code our future.

[mothman-misato]

Free Day - Matchablossom Week Day 8

I’m gonna put the whole thing on ao3 sometime today.

Thanks to Mo for beta-ing.

First | Next

Chronological: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Kaoru loved being at S. Even after everything with Adam, S remained a special place to him, it was a safe place to be himself and to let loose and have fun. It was one of the few things Adam hadn’t ruined for him.

He felt Kojiro closing in behind him, and he stuck out his elbow to keep his friend from getting too close. Kojiro let out a peel of laughter as he dodged Kaoru’s elbow and pulled slightly ahead. Kojiro was another thing that Adam hadn’t ruined.

“You can’t take me out that easily, four-eyes,” he taunted, turning so he was going backwards, facing Kaoru.

“I don’t have my glasses on right now, you dimwit,” Kaoru taunted back, “And I know I can’t but that won’t stop me from trying.”

Kojiro grinned widely and turned back around, skating up a rock face to go into a complicated flip. Kaoru smiled softly to himself as he watched. Kojiro had always been reckless when skating, had been trying to reach new heights since they were eight years old, but Kojiro had also gotten better. He was able to move forward and find technique in the recklessness, there was something almost graceful about the way he flung himself into the air with unconcealed glee. Kaoru felt proud that he had gotten to watch this transformation over their lives, that he had gotten a front row seat to Kojiro’s talent.

“Carla, calculate the angle.”

“Yes, master,” his AI skateboard rattled back at him, “The entrance is 11 degrees in ten seconds.”

He smiled, speeding up just a little as he rounded the corner. Kojiro flashed him a smile as he caught up and they were once again neck and neck. It wasn’t a serious beef. It was in the middle of the day, in fact. They had both taken a day off and instead of using it for resting, they found themselves falling into old habits and came to the unspoken decision to spend the day skating instead. S was clear of most people, only a few people here and there talking to themselves or practicing tricks. A few people called out as they were going by, after all, he and Kojiro were legends here. But for the most part, they were left alone.

“Why did you name it Carla?” Kojiro asked suddenly, glancing briefly toward Kaoru.

“It just felt right,” he smirked, “it was a hunch, if you will.”

“Oh you’re allowed to name your AI board based on a hunch, but it’s always an issue when I have a hunch.”

“Your hunches are horrible.”

“They are not. Your hunches are horrible. What kind of name is Carla? For a skateboard?”

“A great one, you dumb gorilla.” He stuck his hand out to push Kojiro a little and watched in satisfaction as he wobbled a little.

“You’re horrible,” Kojiro gained his balance quickly and moved his board closer to Kaoru’s.

“You love me,” Kaoru retorted.

“Yeah, I do.”

Kaoru stumbled forward, nearly falling off his board. He could feel his heart in his throat as he steadied himself. He looked up at Kojiro with wide eyes.

“You what?” he asked, voice barely loud enough to be heard over the wind.

Kojiro looked as if he wanted the rocks behind him to open up and swallow him whole. He looked somewhat sheepish and nervous and hopeful all at once and Kaoru didn’t know how to react.

“You love me?” Kaoru tried again when Kojiro said nothing. He was really glad that no one was around for this. This was their moment, no one else’s. Kojiro ducked his head, nodding a little. Kaoru felt his breath hitch.

“Actually? Like, as more than a friend?”

“What are you a schoolboy?” Kojiro teased, but it didn’t quite come out right. It was lilted and less than teasing and it dripped with the anxiety that was coming off him in waves. “Yes, as more than a friend, Kaoru.”

“I told you, you need to call me Cherry around here,” Kaoru smiled widely at him as they crossed into the abandoned mine.

“What? That’s what you’re focused on right now?” Kojiro screeched as Kaoru raced ahead of him. It was an easy race to win, with Kojiro so distracted, and he had to hold in his laughter as he crossed the finish line a whole two meters ahead of him.

As they stepped off their boards, Kaoru took Kojiro by the arm before he could even think about saying anything. He hauled Kojiro over to a more private alcove in the building and only stopped when he knew they were truly alone. Then he turned on Kojiro.

“You really are a stupid gorilla,” he said, and then hooked an arm around his neck and kissed him.

Kojiro went stiff beneath him, presumably out of shock, but Kaoru stayed firm against him, patient. After a second, he felt more than heard as Kojiro heaved a sigh of relief and leaned into the kiss. It was both soft and wild at the same time, which Kaoru thought was rather fitting to who they were together. Kojiro dropped his board at their feet, bringing his arms to wrap around Kaoru’s waist, pressing closer to him. Kaoru dropped his own board, and tilted his head a little more, and he bit softly into Kojiro’s bottom lip, earning him a quiet groan. He pulled back slowly and reluctantly, breathing hard.

“You-” Kojiro started, and Kaoru cut him off with another kiss.

“Yeah,” he said, pulling back again, breathless, “I love you too, you idiot.”

Kojiro beamed, pulling Kaoru somehow closer and he crushed him into a tight hug. Kaoru pushed his face into Kojiro’s shoulder, inhaling deeply.

“I love you so much, Kaoru,” Kojiro whispered into his hair, and Kaoru didn’t even try to suppress the smile that was taking over his face. He hugged him tighter.

( @matchablossomweek )

[shireness-says]

A Fate Woven in Thread and Ink (2/5)

Summary: Two people are trained from childhood for a magical competition they don’t fully understand, whose stakes are higher than they imagine, all to be played out in a magical traveling circus. Falling in love complicates things. A CS AU of the book “The Night Circus”.

Rated M. ~16.5k. Also on Ao3. On Tumblr: Chapter One

A/N: I’m back! Thanks for your patience in waiting for the latest chapter of my @cssns​ piece. My apologies for the wait; these chapters are slow in coming due to my own overthinking and perfectionism, what I know where everything is going and this Will Be Finished. 

Special thanks to my betas, @snidgetsafan​ and @ohmightydevviepuu​, and to @eirabach for the absolutely gorgeous art she created for this chapter. Seriously, it’s like she climbs right inside my head to see what I’m picturing. Give her a BUNCH of love for all this. 

Tagging the interested parties (and let me know if you’re one of those!): @welllpthisishappening​, @thisonesatellite​, @let-it-raines​, @kmomof4​, @scientificapricot​, @thejollyroger-writer​, @superchocovian​, @teamhook​, @optomisticgirl​, @winterbaby89​, @searchingwardrobes​, @katie-dub​, @snowbellewells​, @spartanguard​, @phiralovesloki​, @profdanglaisstuff​, @winterbythesea​​

Enjoy - and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

Henry is six the first time he visits the Circus. 

It’s a special treat for an orphaned boy like him; the nuns who run the Storybrooke Children’s Home, just outside of Portland, Maine, aren’t much given to frivolous entertainments like this. But a generous monetary donation had been made to the home when the Circus had set up just over the next hill, and tickets for all the children along with it. The nuns may not be much for frivolity, but they’re not ones for waste, either, especially where gifts are concerned. The next night, Sister Astrid and Sister Theodora collect all the children who want to go, and bring them to what, to Henry, feels like a whole other world. 

Henry is a boy the adults already say lives in his imagination too much, and the magic of the Circus only enchants him further, calling to him in a way he doesn’t yet have the words to understand, let alone describe. There are trapeze artists who soar through the air, and jugglers, and lions and tigers and wolves so tame that they’ll take treats from his hands. Kindly confectioners slip him pieces of praline and boxes of popcorn to snack on through the night with a wink and a smile. It’s treatment such as he’s never experienced before, and it’s easy to wonder if he’s just wandered into some kind of dream.

(Even at six, Henry knows better than to disrupt such a lovely dream.)

It’s easy to get separated from the rest of the children in the dazzle of it all, and Henry finds himself wandering the curved paths alone as the clock strikes one, when the others in his group are preparing to return to the Home. Not that he knows it; he’s far too occupied by staring wide-eyed at the black and white tents where they soar to meet the stars and peeking beyond their entrance flaps.

That’s how the lady finds him - gawking with a craned neck at everything around him. 

“Have you lost your group, young man?” she asks with a gentle voice. Henry likes being called young man; it makes him feel important. 

“It’s okay,” he tells her earnestly. “They like to go faster than me. I can do it by myself.”

“I’m sure you can,” the lady laughs. She looks really pretty; her hair is yellow and curly and she wears a poofy white dress with black swirly bits and a black, long-sleeved jacket, the lack of color making it obvious she’s part of the Circus somehow. If this was one of the fairy tales Henry likes so much, she’d be the princess in hiding; here, at the Circus, that just might be true. “I was just planning to walk to the front gates. Would you care to escort me, young sir?”

Henry eagerly takes the hand the lady offers. “I’m Henry,” he tells her as they walk. “What’s your name?”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Henry. My name is Emma.”

“That’s a princess name. Are you a princess?”

“No,” she laughs, “but thank you very much, Henry. I appreciate the compliment. Are you enjoying the circus?”

“Yeah!” As they walk, Henry eagerly tells the lady - Emma, his new friend - about all his favorite bits - the animals and the dancers and especially the magician. Emma has a funny little smile when he talks about that, but Henry doesn’t think to ask about it.

When the front gates are finally in sight, Henry tugs on Emma’s hand. “I like it here,” he whispers. “Do I have to go?”

Emma crouches down, her skirts pooling around her and threatening to envelop him too. “Yes, Henry, you have to leave for now.”

“But why? I want to stay here. I could stay with you!”

“Oh, Henry, I’d like that so much,” she tells him, pulling him into a hug. “You need to go for now, until you’re older, but the Circus will always be here for you, okay? You’ll come back.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

Henry dreams of the circus that night, and for many nights after, though the visions his mind conjures up never quite match the mysticism of the real thing.

A week later, the Circus is gone.

(But here, in a small room in a cold, gloomy children’s home - a young boy remembers.)

———

Belle, unsurprisingly, proves to be a determined and reliable correspondent. She’s like his little window into the Circus, even when he can’t be there himself, as is so often the case - especially in those first few years. Five years pass of letters and far-too-rare visits, and yet Killian never feels left in the dark. That’s the magic of what Belle can accomplish with her words - let him feel as if he is present even when he can’t be. 

Her missives contain the important things he asked for, of course - reports of new tents and changes in operations and unusual things his opponent, Miss Swan, is doing. They’re useful words, words that help him plan his own next moves. More than that, though, her letters are filled with wonderful little mundane details that make him smile. Belle tells him about the latest book she’s read and how fast the Zimmer twins are growing up and particularly funny anecdotes she’s heard. There are complaints about the weather, and discussions of the interesting or ominous things she reads in the cards. Always, always, there are chronicles of all the many places she has seen as the Circus crisscrosses the world, recountings of wondrous sights and marvelous people. Belle had wanted to see the world, and she’s getting to, five times over. It’s everything she deserves, only wrapped in an unusual and often demanding package. 

“It’s not too much, is it?” Killian asks on one of the rare instances their paths cross - in Paris, this time, where Killian has come on an errand for Jefferson, sitting in a little cafe in the shadow of Notre Dame. “I never want to ask more of you than you can manage.”

“Don’t be silly,” Belle says, waving off his concerns like the steam from their coffee. “They’re merely letters, Killian. It’s no great bother - especially for something I’d be doing anyways. I’d be writing to you regardless, Killian - you’re my best friend in the world, and I’ll be terribly put out if you ever stop writing me back.”

And that’s that.

(Most days, Killian believes that Belle is a much better friend than he could ever possibly deserve. He makes a mental note to say something of the sort in his next letter back to her.)

(Of course, he forgets - but then again, he can’t imagine she doesn’t already know.)

———

As a child, growing up knowing she was destined for some magical contest, Emma had always been told that she’d understand what she needed to do once her competition actually started. As an adult, now smack in the middle of it all, she finds that is decidedly not the case. Emma does her best, but it still feels like she has no idea what in the world she’s supposed to be doing.

The Circus is meant to be a canvas for her abilities, hers and her opponent’s; that much is obvious. What exactly that means is… more up for debate. Emma tries to take on more of the Circus in little pieces, bit by bit, so that more of its operations run on magic than on man power. It’s more enjoyable to try and come up with new attractions, drawing upon her imagination to come up with something new. It’s not a particularly quick process - Emma spends a lot of time planning each idea, to make sure she doesn’t miss anything, and it means that she can only create maybe two new tents each year. It’s worth it, though, to wander through the finished product, and see the way her most fanciful ideas have come to life. 

(“You need to be doing more,” Regina always scolds her on those rare occasions she makes the effort to visit her student. “This isn’t playtime. You can’t just make the effort when you feel like it, silly girl. Don’t you want to win this?”

“Of course, Regina,” Emma always says, making whatever promises she needs to in order to appease the other woman - all the while knowing that she will continue to act in her own way.)

(For Emma, the best thing about the Circus may be the separation from the woman who took her in. Regina does not often make the effort to check in on how her student is doing - and Emma more than likes it that way.)

There are traces of her mysterious opponent’s work, too. Sometimes it’s in the form of dramatic new attractions, things that push the bounds of possibility and perception; sometimes, it’s with more mundane things, like a wine-sampling tent tucked along a path that Emma is certain never existed before. 

His or her greatest feat, however, is on the members of the Circus themselves. As the years pass by, Emma can’t help but notice that time doesn’t affect everyone who brings the Circus to life, with the exception of the Zimmer twins. It’s been more than half a decade, but Granny Lucas is still as hale and hearty as ever. Not a single face has gained extra creases, or a single head extra grey hairs. Something this unknown competitor did has stopped the clock for all of them within the iron fence, even as the grand timepiece above the front gates ticks on.

It’s an impressive piece of magic - one that must take a considerable amount of skill and effort. It’s the first time Emma wonders if maybe this is a contest of endurance, rather than skill.

Regina won’t tell her, however, and Emma puts the matter out of her mind while she turns her attention towards the night’s performances and the germ of an idea blooming in her head. Something fantastical. Something striking - and icy. 

There’s always room for imagination and for creation at the Circus, after all - and despite her opponent’s impressive efforts, that’s exactly what Emma is counting on to one day prevail in this competition. 

——— 

The Zimmer twins are special, Emma discovers, and not just in the way anyone who has loved a child claims them to be exceptional. In Ava and Nicholas’ case, it’s true. 

There had been something in the air the night the circus opened, the night after the twins were born - something crackling and pervasive and magical. Emma has suspected for years - since that very moment - that the energy was something created by her still-unknown opponent. It’d been like a wave, rippling through them all at once and creating unknown effects. She thinks this might be one of those - powers growing in two children who, by all indication, shouldn’t have received them.

It’s especially noticeable to Emma, who not only has the ability to sense the powers running through their veins, but spends a considerable amount of time with the six-year-old twins. Ava and Nicholas grow up like the beloved niece and nephew of everyone involved with the circus, as though everyone communally agreed to test the proverb it takes a village. While the circus is open to visitors, and the children’s parents responsible for their little cart of carved treasures, everyone else watches the little boy and girl in shifts when they’re not performing - and Emma quickly becomes a particular favorite. She’s never been sure why; maybe they sensed the magic in her own veins, even as babies, and latched onto it. Maybe they simply like the way she thoughtfully humors every flight of fancy. Whatever the case - Emma knows her life would be far less interesting without the two in it. 

Ava has magic that likes to shake out and twinkle at the edges of her soft hair, similar in a way to Emma’s own powers. Unusual things happen around her, if you’re paying attention; lost things are more easily found, snacks and sweets turn up in unlikely places, and on one impressive occasion, a pair of fluffy orange and white kittens crawled out from beneath her bunk. 

“I can fix that,” she tells Emma innocently one day as Emma moves to throw a vase of wilted flowers out. She hasn’t prodded Ava about her powers before - it doesn’t seem the time to bring to the forefront all the things she can likely do, not when she’s still a little girl, not when Emma’s own childhood was largely sacrificed because of her own powers - but it’s a hard opportunity to pass up. It’s worth demonstrating to Ava, anyways, that her powers are simply a part of her, and nothing to make a fuss about.

“Can you show me?” Emma asks. It’s impossible not to smile when the little girl nods eagerly and furrows her brow in concentration, staring fixedly at the wilted daisies. Slowly but surely, the browned tips disappear, the petals straightening from their shrivelled state and the flowers once again lifting upright to seek the sun.

“That’s very well done, Ava,” Emma makes sure to tell her. 

“I know,” Ava replies seriously with all the intensity of a child her age. “Can you do that too?”

“I can.” Emma doesn’t tell people about her magic, usually, but Ava seems like a necessary exception - to let the little girl know she’s not entirely alone in her special, unusual skills.

“I thought so,” the little girl nods sagely. “I could feel it.”

It doesn’t surprise Emma in the least. 

Nicholas knows things that he shouldn’t - knows things that no one should know. Somehow, the stars speak to him in a language only he can understand. Nick sees things to come and things that have already happened, and sometimes divulges them readily and at the most unlikely times. 

“Is the scary lady with the dark hair your mama?” he asks one day out of the blue, startling Emma before she collects herself.

“No. She was my teacher,” Emma explains. 

“Oh.” His question asked, Nick happily goes back to playing quietly with his wooden lion. He’s less prone to chatter than his sister, happy to keep to his own thoughts when Ava isn’t pulling him into some other adventure. Emma rather wonders if it’s not because he has all the things he sees in the stars to keep him company. 

“Is there a reason you asked?” she inquires as casually as she can. “Did you… was there something you saw?”

“She hurt you,” is all he’ll say. “Before you were here.”

Something from the past, then - not so immediately alarming, though a sign she’ll need to be vigilant about hiding certain portions of her memories that young, impressionable and trusting minds shouldn’t be seeing.

“It’s alright, Nickie,” she tells him. “She isn’t around to bother me very often.”

He nods decisively. “Good.”

As he turns his attention back to his wooden lion, bringing a tiger in as well, Emma reaches out for the magic constantly humming about her and draws it into herself, directing to play through her mind and cast something almost like her invisibility cloak around her more traumatic memories to keep Nicholas from seeing. 

“Is there anything else?” she prods, mostly to test and see if the charm is effective.

Sure enough, the little boy’s face twists into a frown. “I don’t know,” he grumbles. “I can’t see.”

“Ah, well,” Emma replies in a purposefully light tone. “Maybe some other time.”

(She is not entirely sure she means it.)

Truth be told, Ava and Nicholas and their wondrous gifts are a beautiful mystery. All Emma knows is that it’s her responsibility to protect them from more sinister influences, the way she wishes someone had done for her. They deserve that. She deserved that. And she’ll be damned if they’re turned into pawns the way she was. 

There are many good things to come out of the Circus - friendship and wonder and home - but Emma thinks the Zimmer twins, and the powers they should be able to wield for good without the interference of people like Regina - are one of the best. 

——— 

There are attractions at the Circus unlike anything you’ve seen before, that you think may only exist within these iron gates. The Circus is a place where the otherworldly and impossible come to life.

This tent contains one such wonder, advertised with simple but mysterious words. This marker swirls and glistens in the moonlight, coaxing you inside to discover its secrets.

Stepping through the tent flap, brisk air tickles at your face - the first sign of what’s to come. Twisting through the interior are all manner of transparent structures, arranged in neat beds. The Ice Garden - just as promised. Each creation appears impossibly delicate and fragile, and by all logic, should be impossible on a warm summer’s night. There are lilies and roses and daisies, sculpted topiaries, winding vines, flowers that remind you of an illustration you once saw of tropical flora. A raised bed of cacti and succulents sprawls along one wall. Opposite, an apple tree, laden with fruit, arches gracefully at the edge of a silver-stoned path. There are little crystalline plaques, too, for all the plants whose names you’d never begin to guess: Shooting Star. Gayfeather. Anemones. Candelabra Primrose.

Every inch, every label, every petal, is made of ice.

Even at the Circus, such a thing should be impossible, This tent may be slightly, inexplicably cooler, but it’s by no means chilled enough to maintain this icy wonder. Though you know you shouldn’t touch, you can’t help but graze your fingers along an icy petal, just to make sure it isn’t cleverly blown glass. It’s a joyous mystery when they come away cold and wet, the sculptures revealed as ice in truth.

There’s no explanation for the Ice Garden - how it can exist at this edge of the Circus, seemingly unburdened by the laws of nature.

The longer you spend in the sparkling, colorless chill, the more you come to realize that beauty doesn’t need an explanation anyways.

———

Killian - 

I know it’s not quite the update you were asking for, but I still feel compelled to share - something wonderful and charming and amusing, and so delightfully human. I couldn’t quite resist writing to tell you. 

I could be wrong - but I believe a little fanclub has sprung up to trail the Circus. You’ll think it silly, Killian, but I am starting to recognize faces here - not of Circus members (I am not nearly so unobservant, or so rude not to recognize them by name after all these years!) but of visitors. There are a handful I could swear are coming over and over again. I’ll have to ask, next time I notice.

(Not that I can begrudge them of such - I certainly would be doing the same, in their shoes! It’s just that the fortunes get rather repetitive. I should probably let them know that the stars of fate do not change nearly as quickly as they seem to believe…)

There’s a certain awe, or maybe more like peace, that they wear on their faces as they move about the grounds that’s unique from all the other looks I see - almost like they’re coming home. I certainly know something about that - I think so many of us do. It’s wonderful, really - the way these visitors love the Circus so much that they feel compelled to return time and time again, joyously retracing the same paths over and over. It’s clear they love this place the way we do. Isn’t that just what we wanted, anyways? To make something for others to love, to play a part in bringing it to life? 

(Yes, I obviously remember that you’re also doing this for your mysterious competition - but I don’t believe someone makes something so beautiful without a generous dose of love as well. Don’t try to deny it, Killian - you know I’m always right.)

I hope you are well; no other news from here. As always, I’ll let you know if anything changes. 

Best wishes,

Belle

——— 

In time, the Circus gains followers.

It was probably inevitable, in a way; as the Circus winds its way across the world, through large cities and small towns, it touches countless lives as it goes, some more impactfully than others. There are those who visit once, and remember it fondly; those who take the opportunity to visit whenever the Circus is in their area, and look forward to it; and those who hold the memories close to one day tell their disbelieving grandchildren.

And then - there are the Rêveurs.

The Rêveurs start almost like a book club - groups of people who meet to reminisce about their favorite attractions, all the sights and smells and tastes that make the whole experience unforgettable. In time, the groups morph; they begin to go to the Circus together, and then travel to visit other Rêveurs when the Circus comes to their area. Particularly eloquent members begin to write into their local newspapers and magazines, beautiful editorials that convey love and wonder and coax thousands of others through the twisted iron gates. It becomes an entire movement, based off of a shared love, of people coming together to experience the Circus over and over again.

It is easy to spot the Rêveurs, if you know what you are looking for. In one of the editorials, an adherent mentions his own preferred way to experience the Circus - to blend in as much as he can, in all black and white, while still setting himself apart from those who bring the experience to life by adding a single touch of red. The trend catches on quickly; wandering the grounds, it is easy to spot splashes of red in the crowd, handkerchiefs peeking from pockets and roses or carnations in lapels and gloves and ribbons in hair. 

Some Rêveurs make sure to visit new attractions each time they visit; some prefer to see the same over and over, lingering in the acrobat tent or on the carousel for hours. In a way, they prove that there is no right or wrong way to experience the Circus - there will always be new things to see, and old favorites to return to. 

The members of the Circus are aware of the Rêveurs, too. Indeed, there are benefits to being in the same audience with that little flash of red, as performers bring out their best, most dazzling tricks and attempt new daring feats. Watching carefully, one might see a vendor slip a cup of cocoa or an extra serving of toasted nuts to a man or woman with that bare hint of color. All visitors to the Circus are valued, but the Rêveurs are treasured, in a different way, that makes every person involved in the endeavor want to do just the slightest bit more to bring the experience to life in a new way. 

The performers and vendors and other members of the Circus are its engine, in many ways - but the Rêveurs just might be its heart. 

———

Killian - 

I just realized that it’s been a while since my last letter - two months, I believe! Everything is perfectly fine here, I assure you. In fact, I haven’t written because there’s been nothing particularly notable to report. I’ve been watching for new additions, just as I always do, but nothing has appeared. Ah, well. We must be in a quiet stretch on that front.

Meanwhile, the Circus trundles onward, as it so often does. This week, we’re in Morocco. I’ve never been - and oh Killian, it is wonderful. The air is hot and dry and tinged with all kinds of spices that I can’t quite identify. And the food! A little group of us went and wandered in one of the markets, trying things from the stands. I’ve never tasted anything like it. What boring lives so many people lead, happy to stay on their own little island and pretend they know everything. This is so much preferable. The weather is a wonderful respite, too, from the cold I know must be sweeping through now that December is well and truly here.

I do not know if we’ll be home for Christmas; I rather doubt it. I’ll miss our usual holiday feast, but I trust that you’ll have a lovely time with your brother instead. My regards to Liam, as always.

Yours &c.,

Belle

———

Killian is lucky, in a way. After all, he has Belle and Liam, who both know about this competition. They’re his support system, the people who keep him grounded to life outside of all this - especially Liam. Lord knows Mr. Gold has never sought to do that. He doubts Miss Swan has that. Maybe he’s wrong; for her sake, he hopes he is. How lonely it must be to keep that secret, otherwise. 

Liam’s apartment is like a sanctuary at the end of a long day, where his brother waits with dark spiced rum and a roaring fire. Sometimes they venture out for dinner; some nights they stay in, and have the landlady send up something to eat. Mostly, Killian enjoys the peace of being in company that never expects more of him than he’s sure he can give. All Liam expects is companionship, and maybe for Killian to come with a nice bottle of spirits every so often. Killian can more than handle that. 

(They do not mention that Liam does not seem to age, the same way all those attached to the Circus do not. If his brother has even noticed, he remains blessedly silent on the subject.)

“Do you wonder sometimes,” Liam asks one night, “what would have happened if you hadn’t been selected by Gold? If you had turned him down?”

Killian shrugs. They’re in the middle of their third drinks - just the time for philosophical questions like these. “Not really,” he admits. “What’s the use? It happened like it happened. You wouldn’t have as nice a place as this, that’s for damn sure.”

Liam snorts, and the atmosphere turns more jovial for a few minutes as both men indulge in a drunken laugh before things turn thoughtful again. “If you had to do it all over again… would you?”

“I would,” Killian agrees. “We were a couple of scrappy orphans, no prospects, nothing. I’ve never been given a reason to truly regret it.”

“Then I’m happy for you, brother.” Liam tops off their glasses and raises his drink in a toast. “To good decisions, then!”

“To good decisions,” Killian echoes. “Or at least ones we haven’t yet regretted.”

———

Some attractions are more conventional in name, their promises familiar and comforting in that way that the expected can be. But this is the Circus, and conventional simply doesn’t exist here in the same way. 

You enter another tent to discover a hall of mirrors. It is a common enough attraction, at its core, one you have seen in other carnivals and street fairs. But true to the promise of the Circus, this version of such a fun house classic is more than you’ve ever seen. There are tall, full length mirrors, as you’ve come to expect, but small mirrors too, clustered on tables in every nook between their larger counterparts to reflect the lantern light in every direction. The mirrors don’t just distort your own reflection either; in addition to mirrors that cause your reflection to look taller or shorter or wider, there are mirrors to make you look older or younger, mirrors which change your hair, mirrors which duplicate your visage over and over again until you appear to be surrounded by a crowd of your own self in the mirror. There are even mirrors which somehow make it appear that you are someplace else entirely - by the seaside, the water slowly soaking your shoes, or in a fragrant flower garden, or wandering amidst ancient ruins. It is a clever trick, and one you won’t pretend to understand. In your heart, you never want to, for fear of ruining the illusion.

The world feels bright and new under the moonlight as you exit back outside the tent, like the hall of mirrors has helped you find a new way of seeing.

(And maybe, you realize, that’s the entire point.)

———

Killian takes small comfort in the fact that Mr. Gold seems pleased with his efforts. Truthfully, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He knows that somehow he’s supposed to demonstrate his abilities and magical knowledge on the canvas that is the Circus, but that only tells him so much. Killian adds attractions when he can, crafting things like the Hall of Mirrors in careful dioramas before sewing the plans into his master book, but it’s so hard to know if he’s on the right track. 

Mr. Gold has never been particularly involved in Killian’s life, and that doesn’t change now that the competition has well and truly begun. As a child, Killian had been largely self-taught, relying on the books that his teacher provided and the man himself only dropping in periodically to test his knowledge and comprehension. This feels like much the same thing; once a year, Mr. Gold will appear in Killian’s office after one of the Circus dinners, or outside his flat door without warning. There may be a polite inquiry about what Killian is currently working on, especially if the visit occurs in his cramped and ruthlessly organized office; more often than not, there isn’t. Killian will make polite inquiries about his mentor’s health and business, all of which are carefully avoided. Mr. Gold will state that he is satisfied with the work of his student - exactly that, and nothing more. 

Killian never expects an expression of pride; after all, he’s never received anything of the sort in all the years he’s been under his teacher’s direction. Theirs has always been a distant relationship, if it can even be called that. 

“How will I know I’ve won?” Killian dares to ask on one of these visits. “What do I have to do?”

“You’ll know, dearie,” is all his teacher will say. “Trust me, it will be very obvious.”

It is not. 

But Killian works onward, carefully building and manipulating things. Who knows? Maybe, one day, he’ll understand. 

———

The relationship between the members of the Circus and the Rêveurs has always been unusual. If it weren’t for the fact that the two groups are inextricably linked, and indeed obviously treasure one another, the interaction almost might be called respectfully distant. There exists an unspoken, but obviously adhered to, separation between the two - that there are Circus folks and there are Rêveurs, and they do not socially interact. Though a vendor or performer might, surreptitiously and casually, mention an anticipated next stop to an awed visitor with that single splash of red, they will not be found together in the light of day, strolling in the public parks or sharing a coffee in one of the cafés. The Rêveurs, largely, prefer it that way; the mystical quality is somehow kept alive when the people of the Circus only seem to dwell within its gates.

Of course, Emma has never been one for formality, or fitting in with the rest of the crowd. 

If pressed, she’ll claim that Marco is an anomaly - a man who fits between both worlds, and therefore special. It’s her own kind of loophole in the intricate rituals of the Circus and the Rêveurs. 

(No one ever presses, though - to do that, they’d need to know that Emma writes to Marco in the first place.)

Marco, in truth, has been involved in the Circus since the very beginning - though he did not always know it. An Italian by birth, living in Germany and creating exquisitely crafted cuckoo clocks, Mr. Marco Gepetto had been the very man contracted by Mr. Booth, the architect, to build the massive timepiece at the front gates, back when this whole endeavor was still coming together. Marco hadn’t been aware of that, at the time; all he’d known was that an Englishman had offered him a frankly absurd amount of money and next to no direction, only to create something unusual and extraordinary for a circus venue he was helping produce. With his rambling imagination and careful craftsman’s hands, Marco had more than delivered, creating the masterpiece Emma has found comfort in watching many times. 

That clock had always haunted him, he’s tried to explain to her many times during their correspondence, his mind running wild wondering exactly where it had been installed. Mr. Booth had sent a note declaring the producers delighted by the result, and Marco had never heard a peep again. Emma cannot blame him for wondering, truly, after all the months he had invested in the clock and all the personal touches he had poured in. The truth, he confides, is that he believed - nay, believes it to be his greatest work, all the while unaware that so many others were similarly touched. It was only years later that Marco had realized the grand project he had unknowingly helped bring to life, when an acquaintance had insisted they visit the traveling circus setting up just outside of Munich. 

“It was wonderful,” he gushes to Emma as they walk down the streets of Naples several years later, the older man happily pointing out the location of all the haunts of his younger days. “It was more than I ever could have imagined - and so well situated! So perfectly blended with the rest of the design! I must tip my cap to Signore Booth for his work, and all his compatriots.”

Marco had fallen in love with the circus on that first night, as a venue for his masterpiece and as a creation all its own. It was impossible not to, he had claimed later in the first of many editorials and subsequent letters - it was like the Circus called to him, begging him to uncover all its secrets. It may be the work of several lifetimes; perhaps, that’s just the appeal. 

He didn’t particularly mean to spearhead the Rêveurs movement, he’d explained to Emma in one letter. It was simply that he’d fallen in love, with a place and an experience, and wanted to share that with everyone else. It was just that he was the first, the first to not just talk about the Circus but publish his thoughts, that had made him the unexpected figurehead of the group. He’d been the one to come up with the idea of that touch of red, too, though he never admits it unless pressed. 

Letters flood in, from across Europe and the globe, wanting to compare experiences and share in the joy of the Circus. Marco gladly responds; many, indeed, become friends. But none is quite like Emma, who he only first knows as a woman with unusual insight into the Circus when she first begins writing, just another person who reaches out after one of his editorials. He assumes she’s just another of his Rêveur correspondents at first, but her thoughts, so carefully measured but fond, strike a chord somewhere in Marco. A friendship blossoms over dozens of letters exchanged, comparing experiences and details noticed and treasured - until, finally, this summit, as Marco had visited an elderly aunt while the Circus docked along the Italian coast. 

He takes the revelation that Emma isn’t merely some visitor, but a core member of the Circus, with an unexpected lack of surprise. “I wondered if you were rather closer to the matter than you let on,” Marco explains, patting her hand before tucking it into the crook of his elbow. “I shall consider myself uniquely lucky to have earned your friendship.”

And he has. Marco possesses a sharp mind and an affection for the little details that Emma loves, and an easy-going manner it proves near-impossible not to be charmed by. He fills something like a fatherly role, for Emma - always encouraging and delighted to hear about the latest improvements to her show. She doesn’t tell him that all the magic she does is real - but somehow feels that he understands, anyways. Marco is special like that, and perceptive. Somehow, Emma doubts that he’d be much surprised if she revealed the whole mess of the competition.

Marco may be physically distant from the ever-changing Circus grounds, and may not fully know what’s going on - but he’s a pillar of support, all the same, like Emma has never known.

(She only hopes he isn’t one more thing that’s just too good to last.)

——— 

Killian - 

At long last - an update! I feel like it’s been so long since I’ve had anything to report to you. Not that I don’t enjoy our correspondence, of course - it’s always so wonderful to share with you a little slice of my life here and hear from you in return. I simply feel so much better when I have something concrete to report to you, as we agreed.

I’m stalling, though. The truth is… I’m not entirely sure how to put into words exactly what this latest tent contains. It defies description, I find. The little sign along the path reads ‘Wishing Tree’, but that doesn’t describe much, does it? That could be anything. The Wishing Tree, in truth, is… oh, where do I start? It is somehow both earthly and otherworldly. It is both wondrously fantastical and firmly rooted in the soil. It exists both on this plane and in the world of dreams and aspirations. I suppose what I’m trying to say is that it is a contradiction, in the most spectacular way. Most simply put, if I stop beating around the bush, it is like a living, growing wishing well - but so much better than that, in its symbolism. There are no words to do it justice.

If you couldn’t tell already, Killian, I am insisting that you come and visit the Circus grounds next time it is convenient. There is no other way to fully grasp the delight of this latest addition. If I were not so terribly fond of you, I’d offer a hearty ‘Bravo!’ to your competitor - so count yourself lucky!

Yours,

-Belle

———

The Circus’ tents are filled with wonders - large and small, loud and quiet, and everything in between. What unites all the disparate attractions is a mystical quality - one that’s hard to put into words, but that makes every move and every moment greater and more magical than any similar display you may have seen before.

The particular tent in front of you is tall, but narrow, with a delicate wooden sign carefully placed to the side of the silvery-paved path leading beneath the entrance flap. Wishing Tree, it reads in a painted cursive script. An attraction you’ve never heard of.

Lifting the tent flap reveals just what was promised on the placard - a tall, elegant tree, all in the colors of the circus, with white bark and black leaves. The tree’s branches twist and curve around the tent, creating a structure almost reminiscent of a basket. Where it could be grotesque, the way branches stretch and dip around your body, but the effect is somehow comforting - like the tree protects all that it surrounds. It is otherworldly, in the truest sense of the word, an effect only heightened by the clusters of pearly white candles on each branch. By the entrance sits a small table, with a basket of candles and a crisp white card, embossed with a simple instruction:

Make a wish.

A wish is a sacred thing, and this is a place that respects that. After making your own wish, lighting your candle with one of the many already waiting on the tree’s branches, you place it in the highest nook you can reach where two branches join. There’s a profound symbolism to it all - one wish ignited by another, left to become part of a beautiful mass of light, illuminating this little corner of the world in soft and beautiful light. 

(That light will stay with you long after you slip back through the flap of the tent.)

———

At Belle’s urging, Killian makes the trip to see the Circus, and especially this new attraction, when they pass through Edinburgh. It is not precisely convenient - there are multiple trains involved from London, after all - but there’s no real telling when it will next be in the city, and he trusts Belle’s judgement that he must see this Wishing Tree for himself.

She’s right, of course. The Wishing Tree defies all conventional description. There’s a sense of possibility, and hope that just can’t be captured in a simple letter. Killian is sorely tempted to take a candle and light a wish of his own, but ultimately resists. The Wishing Tree isn’t just for some passing fancy - it is for the deepest dreams of one’s heart. As long as Killian is still unsure as to what his own dearest dream might be, it feels more appropriate to refrain from adding his own candle to the glowing branches. There will be time, later. 

His immediate business for the evening concluded, Killian takes the time just to wander the grounds. It’s something he hasn’t had the opportunity to do in far too long - there’s always been something to worry about, something to take care of when he comes to the Circus. This is a bit of a chance to try and experience things the way all their unknowing visitors do - to see the beauty, and the wonder, without analyzing anything further. Once he clears his mind, it’s easy to see the things the way that normal visitors do, the way something special sparkles in the very air.

There are still stops to make, of course; Belle would never forgive him if he didn’t pop into her tent. The fortune teller’s tent is made up to be an eye-catching oddity, but there’s still something welcoming about it that always soothes Killian - though maybe that’s just the knowledge of his dearest friend waiting just inside. Just inside the tent flap, dark curtains speckled with silver flecks like stars drape, giving way to a beaded fringe that softly clicks when touched. He’s been known to fiddle with those beads as he sits and talks with Belle, like a soothing sort of fidget. Beyond the beaded curtains sit three comfortable armchairs with a draped table at their center; Belle always does like the romance of reading for couples. There are no crystal balls, or posters about lines on palms; just Belle, the table and chairs, and her deck of tarot cards. Killian knows one of the curtains stretched behind her hides the entrance into her private quarters, where she’s been known to duck for a quick cup of tea, but no one else who didn’t know would see that. The whole effect is decidedly unusual, even mystical, but in a way that feels cozy. It’s like sitting in someone’s living room, sharing a bit of conversation - but the conversation concerns all manner of possible futures, and how they’ll come to pass.

Belle looks like herself, mostly, elegant in shades of white and grey and black and silver. She hasn’t leaned into any of the stereotypes or cliches - no scarf around her head or massive gold earrings or patchwork skirts. She looks like she could be any shop girl, or personal secretary, or even a beloved female relation in her neat dresses in playful patterns, accentuated with pretty bits of lace. There are more formal options in her closet too, he knows, provided by the Circus organizers for her use, but she likes this better; it makes her feel more like herself, and not entirely subsumed by the role she plays. 

“You came!” she crows with delight when he ducks his head past the beaded drapery. He hadn’t let her know he was coming, this time, happy to let it remain a pleasant surprise. Not that it matters much - Belle’s face would light up in delight in the same way, even if he had warned her to expect his visit.

“Of course I did, love,” he assures her with a grin. “You insisted, didn’t you? I seem to remember a very commanding letter, telling me I must come see this wishing tree for myself.”

“Yes, but there was always the chance you would get stubborn on me, or get called away on business for Jefferson, and I’d have to send another three to five letters until I finally guilted you here.”

“Alright, I suppose that’s true,” he admits. He does tend to get rather sidetracked much of the time, especially when there is work to be done and new, exciting ideas to explore.

“Instead, here you are! Only weeks after I wrote. A rare instance of agreeability - there’s hope for you yet,” she continues, only to plow forward before he even has a chance to defend himself. “But tell me - have you seen the Wishing Tree yet? Or did you come straight here first? I’m touched, of course, but really, you must —”

“I’m not nearly so foolish as to come here first, knowing you’d demand my own opinions on the tent just as soon as I arrived,” he teases fondly.

“Wise man. Tell me then - what did you think?”

“It’s everything you promised,” he tells her. “Utterly indescribable. I’m glad you insisted I come.”

The beam that graces Belle’s face at that simple agreement is a sight to behold.

“You’ll stay for a few days, won’t you?” she asks - cajoles, really, though Killian won’t take  any convincing. “It’s been so long.”

“Of course. We’ll have dinner tomorrow, and you can tell me everything you’ve seen since I last saw you.” It’s an easy promise to make, and one he’ll be even happier to keep.

Though Belle is an expected friendly face, one Killian had already built into his loose plans for tonight, the person he runs into as he wanders down the path away from her little tent is rather more unexpected.

“Mr. Jones,” Miss Elsa Frost smiles warmly - a member of the creative team of the circus, whose eye for details had been invaluable in creating this world so many have fallen in love with. “I certainly didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Nor did I,” Killian admits, executing a short and polite bow of greeting. “Especially not here, so far from London. May I escort you around the grounds, if I may be so bold?”

“You may,” Miss Frost says, slipping her delicate hand into the crook of his proffered arm. “I was just about to go see the magician - Miss Swan, was it? I’m told she should have a performance starting soon.”

“Then it will be my honor to accompany you.”

Though Killian has visited the Circus on several occasions in the past years, on business and to see Belle and to examine the creations of his competitor, he’s avoided this tent. It somehow feels like cheating, to watch Miss Swan like this with full awareness that she’s his competitor when she hasn’t been privy to the same knowledge. That’s not to say he hasn’t been tempted; across all the spiraling stone paths, her magic calls to his own like a siren’s song, drawing him in. Tonight, with a companion on his arm, he finally has the excuse to cave. As they approach her tent as others trickle in ahead of them, Killian makes sure to draw a spell around him to mask his own magic like a cloak, the same one he’d used that first day he’d seen her. Even if he feels guilt at the advantage, Killian isn’t quite sure he’s willing to tip his hand yet, no matter how often he’s been tempted. It’s not the time for such a revelation. 

(He doesn’t notice, beside him, the way Miss Frost’s forehead briefly creases as the spell settles around his body; it would not matter if he had, anyways, and the lady is more than happy to hold her tongue on the matter.)

The magician’s tent is small, intimate - a small clearing surrounded by a double ring of chairs. It’s a subtly ingenious way of heightening the drama and the enchantment of the performance: there is, quite literally, nowhere to hide, every angle visible to spectators as they space themselves around the center ring. A lesser magician would never be able to pull it off; it’s lucky, then that Miss Swan doesn’t have to rely on tricks.

Killian is the only one that notices that the tent flap has disappeared, two minutes past the hour. Everyone else is too busy whispering to each other, speculating about where the illusionist is and when the show will start. Unlike the rest of them, Killian waits patiently, knowing that the show has already begun.

No one misses the next trick, as a stream of flame chases around the tent above their heads. Gasps echo from the crowd, in excitement and wonder and no small dose of fear. A handful turn towards where the exit once was, only to discover that the way has been sealed and blocked by chairs during their inattention. Gasps turn to screams, panic quickly catching, until - 

A single figure stands from the audience, a woman with dramatic black skirts and what appears to be a men’s top hat. As she moves towards the center of the ring, she casually tosses the hat onto the seat she had occupied - and as if on cue, the streams of fire chase around the tent once more before plunging downwards, downwards into the hat, which somehow serves to contain the flames instead of catching on fire. As the rest of the audience comes back to their senses, turning their attention towards the slight blonde woman now at the center of the tent, she flicks a finger, sending the hat tumbling through the air to land in her hand, where she jauntily tips the black felt back onto her head and takes a dramatic bow.

And like that, the magician begins her show.

The displays that follow exceed Killian’s feeble memory of her audition, those several years ago. There are little miraculous bits she’s still using - the chairs still levitate, and the hat replaces the jacket as it turns into a beautiful black raven to fly about their heads - but there are new bits, too, as items disappear and reappear and visitors discover all manner of unexpected items in purses and pockets. Somehow, it all flows together seamlessly, one display of ability and control into another. At the very end, the fire returns again, chasing around and around and around her body until she can’t be seen anymore —

And when the flames disperse, all on their own, there is no one to be seen at all. The tent flap appears once again, and they all file out, awed in a way they hadn’t expected. 

It’s beautiful, mysterious, magnificent - just like the woman herself. And Killian can’t remember why he ever stayed away. 

———

Wandering the grounds of the Circus, it is impossible not to notice the statues scattered along the path. Some are monochromatic, fully pristine white or glistening black; some are so vividly realistic, in black and white and flesh tones, as to seem almost lifelike. There are single figures and couples, male portrayals and female, all beautifully detailed and caught mid-action. There is something mystical about them, something you can’t quite put your finger on but know separates them from anything else you’ve ever seen - a feeling that saturates the very air within the iron fencing. 

Examining the statues reveals that the life-like state of the statues is no trick, no clever construction of hard stone and a steady chisel - no, these are merely people mimicking statues by standing so still and moving so slowly as to trick the eye. This isn’t some mere street performer, either, like you might see near the buildings tourists frequent en masse. No, this is something more special, more deliberate, more enchanting. It is almost like a dance, performed on a timeframe only the dancer can perceive. Watching closely, it is possible to see the movement - though it will take much patience. It is easier, in some ways, to pay careful attention to the stance of the living statue at the beginning of a set period, and then see how it has changed some minutes later.

It is said that if you wait long enough, the statues will bend enough to pluck an offering from your very hand. However, it takes a certain kind of person, with a certain kind of fascination, to even try. After all, why spend so long examining statues, when there are so many other wonders to see? 

(Just before you walk away, you could swear the living statue of a young man winks an eye, all in impeccable slow motion - just one more memory of the Circus to treasure in your mind for years to come.)

——— 

The Circus returns when Henry is ten.

Ten is a sensitive age; it’s an age where one is still young enough to be excited about simple, playful things, but believe oneself to be too old to show it. Perceived maturity is beginning to be tantamount at this age, as is the idea of being cool.

Henry, for all his efforts (and a good bit of maturity, in truth), is perceived as neither. 

“The circus is for babies,” Jack Hastings declares in the schoolyard when Henry makes the mistake of mentioning that he’d seen the tents. A keen observer might find humor in the fact that Jack’s proclamation was made as he and the boys played with a collection of small wooden soldiers; the boys, however, are not yet adult enough to see the irony. “I’m not going.”

“I don’t know,” Henry ventures cautiously. “I think I might like to go. It isn’t very often something like the circus comes to town.”

“That’s because you’re a baby,” Jack taunts. “Henry’s a baby! Henry’s a baby!”

“Am not!” Henry bites back hotly before anyone else takes up the chant. 

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Then prove it.”

That’s how Henry finds himself examining the black iron bars that encircle the circus tents, searching for a way to slip in. It’s a dare - to sneak in, in daylight hours, and come back with something to prove it. Henry had agreed in the heat of the moment. Now, with school over, Henry’s got to do the deed, while all the other boys wait back in the schoolyard.

While Henry remembers the Circus practically crackling with its own special energy, things are quiet in the light of day. He supposes that makes sense; the Circus operates from sunset to sunrise, and it’s still an hour until dusk. Its performers need to rest and prepare and the like, like anyone else, and this is the time they get to do that.

After spending far more time than necessary carefully examining the outer fence, Henry finally finds a little out of the way stretch, framed by the back of two tents with no one in sight. The bars will be a tight squeeze, but he sucks in his stomach and holds his breath, and after a little bit of wiggling, manages to twist his way through. Quickly brushing himself off, Henry searches around for something he can bring back as proof for the other boys. The easiest thing to do would be to tear off a bit of fabric from one of the tents, but he struggles to bring himself to do it. The tents feel special, nearly sacred, somehow; it would be the worst kind of crime to ruin them in any way. Maybe, if he ventures a little further in, he can find something else —

“What are you doing?” a girl’s voice sounds, interrupting Henry’s thoughts. 

Whirling around, Henry is met by a blonde girl he could have sworn wasn’t there before, about his age, dressed in a black and silver striped dress. He didn’t know people his age were allowed to join the circus; it catches his attention nearly as much as the look on her face. Though her words are accusing, her face only shows curiosity. 

That does nothing to temper Henry’s shame, for better or worse. He didn’t exactly count on getting caught, after all. “There was a dare,” he blurts out. “To sneak into the circus.”

“Well, you managed that,” she observes. 

“Yes.” The silence sits heavy between them. Henry knows he ought to leave, but also feels like he can’t. “I’m sorry,” he finally cuts in - practically begs - once the quiet gets too much and he can’t take that curious stare anymore. “I can slip back out again, or pay the admission, or —”

That finally makes her smile - a bright, lovely thing that makes something stir within Henry that he’s never felt before. “It’s quite alright, Henry. You don’t need to leave. Nick saw you coming.”

He has many questions about that - how she knew his name, what in the world saw you coming means - but he reaches for the easiest first. “Who’s Nick?”

“My brother,” the girl beams. “Twin brother, really. I’m Ava.”

“It’s very nice to meet you.” It’s obvious that there’s no real point in offering his name; Henry is curiously less concerned about her unnatural knowledge than he figures he really ought to be. 

“Likewise,” Ava replies with that same smile, offering her hand for Henry to awkwardly shake. 

(For the first time in his life, he’s left wondering if he should have kissed the back of her offered hand instead. Then again - that sounds gross.)

“Come with me,” she commands with a little nod of her head. Even knowing he ought to slip back through the fence, Henry can’t help but follow, pulled along in a way that he doesn’t quite understand. “You picked a good day to come - Nick says the Circus will be closed tonight for inclement weather,” she adds with a hand waved towards the quickly gathering clouds.

“Yes, they just called it,” adds a different voice - another boy, this one also their age and with a remarkable resemblance to Ava. The biggest difference, really, is the boy’s light brown hair, a contrast to her cheery blonde. It’s obvious this is the twin brother she mentioned - Nick, who somehow knows things.

“He was there, just like you said, Nickie,” she laughs. “I don’t know why anyone bothers to doubt you.”

“They don’t know better,” Nick shrugs.

“Nick has a gift,” Ava explains. “He sees things that others don’t - and they always come true.”

“Oh.” Henry isn’t really sure what to say to that, honestly. He doesn’t disbelieve it, really - Ava did know things she shouldn’t have, without what they claim being true - but he’s a little too flabbergasted at it all to say anything more comprehensible. Besides, if such a thing were to be true - well, it makes sense that it’d happen at the Circus. Where else is magical enough to shelter people with such talents?

Ava breezes right past it though. That must be characteristic of her, if the way her brother stifles a smile is any indication. “There’s always a party in the acrobats’ tent whenever the weather is too bad to open. It’s the biggest, you know.”

“You can come too, if you want,” Nick adds.

Despite the tempting offer, Henry frowns. “I’m not part of the Circus, though. Won’t anyone mind?”

“Circus people are welcoming,” Nick shrugs. “They won’t mind.”

“Besides, everyone thinks we need friends our own age,” Ava chimes in. 

As the sun starts to creep below the horizon, Henry lets the twins lead him across the circus grounds. He wants to go, really - besides, there’s no reason not to. There’s no one waiting who will care if he doesn’t show up for dinner, or even for bedtime. 

(Nick probably already knows that as well; perhaps that’s why neither of them ask whether he needs to be home.)

The inclement weather party is a different kind of marvel than the otherworldly splendor of the open circus that Henry remembers. It seems like everyone is crowded into the tent as raindrops start to patter down upon the canvas, yet somehow the space never seems claustrophobic. Half the collected mass is in their black and white and silver circus clothes, while the other half wears street clothes in all manner of colors and styles. Laughter colors the air, as small groups congregate only to disperse and remingle again. It feels like a family, like a great big reunion, even though Henry is sure they’re not all related. 

(Then again, maybe family doesn’t have to be linked by blood and genealogical trees; maybe family is something that can be crafted with those you choose and care for.)

Ava tugs on his arm before he can get too lost in his thoughts and marvelling at the spectacle of the tent. “You should meet Emma,” she says. At her side, Nick nods in genial agreement. “You’ll like her. She’s the magician.”

She doesn’t quite bodily haul him across the tent space, but it’s close. Henry would complain, but it isn’t hurting; he can tell she’s just eager to share her and Nick’s world in a way she hasn’t with outsiders before. At least, Henry hopes she hasn’t shared all this with outsiders before; Henry’s never really had the chance to be special. It’d be a nice change. 

Eventually, she halts in front of a cluster of women - three brunettes and a blonde. All smile fondly as Ava approaches with Henry in tow. “Emma, I want you to meet someone!” Ava bursts out as they pull to a stop.

“I can see that,” the blonde chuckles as her companions move away. Henry’s distracted for a moment by the movement of the other three ladies, but forces his attention back to meet the magician’s eyes.

And it’s her - the nice lady from the last time he was here. Henry’s face flushes red as he remembers his youthful question - Are you a princess?. She still looks like a princess, four years later, only in a burgundy dress with her hair in a simple bun instead of her sumptuous black and white dress from the last time they met. He can see the moment recognition sweeps across Emma’s face, and knows she remembers too. 

“Henry, was it?” Emma smiles down at him. Somehow, he manages a nod of confirmation. “It’s lovely to see you again, Henry.”

Ava’s face drops a little in disappointment, and a hint of confusion. Seems this is one thing her brother’s visions didn’t reveal - or at least one thing he didn’t share with her. “You know each other already?”

“Only a little,” Henry hastens to explain. It somehow feels very important that Ava know he didn’t deceive her in this way. 

“Henry and I briefly crossed paths the last time the Circus was here - what, four years ago?” Henry nods again. Emma and Ava and Nick and the rest of the Circus may have been to so many places since them that they don’t remember exactly how long it’s been, but Henry could probably tell them down to the day if he just had a couple of minutes to think. “He was kind enough to let me escort him back to the front gates. I must say, I didn’t expect to see him here tonight, though… is there anything I ought to know?”

“No!” Ava assures quickly. It’s not remotely convincing; Henry barely manages to smother a smile as she continues her blatant evasion. “We should go get a little something to eat. Come on, Henry, let’s go!”

To be fair, the spread that Ava leads him to - Nick pulling up the rear, laughing - is very impressive. There are all manner of little finger foods to carry with him, savory and sweet, and an older lady the twins call Granny who presides over the whole thing and makes Henry take another sandwich. All of the circus members - and it feels like Henry’s introduced to every single one - seem to treat the twins like a niece and nephew, or maybe even children. There’s an affection in the air amongst everyone that’s almost palpable, and like nothing he’s ever encountered before. It’s hard not to feel a little jealous of his new friends; it’s everything he’s ever wished for himself. 

Eventually, he’s dragged across the grounds to what they’ll only call the cloud room after a stop by Emma again for a set of umbrellas that seem to actively repel water. 

“It’s my favorite spot,” Nick explains as they shake off their umbrellas just inside the tent flap in a dim antechamber. Henry had barely caught a glimpse of the signage before he’d been bustled inside; Atmospheric Wonders had been less than illuminating a descriptor. “Ava’s is the carousel.”

“I like the animals,” she shrugs. “They’re interesting.”

“Yeah, well, so is this,” her brother quips back. “Henry, look.”

And when Henry does - it’s more than his imagination ever expected.

Somehow, there are dozens of fluffy clouds floating within the confines of the tent, the top of the peaked canvas not even visible for all the clouds in the way. They come in all sizes, all winding around a central, silvery structure with a platform at the top and a slide spiraling back down to the ground. Somehow along the stretch from the ground to the indiscernible peak, the stripes shift into a night sky gently dappled with stars. It’s mystical, and marvelous, and unlike anything he’s ever imagined. 

Henry has barely processed what he’s seeing before Nick takes a flying leap onto a cloud hovering at chest height. Miraculously, it somehow holds his weight, bobbing gently in the air under the change of balance but showing no signs of capsizing.

“It’s really very sturdy,” he calls from his perch, grinning with glee. “There’s nothing to worry about, I promise.”

Carefully, Henry steps onto a different cloud hovering about his knees; that’s less distance to fall if there’s any problem. Under his feet, the cloud isn’t exactly firm, or stable - it’s more like if you try to step onto a mattress - but he can also feel that he’s not at risk of crashing down. Somehow, it’s just as safe as Nick promised. 

(How did he miss this before? Now that Henry’s here, he’s not sure he ever wants to leave.)

Ava clambers up onto a cloud somewhere between him and Nick, abandoning grace to pull herself to standing. “It’s a newer tent,” she explains, brushing her skirt free of imaginary cloud dust and casually reading Henry’s mind. Maybe her brother isn’t the only one with special powers of sight. “It only went up a couple months ago, right, Nick?”

“January,” he confirms. “Just after the new year’s party.”

“Not a lot of people know about it yet - but it’s one of our favorites now. Nick and I like to come on the nights we’re not busy with other things.”

Across from them both, Nick obviously grows impatient with all the chatter, leaping to another, higher cloud. “Race you to the top!” he yells back, quickly becoming obscured from sight as he scrambles higher and higher.

Ava stretches her hand across the divide to help him forward. “You’re going to love it,” she beams.

Henry takes her hand, gladly, and lets a smile crease his face even as hers stretches impossibly wider. 

He does love it, just as she promised. The view from the top is spectacular, like something out of a fairy tale, an impression only magnified by small tufts of cloud still hovering around, inviting them to lounge. It would be a good place just to sit and think, Henry thinks, if you lived with the Circus and had that chance. 

Time passes both quickly and slowly at the top of the tower as the three of them sit and talk for what must be hours. Henry feels as if he’s known the twins forever, not just a night - like he fits with them, somehow, in a way he never has with his schoolmates or the other children at the Home, and can’t explain.

(It’s the same feeling he remembers from the first time he visited the Circus, four years before. Of belonging. Of home.)

All too soon, things much end, however. As the conversation encounters a rare lull, Henry sighs heavily, knowing he must draw this to a close. 

“I have to go,” he tells his companions - now friends, he thinks - with the kind of regret that’s practically palpable. 

Ava nods sadly; Henry scrambles to his feet to help her do the same. It’s what a gentleman would do. “We know. But this was lovely.”

“And you’ll be back,” Nick says decisively. “I know it.”

It’s not worth arguing with the boy with a gift. 

Getting down from their perch takes a little more boldness. Technically, there is a slide they could all take advantage of, but Nick won’t let that stand. 

“You’ve got to jump, Henry,” he cajoles. “It’s so much more fun. You feel like you’re flying!”

“More like falling,” Henry mutters. Even if he knows that Nick wouldn’t try to hurt him, like some of the boys at school might, looking down from this height makes his stomach turn. 

Suddenly, a soft hand slips into his own. Ava, who slipped up beside him while he was distracted by the height. “We’ll do it together,” she promises, and somehow - Henry finds himself nodding.

Nick lets out a wild whoop and throws himself off the platform, gleefully tumbling down and down. Ava squeezes his hand tight, just the once, and then she’s running too, bringing Henry with her as they leap. It feels like he’s left his stomach up at the top, but it’s a little freeing too. At the bottom, a particularly soft cloud cushions their fall, surrounding them like a hug. Henry even finds himself laughing along with Ava and Nick as they pick themselves back up. 

Ava walks him back to the main gates under the marvelous umbrella, Nick letting them go on their own after offering Henry a jolly wave goodbye. The door in the iron bars opens without even a squeak, letting the both of them slip through. 

“I don’t want to leave,” Henry confides, the words spilling out of him almost without permission. “I don’t want to go back to the real world out there.”

“You’ll be back,” Ava promises. “We’ll see each other again - I promise.”

He wants to believe her - he does. But it’s a mean world out there, and he’s long since learned that nothing is guaranteed, and —

Ava presses up on her toes to drop a quick kiss on Henry’s lips - his first. It’s just a little peck, really, but it makes them both blush and sends something hopeful in his soul soaring above all the other negativity. 

“To seal it. The promise,” she explains.

No explanation was needed, really - not to the perfect ending to this dream of a night.

(He does not return to the Circus this time, the Sisters punishing him with extra chores when he sneaks back into the Home long after bed checks. Though he would like nothing more than to return back to the Circus and his new friends, he somehow can’t regret it. Every moment was worth it.

Later, he finds a single glove, white with shiny black buttons, tucked into his pocket - proof for his dare. He never shows it off to the other boys; the little scrap of fabric is too personal, and too precious. Instead, he tucks it into the old cigar box he keeps all his treasures in, amongst the perfectly round stones and colored bits of glass and a brightly colored birds’ feather. Let them think he never managed it. They’ll forget soon enough anyways. 

We’ll see each other again, Ava had promised - and Henry intends to wait.)

——— 

There’s a new attraction at the Circus again, Killian - the most wonderful carousel. There’s the usual carved horses, of course, all wonderfully detailed, but there’s all manner of other creatures too - giraffes and elephants and a particularly clever ostrich. There’s even some mythical creatures too. I’m particularly fond of the gryphon, though I suspect you might prefer the dragon. There’s even a bench seat with a kraken twining around it! It’s truly charming; the kids love it, obviously, but it’s wonderful to see the delight of grown men and women too. I believe I saw a young couple squabbling over the cow yesterday; the lady won, of course. Wise man. 

If you hadn’t guessed already, the carousel is very obviously a creation of your winsome competitor. The ride travels through an enclosed portion at the back, ostensibly to parade the figures and their riders past a scrolling display of landscapes; however, having ridden the thing myself (I couldn’t resist, Killian! And obviously chose the gryphon, though I was tempted by a polar bear), it’s obvious that this tunnel somehow bends reality, stretches the track much further than it should ever go. Magic is obviously at play, here, though I believe the visitors are too enthralled (and, as usual, too oblivious) to realize. 

There’s something else a little unusual about the carousel: Mr. Booth’s part in bringing it to life. He was here in Brussels to oversee installation, or I might not have believed it. You know as well as I that usually, new installments just… pop up, without explanation. His craftsmanship is evident in the construction, too, if you know to look - the smooth curves and the intricate carvings and the way the peak of the striped roof stretches up towards the sky. It’s lovely, really, and undeniably a joint effort between Mr. Booth and Miss Swan. 

Does that mean he’s aware of her abilities? I can’t say for certain, but I have trouble imagining otherwise. It could be interesting to see if you could enlist him in a similar effort - though of course, that’s entirely up to you. I’m merely reporting your opponent’s most recent move on the chessboard, so to speak.

(Do come see the carousel, though; I promise you won’t regret it.)

Affectionately yours,

Belle

———

Killian folds Belle’s latest letter carefully, considering her words as he meticulously files the pages away, just as he always does. The new carousel sounds beautiful, of course; Miss Swan’s creations always are. The fact that she enlisted August Booth to create it captures his attention the same way it had Belle’s. That’s something he never considered - drawing upon others’ skills to create something that is not entirely mechanical, but not fully dependent on magic either. He should have thought of it sooner - after all, the Circus as a whole operates in a similar way, weaving enchantments in amongst all the physical manpower needed to bring the whole thing to life. It sets Killian’s mind running in other directions, other ideas that could be brought to life in the same way. And if Booth is aware of the things Miss Swan can do… perhaps he can serve as an intermediary, of sorts, in a way that could bring this competition to a new level.

But Killian is a patient man, a planner through and through. It’s his greatest advantage in his employment and in this game. So before he lets his imagination run away with him, drafting things that can never come to fruition, he calls upon Booth at his office to test the waters of what is possible. 

“I didn’t expect to see you, Jones,” the other man says, smiling genially as he comes out from around the back of his heavy wooden desk to offer a handshake of greeting. 

“It was a bit of an unplanned visit,” Killian admits as he seats himself in the offered chair. 

“Well that’s quite alright. What can I do for you? Is this about the Circus, or are you finally looking to build something more comfortable than that little flat of yours?”

“It’s about the Circus.” Killian lets his gaze glance around the room before he speaks further, considering his next words. Though the furniture in the office at Booth’s architecture firm is heavy, with dark wood and intricate carvings and tall bookshelves lining two walls, the whole thing manages to avoid a feeling of claustrophobia due to a stretch of tall windows along one wall. A panel of stained glass is installed in the middle, with beautiful swirling patterns in all kinds of colors. The whole effect is a little whimsical, while somehow still ordered and elegant. In that moment, Killian can see exactly why August Booth was chosen as a partner to produce the Circus. 

Drawing his attention back to Booth, Killian finds the man patiently waiting for him to start speaking, prompting him to gather his thoughts. “I understand you had a hand in creating a new attraction - a carousel.”

“Ah yes,” August smiles. His tone is fond, almost like a parent speaking of a favorite child. “Marvelous, isn’t it? Though, of course, I can’t take full credit - or even most of the credit, really.”

“So you’re aware of others’... unusual contributions, shall we say.”

Booth makes an amused, guttural noise from the back of his throat. “I may be a skilled designer, but not nearly enough to create space that’s not there. And I’m not nearly oblivious or egotistical enough to believe I can. Besides, Miss Swan was involved from the beginning. The carousel was her idea.”

That’s one question answered. “So how much did Miss Swan tell you about her… abilities, I suppose? And her influence on the Circus?”

“A rudimentary explanation, I believe - just as much as I needed to agree to assist her. All her illusions are real, true magic, and she’s engaged in a competition to be played out at the Circus.” Realization suddenly lights his eyes. “I suppose that makes you the competitor, then? She didn’t seem to know who they were.”

“Aye, I am. And I would appreciate it if you would keep that fact between us. This particular game doesn’t precisely encourage familiarity between contestants.”

August waves him off. “Of course. Now, are you here just to talk about the carousel - or do you have something else in mind?”

“You read my mind,” Killian says, letting a smile spread across his face. “I have an unusual idea, one that I think you can be of assistance with.”

———

Emma should have known that her opponent would hear of the carousel, and of her partnership with Mr. Booth. What she hadn’t expected was for Mr. Booth to send her a letter, detailing an idea her competitor had brought to him.

One they want her involvement in as well.

It’s a simple idea, on the surface - a maze of rooms. Its brilliance is in how it allows the two of them to interact and compete directly as they build off of each others’ ideas. Once the maze is brought to life, once visitors enter the tent, they reach a hallway lined with doors, each leading into other rooms with other doors, and so on. Some will be hidden; some will be obvious. It is entirely up to Emma and whoever she is competing against to build out each room, testing the limits of imagination and reality and magic. 

It’s like a puzzle on a massive scale - each piece fitting into others which in turn fit into others. It’s fascinating to see the things her opponent comes up with over time - creations that play with structure, with scale, like golden bird cages and a room where everything appears so large as to dwarf the viewer. She treasures exploring each one, finding all the hidden doors and discerning the way everything fits together. 

Emma has a niggling feeling that this is not exactly how their competition is supposed to play out - but as she opens another door, she can’t bring herself to care. 

——— 

Maybe it’s ridiculous - but Killian feels like he comes to know the lovely Miss Swan a little better through the room maze and each addition she crafts from her imagination.

She focuses on creating an atmosphere, he finds - the little things that make each space feel like an environment, rather than a room. There are lush green jungles and arid desertscapes and the illusion of a lovely rose garden. He wonders if she feels trapped; all the illusions of open spaces make him think she might. 

He can tell she truly loves the circus in all the little details she weaves in, too. It must take her incredible effort, but it’s worth it to see how leaves glisten with dew and the barest scent of earth or flowers tickles his nose and heat or chill dances along his skin. There’s pride to be found in the work she creates - all the things that take each room of the maze from the illusion of a space into something tangible and believable as its own natural world.

She’s smart, too: the hatches and doors out of her rooms are cleverly hidden, and often require searching for a key first. Killian thinks she might be trying to stump him, for all the time he spends searching for the way out in some rooms. Would she laugh if she could see him? Is he reacting in exactly the way she anticipated, or even intended?

(Would he even mind?)

He’s not such a fool as to fall a little in love with his opponent in the rooms that she builds, but he does delight in receiving these little insights to her personality. It reminds him that Miss Swan is more than his opponent - she’s a person, and one he’d love to know under other circumstances.

Only time will tell whether that makes things easier or harder.

———

To no one’s particular surprise, Regina does not approve of the maze.

“This is a waste of your time,” she proclaims to Emma on one of her rare (and never welcomed) visits. “You’re supposed to be competing, not… collaborating.” She spits out the word like it’s a profanity; who knows, it likely is in her mind. Emma wouldn’t be entirely surprised. 

“Isn’t this just a different way of competing?” Emma asks. Truthfully, she doesn’t see the fuss. “I’d think it would be easier to compare, when we have to share the same structure. Well, even more than we usually do.”

“This is not how things are supposed to work,” Regina snaps. “I didn’t train you to be so stupid about this, Emma. You know better - this is… frivolous!”

“I like it,” Emma says, letting her voice display a quiet defiance. “I think it’s wonderful.”

That’s why she’d led Regina to the maze in the first place, instead of simply taking tea in her compartment as usual - a little childish thought that maybe her mentor would see all the careful crafting she had put into each chamber. That maybe she would appreciate this unusual way in which Emma was stretching her abilities beyond what she thought was possible, challenged by the necessity of working around someone else’s ideas in the most literal, compressed way. That maybe she would be proud.

Pride, at least for others, is not something that’s in Regina’s vocabulary, however - something that Emma has never been more aware of than in this moment, standing amongst the hedges of a shifting maze within a maze. It’s an ever-changing creation, one that Emma had been particularly proud of.

It’s easier simply to wind their way to the closest exit than to attempt to convince Regina any further; Emma has long since learned her mentor is an immovable force. If Regina hasn’t been swayed by the creativity and brilliance of seeing the maze in person, no words will do it. So they’ll exit the maze and slip back into the backstage rooms, where Regina can berate her about her work ethic and how it seems like Emma doesn’t even want this while still failing to offer any concrete details or advice, until Emma can make her escape to perform another show, displaying her abilities to a kinder audience. That’s how these things always seem to go, and now that her foolishly hopeful little bubble has been broken, there’s no reason they won’t go that way again. 

Then again, there’s alway room for surprises and changes from the norm; Emma should know that, after so many years here at the Circus. As they exit into the chilled night air, Emma - and more importantly, Regina - clearly didn’t expect to run into Mulan as the sword swallower wandered back towards her own lodgings.

Most days, Emma almost forgets this other source of magic buzzing around the circus. It’s like white noise, almost; something Emma is subconsciously aware of, and can focus on when she chooses, but fades into the background most of the time. They’re friendly, but not quite friends - happy to spend time with one another, but rarely seeking each other out. Mulan is closer with Ruby, or with Belle. It’s easy, in that way, for Emma to forget the higher force that binds the two of them together - Regina herself, who has been a teacher to both of them. 

It is visibly obvious the moment they catch sight of one another: both straighten to their most rigid posture, Regina’s face shifting into something even more haughty than her usual mien, and Mulan shifting to something cool and dangerous. The air between them practically crackles with restrained magical energy, sending the hair on Emma’s arms to stand on end. Emma sends a silent thanks to whomever may be listening that this meeting occurred firmly in public; while the confrontation is primed to be bad as it is, she wouldn’t relish being forced between them in a private setting. Or a dark alley.

For all of the danger sparking the air, it is almost anticlimactic when each party finally finds their words. “Regina,” Mulan says, coolly polite and with the barest incline of her head. Regina only jerks her chin in a broken nod in response. 

And then they’re moving their separate ways, the whole thing over. Maybe it’s better that way; it would be a pity if the Circus was razed to the ground, after they’ve all put so much effort into the venue. There’s a story there, though, one Emma doesn’t know but can’t help but wonder about. She’ll have to ask Mulan, later; she knows very well that asking Regina will bear no fruit. 

(She never does, of course, just another intention lost to time and her mentor’s berating. Not that it would have done any good, anyways. Mulan keeps her secrets locked as tight as the most impressive safe.)

———

Emma knows Belle, of course - they’ve both been with the Circus for more than a decade, and Emma isn’t entirely self absorbed. They’re even friendly, in that way two people who work together but aren’t particularly close can be. But never once in all that time can Emma remember actively seeking the other woman out - for her skills or anything else. 

Belle’s particular skill unsettles Emma, she supposes. It feels a little hypocritical - Emma has magic, after all, she shouldn’t feel so uncomfortable about fortune-telling. There’s something about the talent to see glimpses of the future, however, that has never sat quite right in her mind - that has always made her ever so slightly uncomfortable. It’s not Belle’s fault; Emma knows as well as anyone that sometimes, these kinds of gifts choose their recipient instead of the other way around. 

There’s something in the air, though, something Emma can’t quite identify. There’s a niggling feeling of anticipation, like a reverse deja vu, where Emma knows something is coming, but doesn’t know what or how or when. She’s never been particularly good with that kind of uncertainty, searching for control wherever possible. It’s that search for control that brings her to Belle, seeking answers anywhere she can find them. Unusual times call for unusual measures, or some other such cliché. 

Emma goes at night, while the Circus is open, in between her own performances - just like any other querrant. It’s a simple thing to blend into the crowd - after all, no one is expecting  the illusionist to wander among them, especially in a dark coat and skirts turned crimson red with the touch of a finger. It takes no magic at all to slip down the silvery paths and duck into a tent labeled Fortune Teller: Feats of Fate and Prophecy. 

Belle snaps into character as soon as Emma brushes past the beaded curtain welcoming visitors into her space, only to relax again as she recognizes Emma’s face. “What a lovely surprise,” she comments with a pleased smile. “Sit down, sit down. What can I do for you, Emma?”

“I was hoping for a reading,” Emma explains as casually as possible - as if this is no great favor. Still, it shoots the brunette’s eyebrows up towards her hairline in surprise. 

“I must say, I didn’t expect that,” she comments. “I don’t believe you’ve asked such a thing of me before.”

“I haven’t felt the desire before.”

“Ah. You must face some kind of crossroads, then.” 

“Truthfully, I am not even sure enough to say that much,” Emma admits. Summoning a few coins into her hand, she pushes them across the table - payment for services rendered, as is typically custom in Belle’s little nook. “I hoped you might be able to shed more light on the matter than I can currently discern.”

Belle pushes the coins back. “Keep your money. Consider this a gift for a friend. Now, shall we?” As soon as Emma nods, Belle begins shuffling the cards - a quick, hypnotic motion, as each card flies past again and again. Once she’s satisfied with the shuffle, she carefully fans the cards across her table, face down. “Pick a card to represent yourself, if you please.”

Emma contemplates her options; truthfully, the tarot has never called to her, and this moment is no different. After some short examination, she selects one barely visible towards the left-hand side.

Belle chuckles a little as she turns the card over - and Emma can see exactly why, as soon as she sees the card. The Magician. 

“Now, this card often represents a plethora of abilities or options you may not be fully aware of, especially in the face of impending change or disaster,” Belle explains. “And that may still be the case. However, under the circumstances, I suspect this card is supposed to be taken rather more literally in this particular reading, Madame Magician.”

Belle shuffles again, before cutting the deck into three portions and directing Emma to select one. Replacing the selected stack back at the top at the pile, she quickly doles the cards back out, in practiced patterns and an unexpected elegance. There are flashes of cups and swords on the cards between them, interspersed with picture cards of women and wheels and a couple reaching for one another.

(Emma does not think she has the time for whatever a card like The Lovers may symbolize.)

“I see what you mean,” Belle says after a long moment. “There are significant changes here - in circumstance, in thinking, and in feelings. Whatever knot you have been working at in your mind will begin to unravel - one change that will spur many more. Now these changes - they seem imminent.”

“How imminent?”

Belle cocks her head, examining again. “There’s rarely an evident timeline that I can see,” she admits, “but I would wager in the coming weeks or months.”

Emma nods. It’s not really an answer - but it feels like validation, somehow. Like someone else can sense that something is on the horizon. 

“Now, I asked about a crossroads, before we started,” Belle continues. “The changes that are coming - they will not be your crossroads. This will not be the moment you have to make that decision. But each change will compound upon each other until it leads you to that crossroads - a choice you’ll make that will change everything, again. It will not be for some time yet, but those seeds are being sown now.”

Emma nods slowly, taking it all in. There is an odd comfort in Belle’s words, even as Emma tells herself not to put too much stock in it. “Thank you,” she finally says. “Is there anything else you can see?”

Belle shakes her head ruefully. “Not that I can see now, no. But I’ll keep looking. Sometimes, these things make themselves clearer given a few hours to think on them.”

“I understand. Thank you.”

Emma ponders the words as she emerges back into the night. A momentous change to come seems inevitable - both from her instincts and Belle’s own readings. All that’s left to do is brace herself and face that change with an open mind and courage.

The weeks and months to come may change everything - and Emma intends to be ready for it. 

———

We’ll be back in England next month - just in time for the rains, I’m sure. As if they ever stop. I anticipate many inclement weather parties in my future, and I don’t even need the cards to tell me that. 

Speaking of which - be on the lookout for something, Killian. Change is in the cards and in the air. Something is on the horizon, and I think it’s best you be ready for whatever that might be.

We’ll have tea one afternoon next time I’m in town, and you can buy me an absurd amount of books. I have several recommendations to give you from the last batch. I expect you’ll feign interest and the time to read, just as always, but I don’t particularly care. You’ll do it because I’m your friend, and you love me.

Yours &c., 

Belle

———

That same feeling of anticipation, of something in the air, only intensifies when the Circus returns to London for a short stretch. It’s been growing ever since Emma spoke with Belle, becoming more urgent as time goes by. A breaking point must come soon - though what that will herald, Emma doesn’t pretend to know. There’s no use continuing to worry over something that will only reveal itself at the right time.

Emma throws herself into rediscovery instead, wandering all those places she used to know. It’s hard to call London home, even though she grew up here - that designation has only ever belonged to her cramped and cozy little train compartment - but the city is familiar in a way that’s comforting. She spent the first 24 years of her life here, after all; even trapped under Regina’s thumb, she was able to discover little corners of the city all her own, park benches and cafe tables and backstage theater rooms. 

(She doesn’t intend to visit her benefactor during this stop, if she can at all help it; bringing Regina into things always invites trouble that Emma would rather avoid.)

It’s raining on their first day in town, of course, like her own meteorological welcome. Emma smiles a bit at the thought of the clouds and raindrops and wind whispering a hello - though truthfully, she’s seen odder things. She’s orchestrated odder things. The soft patter of raindrops on her umbrella is almost soothing as she walks down the cobbled streets to a favorite remembered cafe. Emma loves the Circus with every fiber of her being, both as her creation and as her home; still, sometimes it’s nice to escape for an afternoon and enjoy the anonymity of people watching or reading a nice book. Some days, she wants that distance; to be just another face in the crowd.

The afternoon passes quietly and uneventfully with her tea and scone and a silly novel. It’s easy to blend into this little corner of London, tucked into the corner of a quiet street off the main road. Emma has always liked this place, and tries to visit whenever she’s in the city; it’s something about the way that light dapples through the wide windows at the front, always perpetually just the slightest bit grimy, like dirt had accumulated just as soon as some poor soul had taken the efforts to clean them off. The used bookstore just across the street is a wonderful bonus too, where Emma sometimes finds unexpected treasures. Here, she can be just anyone else - no expectations, no grand fate. Just a woman at a weathered table. 

All too soon, the clock on the wall chimes 4pm, prompting Emma to gather her things to leave. This time of year, even though spring approaches, the sun still sets early, heralding the opening of the circus’ wide gates. Emma is lucky enough to set her own performance hours during the night, generally aiming to do three or four shows in an evening; however, it’s still important that she’s fully ready for the evening by the time the first visitors trickle into the grounds, regardless of the fact that she won’t make her own dramatic entrance for at least another half hour. 

As she bustles out the door, she mentally runs through her checklist for the night of tricks she might like to perform. That’s the freeing thing about performing with real magic; not having to depend on mechanics means that she can improvise, that every single show can be different as she feeds off the audience and her current whims. 

She’s so busy running through her possibilities for the night that she doesn’t notice she’s grabbed the wrong umbrella - not at first, at least. It’s just one amongst a cluster of black fabric in the umbrella stand, each nearly identical to each other. Emma’s put a special charm on hers that repels the rain; that slight buzz of magic is the only thing that differentiates hers from all the others. She picks it out by the feel alone, absentmindedly, before exiting into the deluge.

Something is off, though - something she realizes the further she walks from the cafe and comes back to full awareness. The charm on the umbrella is wonderfully effective, as always, but there’s something… wrong about the magic. Emma’s own magic has a particular warm feel to it, one that largely fades into the background of her mind until she barely notices it. This, though… the buzz continues, like a pricking or a tickle under her skin. Foreign.

Not hers.

Realization draws her up short. This umbrella - clearly imbued with powerful magic - magic like her opponent would possess - in the cafe at the same time - 

A polite clearing of the throat causes Emma to whip around, revealing an unexpectedly familiar face: Jefferson’s assistant, the handsome one, who she remembers lurking at the edges of ballrooms and the back of theatres and in the densest of crowds. Jones - something with a K. Or a C? Kelvin? Carson? No —

“Excuse me, Miss Swan,” Killian Jones smiles warmly, “but I believe you have my umbrella.”

[repentantsky]

5 Companies That Have Too Much Hype Around Them

Look, we all love our favorite games with a passion, and to an extent that’s fine, but when that passion becomes obsession and that obsession becomes forgetting our own moral compass for the sake of entertainment, it does feel like it’s gone too far. It’s one thing to love what a company releases, it’s completely another to ignore every problem they’ve ever had. Not all of the companies on this list have done horribly un-ethical things, but they’ve at least been anti-consumer, and the fact that people don’t question that enough has led to them sometimes, making horrible mistakes. I am RepentantSky, I love making lists that trash on things that are popular, and these are 5 companies, that have too much hype around them.

5. Nintendo

Already I can hear people getting angry, and in a way I get it. Nintendo is for many people the place where they either begin to play games, or the place they go to keep on playing them when everything else let’s them down, and of course, they put an end to the flipping video game crash of 1983, and no one else will ever be able to claim that from them. That’s all wonderful, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be critical of them. I’ve talked about a number of things they’ve done wrong before, so let me quickly run down the list of some of their anti-consumer practices. They, charge too much for remasters and ports, they don’t drop prices in games, they used to charge for fixing Joy-Cons and now completely deny it’s a problem for legal reasons, despite everyone pretty much having experienced drift, they haven’t been good at getting stock for their items in at least 20 years, and oh yeah, they sell all the content for a remake for $115 on the 3DS, the system and the fans that helped them get by while the Wii U was massively underperforming, all while handing owners of the, at the time, unproven Switch, free content. Nintendo has a tendency to still think like a toy company, and they even used that idea to present the Nintendo Entertainment System as a toy instead of a console when they first game to the West with it, but they aren’t a toy company, their a gaming company that also sells toys, just like everyone else. I get they’ve done amazing things, I own over 150 physical handheld games from them, and a ton of digital games besides, but when they start charging twice what they are worth for SD cards, while releasing games that absolutely won’t fit on the limited space of the Switch, and they simply don’t care when costumers complain, it’s time to at least question their motives.  

4. Bethesda

Boy I used to really rip on this company back when I posted lists on Facebook, but I haven’t done it in a while, so let’s do it again. Bethesda has absolutely spent at least the last 10 years lying to people, Todd Howard, has become famous for it, but I think I might have been the only person who wasn’t shocked when Fallout 76 was the disaster that it was. There were so many things wrong with that game, that I don’t even have time to go over every little thing, but lying, you know the thing that will get another company on this list very soon, was a big thing they did with the game. They promised at one point that they weren’t ever going to charge for items in the game that gave in-game benefits, and they did, allowing ammo and other items to be bought with real money for a time, they promised new, specialized servers if you paid for a yearly service that was way too expensive, and that wasn’t true because people found proof of things missing from what would have been a freshly made, private server, and there’s no excuse for that, games in early access do that correctly, and they aren’t, at least supposedly, even finished yet. I wish I could say that’s all they’ve done, but they also bullied an indie developer over their game Prey, a game they may have bullied the original developer for so they could get cheaper, but we’ll never know because they refused to comment on that when asked, they also refused to update their outdated game engine for years, which caused something they spent over a decade fixing, games releasing with glitches, some of them game breaking. Yet somehow, they have such a fan base that those who love their games will claim the glitches are just part of the charm. That kind of fierce loyalty led to Fallout 76, and even though we make jokes about it even now, the horse DLC from way back in the day, was an indication of everything they’ve done, including trying to charge for mods made for free, meant to be consumed for free, twice. Bethesda is a bad company and they do not care. 

3. Activision/Blizzard

You know one of the worst things Nintendo does that I didn’t really mention directly in the first entry, is limit the amount of time a product is available, instead of just letting it be there for consumption as long as it’s selling (that was what the toy company reference was about if it wasn’t clear). However, Activision/Blizzard are the Kings of doing this, as they not only limited things while they were in control of Destiny 2 to the point where you pretty much had to use real money to get everything, and never mind everything else they did to it, because we’d be here all day going through it all, but they also don’t support games as a service titles long enough for dedicated fans. Crash Team Racing Nitro fueled, is a prime example of this. People weren’t done with that game, and when fans thought for even a split second that an update was going to come to fix an issue, their hype (mine to) was so explosive, it was almost like we were getting a new game, but then nothing happened, because they didn’t care. A lot of companies that do yearly release titles as a service have this problem and nothing exemplified that more for Activision, than Skylanders, a series originally made off the back of Spyro, who didn’t even wait for a year to release new games, as technically between October 21st and November 20th of the year the first game came out, they released three of them, and I’m not even kidding. Two of them, were mobile games! You might have thought I was going to go after Call of Duty, for this, but that horse has been beaten to ground, somehow, more than Skylanders was. They also, for whatever reason, released each expansion on different generations console generations, at different months throughout Fall, like somehow the season of Fall, they needed a release every month, if not two, and so off they went. I didn’t even get into Blizzard, but all I need to say is “Blitzchung” and all the memories will likely come flooding back. There’s also the fact that in two separate years, after gaining massive profits, they dropped hundreds of employees, and hired more than they’d let go, but I guess that doesn’t really matter to some of you, because when they did it this year, with so little warning, most employees found out via the news articles about it, but we all made such a little stink this time around, it didn’t create any media buzz, so I guess that doesn’t matter, you’d all rather play flipping World of Warcraft, like better MMO’s don’t exist. 

2. CD Projekt Red

I know this one comes off a little more fresh in the mind, and they technically only lied about one game, but man, what a series of lies it was. Also, let’s be honest, one major game, does not a great developer always make. CDPR’s previous two Witcher games did exactly what the author of the books thought they would, and that was almost nothing in terms of making a serious impact, and the reason is, they are kind of bad. They aren’t the worst games out there, but there is a good reason why The Witcher 1 and 2 haven’t been ported and/or remastered, despite how important they are to the story of Witcher 3, and that’s because they both suck. Cyperpunk 2077, was in a lot of ways, them just going back to being the developer they were before, the BIG ONE happened. They lied about nearly everything in regards to the game, including how the main platforms where consumers were going to buy it, were actually running well. I made those references to Witcher 1 and  2 for a reason, although if I’m being honest, they actually look better than Cyberpunk did on day 0, and that’s completely unacceptable. The budget for CDPR was basically nothing for Witcher 1 and 2 combined to what Cyberpunk got, but they were so focused on the PC versions because PC ran the game better, somehow (like maybe because they didn’t try with consoles) and they missed glitches that were so bad, the game felt like it was still in beta, if not alpha upon release. The fact that they’ve only released eleven games in twenty-three years, and only two of them didn’t have The Witcher on them, should have told us all we need to know, and yet the game, even after returns, which was another massive screw-job that led to Cyberpunk being removed from the PlayStation store, still sold Sixteen million units, all because of hype, and because apparently, some people don’t care if they’re lied to. Do you want to know what the other game they released is besides a Witcher title? It was flipping Saints Row 2, a fun game, but also one that’s too goofy for it’s own good, and yet suddenly makes Cyberpunk’s release, make sense, because it was all a massive joke, and a parody of good, well running, open world games. CDPR needs to seriously do something, anything different, and never release a game in this poor of a state ever again.

1. Ubisoft

I put Ubisoft at number one for a damn good reason, and that reason is, that everyone seems to hate the company, but loves their games, and I don’t know why. They haven’t been the overall worst company on this list, although they are pretty bad, but the major problem they have, and have had for at least a decade is that none of their games have any identity, they are literally all the same game, with different coats of paint. Sure, an occasional gem sneaks through like Assassin’s Creed IV, but all of the rest of their games have the same visual style (although ACII does seem to be the base for which they create their art let’s be honest), the shooting mechanics they have in all the games that have guns, all feel exactly the same, which is something even Call of Duty manages to avoid most years (guess I took a shot at them anyways) and yet somehow, someway, I keep seeing people getting excited for their releases, and it doesn’t make any sense. Sure, they throw a celebrity actor in from time to time, and the artistic style they use does look pretty cool, but everything is always the same with them, every single time, no matter what it is, and they still keep making money. It doesn’t really make sense either, because a lot of developers do make games that are very similar feeling, see the Life is Strange team or much as well all loved them, Telltale Games, but at least those titles told extremely interesting stories, and developed their mechanics at least a little, which is something most companies do just on principal, but not Ubisoft. They throw out a few Tom Clancy games every time they talk about what their releasing, the Trials and AC games are still mostly a yearly experience, and I’ll say it again, their entire list of releases since at least 2013, the year the previous generation kicked off, have pretty much all been the same. It would be nice if they made more games like Child of Light, but despite the fact that their games will likely never be as popular as Call of Duty, they keep churning out same-y shooters hoping that one day, maybe just one day, they’ll create their own CoD, and it’s just not gonna happen. The saddest part of all is that when they announce something different, something fans have wanted for years, we get The Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time Remake, which was literally delayed because fans said they wouldn’t buy it unless some actual effort was put into making it, why is this company so popular that it can keep doing this, someone please explain it to me. 

And that’s my list, can you think of any other companies that are too hyped? Let me know in the notes below, hit me up with a follow if you like my content, and give me a reblog, I’d really appreciate it. Have a wonderful life!